Page 72 of Wrangled Up

She skidded a finger over his cheek, avoiding the cut he’d received in a bar brawl the previous night. Boy, had that gotten her daddy riled up. Before he’d pulled out early this morning, her father had hugged her and asked her to rethink the men she had chosen.

Tucker turned her to face Christian. Her other hunky man had one eye swollen shut, but his good eye blazed with love.

“Come here, sweetheart.” He scooped her against his chest and crushed his lips against hers. The dark scents of lust and male infused her brain. Her nipples tightened into pebbles and cream slipped from her folds, readying her pussy for their fingers, mouths and cocks.

She sucked on Christian’s tongue, but he pulled away too quickly for her taste.

“Get movin’.” Christian’s command was nails and gravel washed down with whisky.

Tucker put the truck in gear and they headed down the road with her perfectly squashed between two hard bodies.

“Open up that dress. Get those beautiful titties out,” Tucker said, keeping only one eye on the road.

Christian reached for the buttons of her dress, and she wiggled as he freed each inch of skin. When her bra was visible, Tucker eased a hand into one lace cup and withdrew her breast.

He skimmed the nipple with his callused thumb, drawing a harsh moan from her. Christian pulled her other breast free and together, they plucked at her nipples until she was drenched and writhing.

Christian nibbled her lips, catching her cries. The pressure building in her core was huge. The final release would be of volcanic proportions. She dropped her head back against the seat, eyes closed, and let them have their way.

When Tucker walked his fingers up her inner thigh, she bucked upward.

“We’ve got a wild one here. Better get the rope.” Tucker pulled off the road and cut the engine. But the faint strains of a Taylor Swift song threaded around them, tying them all in a web.

“Got it right here,” Christian said.

She started and opened her eyes to see him pulling a length of rope from the glove compartment. Her eyes widened, and he chuckled. “You liked the rope last time, baby. Remember?”

God, did she.

Tucker stiffened and withdrew his fingers from her thigh. Claire wound an arm around his neck and pulled him down to her lips. When he remained cold to her kisses, she sank her teeth into his lip.

“As long as the stars burn,” Christian muttered against her throat.

Tucker yanked away. “You two seem to have more than a few memories.”

Christian lifted his mouth from her neck and stared across her at Tucker. Tension crackled.

“You’re the one who left. Of course we have a few experiences between us. But what I just said—as long as the stars burn—it means you.”

“It’s our way of keeping you between us, even when you weren’t here,” Claire explained.

Something dark shattered behind Tucker’s bright blue gaze. A sunbeam glaring off the hood of the truck lit his eyes, making them look like two fathomless pools.

And what she saw was love and happiness.

With a quiet noise in her throat, she tugged him to her mouth again. This time, he kissed the hell out of her. Seeking, plying, bruising, driving her up a steep slope toward a desperate pinnacle.

While she kissed Tucker, Christian gathered her wrists before him and looped the smooth hemp around them several times. When he gave a yank to create a knot, her pussy answered with a flood of juices.

Tucker burrowed his fingers beneath her panties and groaned as he found her damp heat. “Fuck, she’s so wet.”

Christian pulled his shirt over his head. She flicked her gaze over his hooded eyes and the amused bracket at the corner of his lips. The cab was close and hot, but she reveled in the sheen of perspiration slicking her skin.

In one smooth move, Christian opened the door and climbed out of the truck. Arms encircled her and she was yanked out into the cooler air. She squirmed against Christian, wanting to get closer, as he took a few steps to the back of the truck. Tucker released the tailgate and after a pause, Christian climbed in with her and spread her on a blanket Tucker had obviously laid there.

Tucker flashed a grin a split second before he popped the elastic band on her panties, breaking the stitching. The cloth fluttered away from her mound, and he spent a second pulling off her shoes, then shimmying the panties down her thighs. Above, clouds wheeled, dizzying her as much as the caress of four hands.

“I want to touch you,” she cooed, flexing the rope binding her.

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