The Cougar Book Read online

  Fuck, she though. This is just fucking great . . .

  Nicci avoided her family as much as she could the rest of the day, excusing herself while she got a handle on whatever the hell it was she was feeling. You can do this, she said, preparing for dinner. It will be easy. He’s just a man. He’s nothing. He means nothing. Chelsea is right. There are a lot of cocks in the sea. Just because you want to ride your step-brother is inconsequential.

  She blew out a breath. God, how she wanted him, though. To feel those muscular thighs beneath her as she rode him, to feel those large hands with those long pianist’s fingers dipping into her hot, wet . . .

  She let out a growl and went to her suitcase. She ripped open the velvet bag and pulled out her vibrator. He was her newest toy, guaranteed to get her off quicker than anything else she’d had. She didn’t like to lave attention on herself, preferring to have a man do it for her, but time was short and she needed to go. But she also needed to relieve this pressure she was feeling in the pit of her stomach. She flopped back onto the bed, her fingers doing the walking as she eagerly thrust the dildo into herself.

  “Ahhh!” She cried as she felt the familiar stretching as she accommodated the large size of her toy. She needed this, needed to get off before she saw him again.

  He’s just a man, Nic. He’s nothing, she thought as she turned the dial up to high and began fucking herself.

  But he’s a beautiful man, she argued as she let the vibrator thrust within her.

  And you’ve had many beautiful men before. Just this morning you had Javier. She pinched her nipples thinking about him.

  But Javier didn’t have those hands and those shoulders and that ass.

  She pictured him, and then Carson, and his vision, along with her large, pink aid and her fingers gripping her tits, sent her flying over the edge.

  Her head fell back and she panted. She had just gotten off. But she felt so far from satisfied. Ugh. I need to find something. Tonight.

  Dinner was a torturous affair. From watching her father and his wife making goo-goo eyes at each other, to having to sit next to Carson, she felt certain she was in the epitome of hell. After dinner, she tried to excuse herself, but she was caught by her father. “Come join us in the lounge for a dance or two.”

  “Daddy, I’m tired. I just got in last night from Cairo and—”

  “For your old man?” he asked.

  She sighed. “You can guilt me into anything, can’t you?”

  He grinned. “Well, I’m your father. I’ve taught you everything you know. But I keep a few tricks up my sleeve in reserve.”

  She laughed and grabbed onto his arm, kissing his cheek. It had been an odd transition going from father and daughter to business associates. They had made it, but a few feelings had been hurt along the way. Now they had finally figured it out and enjoyed each other as family when they could.

  He led her in a dance around the floor and they clapped when the house band ended the song. They went back to the table where Naomi and Carson were now sitting, and both ordered another drink. Naomi asked Davis for a dance and he eagerly stood once more, sweeping her into his arms.

  Nicci swallowed hard. Now it was down to just her and Carson.

  “They look happy,” he said softly. His voice sounded like the angels singing. It wasn’t deep, but soft, almost lilting, while still having the very common New York accent.

  She snorted. “And he has been with his other wives too.”

  “You don’t agree with this?” he asked, surprised.

  “What my father does behind closed doors is his business. I just don’t understand why he has to marry every woman he feels the slightest inkling for. It would only be too easy to just fuck her and leave.”

  Carson’s hands fisted. “That’s my mother you are talking about.”

  She patted his hand, the thrill of it going up her spine. But she knew she couldn’t like this boy, couldn’t woo him to her bed. There were certain rules she’d made with herself, and fucking her step-brother surely must be one of them. “I mean no offense. I just can’t understand what they can have in common.”

  “You don’t know her,” he insisted.

  She shrugged. “She’s younger than I am, Carson. Surely you must see the irony in that. He married someone younger than his daughter. That’s—it’s just too much for me.”

  “You know what you are?”

  Her perfectly-arched eyebrow rose.

  “You’re a hypocrite.”

  She laughed airily. “Moi? Surely you must be mistaken. I do not marry everything I fuck. I’ve never even been married.”

  “Exactly.” He spat. “You haven’t been married, so you don’t believe in true love, but you’re a hypocrite because you enjoy fucking things younger than you too!”

  Hmmm . . . Seems like Mommy Dearest has been talking about me behind my back. She smiled at the thought. “Honey, you go, live your life, and then you come back to me in about ten, fifteen years, and tell me that you won’t end up doing the same thing.”

  “I believe in true love,” he said softly.

  “You’re young. Youth makes you believe in the concept. Experience quashes that dream.”

  “Yeah? Well . . . , well, you’re just a sad, bitter, old hag!” And with that, he stood, downed the rest of his drink and stalked out into the sea air.

  “Oh, dear, where did Carson go?” Naomi asked as she and Davis walked back up to the table.

  Nicci grinned. “I believe he was tired. He must have gone to bed.” Davis pulled Naomi back to the dance floor, but Nicci bit her lip. She didn’t mean to antagonize the boy, but he had such ideals. And calling her a hag? She had to admit, it hurt. A lot.

  The rest of the week was spent in much the same fashion. They got together once a day, for dinner, and afterward, some dancing or drinks. Any time they were alone together, Nicci and Carson traded barbs and argued from why the Atlanta Braves are better than the New York Yankees to why one should enjoy Picasso’s paintings as opposed to Da Vinci’s. Nicci hated to admit it, but she had begun to enjoy the verbal sparring. She wondered if Carson did as well.

  Two nights before their cruise ended, Davis and Naomi called it an early night. Carson smiled at Nicci as they stood from the dinner table. “Shall we head to the lounge anyway?”

  She grinned. “Sure. Why not? I can school you on the proper Scotch to drink now that you’re old enough.”

  He laughed. “I’ve been twenty-one for the better part of a year, but I’ve always been able to hold my liquor. And I know which Scotch is the best.”

  She laughed as well, and they headed toward the bar. Three hours later, they were both just a tad tipsy as they made their way out of the lounge and out into the sea air. “It’s a beautiful night.” Nicci said as she took in the large moon in the clear sky.

  “You are beautiful,” Carson said softly.

  She laughed. “You’re drunk, dear boy.”

  “I’m not a boy,” he said with the slightest hint of a pout.

  She laughed again. Everything seemed humorous to her tonight. She knew she shouldn’t have had that last drink. “You are more of a boy than you are a man, sugar.” Her accent slipped in, the Southern twang coming into full effect from the alcohol she had consumed.

  “I’m more than man enough,” he stated defiantly.

  She licked her lips. “Really? Prove it.”

  That was all it took for his lips to descend to hers. She let out a moan and his tongue thrust into her mouth. His hands were all over her body, and she craved more. She needed him. Like air, like sweet, blessed oxygen, she needed him. “God, Carson . . . ,” she managed as his mouth moved down to her neck.

  “I want you, Nicci. I’ve wanted you since the first time I saw you.”

  “I’m older than your mother,” she stated.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” he replied as he ripped the top of her dress open, one perfect breast peeking out. His mouth traveled down to it and he suckled her nipple into
his mouth.

  She let out a little whimper, and he pulled away from her suddenly, tugging her dress back into place. “My room, now,” he snarled as he grasped her hand and pulled her back into the hall.

  They had been drinking in the bar on the fifth floor, and it was rather convenient as their rooms were also on the same story. He pulled her down the long hallway to the end, where the master suites were situated.

  She was giddy with nerves, an oddity for her, and she wracked her brain to figure out why this felt wrong. But the drink was affecting her thought process and she was just going with the feelings as he fumbled the key card in the slot and pushed open the door.

  He grabbed her, pulling her to him once more as he freed the same breast as before, lavishing it with attention.

  “Oooh . . . Carson! You’ve done this before?”

  He smirked and licked his way up her neck. Once there, his tongue flicked her ear. “I’ve fucked my fair share. And trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  His voice caused her panties to dampen further as he backed her into the bedroom. “You’re mine, all mine,” he said between kisses.

  “At least for tonight,” she reminded him.

  He smiled. “Oh, you may find you want to keep me when I’m finished with you.”

  The thought caused her heart to race.

  He pulled the dress off of her, revealing only her matching panties. His eyebrow quirked. “Are these expensive?”

  She gasped as he tossed her to the bed. “Yes,” she breathed.

  “How much?” he asked.

  She swallowed hard. He looked much like a predator. His beautiful blue eyes had darkened to almost black in color. “One-one hundred fifty-five dollars,” she whispered huskily.

  He smirked. “It’s a shame.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He tore them from her body, ripping both side seams and tossing them to the floor. “That’s why.”

  He pounced right then, and his tongue dove into her dripping pussy.

  She screamed and grasped his hair, tugging him toward her further. “Oh, fuck, Carson!”

  “Yes.” He pulled away. “Scream my name. I want to hear you screaming as you cum.”

  His tongue continued to thrust into her roughly, and she was almost at the pinnacle when he pulled away. She growled at him, and to her surprise, his fingers slipped into her, curling just so to hit that mythical G-spot most men didn’t know about.

  “Oh . . . SHIT!” she screamed as his teeth clamped down on her clit and she poured forth.

  He drank her greedily, lapping her clean before he smirked again and moved away. “That was fast. You’re quite responsive,” he purred.

  She was panting for breath. Even though she had spinning class three days a week, there was something about an orgasm of such magnitude that could leave you gasping for air. “Well,” she managed, “You’re rather good at that.”

  “Why, thank you,” he said as he tugged the shirt over his head.

  He is beautiful, she thought as he kicked off his shoes and slipped out of his pants. His cock was standing long and thick and at attention for her. He walked naked without a bit of shame, not that he should, to the bedside table and pulled out a condom.

  She licked her lips, eager at the thoughts of her hands on his dick and said, “May I?”

  He nodded. “Be my guest.”

  She took the condom from him and slid it on his length. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he shivered slightly. “Like that, big boy?”

  His eyes opened lazily. “Not as good as I’ll enjoy your pussy.”

  Her eyebrow shot up. “You are a bad boy, aren’t you?”

  He moved to her then and knelt over her, his body aligning with hers. “You haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart.”

  “I’m waiting,” she said, a bit of a taunting tone in her voice.

  He didn’t wait any longer and thrust into her.

  Her nails dug into his back as she cried out, “Oh, God.”

  “Nope, not God, but close.”

  She looked up at him and laughed. “Fuck me, Carson,” she purred.

  “My pleasure, Nichole.”

  There was something about the way he said her name, the way he began to softly move in and out of her that caused her to reach her peak before she thought possible and all too soon. She had her legs wrapped around him, thrusting herself into him all the harder. But he wouldn’t move fast. He thrust with languid strokes, tempting, teasing her, until she was growling. “Please . . . Carson . . .” She was closing in on whining.

  His smile was brilliant as his teeth caught her bottom lip. “Please what?” he asked innocently.

  “Please . . . move faster,” she urged.

  “No. I’m rather enjoying this.”

  She tried to push him away, push him onto his back, something, but he would not budge, just continued to slowly, sensually rock into her. He was driving her quite mad. She’d not met a man his age with as much patience as he had. Usually it was a quick fuck and that was it. But he was taking his time and it was insanity she now felt. “Carson!” she finally screamed, “FUCK ME!”

  He paused and pulled away so that they were only connected by their sex. “You want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes!” she shouted.

  He nodded. “Alright, then.” He pulled away, but only long enough to roll her onto her stomach. He grasped her hands and pulled them behind her back, holding them in place. “How hard do you want it?” he asked with intensity she didn’t realize he possessed.

  “Hard.”

  “Very hard?”

  “Almost as hard as you can,” she told him.

  He paused just a moment before he said with authority, “On your knees, bitch.”

  She got onto her knees with some difficulty, as her hands were still held tightly behind her back. He pulled her upper body flush with his, and he licked the shell of her ear again, his other hand plundering any bit of her skin he could find. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll never forget it. You’ll always want it to be me. Every young stud you fuck from now on will have my face on him. Do you understand?”

  She wondered if she was dripping onto the linens. She felt like she should, as turned on as she was. “Y-yes,” she replied. She wasn’t used to not having the upper hand. Giving away some of her control excited her.

  He shoved her back down to the bed, one hand holding hers tight behind her back, one shoving her head down into the mattress. “You asked for it,” he reminded before he slammed into her.

  She cried out and immediately came.

  He started thrusting harder and harder, and she felt herself clenching him, rolling from one orgasm to the other as he continued to pull them from her. She felt his hand leave her head to slap her ass instead. She groaned and felt another orgasm threatening.

  The hand traveled over her body, massaging her buttocks, and she cried out as that hand dipped to her clitoris, tempting the little nub of flesh he found there.

  He was beginning to make noises as well now, and it turned her on even further as she felt one more release coming. “Come with me, over the edge, Carson,” she pleaded. “Come. Now!”

  He let out a cry of his own as he bucked into her wildly.

  She screamed one final time and fell over the precipice with him.

  His body went slightly limp as he released her hands. He kissed her shoulders and down each knob of her spine before pulling away and placing a kiss to the apple of each of her buttocks. “Thank you,” he muttered as he stood on shaky legs to remove the condom.

  He plopped back onto the bed and blew out a breath. “Damn. Now, that was one hell of a way to welcome me into the family.”

  Too Many Buffalo

  Randall Lang

  The midday sun blazed in the Oklahoma sky blistering everything beneath. Kenny Cheshewalla was accustomed to the heat, and he knew well the shimmering, asphalt road between his home on the Osage Tribal Lands and Pawhuska. Today he was mak
ing the trip to pick up parts for an aging oil well pump, one of many that he managed for the Tribal Authority. It was a routine trip until he noticed a woman standing beside a silver luxury car at the side of the road, cell phone in hand. He slowed and pulled his pick up truck behind her car.

  As soon as he opened the door of the truck, the scalding air hit his face. The woman stood with her back to him, the cell phone pressed into her ear. He walked between the vehicles and a quick glance at the right side of her car revealed two flat tires. Not wanting to frighten her, he stood by the rear bumper of her car until she turned around and noticed him.

  “Ma’am, you’re obviously having trouble.”

  She flipped the phone shut and walked toward him. Her carefully tailored tan suit and brown, lizard-skin pumps looked desperately out of place along the dusty road.

  “I hit something about a mile back. Whatever it was must have been hard and sharp. It punctured two of my tires. My cell phone is useless out here, and it looks like I’m stuck.”

  “Not any more, ma’am. I’ll get you fixed up and on your way as soon as I can.”

  His confidence impressed her. He appeared so young, early twenties at most. His copper skin accented the angular features that appeared carved by the harsh wind and weather. As he drew closer, she could better see his dark eyes and shoulder-length black hair. He wore several string necklaces with colorful beads about his neck. His broad smile brought her comfort as he extended his hand.

  “Hi, I’m Kenny Cheshewalla.”

  “Kenny, thank you for stopping, I’m Elizabeth Wharton.” She noted the roughness of his hand, the leathery skin contrasting to the softness of her own. He surprised her when he took charge of the situation.

  “Elizabeth, I’d like for you to go sit in my truck, out of the sun while I get these wheels off. I’ll put the spare on one and leave the other on the jack while we go into town for the new tires.”

  She removed her dark glasses, uncovering her brown eyes and carefully maintained brows. Kenny noticed the age lines at the sides of her eyes and the few wrinkles in her face.