I have no soul. Mine was destroyed one damning night.
I work hard, demanding everything I desire. I trust no one, want for nothing.
Except for one woman…
And there is nothing I won’t do to protect her
Several lives intertwine on an offshore oil rig as a powerful hurricane threatens the Gulf. When a game of cat and mouse ensues, complete with accidents leading a series of cataclysmic events, lives are placed in danger. And the clock is ticking.
Meet the men of the lucrative world of Texas oil. From billionaires to roughnecks, they are destined to capture your soul. They also have secrets…
Publisher’s Note: This is book two in Texas Oil but can be read as a standalone. This action-packed romance contains elements of mystery, suspense, power exchange, adult language, and explicit scenes. If any of these offend you, please do not purchase.
Read it for FREE with Kindle Unlimited
Franklin Parker spit out his coffee, tossing the cup into the sink. The moment he climbed up on deck, he hissed. “Jesus Christ! What the hell is going on and where is Tank?” Flames powered up a solid one hundred feet, fueled by the blowout. There was too much pressure in the well, creating a fountain of oil. He raced around the corner as he heard screams coming from the other side of the platform.
“Get out of there!”
Beep! Beep! Beep!
“All hands on deck.” The announcement repeated several times as the alarm continued to go off, the shrill sound floating toward the waning afternoon sun.
Suddenly he saw men running, racing toward him at breakneck speed. “Get back to your posts. We have to put the fire out.” Where in the goddamn hell was Tank? This was his job, keeping everything together and the men on point. He was the toolpusher, having literally pushed his way into the position. He was supposed to be supervising the drillers and roughnecks. Fine job the fucker had done.
Ducking, Franklin trotted forward, cognizant of the flying debris and floating embers. This was the third situation in only two weeks. The men were either stupid or careless. Either way, a good number of the useless men would be receiving pink slips with their next paycheck.
“We can’t get the vacuum pumps started. The water won’t flow.” The man huffed as he confronted Franklin. His face covered in oil, soot and sweat, he panted as he pointed toward the raging fire. “If we don’t get the fire stopped in the next few minutes, the entire rig will be consumed.”
“What do you mean you can’t get the pump started?” At least Shaun Tynen knew the business cold. Franklin clenched his fists, biting back a string of vile words. He could tell the men were starting to panic. This was no time to lose his cool.
“You cut corners, you asshole. Remember? You forgot to order new parts like I asked you ten fuckin’ times.”
Franklin snapped his head in Tank’s direction, fury just under the surface. His skin crawled every time he laid eyes on the six-foot-five-inch former roughneck. “We are sitting on thousands of miles of ocean, pump it out of the damn sea if you have to.”
“That can’t happen. And you know exactly why,” Shaun spit as he moved closer to Franklin.
“Are you a goddamn engineer now?” Franklin screeched, leery of what Tank might do. He was dangerous, a menace to the entire rig.
His expression exasperated, Shaun flung out his arm, pointing to the bank of flames. “We need to get that pump started. Men are trapped. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“If you’d get your head out of your ass, you’d see what’s right in front of you. You’re to blame for this,” Tank boomed as he took several long strides toward the men.
Trapped? Swallowing hard, he looked from Tank back to Shaun. “Do whatever you need to do. Just get it started.” Turning on his heel, he headed toward the communication’s room. Damn it. He was going to have to call this in. There were no more excuses he could use. None.
“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? We need help.” Tank trailed behind him. “Or don’t you give a shit?” He maneuvered his way in front of the man, towering over him.
“And I don’t need you telling me what to do. I outrank you. Do you understand?”
Tank’s neck and face reddened. He wrapped his hand around the man’s throat, lifting him off the metal platform. “If one of these men die, I’ll hunt you down like a dog.” He squeezed as he grinned, his eyes narrowing into a look of utter hatred.
Unable to breathe, he clawed at Tank’s arm. “Pu… pu…” He blinked as steam and smoke created a fog around the periphery of his vision.
“I should throw your worthless ass overboard.”
When Franklin was dropped like a rock, he crumpled forward, coughing. “I’ll… have you…” Another round of coughing interrupted his usual threat. This time, the man was going down.
The explosion rocked the entire area, swaying the steel towers of the fixed platform.
Franklin heard another round of cries for help, men calling out, their voices almost drowned out by the fury unfolding.
“Tank. Come quickly. We need your help. We have a man down and another overboard,” the young rigger limped toward them. Covered in oil, he was shaking all over. “He’s hurt really bad.”
“This is on you!” Tank spit down next to Franklin’s shoe and took off running toward the fire.
When he was finally able to control his breathing, he climbed up on the metal ladder leading to the Com Room, the vantage point allowing him to see the extent of the blaze. “Shit.” The site was terrifying. At least he could tell some progress was being made.
He shifted inside and received glares from the two men inside. “What the fuck are you looking at? We’re following protocol.”
The men darted quick glances at each other but remained quiet, yet their smug expressions said exactly what Franklin already knew. No one had confidence in his abilities any longer.
“You realize we’re down to one nurse on board. Not enough help for this kind of crisis.” His voice was quiet yet pointed, accusatory.
“We don’t know the extent of any injuries yet!” Franklin snapped. Toby Gunner, the man in charge of communications was level headed and had once been a friend.
“You heard the same call I did. We have two men down at this point!” Toby snapped then recoiled, his brow wrinkling. “We need some help here.”
“Are you going to call this in or do we need to, sir?” the second man asked, a nasty sneer on his face.
“Give me the damn radio.” Snatching the piece from the man’s hand, Franklin waited until he was connected. “I have a mayday on platform 14. I repeat, I have a mayday.”
“What’s the status?” Camden Dane shifted in his seat and glared out the window. They were flying lower over the water as they neared the oil rig, yet he refused to give in to the nausea. The ride was choppy given the rolling thunderstorms, the turbulence some of the worst he’d experienced.
The co-pilot looked back at the passengers as he slapped the radio into the slot. “Storm lifted enough that the two who were injured were air lifted out along with the body of the third man. He died instantly. I’m sorry, sir. I know that’s not what you want to hear. At least the fire is out.”
“Goddamn it,” Mitchell Rush said between clenched teeth. “A man died on our watch. How in the hell did that happen?”
Camden slunk back into his seat and turned to his partner and best friend, shaking his head. They’d been through a hell of a lot in the past year getting Rush Enterprises out of the public eye. After he’d taken over as CEO, new safety programs had been put into place, fully backed by the Board of Directors, a new group of leaders now including Mitchell. “We have to deal with this issue now. We can’t wait any longer.” He kept his voice as low as possible given the conditions. The last thing Rush needed was a new set of rumors indicating that anything was wrong with their operations.
“I don’t have any problems with that. The rig hasn’t been producing as well as the others and the excuses aren’t holding any water with the Board. Four men hurt in three different explosions and one dead. The tragedies aren’t about bad odds.”
Nodding, he studied the ominous looking sky, praying to God this wasn’t an omen. They’d had nothing but trouble with several of the offshore rigs during the last few months, 14 being the worst. The rig was supposed to be their shining star. One of the oldest and largest, the level of production had dropped almost overnight. Franklin Parker was supposed to know what the fuck he was doing. Camden had waited, hoping the superintendent would get his shit together. That just wasn’t going to happen.
Leaning over, Mitchell lowered his voice. “This means Parker is out. Correct?” When Camden hesitated, he exhaled. “I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job, Camden.”
“Then don’t!” He groaned and clenched his fists. “I’m sorry. This shit just pisses me off.” The Board of Directors had been promised a solid quarter. That wasn’t going to happen. There were deadlines, imposed by the new Board, and without meeting quota, several people could be out of a job. The stock had dipped lower than when he and Mitchell had merged firms with Mitchell’s father. And all under his watch.
He grinned and stole a look at the pilots. “Doesn’t get any easier being the big dog, my friend. Not in the least. Glad the heat is on you.”
Camden gave him the finger just as the helicopter bounced then dropped like a rock. “Shit!”
“Fasten your seat belts, boys. Going to be a bumpy ride going in.” The co-pilot grinned.
Camden leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, taking short breaths as the chopper surged forward. He bit back bile and concentrated on the situation. Rig 14’s reports were abysmal and given some recent emails, the crew was ready to abdicate. One man in particular had risked his job in order to provide information, actions bordering on sabotage. He hadn’t even told Mitchell. If what he’d learned in the last forty-eight hours was true, less oil had been produced while safety measures were cut. Men had been worked to the bone, even reports of some becoming delusional. That was just the wretched beginning. His buddy was right. Parker had to go in order to be able to investigate behind the scenes. But who in the hell were they going to get to clean up the mess?
More importantly. Who wouldn’t ask too many questions until he managed to grab a handle on the situation? The concept was daunting.
The chopper shifted to one side, a metal noise permeating the air.
“Do I want to know?” Camden moaned.
“Best you don’t look,” Mitchell teased.
“We’re going in.”
The sound of the pilot’s voice wasn’t comforting. Camden gripped the arms of the seat and peered out the window.
“Christ. What a freaking mess. You can see the damage from here,” Mitchell stated. “We’re lucky only one man lost their life.”
“Yeah, I know.” Camden surveyed the wreckage, thankful the area had been contained. At least the rig was in working order. To some degree. “Would you believe Parker laid out a list of men he required to be let go?”
“What? What a freaking asshole.”
They jerked forward, and he heard the blades whapping, their sound deafening as they slowed down. The landing was relatively smooth, and Camden breathed a sigh of relief.
Mitchell laughed and shook his head. “I forgot how much you hate to fly.”
“More now.” He swallowed hard as he noticed the welcoming party. They were none too happy to see the brass.
“Not too bad of a landing. We’ll be fueled and ready to go when you are, sir.” The pilot twisted in his seat.
“This won’t take long,” Camden said without hesitation. Yeah, he knew exactly what he had to do. He was more than committed to doing the right thing. As they climbed off the helicopter, they were greeted by three men. Two of whom were bodies of muscle from years of hard work. Oil riggers were the toughest of men and he’d gained a hell of a lot of respect for them. His work with Mitchell in the early days had been grueling, but this was one of the toughest positions in the field.
“Mr. Dane. Mr. Mitchell. Glad to have you on board.” Franklin’s look wasn’t one of respect but of annoyance.
Camden took note as he shook the man’s hand. “We need to discuss the situation, Mr. Parker.”
“Situation,” Franklin repeated, a snarl curling on his lip.
“Yes, three accidents in two months is an issue,” Mitchell stated.
Franklin opened his mouth as if to issue a nasty retort then motioned to the two others in his group. “This is my toolpusher, Brian Williams. Riggers call him Tank, and this is one of our engineers, Steven Michaels.”
Camden looked at Mitchell. Had his friend known Tank worked on this rig? By Mitchell’s blank expression, he wasn’t able to tell. One thing was for certain, with Tank on board, they could have found their saboteur.
Tank’s eyes flashed anger as well as hatred.
The roughneck had his own reasons for loathing both of them. Was he still angry enough to make certain Rush Enterprises could be picked off by a competitor? “We very much appreciate all you’re doing here, especially with regard to the fire. I may want to talk with both of you in a few minutes, but I need to speak with Mr. Parker first.” Camden noticed that Tank was processing every scrap of information. He knew very little about the man other than his reputation as powering through any task. However, he obviously couldn’t stand Franklin Parker.
“Go ahead. Leave us!” Franklin commanded.
“We may need to talk with both of you later,” Mitchell added.
Tank nodded and gave a military salute.
Camden could swear the man flipped them the bird. Tamping back his anger, he waited until the other two moved off before turning to face Franklin.
“The man is an animal,” Franklin stated loudly enough that Tank bristled.
“Is there somewhere that we can talk?” Camden plastered on a corporate smile, the very one taught to him by Mitchell. Tank was a hardhead, a man whose anger issues had created significant problems in the early days. What a shame. He was also brilliant, holding a computer programming background as well as an associate degree in engineering. He’d given up after his experience with the early stages of Rush. To find him here, working on this rig reminded him of the last time he’d seen a man once considered a close friend. He would find out everything he could later. At this point, he had to deal with the circumstances at hand.
“We can talk right here. Whatever you need to say to me, you can say out in the open,” Franklin said, half laughing.
Mitchell moved closer, his eyebrows raised.
Camden chuckled and shook his head. “That’s perfectly fine with me. There’s another storm rolling in and we need to get back to the office. Mr. Parker, you’re fired.”
Nash Waters stood on the elevator, counting every reason he loathed coming to Dallas. He hated the corporate world, men in suits and ties, parading around as if their existence was important. He’d been summoned to the office of Rush Enterprises, given only a few hours to come to a very important meeting. What the hell could be so damn important that he couldn’t be told over the telephone? He had men counting on him back in El Paso.
Patience wasn’t one of his virtues and as the damn steel box stopped to allow a group of women to get in, cackling and giggling about one of the men in the office, he shook his head. He needed a damn vacation. When he was finally able to get off, he waited once again until the receptionist made time for him.
“Welcome to Rush Enterprises. Can I help you?”
Her perky voice grated his last nerve. “I’m here to see Camden Dane. Nash Waters. I’m expected.” The tone was brusque, uncaring and he could tell she was more than just intrigued given her solid once over.
“Sure. Wait here, Mr. Waters.”
He leaned against the counter, studying the chrome and glass space. The area was covered in glossy pictures of various sites, highlighting the increasing wealth of the company. Too bad the money wasn’t going into his dwindling bank account. At the rate he was going, he’d be forced to move into a smaller place. What did it matter? He didn’t have anyone to share his life with.
Grousing wasn’t going to change either his financial condition or anything else. His thoughts drifted to the reason for the summons. Either he was getting fired or being forced to come to this location, which he would refuse to do. He hadn’t seen or heard from any of the corporate leaders since a few weeks after saving Mitchell Rush’s life. At least the bonus had kept him afloat for a few months.
“Mr. Waters. Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
The voice was smooth, practiced and in his opinion very political. As he turned, he eyed the man, curious as to why he wasn’t wearing a suit. Maybe this was the assistant, some helper sucking his way to the top. “And you are?”
“Camden Dane, CEO of Rush Enterprises.” He held out his hand, his eyes holding amusement.
Nash shook without making a sound, refusing to make a fool out of himself. “I’m here as requested. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get to the point of my surprise visit.”
“Mitchell said you were direct. I like that in our employees. Come with me. Would you like anything to drink?”
“I’m just fine.” He trailed along behind, darting looks inside the various offices. Everyone seemed busy and none of them were dressed in suits.
“I never had a chance to thank you for saving Mitchell’s life,” Camden said as he glanced over his shoulder.
“Doing my job.”
Camden chuckled. “You are exactly as your reputation proclaims. Here we are. Come on in.”
Ushered into a corner office, he was impressed at what money could buy. He recognized the former CEO, a man who gave up his lucrative spot to work on a hospital board. At least the man had a heart. “Mr. Rush.”
“Nash. Good to have you here. We really appreciate you dropping everything,” Mitchell said, his tone genuine.
“Sit or stand. Up to you and we can get right down to business.” Camden sat on the edge of his desk.
Nash glanced from one to the other and remained standing. This should be good.
“You’re aware we have several offshore rigs in the Gulf of Mexico?” Mitchell asked, the question casual.
“Yep. I also understand several aren’t producing enough barrels to keep their existence.” Nash knew more than he allowed out in the open. Knowledge was power. At least that’s what he’d been told.
Camden nodded, his eyes darting up and down Nash, as if sizing him up. “One in particular has a less than stellar record.”
“14.” He could tell he’d hit a sour note. “They’ve had several fires, problems with employees and the difficult weather patterns have been used as an excuse for the production running a solid thirty percent less than expected. Coupled with two others that have experienced mechanical difficulties, you’re concerned profits as well as stock will tumble.”
“I have a feeling you suspect there’s more going on,” Camden said, his eyes twinkling. When Nash hesitated, he waved his hand. “You can speak very freely in the confines of this office. I value the truth, not some bullshit spewed in my direction.”
Nash was surprised at the man’s candor. Some tension eased from his body. “If you ask me, the superintendent should never had been put in the position in the first place. He’s an arrogant fool and everyone on the line knows it. He’s also dangerous.” As soon as he said the word, Camden flashed a look at Mitchell. They were fishing for information.
“Dangerous,” Mitchell repeated.
“When you give a man power who has no idea how to use it, that’s always dangerous.” Nash had more of an opinion but would keep the rest to himself. Still, he’d heard the rumors, fights among the crew, long hours and limited time off. The rig was a walking, talking bottle rocket.
Mitchell chuckled. “Just like I remember you, Nash. In fact, I knew you were the right man for the job.”
“What job?” Nash narrowed his eyes. “Last time I checked, I had a job.”
“And from what I’d heard, you’re the reason all the kinks were worked out at the Steele site. Without your expertise, the rigs would still be at half production.” Camden kept his tone even.
“Doing my job.” Nash was growing bored. Although he didn’t mind the praise, if some shoe was going to drop, it better be quick. He had a life to get back to.
“One, we appreciate. Let’s cut through beating around the bush. We’re all short on time. We need your help with 14. The rig superintendent has been fired for his incompetence and every day that there’s no direction, we lose thousands of dollars.” Camden grabbed a group of papers off his desk. He walked toward Nash. “An offer.”
Nash exhaled before accepting what looked like a contract. He glanced over at Mitchell.
“Your representation of Franklin Parker is spot on,” Mitchell said as if the words were meant for encouragement.
Exhaling, Nash read through the paperwork twice before raising a single eyebrow. “You want me to leave Steele and take over?”
“That’s what we need. Yes,” Mitchell confirmed.
“What about the Steele site?”
Camden smiled. “The plant is in full working order. You train your men well. I’m certain you can find a new leader, even in the interim.”
This wasn’t a request and everyone in the room knew it. Nash was being backed into a corner, albeit the terms of the contract were lucrative. “What if I say no?”
“Nash, this is your chance to move up in the organization. You will command the rig, carte blanche for the equipment you need. In six months, we can take another look. If the offshore rig isn’t the gig you’re interested in, you will have first choice going to any of our other sites, including back to Steele if that’s what you would like. We need someone solid who knows the business cold and someone we can trust. Sound reasonable?” Mitchell asked as he moved toward a small bar in the corner. “Are you certain you wouldn’t like a drink?”
Nash mulled the possibilities and took another look at the contract. Trust. A long time had passed since the words was used in conjunction with his abilities. He liked working at Steele, but El Paso certainly wasn’t the kind of city he wanted to spend the rest of his life in. He had no ties, other than the job. “If I do this, I have conditions.”
“Such as?” Camden’s expression held an air of amusement.
“I hire and fire who I want when I want. No influence from corporate. I determine what’s the best method of running the operation without being stymied to any degree.” Nash didn’t give a shit whether they liked what he had to say or not. “And what the hell. I’ll take a whiskey.”
Mitchell chuckled as he pulled another glass from the shelf. “You’re a tough man. You don’t take any shit. That’s what I like about you.”
Nash wanted to remind him that he saved the man’s life, but the incident hadn’t been spoken of since he left the hospital. Then again, there was no reason to bring up the past. “I know how the game works and more importantly, I know what men and women are best for working an oil rig. I can tell the fakers from a mile away.”
“Fair enough,” Camden stated. “We can add that to your contract. You should know that a good number of the men are ready to walk off the rig. I don’t think you want to start with a clean slate.”
“I’ll get them to stay, but that may mean a change in operations.” Nash knew how many hours the riggers worked. Getting off the ship was important, vital to maintaining any level of employee morale.
Mitchell nodded to Camden.
“Do we have a deal?” Camden asked.
Working with Rush had its advantages. The increase in his salary was significant. “Six-month stint?”
“Minimum,” Camden said as he walked toward the bar.
That meant he could get rid of his crappy apartment, cutting additional costs. “When do I need to leave?”
Mitchell walked closer, holding out a glass. “We’ll have you flown back to El Paso after completing the paperwork. You’d leave from there day after tomorrow.”
Nash accepted the drink. “Sounds reasonable. I’ll be ready.”
“There is one thing I’m going to warn you about,” Mitchell said as he lifted his glass.
He tipped his head, uncertain of what to expect. “All right.”
“As I mentioned, certain members of the crew will be difficult to deal with. A couple in charge are… belligerent. They’ve been lied to on multiple occasions so don’t expect a cakewalk.” Camden’s tone was almost defiant. “And there may be aspects of what we ask you to report that seem out of the ordinary.”
“Out of the ordinary. Sounds to me as if you suspect something more sinister may be going on.” Nash took a gulp of his drink and noticed the twitch in Camden’s lower lip.
“Let’s just say we need to make certain everything on the rig is running on point. You won’t be well liked.”
No one understood the life he’d led or the hardships faced. He could handle anything.
What exactly were they looking for?
Nash walked into his favorite bar, the place more like a booze and biker joint, and nodded to the single bartender. He had one day to get rid of all the crap he owned and turn in his apartment keys. That would be enough time. There was little of anything important in his life. He scanned the darkened space, acknowledging the few bikers he knew before making his way to the bar.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” the bartender said without inflection as he automatically pulled a beer from the cooler, popping the top. Sliding the ice-cold bottle across the top, he grabbed a rock’s glass and yanked a bottle of whiskey from behind him.
“Been busy. Work.” He’d been coming here for almost two years and didn’t even know the burly bartender’s name. Didn’t care. The man poured a solid drink, never asked any questions and, in turn, Nash tipped him well. They were as close to friends as he’d ever want to have.
The bartender grinned as he pushed the glass in front of Nash then held up his arm. “New ink.”
He looked, giving a smile of appreciation. The dragon was just like the man, colorful. “Nice work. Been meaning to get a new one myself.”
“I’ll give my guy a good word for you when you’re ready. You’ll get twenty percent off.”
“That might be awhile, but I’ll keep that in mind.” Nash took a long pull on the beer then glanced over his shoulder.
“She’ll be here. She’s always here on Tuesdays. Nothing ever changes in this place.” The bartender chuckled.
Nash couldn’t help but snort. “You know me too well.”
The bartender leaned over, lowering his voice. “That I do, my friend. That I do.”
He sat back and grabbed the whiskey, swirling the liquid in his glass as he thought about what few possessions he considered precious. One Dodge Ram. One ’78 Trans Am and one Harley. A storage unit was needed for the precious cargo and away from the vagrants in the neighborhood. The rest? Trash. He chuckled and took a swig just as he heard her sultry voice purring into the microphone.
He closed his eyes, savoring the way she welcomed the night, saying hello to the motley crew, men who didn’t deserve such grace and beauty. He had no idea why Lola bothered to gift her God given talent, singing one set on the beat-up stage every Tuesday for several years. He only knew he adored the woman, the way her sensuous dresses clung to her voluptuous body, the way her lilting voice issued promises of love. They could never be anything more than casual, but the time spent together had been incredible. His cock ached just thinking about the night ahead. For a short period of time, she would belong to him alone.
“How is everyone tonight?” Lola gripped the microphone, her long, dark hair shimmering in the single blue light. She scanned the room, her lips pursed as if ready for a lover’s kiss.
Every man acknowledged her presence, but not a single biker uttered a sound.
“I hope you enjoy,” she cooed.
With no pretense, no further words needed, she began to sing.
Nash polished off the whiskey and slid the glass across the counter, his eyes locked on the woman who’d been his lover for over a year. He knew she had another life as did he. He was aware she had other desires, men who would do her bidding. They simply clicked.
“She’s somethin’, isn’t she?” the bartender asked as he leaned over the bar.
“Worth waiting for.”
“Some would say, worth dying for.”
The expression caught him off guard. He tipped his head, eyeing the way the tattooed man’s expression had changed. Every man in the room longed to be in her bed. Few would ever achieve the goal.
The bartender pushed another drink in his direction without asking and walked away, leaving Nash to what little time he had left. As she sang, the keyboard player merely adding chords, a melancholy aspect to her profound words of longing, he fell into a dark place. This was the same experience every time. He shifted as she continued, leaning forward in order to hear every subtle breath sound. Lola had no idea how amazing she was. But then again, she didn’t care. This was her respite from a life he suspected held damning secrets.
As Lola continued singing, she found him, a nod of appreciation that he was in the room her only outward sign. Her words were melodic, haunting and her passion for the music unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Even the way she swayed, the crimson dress catching every man’s eye, was breathtaking.
Nash couldn’t take his eyes off her. He clenched his fist as his balls swelled, his throbbing cock pressing against his tight jeans. His hunger was off the charts. He remained mesmerized, capturing every word, every sensual nuance. When she lowered her head, he allowed a ragged breath to escape.
“Thank you very much. I’ll see you next Tuesday.” Lola’s voice permeated the air as the lights were extinguished.
He turned around to face the bar, his heart racing. Tonight, he would become almost savage. He could see her reflection in the cheap mirror behind the bar, enjoying that she was keeping her distance on purpose, making Nash wait. The way she mingled through the crowd, her hand touching one man’s shoulder, a whisper of flirtatious words to another always left him spellbound. Even in a crowd full of bikers and roughnecks, she held a special air, an aura of excitement.
Finishing his drink, he pulled out two twenties and waited until she’d finished her rounds. The moment she brushed the tip of her index finger across his cheek, he issued a low and husky growl.
“I thought I’d lost you,” Lola whispered as she leaned against the bar.
“Just busy, darlin’. Life has many challenges.”
“Yes, you are absolutely correct.” Her hand flitted down the length of his chest to his crotch, a slight smile on her face. “You’re in need.”
There was no reason to waste time chitchatting, no requirement for a date. He eased off the bar stool and nodded toward the door. “I brought the car tonight.”
“Mmm… Better.” She winked as she fluffed her hair and headed for the entrance.
They both remained quiet on the drive, yet her hand never left his thigh, her index finger brushing back and forth, as if time didn’t matter.
When he arrived at his apartment, he did open her door, treating her like the lady deserved. The moment they were inside and away from prying eyes, she came alive.
She pushed him against the wall, her hands kneading his chest, and licked underneath his chin. “I’ve hungered.”
“Mmm… You’ll have everything you want,” Nash stated, the tone commanding. He allowed her to play, nipping his chin, his neck and shoulder blade before pushing her back. There were no commands issued, not a single additional word uttered, but she knew her place. Submissive.
Taking a step back, she eased first one strap of her dress past her shoulder then the second, her eyes never leaving his. As she gave a single shimmy, she purred, every move dramatic. The dress floated to the floor, exposing her naked and sultry body underneath. She kicked the dress aside and left on her stilettos, striking a pose then turning in a full circle.
He inhaled, drinking in her perfume, almost instantly intoxicated from the exotic scent. Grunting, he jerked his shirt over his head and pulled off his boots then advanced, rubbing the flats of his hands down from her neck to her breasts.
She shivered from his touch and tilted her head back, exposing her lithe neck.
Nash cupped her breasts, squeezing as he lowered his head, sucking on her tender skin. The moment he pinched her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, she whimpered, her legs going slack. Using a single finger, he trailed a zigzag line down her stomach, circling her bellybutton then down to the skin just above her pussy. Every move was slow, calculated.
Lola shifted, sliding her ass back and forth across his groin.
Chuckling, he brushed the tip of his finger around her clit until a single moan pushed past her ruby stained lips. “Have you been a good girl?” He thrust the entire length of his finger inside her pussy, savoring the way her cunt muscles constricted around the invasion.
“Bad girls are punished.” He released his hold and slipped his finger inside his mouth, suckling until the noise made her smile. She knew what he would do next, could hear him unbuckling his belt, removing the thick leather from the belt loops.
She looked off to the side, her eyes half open then moved toward the wall, placing her palms out to the side, widening her legs as far as they would go. Pushing out, she arched her back, the offering blatant.
The single slap against the tile floor caused her to whimper, yet her expression was one of pure bliss. Nash doubled the strap then rubbed the belt down her neck and spine to her buttocks. Moving the implement back and forth across her ass, he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. His cock ached, pinching against his tight jeans.
“Whip me, sir.” The words were whispered, yet powerful.
He eased the leather between her legs, rubbing the material up and down her wet pussy. “You’re wet. In need.”
Taking a step back, he dragged the belt under his nose then issued the first severe round of discipline. The moment he snapped his wrist, he tossed his head back.
Crack! Slap! Pop! Whap!
“Oohh!” Her fingers curled under and she rose onto her toes, but she held her position.
Smack! Crack! Pop! Crack!
Beads of sweat trickled down from his forehead and he took a step back admiring his work. Flexing open his fingers, he pulled the tips down her back. She was trembling with anticipation.
Crack! Crack! Slap! Pop! Smack!
Nash only waited for three seconds before he began again, issuing the punishment with a practiced hand. His heart raced, his mouth was bone dry and he blinked in an effort to focus.
“More, please, sir.”
He breathed out, allowing the full breath to escape before he began again.
Pop! Crack! Slap! Smack! Crack! Crack!
When he finished, he wrapped the circled belt around her neck, pulling backward until she was against his chest and legs. “I’m going to fuck you.”
This wasn’t about love or making love. This was raw, heated and carnal. She slithered to the floor on all fours, waiting, her head high, her back arched.
Nash removed his jeans and bent down on one knee, his foot placed to the side. He twisted his hand around the leather strap until the belt began to pinch her neck. Then he shoved his shaft inside her pussy, the force pushing her forward.
“Oh God!” Lola struggled to stay in position as he repeated the move, the sound of his balls slapping against her thighs mixing with his savage grunts.
He watched as sweat dripped down onto her back and continued pounding, his heart racing as adrenaline flowed high. She was wet and so hot, enjoying every hard thrust. He gripped her hip as he continued, digging his nails into her skin. Harder and faster he plunged, his breath skipping, until his balls ached to explode inside of her.
She tossed her head to the side, her eyes wide open and gave him a provocative smile.
The moment she clamped down, squeezing his cock like a tight vice, he roared, exploding deep inside. His entire body tensed, his muscles screaming as he pumped, allowing every drop of semen to flow. Panting, he waited until his body stopped shaking before releasing his hold.
The belt slipped from around her neck, dropping to the floor. She bent down, pressing her lips against the taut leather and shifted her arms out to the side.
Nash scooted back and brushed both hands through his sweaty hair before crouching down, lifting and widening her legs. He lowered his head, pressing his face into the crack of her ass. Opening her wide, he licked, his tongue lapping their combined cream.
“Oh… Oh!” She came almost instantly, her pussy muscles convulsing, her hands pushing against the floor.
He stuck his tongue deep inside her cunt, wiggling his head, savoring the taste. Using his fingers, he pulled open her ass cheeks then buried his tongue into her dark hole.
Her body relaxing, she whimpered softly and closed her eyes.
His heart continued to race as she undulated underneath him. Beads of sweat fell to her back, tracing a line along her backbone.
When he was finished, he rose to his feet and walked to the couch. Waiting. Knowing exactly what she would do.
Lola exhaled and after a few seconds, stood, grabbing her dress from the floor. By the time she walked toward the small bar, she was dressed, a smile on her face. She remained quiet as she poured them both a brandy then sat on his lap.
The liquor was smooth, sliding down his parched throat. He rubbed her shoulder, his thumb moving back and forth. This was the perfect evening.
He didn’t tell her he was leaving. There was no need. But they’d come together again, both sharing a desire few could understand.
After all, he was a monster.