North Read online

  Jed didn’t seem to want strings either, but I wasn’t paying him. He’d volunteered. When his hand cupped my breast, my mind went blank and I’d have to think all this through later.

  Now, I melted at the feel of him. His hardness against my softness. He felt… untamed. As if he was only keeping himself in control because of my rules.

  “Which is it, princess?” His hand slid down my body, his rough fingertips brushing my thigh at the hem of my dress.

  “What if I don’t want this?” I asked, suddenly wary. I might be able to jab my four-inch heel into the top of his foot, but he was bigger and stronger. No one would come running if they heard me screaming. Not in this house.

  “You and your shotgun emptied the house, princess. Told me to stay. I don’t force myself on a woman. If you don’t want this after all, saying no works just fine. Any time along the way.”

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I could barely breathe. I felt small, feminine. Dominated, and he hadn’t done anything yet.

  He raised a dark brow, let his gaze drop down over my body. “Are you saying no?”

  I shook my head.

  With that consent, his hand moved up my thigh taking the bottom of my dress with it. It was cut slim, but it moved easily until it was over my hips.

  With him so close behind me, he couldn’t see anything, only feel. A finger hooked into the thin band of lace at my hip and tugged. It gave way as if made of tissue. His other hand settled at my other hip, did the same to that side and I felt the g-string brush my inner thighs before he dangled it before us.

  “You’ve been walking around with that tiny scrap over your pussy all this time?”

  I felt the hard punch of his dick as he spoke. He was as affected as me. Seeing my panties was a thing for him. His hand moved away, then came back to reach around and cup me. I had no idea where my panties went, but I bucked at the feel of his calloused fingers over my most delicate flesh.

  “Easy,” he murmured, nipping my ear. “You’re like a wild mare. You only need a little taming.”

  I bristled at that, tensing in his hold. “Fuck you, Jed.”

  “Ah, ah,” he chided. “You said no dick riding.”

  I growled.

  “Shh,” he whispered as he began to stroke me. “All bare and dripping. You need this, princess.”

  I shook my head, disagreeing. I didn’t like how he was controlling me, how easily I responded, so I resisted. “I don’t need this at all.”

  Except I did. I really did.

  He took a step forward, moving me with him and pressed me into the edge of the desk. With one hand still between my legs, the other pressed into my back, bending me forward. I set my hands on the cool surface to brace myself.

  Jed nudged my legs apart with a foot. “Your pussy says otherwise.”

  “My pussy’s not in charge of me,” I snapped.

  When he pulled his hand away, I stifled a whimper by biting my lip. But his hand found me again, this time from behind. He wasn’t petting any longer.

  He penetrated me with a thick finger, the action eased by how wet I was. I went up on my toes, stuck my butt out and gasped.

  “That’s a shame. This perfect pussy should be calling the shots. It needs attention.”

  He leaned over me then. I felt his jeans pressing into my bare bottom, his chest against my back so he once again was speaking right into my ear.

  Licking it. Nipping at the lobe.

  He fucked me with the finger, then added another, finding my clit with his thumb and working me. It felt so good. God, I was hot and tingly, my pussy being played by a virtuoso. And that made me pissed. Made me get back in my head because how dare he bend me to his will so easily.

  “Where’d you go, princess?”

  Even though I was flushed and panting, I resisted. “You’re using me.”

  His fingers stilled inside me, and I whimpered.

  “How the fuck is me rubbing your g-spot until you drip all over my hand using you?” he questioned.

  “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” My voice was a whine, my emotions raw and exposed, like a nerve on a bad tooth. I stared at his Stetson, knew he wasn’t a paper pusher. A rich CEO playing at being from Montana. Jed Barnett was a born and bred cowboy. Rugged and abrasive to the core.

  “I’m giving, not taking, North.” His voice was calm. Even. He’d lost that bossy rasp.

  I shook my head, looked over my shoulder at him. “Everyone wants something.”

  His eyes flared in surprise, then narrowed, as if resolved to something. He thrust into me again with those skilled fingers, curling them over, yup, my g-spot, which no other guy had ever found before.

  “If we’re having this conversation while I’m finger fucking you, I’m not doing it right. You’re going to come, princess. Unless you say the word no, you don’t have a choice.”

  “I don’t like being out of control.”

  “I can tell, but you are in control. You say no, this stops. You’re sopping wet from this, from giving over. Nothing wrong with someone else taking charge of you. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  His thumb found my clit again and I slapped the desk with my sweaty palm as my mind lost the fight. He was too skilled. It felt too good.

  I was close, right on the brink. I hovered there, whimpered. Moaned.

  “Give it to me,” he whispered.

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “You will,” he urged.

  I turned my head, met his dark gaze. Saw the desire there, the need driving him to satisfy me.

  He thought I was fighting him. I was, or I had been before it felt too good, until I went with him wherever he was taking me.

  “I can’t,” I repeated and after a second, he caught on.

  I couldn’t come from a man. Not like this. I’d never been able to. I had orgasms, but I had to give them to myself. Even a guy as seemingly skilled as Jed, my body couldn’t get there. Some guys didn’t even notice. Others got pissed off, thinking I had to control even that, but if I wanted an orgasm, I had to give it to myself. That was why I ditched men except for escorts. Men who did whatever I wanted and didn’t get pissed when I got myself off while they were fucking me

  Except Jed.

  “Can you come on your own?”

  I nodded.

  Jed grabbed my right wrist and brought it down between me and the desk, set my hand over my pussy. “Get yourself there. I’ll help.” I felt his fingers inside me, parting me, then moved back so I was over my clit.

  As he kept at my g-spot, rubbing and pressing in some magical way, I worked my clit with my fingers, circling it in just the right way that I knew worked.

  “Fuck, that’s so hot,” he said, which broke away the shame and spurred me to come.

  I tossed my head back, moaned low and deep as the orgasm hit me. The g-spot stimulation combined with my clit being worked was so intense. My palm slipped on the desk and Jed lifted me up, held me as I came and came.

  Only when I sagged into his hold did he slip his fingers from me. My own were damp and sticky from touching myself, my brow sweaty.

  He held me as I caught my breath.

  “Again,” he murmured. This time, when he spun me about and lifted me up so I sat on the desk, I didn’t object. When he put a hand between my breasts and had me lay back on the hard surface, my dress up around my waist, I didn’t say a word. When he lifted my heels up and over his shoulders and knelt on the floor, I only moaned. Then I grabbed his hair and held on for the ride as he took me with his mouth, totally okay with me helping with my fingers.

  A few hours later, when my brothers and I buried my father in the family cemetery, the minister remarked on how relaxed I looked.

  Maybe Jed was right. Orgasms sanctioned by God were the way to go.

  3

  JED

  * * *

  I pushed into Marshall’s office and dropped into the chair across from him. Removed my hat. He was behind his desk
and on the phone. I lifted my foot and crossed it over to my opposite knee, leaned back into a slouch and took on my usual air of indifference.

  That wasn’t faked.

  I was thirty minutes late for our scheduled weekly meeting. Intentionally.

  John Marshall was known in some circles as a hero. A saver of jobs. Revitalizing towns. In reality, he hired people to destroy the state. Logging, drilling, mining, fracking. If it hurt the planet, he was doing it.

  Sure, it brought in jobs to remote towns, but while doing that work, men and women were polluting the water their kids drank. Depleting their natural resources, disturbing the ecosystem. The paycheck might put food in their kids’ bellies, but when those kids grew up, there’d be nothing left to stay for.

  He was killing Montana.

  And he was getting away with it.

  He didn’t care about laws. All he got was a fine and then went back to work. It helped to have allies.

  Allies like Macon Wainright who owned more land than anyone else in the state. That, and a shit ton of money, gave him power.

  They’d gotten together and made deals. Pretty much Marshall did Wainright’s dirty work.

  I hadn’t been back to Montana for more than a week at a time, other than for my parents’ funeral, since I went to college. I’d lived in Virginia or DC and forgotten how special the Big Sky state really was.

  The quiet. No rat race. Open land as far as the eye could see. Hell, even family.

  Until this undercover op. I was “back” for good now, or that’s what it seemed like to everyone. Maybe even me, too.

  I was replacing rotting trim on the house. Fixing broken fences. Oiling squeaky doors. Everything that had been neglected because the house had been sitting empty. I liked it here. Now that I’d seen North, touched her, I was screwed.

  Fuck. What a mess. I licked my lips remembering her taste and wondering if it was the last I was going to get.

  The FBI had been interested in Wainright for everything from public corruption—bribing local and state officials, or even threatening them—to white collar crimes like money laundering and other fun stuff. If North knew about it all, then I was going to put her in handcuffs. If she was innocent, then I was going to be the shady asshole as soon as she did a little digging.

  My cell vibrated in my pocket and since Marshall was occupied, I pulled it out. My boss.

  Need an update on the delivery of the fence posts.

  To any Montanan who read the text, it seemed like I was tackling a summer project. To me, it meant Director Amy Sprouse wanted me to check in about what I’d learned from making contact with North. I met Marshall’s eyes even as he spoke on the phone. That was why I was here in his office.

  An update. It seemed my boss would have to wait in line.

  Finally, Marshall slammed the phone back in its cradle, then set his forearms on his desk and eyed me. He was sixty, overweight, balding. He looked like Wimpy from Popeye. All that was missing was the little brown hat. Sweat dotted his forehead, even in the air-conditioned building.

  “Well?” he asked, his bushy eyebrows going up.

  “You want a play by play?” I asked.

  I saw the disgusting interest in his eyes.

  “I’m surprised she spread her legs for a guy like you.”

  Since everyone in the area knew I’d been recruited out of college by the FBI—small town life had its drawbacks—that couldn’t be hidden as part of an undercover persona. I had a past they couldn’t alter. So the feds created a new version of my present. The story went that I’d planned to take payouts from the bad guys I’d been trying to catch. While those bad guys had been caught and convicted because of it and other shady shit, I’d been fired in disgrace. Because I had close to twenty years of service and I actually hadn’t done anything illegal… yet, I hadn’t been convicted along with them. Returning to Montana with my tail between my legs, I now managed my parents’ ranch.

  Some carefully placed clues about my return and Marshall had hired me on. Corrupt hired corrupt. I’d been undercover ever since.

  That made me tied to Marshall and North’s father. In bad ways. I did Marshall’s dirty work; handling deals with guys like Wainright that destroyed the state. Killed wildlife, cut down forests.

  It was obvious North hadn’t caught on to that part yet. If she had she’d have blown a hole in me with that shotgun instead of letting me go down on her.

  It was one thing for me to think about her bent over her father’s desk, another for Marshall to disrespect her by that shit talk. North wasn’t a cheap hooker he fucked in a shady motel. I hadn’t figured her out yet, but she didn’t deserve those words.

  I hadn’t stopped thinking about her in the two days since her daddy’s wake and funeral. Two days since I had my fingers inside her, my mouth on her pussy.

  I still felt her walls ripple around me. Saw the panic in her eyes when I’d gotten her close to coming, then the frustration when she couldn’t make it happen.

  I was man enough to have her work her clit until she came. Oh, I’d make her come without any help. Soon. But then? In that moment? The goal wasn’t to break her, it was to take the edge off, because it didn’t seem like she had any opportunity to do so.

  Did she ever have fun? Did she ever let down that guard of hers?

  She was so in her head. That was why, when she did come, it was so fucking incredible. The way she let go, gave herself over to me even for a few seconds.

  I’d get that again. I’d get everything from her because now that I knew what she looked like when she let go completely. When she gave herself to me.

  Because she was going to be mine.

  He sat back, laughed. “It’s like that, is it?”

  I gritted my back teeth. Realized my goal of having North Wainright was going to be a complicated one. I couldn’t let on that I was truly interested in her.

  “I’m not a kid. What I do with my dick is my business,” I snapped, trying to redirect him.

  “As long as you do North Wainright.”

  “You want her to talk. You want me to get her to do that. How I accomplish it is not up for question.”

  How was I going to get him the info he wanted while I got the woman?

  He held up his hands as if to ward me off. “I have millions sunk into this deal which means I want updates. You can leave your dick out of the report.”

  That was all the flex he was going to give.

  “I was at her father’s wake,” I reminded. “It’s not like she was in the mood to talk business.”

  “That woman is all business.”

  I thought that too. The dress, the heels. The cold attitude. If I hadn’t gotten under her skirt, I’d have wondered if she had a set of balls.

  I’d been in Marshall’s “employment” for three months. In that time, I’d gotten in front of Macon Wainright but hadn’t been able to collect proof of his dirty deeds. The guy had been an asshole and trusted no one. Not even his daughter. That was why the feds put me undercover with Marshall instead. To get to Wainright that way. It had worked, but then he’d died. It had been un-fucking-believable hearing about it. Fifty-five and a massive coronary.

  I’d thought the case over, but no. My boss had only moved me toward a new source.

  North.

  “I need to see this deal done. I was supposed to be in and out. Wainright being dead is fucking everything up. I bought that land for him, and he has to pay me for it.” He stuck out his finger and pointed it at me like Uncle Sam. “North does.”

  He’d bought up a huge parcel at the Canadian border that Wainright wanted. The deal was that Wainright was going to buy it off him—at a higher value which was Marshall’s payment for his involvement—for a nature preserve. A huge tax write off for Wainright Holdings. But from what Marshall had told me, a logging company was waiting in the wings to lease the land and raze the pristine forest that sat upon it. Strip mining and other shit once the trees were out of the way. The profit for
Wainright was to be huge.

  “So much for a nature preserve,” I muttered.

  Marshall sputtered. “Nature preserve? Who gives a fuck about nature. I want that land sold. I want my money!” He slapped his hand on the desk.

  “Why do you have such a hard on about this deal with Wainright? Your check will be cut from the Wainright Holdings’ philanthropic arm.”

  He snorted, which was not a pretty sound. “Which is run by North. She learns the truth about her daddy’s plans, and she’ll shut it all down. That girl’s got her momma’s green agenda even though that woman’s been dead for over twenty years, which is a big fucking problem. Who cares about the spotted owl or the wolf?”

  He was a fucking dick. “You don’t know if she’s going to bail on the sale or not,” I said, confirming.

  “It’s your job to ensure that woman signs on the line.”

  He looked at me with narrowed eyes. I assumed he was trying to look threatening, but it wasn’t working.

  “It’s her business silo. The company’s “giving back” was started by her. They’re known for their philanthropy. She’s got to know about this.”

  Based on what I’d figured out about her, she knew everything that was going on at work. Not only for Marshall, but for the FBI, I had to find out how much the new CEO was involved in Marshall’s deal. Because she might be in just as deep as her dead daddy.

  That meant she’d be doing serious jail time and I’d be the one putting on the handcuffs. I didn’t understand myself, why I still wanted her if she was possibly guilty. Ever since I saw her at the wake, my dick had been in charge, which meant I might be in big trouble. I couldn’t resist her.

  I stood. There was no reason to linger. I’d given him my update, which was nothing. He’d blustered and tried to scare me into doing a better job. All it told me was Marshall was guilty as hell and we had his land deal to prove it. He’d go down, but not until we had Macon Wainright posthumously pinned for his crimes. I just wasn’t sure if his daughter would be joining them.

  “I’m on it.”

  That’s all I said as I put my hat back on and left his office.