Back In The Saddle: Bachelor Auction - Book 2

my interest in winning Huck Manning. I’d given the first and only bid and was going to be taking a chunk out of my checking account to pay for it.
No woman could blame me. He was over six feet of male perfection. Solid. Strong. Chiseled. Tousled fair hair I remembered running my fingers through. A square jaw I’d… sat on. His mouth. God, so skilled. He might be the chief of police, but he was dangerous to me.
I cut over to the shop’s small kitchenette, pulled a mug from the cabinet, and peeked inside it to make sure it was actually clean, then filled it from the coffee pot, which was always fresh and full. Only after I doctored it with some sugar did I respond.
Dad flared quick to anger, faster than a brushfire across a dry prairie. Always had. At least ever since Mom left, which was when I’d been seven. I didn’t remember much of her or my father before that other than her smile, her hugs. Her perfume.
I was used to his rough grumble and could handle him, but not before some caffeine.
I hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning and thinking of Huck. Of how he’d gotten me off with just his mouth.
I’d never done that before, and I didn’t mean seduce a guy into handcuffs. That I hadn’t done either. I’d never had a guy go down on me, and I’d never imagined it happening by sitting on his face.
It had been hot. Too hot. I’d come so fast I was sure Huck was smug about the accomplishment. I tried not to think about how much I’d needed an orgasm, or that I’d wanted one still from Huck. My nipples were hard beneath my bra, and my pussy ached for that big cock I’d left thick, long and ready for me.
My plan had been to seduce him into being cuffed to his bed. I’d imagined leaving my clothes on. Maybe kiss him. When he’d undone my dress, I’d liked it. When he’d kissed me, I’d really liked it. Then I’d gotten him locked to the bed as I’d wanted, and I still hadn’t walked away. Not after he’d offered to get me off.
I’d figured I owed it to women everywhere to follow through with that.
And boy, had I.
Sex hadn’t been part of my revenge plan. I didn’t do vengeful sex, and having it with him—or any guy—was just… wrong.
But riding Huckleberry Manning’s face to have the best orgasm of my life? Hell, yeah.
Propping a hip against the chipped counter, I blew on the black coffee, then took a careful sip.
“Well?” Dad stood just inside the bay, wiping his hands on an old rag as his rough growl echoed. The garage doors were open to the warm weather, and he was silhouetted by the bright sunshine. He was in his old coveralls. They used to be navy but had faded with all the washing and had indeterminate stains down the front. His hair was long and pulled back into a thin ponytail. The dark color had streaks of gray cutting through and the hairline was receding at a swift pace.
“You heard it from someone, so why do you need to ask me?” I wasn’t sure why I was giving him sass. All it did was rile him up. But I wasn’t fifteen. I was a grown woman and didn’t need him meddling.
He narrowed his eyes. “Because I want to hear it from you.”
“I bought Huck Manning,” I replied.
“You’re not a kid any longer.” Yet he was still sticking his nose in. “I thought you’d grown out of being stupid where that punk is concerned.”
His words were jam-packed with so much insult. I didn’t miss any of it, felt it deep down, but I didn’t let it show. That was worse than riling him.
“He’s the chief of police,” I countered. “I’d say he’s not much of a punk any longer.” It wasn’t that I was defending Huck as much as defending my ability to make my own decisions.
He frowned. “Trust me. I know guys like him.”
“Okay,” I replied, turning to head to the small office in the back.
I heard his deep sigh. “Pumpkin.”
His usual endearment had me pausing. He hadn’t pulled that one out in a while because… yeah, I was twenty-six.
“Why did you do it? After what he did?”
What he did was take my virginity and then came by and told me it wasn’t going to work, that I was headed to college in Bozeman and he shouldn’t hold me back. Nothing I’d said in return had swayed him. We were over, and that was it.
I shrugged, took a sip of the coffee, then winced when it burned my tongue. “I wanted to talk to him.”
“Then go to the police station!”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “I didn’t want to have any distractions.”
I’d been distracted. So very distracted when I’d been kneeling over his face. Getting him in bed and cuffed to the headboard had been my plan. The orgasm hadn’t.
But he’d gotten the point when I’d walked out with his dick hard and his wrists cuffed to his headboard. I knew Claire wasn’t his. He knew I was pissed about it. Knew exactly how much. It was supposed to have made me feel better, to give him the proverbial middle finger once and for all.
That hadn’t worked out so well, because it was obvious he wanted me. The way he’d looked at me, almost reverently, had been a surprise. The way he’d touched me made me feel sacred. The way he’d practically devoured my pussy, it had seemed as if he truly desired me. To see to my pleasure.
Like it had been all those years ago.
The only truth I knew was on that piece of paper I’d slapped on his rock-hard, bare chest.
Claire wasn’t his.
His hard dick? He was just a man, and I’d been a woman in lace.
“What the hell do you have to talk to him about?”
I flicked a glance at my dad