One who would pull my hair and slap my ass. A guy who would give me an orgasm that would make me lose my mind.
A man who would fuck me so hard, every piece of shit guy I had dated before him would be pounded out of my memory.
A bad boy with a body like a model, and a face to match.
A man who wouldn’t take my crap, wouldn’t stand for me to create my usual emotional turmoil. I did so love to play games with the good ones.
A guy who would take control, make me tremble, make me sweat.
I finally found him. In the last place I would have thought to look.
And his love means more to me than I thought possible.
I guess you could say I got the man of my dreams.
He’s my bad boy…
And my daddy.
Recurring dreams freak me out. I mean, really freak me out.
Maybe I took one too many psychology courses in college but whenever I have the same exact dream two nights in the row, I get this creepy feeling that my mind is trying to tell me something.
Or, I begin to worry that having a dream more than once means that deep down below the surface I have a secret craving. A desire so strong that if it were to go unfulfilled at the end of my life, I would lie on my death bed with nothing but regrets.
This particular dream made me think I was stuck in some immature phase of life and hadn’t yet evolved to where I should be. I told you I took one too many psychology courses.
Was there something wrong with me?
My most recent dream had been plaguing me in a way that none before it had. And it wasn’t even a bad dream. It was a please-don’t-let-me-ever-wake-up dream. One of those sexy, dirty, did-I-just-orgasm-while-I-was-sleeping dreams. A delicious dream that left me with serious FOMO (fear of missing out).
It started with a devastatingly handsome man but I couldn’t clearly see his face. I was lying on the bed, wearing a flimsy see-through white baby doll nighty and lacy panties—get this—with ruffles on the bottom. Actual lace ruffles! If you sifted through my underwear drawers, you would find nothing of the sort.
Every stitch of lingerie I own is black.
The strongest sense of vulnerability washed over me—the part I remember most about the dream—it’s like I’m not quite comfortable and yet there is a feeling that this man—this faceless, nameless man—will take care of me. To my core. He touched parts of me that run deeper than sensation.
He meets every single one of my needs. Physically and emotionally.
What we do isn’t just sex, but deeper than sex. He’s caring for me on a level that no one has before. It’s exciting and in the dream I feel nervous but there is an underlying sense of calm and peace.
I’ve never known a man to make me feel this way.
He moved toward the bed, shirtless, wearing only perfectly worn-in jeans slung low on his jutting hipbones. Climbing toward me with the prowess of a panther, he was suddenly over me. Leaning down, his smooth cheek brushed against mine. He whispered into my ear, “Who’s my good little girl?”
I moaned, my pussy clenching, my nipples tightening beneath the filmy fabric of my negligee. I can feel his cock—hardened just by the sight of me lying on the bed—through his jeans as it pressed against me. My hips thrusted upward, my clit aching to make contact with him. Rubbing back and forth, my panties drenched as I shamelessly dry humped against him. My hands went to the back of his neck and pulled him in closer.
“Take me,” I whispered, nibbling on his lip.
He pulled away from me, sitting up on his knees on the bed—again, I couldn’t quite make out his face. He unbuckled his belt, pulling down his jeans to expose the largest cock I’ve ever seen. His rough fingers tugged at the waist of my ruffled panties as he pulled them down over my hips, down my legs, over my feet, and flung them from the bed.
His chest hovered over mine. In one hard thrust his ramrod cock pressed through my slick, begging opening. I groaned as I pressed my hips upward to meet his. His cock brought me pleasure through pain from the sheer size of it and the force of his entry. Tears sprang to the corners of my eyes and he was all over me, kissing my ears, my cheeks, my neck.
The words he said—oh, my God, the way he talked—made my sheath clench around him so tightly I fear I will break something.
“That’s right—take all of Daddy’s cock in that tight little pussy.” His hands went to my ass, his fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass as he lifted me, pressing even harder within me. My legs went up over his shoulders (my goodness, am I flexible in my dreams) and I screamed. I could no longer contain myself.
“Fuck me! Make me come!” I begged.
“Someone’s being naughty. Tsk, tsk. Patience, little girl,” he murmured.
He thrusted again. “I want to spank your ass before you come. You seem to need a reminder of who the boss is.”
In one movement, he had me flipped over and on my knees. My hands pressed into the pillow-top mattress. Kneeling behind me, his hand was back on my ass. I groaned as his palm swept over the curve of my bottom, then gave it a sharp slap.
My skin burned, and my empty pussy got even wetter from the spank. My bottom is very sensitive to… stimulation. I loved being spanked but had never been brave enough to ask a man to do it (hence why my dream man was probably spanking me). He spanked me again, this time a matching smack on the other cheek.
My pussy clenched. Groaning, I pressed my aching breasts into the mattress, causing my hips and ass to rise up further toward him.
“There’s my girl. Loves to have her ass spanked.” Another smack landed, making me let out a little yelp. This one was harder, and burned, making my hips wiggle. “Naughty thing. Your ass is already turning pink. Should I make it red?”
My answer was a low moan, followed by the words I so longed to say in real life:
He started spanking me in earnest, my skin burning as the smacks landed on my already warmed skin. Each spank stung with a delicious pain that had my pussy dripping and clenching and my peaked nipples so tight they hurt as they pressed into the bed. The spanking stopped, and my hips wiggled expectantly.
His husky voice demanded, “Say please, like a good girl.”
Would I say it? What the hell… it was just a dream. “Please, Daddy. Spank me some more. Make my bottom red.”
His hand came down again, just where the curve of my bottom met my thigh. I gasped in pain as his palm landed, in the same exact spot, several times in quick succession.
“Oh, Daddy, I don’t think I can take much more.” My fingers grasped the bed covers, my ass on fire.
“Baby girl done with her spanking? Are you ready for my cock to be back inside of you?” His fingertips enter my dripping pussy and collected my juices. Then, he stroked upward, playing with my clit. I screamed as he circled and pressed my hard bud.
Suddenly, his cock was in me, banging me from behind while his fingers still played with my clit. He fucked me harder and harder, the orgasm building within me until I thought I’d burst. Stars filled the backs of my eyelids as I pressed my ass into his pelvis. He gave a final, hard thrust, while mercilessly massaging my clit.
I screamed “Oh, my God!” as I came in a burst, my pussy pulsing and clenching against his cock as he came. I collapsed onto the bed. He kissed the back of my neck, stroking me and murmuring sweet nothings into my damp hair.
My daddy wrapped his arms around me. I felt safe, loved, and completely satisfied. The skin on my ass still burned, and I adored the feeling.
Then I woke up.
I hated waking from this dream for two reasons.
Number one, who would want to wake up from a dream like that?
And reason number two—after the dream, I was left with a deep, deep empty sadness.
Will I ever find my real-life daddy? One who would give me boundaries, spank my ass? Fuck me till I scream? Then cuddle me?
A man I could share my true self with? One I trusted.
To be able to call someone Daddy? And him get it? Want it, even?
Or, will I live my entire life, missing out? Knowing that the dream and the man in it, is only that… just a dream.
I needed a drink. Badly.
I’d only been at my parents’ house for forty-five minutes, and I knew I wasn’t going to make it through this visit without having a good buzz tied on. It wasn’t so bad when they still lived in the city of St. Paul, Minnesota where they had moved when I went off to college. At least then I met some interesting people, got out a bit. Now, my aging parents had retired to Little Peak. A town of population seven hundred in nowhere, Wyoming. This was my first time visiting since they had moved three months ago, and we were trapped in their house together.
Nowhere to go.
I hated the holidays.
Within fifteen minutes of walking in the door, my mom had me cornered in her coral and ivy wallpapered dining room, asking, “What happened to that man you were dating who was studying to be a lawyer? He was such a nice man. Do you think maybe you scared him off with that black leather coat you’re wearing? It’s not very feminine, Bridgette. You might do better in a soft pink pea coat. Or maybe a beige cashmere? Tell you what, we’ll have Dad drive us to the mall—it’s only a few hours from here—and I’ll take you to Macy’s get something with a little bit of a softer look.”
And my dad was no better. “Wasn’t his GPA a 4.0? Smart guy. You know what that means, hard worker, which leads to a good career, great income. You know, the kind of man who can support a family.” Then he elbowed me with that goofy grin, saying, “I’d like to be a grandfather someday, honey.”
I knew to expect it, but my parents’ chronic harping on my nonexistent love life didn’t hurt any less.
I had dated a string of guys during my college years at the University of Southern California. They all looked perfect on paper. Top of their class, on track for successful careers, hold the door open for you on the first date. You know—the kind of guy that makes your mom’s face absolutely light up when you bring them home.
And each relationship had ended up sucking.
Either the guy was too nice, and I walked all over him or worse—got bored and dumped him—or I thought he was a good guy but he ended up being a total douche. Like the last one who ended up dumping me for my tall, brunette roommate, Suzie.
I needed to break the mold.
I needed a bad boy.
One who found my cute little black leather jacket a turn-on. One who wouldn’t take my crap.
I knew it was asking too much to hope for the daddy in my dream. Men who wanted you to call them Daddy—in the smolderingly sexy way—and called you baby girl, just didn’t exist in real life.
But couldn’t I at least find a swoon-worthy man who had a slight edge to him? Maybe even one who wouldn’t cheat on me? In this Tinder hookup day and age, was I asking too much?
I think not.
There had to be a good/bad guy out there… somewhere. One made just for me. It was time to find myself a man. A real flesh-and-blood guy who visited me more than just in my dreams. But, seeing as I was living with my parents for the next few weeks, I’d have to put a pin in that mission. Instead, I would do my best to be a loving daughter and have a nice visit.
But first, I needed a drink. And other than the ten-year-old bottle of cooking sherry my mom kept in her kitchen cabinet, there was not a drop of alcohol to be found in my parents’ house. Luckily, I had seen what looked like a local watering hole when I was riding in the backseat of my parents’ Buick on the way to their house from the airport.
The desire for a cold beer welled in me as my mom droned on in my ear, “Bridgette, you always looked so nice in floral. Maybe we can find a nice rose print jumpsuit—all the girls are wearing jumpsuits these days. That man you were dating back in LA—he sounds like a man that would appreciate a floral jumpsuit—”
I could take no more. Springing up from the plastic-covered couch, I interrupted her ramble. “Jumpsuit? I never did figure out how women have time to unbutton them every time they go to the bathroom.”
Mom said, “That’s disgusting, dear.”
“Well, I have wondered. I guess I’ll never know. And Tim, you know he broke up with me for my roommate, right?” I asked.
Waving her hand dismissively in the air, my mother said, “Oh, Bridgette… everyone makes mistakes. Besides, he’s probably over her by now. You should give him a call.”
“Um… that’s a pretty big mistake, Mom, but, hey! I’m desperate. Right? What’s a single girl to do? Maybe I should give him a call.”
My overwhelmed brain quickly hatched a plan to get me out of there for a few hours. I decided to use my mom’s bizarre suggestion of calling Tim to get me out of my parents’ living room for the night. “My cell phone isn’t getting any reception here. Maybe if I drive into town I’d be closer to a cell tower. I could find a few bars of reception and Tim and I will probably end up talking all night.”
“That doesn’t sound safe, Bridge. Sitting in your car by yourself?” My dad pushed his glasses up further on his nose, peering at me over his newspaper, Little Peak Times.
Crime? In this town? I was pretty sure I could outrun the over-sixty crowd who had made this place their retirement home. “I don’t want to run up your long-distance bill. Are there any payphones in town?” I asked.
“Ahh. A payphone. Good idea—I think I lost some quarters in this chair awhile back.” My mother started digging in the cushions of her burgundy recliner. Her brow furrowed as she clawed her way into the crack in the back of the chair. “Now where to find a payphone in Little Peak? I’m not sure.”
My mid-western parents—aptly named Glenda and Dale Smith—did not understand sarcasm. A payphone? Did those things even exist anymore? I would go along with it—whatever got me out of here and into a beer.
Her cheeks flushed from her efforts, my mom’s head popped up triumphantly, holding a shiny quarter in her hand. “Aha!”
“Thanks, Mom.” I took the quarter from her and gave her a kiss on her cheek. Her skin was soft and feathery and smelled of the perfume she’d worn ever since I could remember—Chanel No. 5.
My dad put down his paper and pushed himself up and out of his easy chair. “Great work, Glenda. Now we just need to find a payphone. Let me look it up in the Yellow Pages.”
I was already halfway out the door. I had to get out of here, fast, before I snapped at my well-meaning parents. “I saw a place when we were driving in from the airport. Bud’s? Down the road? I’ll just go there and give it a try.”
I didn’t mention that the glowing beer signs I had seen in the windows were calling my name. White and red words declaring Miller Lite and Budweiser, shining like beacons, beckoning me to the promised land where the beer flowed like… beer.
Mom said, “Oh, yes… Bud’s. Such a nice gentleman. He opened the place not too long ago. I think they have dancing on Saturday nights.”
“Take the Buick, Bridgette. I’ve just had the Firestone Winterforce tires put on it. It’s been unseasonably warm, but sometimes they get snow here in November. Best tires money can buy,” my father called to me, tossing me the keys.
I reached up, the sweet clink of freedom ringing in my ears as the keys fell into my palm. My fingers quickly closed around them. “Thanks, Dad.”
Mom sighed. “Snow for Thanksgiving… wouldn’t that be something. Really sets the mood for the holidays. Such a romantic time. Right, Bridgette? The perfect time of year to meet someone. You know… there’s a few young men—”
“Gotta go!” I called, interrupting my mother before she could get to the part about setting me up with a local yokel. My guess was that the only single men living in this town called fast food picking up roadkill they had hit with their camouflage-covered trucks. I replied with a smile and wave. I was out of there. “Bye, guys!”
Five minutes later, I pulled my Dad’s pale blue Buick into the gravel parking lot of Bud’s. Slamming the car door a little too hard, a nervous tremor ran through me as my boots crunched over the gravel lot.
Other than my parents, I didn’t know a soul in this town.
I pulled the heavy door open by its sticky metal handle. I was hit by the familiar smell of stale beer as I stepped into the dimly lit bar. The inside was a lot bigger than I had thought it would be. The walls were covered in dark wood paneling and the dim lighting had a bluish glow.
There were quite a few curious stares as I made my grand entrance, smiling broadly and sashaying right up to the polished counter. I took stock of the clientele. There were five or six friendly looking older gentlemen hunched over their beers. Their jaws practically dropped open in surprise at the sight of me. I, on the other hand, was not so surprised by them. I knew I was the only one in the zip code who wasn’t collecting social security.
Waiting for the easy on the eyes bartender—was this Bud?—to look up from his phone screen, I scanned the back of the room. Blinking hard, I did a double take.
Was I seeing things?
Standing there, in shock, gaping like a fish, I stared at two young men that looked like they were sitting in a Corona commercial. Their skin was tanned as if by hours of working in the sun. When they moved, the rippling of their muscles was visible beneath the fabric of their thin tee shirts. Chiseled jawlines moved as they spoke quietly to one another. The younger looking one of the two glanced up. Noticing me, he flashed me a gleaming smile. My interest must have been obvious because he gave me a saucy wink and a wave. The other one gave me a bit of a grimace.
They were very hot. And most definitely real.
I waved back and tried not to look as desperate as I felt. Better to get a few drinks in me—a little liquid courage—before moseying over there. As I turned back to the bar, the silver glint of a payphone caught the corner of my eye.
Murmuring to myself, I said, “Seriously? I was joking. These things really still exist?” Pulling my cell phone from my pocket, I saw that I was still at one bar of reception. “Thank you, Mom. Turns out this quarter is going to come in handy—to call you guys and tell you don’t wait up!”
The bartender looked at me curiously. “You talking to me?”
I guess the only way to get his attention was to mumble to yourself like a crazy person. “Uh… no… sorry. I’ll be right back for a drink—I just need to make a quick call.”
“K. I’ll be here. But I don’t know if that thing works or not. Hank from the gas station was the last to use it. Thought he said something about it eating his money.” The bartender went back to his newspaper.
“Alright. Thanks for the… heads up.” I held the quarter up, smiling at my pun but he either hadn’t heard my joke or didn’t care to acknowledge it. Pressing the quarter between my thumb and forefinger and keeping the two hot dudes in my peripheral vision, I strode over to the payphone. Best check in with the ‘rents so they didn’t worry—I was hoping to be here awhile.
I dropped the coin in the payphone and dialed my parents’ number.
“Hello?” my father answered.
“Hey, Dad. Listen, I called Tim—”
Hope filled my dad’s voice. “Wait—is Tim the pre-med guy who you dumped on Valentine’s Day last year? Or the one with the law degree?”
The law degree and the other charming fact my parents kept forgetting… that he left me for my ex-roomie. “Uh… yeah, he’s the law student with the 4.0… uh-huh… anyway, he’s going to call me back, so I have to wait here until he does. Tell Mom I think we are going talk for a really, really long time—we might even get back together. It turns out he absolutely loves floral jumpsuits on women—so don’t wait up.”
“Okay, sweetheart. You want me to put your mother on the phone? Glenda, Glenda, come here—Bridgette’s on the phone—”
“No, that’s okay. I’ve got to keep the line free. Bye, Dad!”
I hung up before my mom (who I knew was already listening in on the extension in the kitchen) could pretend to pick up and chime in with suggestions of interesting, worldly topics I could discuss with a man as knowledgeable as Tim.
I went to the bar, threw a down a five and told the bartender who was ready to take my order, “Miller Lite, please.”
He eyed me suspiciously. “Draft or bottle? Draft is a dollar fifty more.”
“Bottle’s fine. Thanks.” I took the ice-cold beer, leaving the change on the counter. A minute later the bottle was empty. I threw down another two fives. “I’ll have two more, please,” I said sweetly.
Looking at me curiously for the second time that night, he served me. I drank the second one a bit slower, then put the empty bottle on the bar. Grabbing the third, full one, I took a long sip and went off to find some trouble.
Smiling my sexiest smile and armed with my liquid courage, I finally approached the high-topped table occupied by the total babes.
“Mind if I take this seat? Looks like we’re the only ones in here who aren’t getting a senior citizen discount,” I said.
The friendlier of the two, the one who had given me the wink and wave, laughed. The other looked at me leerily.
I held my hand out to the smiling one. “Bridgette Smith.”
“Bridget? You don’t hear that name very often.” he said, shaking my hand.
“I guess it is unusual. And my name is spelled with an extra t and an e. B-r-i-d-g-e-t-t-e. It’s French. It was my grandmother’s name.”
“We won’t hold that against you, Bridgette with an extra t and an e. Name’s Colton. Pleasure to meet you. This here is my big brother Hayes.” He nudged the guy sitting next to him.
“Hello, Hayes.” I shook his hand too, and he gave me a tight-lipped smile and a curt nod.
I sat down on the empty stool beside Colton and placed my beer on the table. There was movement from a dark, back corner of the bar that caught my eye.
Standing before an old jukebox was a man who was so good-looking, it almost hurt to stare at his face. Somehow, I managed to force my way through the pain—I just hoped my eyes hadn’t bugged out of my head like a cartoon character.
The man looked like Chris Pratt (who was currently my Hollywood crush after I guiltily partook in a Guardians of the Galaxy viewing party in LA) but with super short almost black hair and a delicious trail of dark stubble that was dangerously close to being full enough to be called a beard. The phrase ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ rang through my mind. I watched the muscles in his shoulders ripple underneath his tight shirt as he leaned over the box, intently studying the song titles.
Trying to sound casual (and probably failing), I nodded my head toward the man at the jukebox. “He with you guys?”
Torn jeans hung from his hips, making him look like the kind of bad boy I was after. I took another long sip of my beer, waiting for one of them to reply.
“That’s Travis. Our older brother,” Colton said. There was a knowing twinkle in his eyes. I’m sure I wasn’t the first girl to look a little flushed when enquiring about his brother.
“Interesting,” I said, taking another sip of my beer, trying to cool off and act less like a bitch in heat.
Hayes’ serious eyes met mine. He spoke with an icy tone that sounded like a warning. “You might want to leave that alone.”
“Why? What’s his problem?” I asked, trying to pry my gaze from Travis’ statuesque build.
“Going through a breakup,” Hayes said.
Colton nodded knowingly. “A redhead.”
“Yup. Redhead,” Hayes agreed.
They spoke of red hair with reverence, as if a redheaded woman was a mythical creature or something. Maybe they had watched The Little Mermaid one too many times growing up? I patted my golden highlights. “What’s the big deal with redheads? What does her hair color have to do with anything?” I muttered.
“It’s a commonly known fact—redheads are fiery,” Colton said.
“And feisty,” Hayes said with a raise of his eyebrows.
Colton took a sip of his beer. “Travis likes his women that way.”
“I’m a blonde and I’m feisty. I’m fiery,” I protested. And the way Travis’ backside filled out those Wranglers, I knew I would be willing to be any way that man wanted if I could get a chance to see what was underneath that denim.
Colton eyed me doubtfully.
The beer I had drunk so quickly was going to my head. I felt lighter, daring, and maybe a dash stupid. I gave a little giggle, saying, “I—I’ll prove it.”
Hayes’ brow furrowed. He looked at me with borderline disgust. “Why?” he asked.
Nudging his brother with his elbow, Colton said, “Shut up, Hayes. How often does a pretty girl come to Little Peak? Much less a Bridgette. And a blonde—just like Bridget Jones. Did I tell you I love that movie? The local station seems to play it all weekend.” He leaned in toward me, a sparkle coming into his eyes. I had a feeling Colton liked to stir up trouble. His brows rose, and a mischievous grin spread over his face. “How would you prove it, exactly? I don’t mean to stereotype, but I have a hard time believing blondes are as feisty as redheads.”
“Dare me to do something to him,” I said bravely, taking another swig from my bottle. I must be drunk to try to prove such a stupid point to a stranger—I mean who cares if redheads or blondes are feistier?
If I was being totally honest, the answer was that I’d been bored with myself lately. Life in LA was not as glamorous as I had dreamt it would be. Arriving—alone—to my parents’ quiet house for the holidays had put me over the edge. I was ready for some excitement, some entertainment—even if I had to provide it for myself. And walking into this bar and finding not two, but three gorgeous men—who were brothers no less—why waste that kind of luck? Surely one out of three of the men in this Godlike gene pool would at least be interested enough to give me a bit of attention.
Might as well have some fun, even if it ended up being at my expense. When would I even see these guys again? I eyed my target. Travis had yet to look over and notice me. “Come on. Dare me, Colton.”
Hayes looked away from me, taking a sip of his beer. “That’s a bad idea. Just leave him alone. Travis doesn’t like games.” Hayes was the more sensible—and less fun—of the two men.
“All the more reason to play them with him!” Colton smiled, raising a conspirator’s brow. “Let’s do it.”
I liked Colton. “Great. What should I do?” I took another huge slug of my beer, giggling as I slammed it back down a little too hard on the table.
“Hmm.” Colton peered over his shoulder where Travis was still scrolling through songs on the jukebox, hitting the same button over and over. “What he needs is something… or someone… to make him forget Gina.”
“His ex?” I asked.
Colton answered, “Yeah. The redhead. He met her at our cousin Ted’s wedding. The family all knew it would be a short-lived fling, but Travis was too smitten to listen. And then there was Brody—our older brother—”
“Wait, there’s more of you?” I squeaked. Not three, but four hot brothers?
“Just one. Brody. He’s the oldest of us four. And owns CLAS ranch—spelled with one ‘s’, not two. But anyway, Brody’s girlfriend, Georgia, is Gina’s best friend. So, from the time Travis and Gina met at the wedding, Georgia was really pushing Travis to stick it out. I think she was secretly hoping her and Gina would end up sisters-in-law or something. But it was so obvious from the beginning that it wasn’t a match.” Colton rolled his eyes.
“Why wasn’t it a match?” I asked curiously.
Hayes chimed in, “It’s like Brody told Georgia from the start. ‘Two type-A personalities? That will never work.’”
“And Travis is certainly a Type-A personality—especially with his women,” Colton snorted. Hayes joined in with a chuckle. An inside joke?
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked, eyeing Travis suspiciously.
Hayes looked me dead in the eyes. “When you’re a Jenkins man, there can only be one boss in the relationship. Or it doesn’t work out.”
“How so?” I leaned in, completely intrigued.
Elbowing his brother in the ribs, Colton said, “Enough about us, Bridgette. Let’s get back to you. And your dare. Prove that blondes are just as feisty and fiery as redheads, and help Travis get Gina out of his brain. There’s only one way to forget a beautiful woman. And that’s by meeting an even more beautiful woman.” Colton folded his hands underneath his chin. His gaze locked on Travis. After a moment, he leaned in toward me and spoke in a hushed voice. “I’ve got it! Why don’t you just march right over there and kiss him?”
My brow furrowed as silence passed over our table.
Clearing his throat, Hayes stood up from the table. “This is a bad idea. I don’t want any part of it. Nice to meet you, Bridgette.” Grabbing his beer, he left us, headed for an open seat at the bar.
The beer made the words ‘kiss him’ sounded like a good idea, but there was a sudden pang of nerves in my stomach. I should have read the feeling as the warning, ‘this is a bad idea,’ but instead I was thinking about what it would feel like to have Travis’ lips pressed against mine.
“Should I? Do you think he wants to be kissed?” I asked, giving a nervous laugh. I looked over at Travis. For the first time that night, as if he had supersonic hearing, his head turned toward our table. His eyes met mine—deep brown, almost black, and smoldering like an actor on the daytime soap operas my mom used to watch. I gave him a little wave.
Without so much as a grin, he turned back to his jukebox.
Colton leaned toward me, whispering, “See! What a grump. He doesn’t want it. He needs it. Trust me. He’s been such a mess since he and Gina broke up. He needs to forget that girl. You’ll be doing him a favor… heck, you’d be doing us all a favor. What Travis needs is a beautiful distraction.”
Beautiful, huh? I gave a gulp, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Okay. Here goes nothing.”
Colton gave me a smile and a thumbs up.
Striding over to the dark corner where my prey lurked, I tried to ignore the butterflies that had taken flight in my stomach.
Travis was not aware of my approach, his jaw clenching beneath that sexy dark stubble as he pounded away at the lit-up buttons on the jukebox. Stopping only a foot from him, I quivered. It was as if I could feel the heat emanating from his smoking hot body. Swallowing a nervous gulp, I reached my hand out to him, placing it on the waist of those low-slung hips. Just that tiny contact with his hard body had my heart racing.
Surprise, then annoyance filled his eyes as his head turned toward me. Those dark eyes made my heart stop. I rose up on my tiptoes, ignoring his intimidating stare. Leaning in, I closed my eyes, moving closer until I was pressing my lips against his. Electricity rocked my body as my mouth touched his. My breath caught in my throat as my mouth began to move against his.
But his mouth was not moving. It was like kissing a statue. I lifted one eyelid, peeking at his face.
He was not amused. His cold eyes were hard, and he drew his mouth from mine.
My eye widened as his fingers locked around my wrist. Suddenly he was pulling my hand from his waist and pinning it behind me on the wall. I panicked, looking from my bound wrist to his face. His eyes were flashing with anger, his jawline tense. We were so close, our chests were almost touching. My heart was beating so hard I was sure he could hear it.
He leaned his face downward and growled, “Where do you get off doing that to a stranger? Huh? How do you know I’m not spoken for?”
A shiver ran through me as he seethed, his handsome face now looking way less like the adorable Chris Pratt and more like that scary Drogo guy from Game of Thrones.
“Your b-brother told me to.” The words rang immature and embarrassing in my ears. My eyes flickered to the table where Colton had been sitting, desperately searching for my partner in crime. Wouldn’t this man’s little brother come to my rescue and explain the whole thing as a funny prank? My eyes widened as I found Colton to be nowhere in sight. The little shit had vanished!
Travis’ grip on my wrist tightened, drawing my eyes back to his. “Tell me—how do you know I’m not a psychopath or something?”
“Uh… um… your brothers seem nice?” I tried to shrug my shoulders but his hold on my arm was too tight.
His dark brow furrowed. “So, you meet two nice guys in a bar and that leads you to kissing a total stranger?”
“The younger one… Colton… he dared me,” I protested weakly. When did I become such a blathering idiot? And what the hell had I been thinking? Marching up to a strange man and kissing him?
He released my wrist. I quickly righted myself, adjusting my jacket. I began to creep away from this fuming stranger.
Giving an exasperated sigh, Travis ran his hand through his short, dark hair. As shaken up as I was, I couldn’t help myself—I wondered what it would feel like to run my own hands through that hair. My lips still tingled from the kiss. The skin around my wrist where he had grabbed me seemed to have its own pulse.
“I’m gonna kill Colton. He plays too much.” His eyes locked on mine, burning with disapproval. Clearly, I was not off the hook. “Still, that’s a foolish thing for you to do. You shouldn’t kiss strange men. Who did you come here with?” His gaze went around the room, taking in the handful of patrons.
“Myself,” I answered, crossing my arms over my chest. A gut-wrenching embarrassment quickly began to set in as my buzz wore off.
His brow furrowed quizzically at me. “How many drinks have you had?”
“Ah… um… three-ish.”
“How are you getting home?” he asked in a stern voice that sent a shiver down my spine. And caused a melting feeling somewhere even lower on my body.
“I hadn’t thought of it yet. I just drove here from my parents’,” I admitted.
He crossed his arms over his chest in a ‘you have to be kidding me’ kind of way. I looked down. His biceps were huge, and all pushed up from him crossing his arms. I quickly raised my gaze to meet his—my God, he was almost a head taller than me, at least six foot three. I was trembling by the time he spoke again.
“Let me get this straight. You drove yourself to a bar. Where you sat down and talked to two strange men. Then you kissed me. You’ve had three beers—and I saw you walk in and that was only about half an hour ago, so three beers in thirty minutes—and you have no way of getting home safely. Is all of that correct?” he asked, leaning over even closer to me.
“I… ah… I don’t think I finished the third drink.” I continued inching away from him.
His eyes flashed as they locked on mine. Anger radiated from him as he closed in, making me pull back further. My back was now pressed against the wall. I was trapped. Travis placed one hand on the wall above my head. The other, he placed on my waist. A fire burned where his hand made contact with me. His face was so close to mine I could feel his breath on my skin.
He studied my face. “Third beer or not, you sound like a little girl who needs a spanking.”
Little girl? Spanking?
My heart was beating so hard I thought it would burst from my chest, exploding midair in an embarrassingly messy display. I could hear the blood whooshing in my ears. My mouth hung open, my eyes wide as a baby deer’s as I stared into the cold, hard, devastatingly gorgeous brown eyes of Travis.
The man I had been dared to kiss. The man who had not kissed me back. The man who had me trapped against a wall with his hand on my waist.
And the man who had just used words that up until now I had heard only in my dreams.
He considered my face for a moment. I have no idea what he saw there, but whatever it was made him give a satisfied nod. He let go of my waist and grabbed my hand.
I looked down at our intertwined fingers, my breath caught in my throat and my limbs froze in a state of shock. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. My gaze held on the way his muscular hand made mine look tiny.
A low growl interrupted my silly thoughts. “We’re giving you a ride home. Where are you parked?”
Looking up, I just stared at him.
“Cat got your tongue, little girl?” He gave my hand a tug, demanding an answer.
Clearing my throat, my eyes somehow once again met his angry gaze. I managed to stutter out, “I, erm… uh…”
“Just as I thought. Tongue-tied. The naughty ones always are the first time they meet a man who calls them on their bullshit.” A devilishly debonair brow raised, a glint of humor appeared in his eyes.
Suddenly I awoke from my state of shock. Bullshit? Who was he to call me out? And what explanation did I owe this guy anyway? So, I kissed him—on a dare. Big deal. Anger welled up in me. It was a terrible idea to get into a fight with this guy, but my temper would not allow me to stay silent—it often got me into deeper trouble. I tugged at my hand, trying to get away from his grasp. “Bullshit? How do you figure? You don’t even know me.”
He leaned in. Brow narrowed, jaw clenched, his grip tightened. My already racing heart went breakneck. I tried to breathe, but he was so close, the scent of his cologne blocked my oxygen, making my head dizzy from its masculine notes.
“Bullshit as in a little girl who likes to make trouble, just wishing and hoping that one day she’ll meet someone who is man enough to take her in hand and spank the trouble right out of her.” He studied my face as intently as a lost hiker looks at their map at dusk. This time, whatever he saw there made a slow grin spread across his face.
This is the part of the story that I should be able to tell you that I slapped him right across his handsome face. Or, that I screamed out to the patrons of the bar, “Call nine-one-one. We have a real psychopath here!” (Hopefully they had a quarter for the payphone.)
Or, I should have at least been able to tell you that I vehemently denied his claims. Called him crazy and told him exactly where he could stuff his disgusting theory that I was a naughty little girl in desperate need of a man to spank her.
Called him a sicko.
I didn’t do any of that. I didn’t do anything.
What could I do? What could I say, even? This man—this complete stranger—had just called me out for what I was. Had just named my deepest, darkest desires. Had put a face to the man in my recurring dream.
I stood there, silently feeling my pulse beat in the hand that he held. After another moment of sizing me up, Travis gave yet another decisive nod of his head, as if he had decided my fate. Heading toward the door of the bar, he tugged me in tow. I allowed this tall, dark, ruggedly handsome stranger to lead me out of the bar into the dark night.
“Where are you taking me?” I managed to squeak out. The sky was pitch black, save for the thousands of stars twinkling in the sky. The cool, clean night air brushed against my cheeks as I followed Travis.
Wordlessly he led me around to the back of the bar. As I stood in the alleyway, shivering in my short leather jacket from the cold as well as from nerves—and if I was being totally honest, excitement—my eyes flashed around me, taking in my surroundings.
Luckily, the alleyway behind the dive bar in the tiny town of Little Peak, Wyoming was just as adorable as the rest of the scenic downtown. The only scary thing was the huge, hunkering, angry cowboy looming over me. The flash in his eyes and the clenched set of his jaw told me he was still fuming over the kiss I had forced upon him. His voice rumbled when he finally spoke. “You’re out of control. You need a man who will take the reins. Don’t you?”
He was right, and I knew it—everything he had said about me was right. Then, he said four little words that changed my life.
“You need a daddy.”
I was breathless. Daddy doms were not some mythical creature like Pegasus, or Big Foot? Daddy doms were… real?
The revelation was shocking. All those men, all those boys I had torn through over the years. I wanted just one thing from them. One thing that they could never seem to give me. I wanted to see their strength. I wanted them to hold me accountable, not put up with my nonsense.
I wanted them to care for me in a way that a loving daddy cares for a little girl.
Loving her enough to spoil her when she’s good and punish her when she’s bad.
And I thought that man could only exist in my dreams.
A thrill ran down my spine as he pulled me toward him. His husky voice sent a shiver through me. “In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever met a little girl who needed a daddy more than you do.”
I was speechless. What could I say? It was as if my dream man had solidified right in front of my eyes.
He leaned in. “You still want to kiss me?”
I nodded eagerly.
The scruff on his jawline brushed against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. He whispered in my ear, “You sure?”
I nodded again.
His hand cupped my cheek, pulling me to him. His eyes focused on mine as he leaned toward me. Our lips met. My eyes closed, my knees went weak. His fingers tangled in my hair as he parted his lips. The tip of his tongue made its way into my mouth. His free hand was on my lower back, pulling me in. The kiss deepened, my mouth opening wider. My skin tingled, and heat ran through my entire body.
I was left breathless when he pulled away.
His eyes shone as they investigated mine. His brow rose, questioning. “What’s your name?”
Bridgette with two t’s, an e, and a soaking wet pair of panties.