His cock is thick and hard, standing straight up before me after I release it. Dark and dusky, one perfectly thick vein running straight up the middle but then it veers off at an angle, making me want to cock my head to the side and see where it goes.

Instead, I look up at Woolf and he’s watching me with expectant eyes. His jaw is locked tight and his chest is rising and falling rapidly. I open my mouth, bare my teeth slightly, and then scrape them lightly over the tip. A long, deep groan rumbles out of Woolf as his head falls back against the chair and his eyes squeeze shut.

Exhilaration and something that feels like victory swells within me that just that one, tiny touch reduced him to utter helplessness.

“You’re going to kill me, Callie,” he whispers as his fist tightens in my hair. He raises his head and looks down at me solemnly. “I’m not going to last long, sweet girl. I want this too fucking much and when you put that mouth on me, you’re getting ready to make all my dirty dreams come true.”

I blink at Woolf, processing his words. Here I am… on my knees with a big, thick cock right in front of my face, and he’s telling me I’m a dream for him. I’m getting ready to do something naughty and indecent in the middle of a work day, and yet… it causes something in my heart to shift. I’m truly understanding that perhaps Woolf hasn’t been as indifferent to me all these years as I’ve thought.

Maybe all of that was just bad timing before.

I smile at him as I grasp him firmly around the base of his erection, leaning up and over him. His fist tightens harder in my hair, stinging at the base of my scalp, and I open my mouth to bring him in.

When I descend upon him, he whispers my name with such worship that I’m not sure that there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this man.

Chapter 15

Woolf

You’d think a man that had gotten a five-star blow job from the woman of his dreams less than twenty-four hours ago would be walking around with a glorious smile on his face, but the truth of the matter is, I’m one grumpy son of a bitch right now.

And when I say five-star blow job, that really doesn’t do it justice. What Callie Hayes didn’t have in experience, she more than made up for it with exuberant effort. She wanted to devour me.

She did devour me.

She took every inch of me, enslaved me, made me beg her, and when she let me come, I swear for a moment I heard a choir of angels singing while I watched her throat move up and down as she swallowed every drop. Her eyes were shining with triumph and care, and I knew in that moment if I could get it up again right then and there, she’d do it to me all over again. That’s just how focused she was on pleasuring me.

Pleasuring me with no expectation of anything in return. I tried to put her on my desk so I could lick an orgasm out of her, but she pushed me away. She patted at her hair, buttoned her shirt back up, and sashayed out of my office, saying, “That was just for you, Woolf.”

The rest of the day, I couldn’t think straight. I just kept playing that perfect cock suck over and over again in my mind, and I walked around with a woody all damn day. When work was over, I merely grabbed her purse in one hand, her elbow in the other, and forced her into my truck. I took her to my house where as soon as we made it to the foyer, I fucked her right there because I seriously couldn’t wait a moment longer. Her laugh was husky and grateful, and she gripped my hair in her hands while I thrust viciously into her.

It was a perfect day. Started to be a perfect night.

After I pulled her up off the foyer floor, we both took a quick shower together and then we ate a quick meal of some sandwiches and chips in the massive, gourmet kitchen. I sipped on a beer, she on a white wine, and this is where the grumpiness started.

Callie took a sip of wine, dabbed at her lips with her napkin, and said, “Woolf… I want to go back to The Silo.”

My beer bottle was raised halfway to my mouth. I was standing on one side of the kitchen island and she was sitting on a stool on the other side. I just stared at her in disbelief, not quite believing that’s what she said. But she just held my gaze and I knew she was being serious.

“What?” I asked with my voice raised just an octave.

“The Silo,” she reaffirmed. “Ever since you took me there… and I saw that woman with two men, and then all the other people watching—”

“No,” I cut her off quickly. I provided no explanation for my refusal because I’m not really sure why I was denying her this.

She never blinked once, just insisted, “Yes.”

We then argued for an hour and a half straight. Her reasons were simple. She was intrigued by the wickedness of public sex. She’d been obsessing about the ménage. She wanted me to fuck her and have an audience. And this is the part that killed me. She said, “I want to be a part of your world.”

It killed me because she isn’t a part of that world. She can’t ever be. She’s Callie Hayes. Sweet Callie Hayes. I don’t want that to mar her, and I don’t want her tarnished by it. She may have all kinds of curiosities, but I know deep down in my heart that this shit is not for her. I know way down in my gut that she will be left with a bitter taste in her mouth after it’s all said and done.

My reasons for denying her were stronger. Simply put, I told her I could not have the governor’s daughter participating in an orgy where the citizens of Wyoming or some other state were watching her. I told her through clenched teeth, “Do you have any idea what would happen to your father and his campaign if that got out?”

It didn’t dissuade her. She had an answer for everything. “Put a mask on me. Put a bag over my head. Hell, put a wig on me and garish makeup. There are a hundred ways you could disguise me.”

And the pisser of it was, she’s right. I could disguise her. No one would think twice if I put a hood over her, because everyone would just think it was part of a kinky fantasy. On top of that, chances of her being outed were nil. In addition to the non-disclosure agreement that everyone signed, no cameras or phones are allowed in The Silo or cabins and very few locals are members, so there could never be any proof that she was there.

But I didn’t tell her any of that. I merely continued to try to talk her out of this insane idea. I even carried her off to my bed where I started playing her body like a fiddle. I kept her distracted. Kept her coming over and over again. I fucked her ruthlessly, hoping to bang the idea out of her head. I may have pushed her off course temporarily, but as we lay side by side in my bed, gasping for air after I blew hot and hard into her, she said, “Woolf… please. Don’t shut me away from this part of you. It makes me feel… not good enough for you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

That right there got me, and I capitulated on the spot.

Sort of.

I told her she couldn’t go to The Silo but that perhaps I could arrange something in a private cabin. She tried to argue but I held firm, and we finally had an agreement of sorts.

Except, I don’t like the fucking agreement. I don’t want Callie anywhere near the depravity of my club. While I can’t figure out why it’s good enough for me but not her, I have to put those worries aside and figure out what kind of fantasy I can give her that won’t destroy her sweet light.

That is what is making me grumpy.

That is why I’m seeking Bridger’s counsel.

I punch in the code to our joint office at The Wicked Horse and walk in. Bridger is seated behind the desk, peering at his laptop.

“What’s up?” he says without looking at me.

I sigh and sit down in my chair opposite of him. “Callie wants to get fucked in front of people.”