Chapter 7 #2
Finally, Campbell arrives. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and she paired her lilac summer dress with a loose-knit cream sweater.
Instead of cowboy boots, she has on suede ankle boots.
A long necklace makes her ensemble fit the classy Western vibe of the bar.
No one would know she was dusty and smelling like horse sweat a little over an hour ago.
Her cheeks are still flushed, like she ran here from her parents’ house, but with the tension around her eyes and the tautness of her movements, it’s not from her afternoon ride.
“Campbell,” Stanford says smoothly. “Nice of you to join us.” Her cheeks pinken even more, but she doesn’t respond. Stanford lifts his cocktail. “Help yourself to drinks, everyone, while we get this seating arrangement figured out.”
Campbell’s forced smile falters. “It’s a family dinner. There are no seating assignments.”
“It’s a formal dinner,” Stanford’s mom complains. “There are always seating assignments at formal dinners.”
Campbell barely misses a beat. “Of course. The couple will sit at the head of the table, naturally.”
I really need Campbell to be able to tell them off.
Stanford’s dad ignores the seating assignments and bellies up to the bar. “Macallan. Neat.”
“We only serve Foster House,” I say in a bored tone. I’m not kissing this guy’s ass.
“Why would I want Foster House?”
His snide tone roughs up my eardrums and my pride. I hold his gaze. I’m not playing games either.
Our face-off is interrupted by a cloud of huckleberries. “Is there something I can get you, Mr. Baldwin?”
“Damn good whiskey,” he replies.
“You are invited to sample what Foster House offers. Your son and future daughter-in-law’s wishes are to feature local spirits, and Foster House is the pride of Huckleberry Springs.
” She aims that fake-as-astroturf smile at me.
“Durban, do you have that barrel proof available, or one like it? I believe that’s right up a whiskey connoisseur’s alley. ”
The man’s frown deepens like he can’t tell if he should keep complaining or take the flattery. “Fine. I’ll take the best you’ve got.”
Admiration sneaks in as I pour the drink, but so does worry. Campbell appears to effortlessly defuse the situation, but it’s costing her. She has a little over three weeks of festivities. I’m not involved again until the bride’s lunch, but she’s got to entertain the douche crew for weeks.
While everyone’s either taking their seats or giving me their order, I catch Sydney giving Campbell’s hand a squeeze. They exchange tight smiles. At least she’s got an ally in the group, but Sydney seems like she’s in the same rickety boat as Campbell.
I serve drinks until only one more person stands in front of me. Stanford’s mother. She huffs. “I can’t believe we have to go to the bar to get our refreshments. That’s not how dinners work.”
“What can I get you?” I ask mildly.
“Decent service, but I can’t imagine you know what I’m talking about.”
Does my expression say that I’m sick of people’s shit? “What can I get you?”
She rolls her eyes like my lack of engagement spoils the fun. “Gin and tonic.”
I make it quick and slide it in front of her. Sooner she’s gone, the better.
“Campbell, dear.” This comes from the woman with the bob. She must be January’s mom. “We’re missing a seat. Aren’t you joining us?”
January puts her hand on Stanford’s chest, her gaze distraught. He shakes his head.
“I’m on the clock,” Campbell says smoothly. “I want to make sure this night is perfect for all of you.”
Fuck, I could choke on all this pretend kindness. Since everyone’s seated and they all have a cocktail or a drink, I duck into the long storeroom-slash-break room behind the bar the staff uses.
Is Natalie like Stanford’s mom? Was I that wrong about her? About us? Shame leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
I’m surrounded by the inventory of the Hawthorne bar. All I need is a swig to take the edge off my irritation. I open a new bottle of Foster House whiskey and take a long pull from it. I’ll buy it later.
Spice and heat fill my mouth. I swallow and it spreads down my chest, warming my gut.
“Fuck me sideways until Sunday,” Campbell says from behind me.
I turn to find Campbell slumped against the wall by the light switch. “They’re that bad.”
She jumps and slaps a hand over her mouth. She drops it. “You can’t keep scaring me like that,” she whispers loudly. “What are you doing in here with the lights off?”
“Taking a breather.” Letting my pride pick apart scabs. But it’s not Natalie I hear in my memories. It’s Mom’s rough voice.
I have more important things to do.
You couldn’t possibly understand.
Why do you suck the fun out of everything?
Campbell prods her forehead. A small shudder racks her body.
I move closer, setting the bottle on a shelf next to her. “Is it that bad already?”
“They were in the barn. Stanford and January.” She lets out a quiet but scornful laugh. “Caught them with their pants down in the tack room after they petted Hailstorm a few times. I turned him out and was going to put the halter and lead rope away.”
“Aw, hell, Campbell. I’m sorry.”
Her eyes shine in the weak light. “They were so loud.” Her lower lip trembles.
“I don’t even want him, but it’s not fair, you know.
He wasted years of my life. She’s stealing the wedding plans I told her about when we were kids.
It’s not fair that she gets to swan around out there in her post-orgasmic glow and be the center of attention.
It’s not fair that he gets to be satisfied right before he’s allowed to be a controlling bastard to me—again.
It’s not fair. None of it. And I was late again because I have to face them and be polite and professional when I’m so damn angry.
They should be wound up as tight as me for having to suffer through them. ”
Her chest is rising and falling. She’s hurting, and what I felt minutes ago pales against what she’s going through. The disrespect continues. Stanford and January probably intended to be heard and possibly seen.
Those assholes. Something should be done. At the very least, there should be a way to relax her. A way to get the couple back without anyone knowing.
When I walk by, she has to question how well he remembers me naked and sucking his dick.
I told Campbell that Stanford absolutely does remember. He probably obsesses, and that’s why he’s so hard on her. He detests the hold she has on him, and that’s why he plays her.
So what if he suspects she is also getting satisfied? What if he goes out of his mind, wondering if the pretty blush staining her cheeks is from an orgasm? At the very least, a climax will decrease some of her tension.
“Then make it fair,” I say, my voice gruff. Am I actually going to suggest this?
“How? I’m not interested in stealing him back.”
I should shut my damn mouth, but my logic got scrambled as soon as she entered this room. I’ve been burned by these people, but she’s been scorched. “Be satisfied. Just like them.”
She laughs, and her minty breath wafts across my chin. “You’re kid—” Her breath hitches. “You’re not serious?” she whispers.
More serious than those fucking science jokes. “Why not? A little—or big—O before you have to deal with them? Takes the pressure off. Makes tonight a fuckton better.”
Only her breaths are audible in the room. “Now?”
“Would you rather go out there and face that crowd like this?”
Her gaze strays to the door. I wish the light was on only so I could watch the sexy flush creep up her neck. “How? It’s not like I can just grab the nearest guy.”
The nearest guy to her very much wants to be grabbed, but I can’t comprehend those complications. “You’re an independent woman. Do it yourself.”
She doesn’t laugh off my suggestion. Instead, she worries her lower lip between her teeth. “I could use a drink.”
I stifle a groan. If she’s going to do it, I could use a big fucking drink too. I’m already strung tighter than a newly repaired fence, my erection ready to form when I even think of her.
But I need to have a clear head if we’re going to get away with this.
I grab the bottle I drank from earlier and lift it to her lips.
“Swirl, sniff, and sip?” she asks, her voice huskier than normal.
“Just drink.” I tip the bottle, and she sucks some liquid into her mouth.
I shouldn’t touch her. I shouldn’t be doing any of this, but I grasp her wrist. My fingertips on her warm skin scatters any remaining logic. I bring her hand to her mouth.
“Wet your fingertips,” I order.
Her lips part, and it’s all I can do to keep from tracing them—with my finger or tongue.
Her eyes glitter from the ambient light, but she opens her mouth and sucks her index and middle fingers inside. My groan echoes loud between us. I give her another drink. She swallows and licks her fingertips.
I release her arm, set the bottle down, and crowd closer. “Now lift your skirt and touch yourself.”
A moment passes, and I think she’s going to refuse. Maybe she’ll shove me away and face the Baldwins with her chin held high. A small part of me will die inside. She’s been starring in too many of my fantasies for me to be deprived of a very real experience and not end up a changed man.
Instead of pushing me away, she gathers the fabric of her dress up. My erection roars to life, growing so hard I’m damn near lightheaded. Her breaths grow shaky. She moves, and in the dark, I can only picture her slim fingers burrowing under the hem of her underwear.
A small gasp leaves her, and fuuuck.
“Are your fingers on your clit, Belle?” The nickname slips out, but I don’t take it back. My pulse hammers a beat behind my zipper. I’m hard to the point of pain, and no shower jack-off session is going to help. Only hearing her sweet release.
“Yes.” Her whisper is faint.
“Are you wet?”
“Y-yes.”
A moan rumbles in my chest, but I keep it quiet. “Is your pussy throbbing? Is it pulsing, waiting for that sweet release?”
“Yes.”
I place my hands on either side of her head. Looking down, I can only see where her hand disappears under the fabric of her skirt. She lets out the faintest of whimpers.
“Keep going,” I coax, my voice gruff. If she stops, I’ll shrivel up and die. This moment is all I’m living for.
“Durban.” Her eyelids are hooded, and she’s resting her head against the wall.
“You’re getting wetter. Fuck, I bet you’re tight too. Dip those long fingers inside of yourself.” My forehead is tipped toward hers, but we’re not touching. I cage her against the wall.
Her shadowed eyes fly up to mine, but she does it.
“Christ, Belle. How fucking wet are you?”
“So wet.” One of her legs lolls to the side, and she’s rocking her hips against herself.
“Rub that clit again. Tight little circles.”
“Durban,” she whispers. “I’m going—”
“Do it. Come as hard and as long as you need.”
I’m millimeters away from her, my attention and focus on her. She arches her back, and her tits brush against me. The hard little points of her nipples graze my chest, and I have to clamp down on my control before I come in my pants. I can’t tend bar with a wet spot.
Her mouth gapes open, and I hover, ready to catch any sound that slips out.
“Oh my God,” she rasps quietly. “Oh my God. Yesss.”
I soak it all in, imagining just how hot and soaked she must be, how she’d squeeze around my fingers—or fuck, my dick—if I were inside her.
With a final jerk, she sags against the wall.
She lets her skirt drop and her arms hang.
She might be spent, but I’m fighting for my life.
My cock throbs, and I think of cow shit.
Getting slammed into cattle panels. Stubbing my toe.
You don’t know what it’s like. College. Graduate school. Research.
That does it. Blood drains from my erection. I can concentrate on Campbell and her reaction. Her eyes are closed, but her breathing has evened out.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
“No. I can’t believe I did that.”
We did that, but I don’t correct her. I’m keeping this glorious moment to myself.
She’s about to slap her hands against her cheeks, but she gawks at the one she used to get herself off.
I take the bottle, turn her palm up, and pour a splash onto her skin. She rubs her hands together like it’s sanitizer. Close enough.
I don’t back away from her. “Now go back out there, smile, and know that I’ll be seeing how you orgasm in my dreams tonight.”
Shock flickers in her gaze a heartbeat before she looks stricken. She’s stiff again as she ducks out from under me. “They can’t know.”
“They won’t. You only need Stanford to suspect to make him suffer. If anyone asks why you’re flushed, say you got too much sun out riding.”
She takes a step, then stops. “This can’t happen again.”
If I never get to experience another one of her orgasms, I’m going to die a sad man. “Maybe you should wait and see how well it works first.”