Wicked Need (The Wicked Horse #3)

by Sawyer Bennett



I walk through The Silo, turning off the lights behind me as I go. Normally, this would fall to Bridger or Cain, but neither is around tonight. Bridger is attending a party out at the compound for the Mayhem’s Mission motorcycle club, which translates into fucking some free pussy unassociated with The Silo. While this is Bridger’s baby, I get the feeling that his “duties” here wear on him sometimes.

There are times it seems he actually hates “servicing” some people, but maybe I’m trying to read something into the situation that isn’t there. Regardless, he’s not here and neither is Cain.

He just flew back from Tennessee today, and he’s shacked up with Sloane. I’m sure he’s still hammering out the necessary apologies that woman deserves from him.

Cute couple though. I figured out of all of us dudes, he’d be one of the last to drop given his history with Rachel, but what the fuck do I know? I’m definitely unlucky in love, but I’m okay if it never comes my way again. I’ve got friends, a great job, and all the kinky fuckery I could ever imagine.

I snicker to myself, thinking about that.

Kinky fuckery.

Some chick said that the other night while Logan and I were both doing her, and we thought it was hilarious. She said it was a term in one of her favorite books, but whatever.

It totally describes what happens within the walls of this circular building.

I make my way down the short hallway to the exit, flipping down the switch of the sconce lighting and pushing open the door. The air is crisp and smells refreshing. Cleans the soul kind of good because sometimes when I walk out of The Silo, I feel like I’m tainted by the things I do.

But again, whatever. I might feel dirty at times, but some of the shit I dip my wick into also feels fucking amazing.

I pull the door closed and ensure the lock is engaged. Security’s become more important now than ever given that fuckwad Colton Stokes blabbed his mouth. Of course, on one hand, you could say it was a good thing because it brought Sloane Preston to our neck of the woods. Not only was she a fantastic fuck, and I hope Cain lets me in on that again, but it’s also made my buddy super happy. So maybe Colton just deserved an ass whipping instead of the murder I’d like to dole out to him for threatening our existence.

The parking lot is nearly deserted, The Wicked Horse having closed about an hour ago. The Silo is technically open twenty-four/seven for any members who want to get debauched, but the bartenders go off duty at the same time The Wicked Horse closes down at two AM. I’m the last to leave after getting a last-minute cock suck from Carol, one of the lovely purveyors of fine drinks. She toddled out not fifteen minutes ago with a tart goodbye. I should have returned the favor to her, but she owed me the blow job because she lost a bet last week on the Yankees’ game. She’s a transplanted New Yorker and I hate the Yankees, so I always bet against them, no matter the price of the potential loss.

My eyes zero in on my Suburban parked up near The Wicked Horse in the space closest to the slate path that leads from the back door over to The Silo. I click the remote entry fob and the lights flash, indicating the doors are unlocked. I reach for the handle, pull it open, and just as I’m about to step in, my gaze falls on a white Mercedes coupe sitting two rows back and three spaces over. I start to turn away and then do a double-take as I realize it’s Catherine’s car.

I know she left The Silo probably about half an hour ago after giving everyone a show tonight. Since her husband died last week, she’s been at The Silo every night, indulging in every wicked sex act you can imagine. Not that she didn’t indulge before, but for some reason, since the old fart’s death, she seems a bit more free-spirited in her pursuits. Maybe even doggedly determined to outdo herself every time.

Tonight, my tongue was hanging out of my mouth while she occupied a room all to herself and played with a variety of electrical and mechanical toys Bridger’s been collecting. She got right up against the glass wall and made sure everyone could see what she was doing. I bet I watched her come at least six times before she finally fell into a heap on the floor, panting with sweat-soaked skin and drowsy eyes. After she collected herself, she got dressed and sauntered out the door, waving goodbye over her head. I was so fucking horny after that, it took no time at all for Carol to wrench an unbelievable orgasm out of me. And strangely… I was imagining Catherine sucking my cock at the time, which is a bit weird.

It’s not like there’s any mystery there. Catherine’s deep throated me on a few occasions before, and I’ve fucked her on even more occasions than that. Didn’t think she was really anything different from all the other sexual encounters I’ve had, but for some reason, it was her dark hair I imagined clenched in my fist rather than Carol’s strawberry-blonde curls.

Perhaps Catherine left her car here and went home with someone else. That must be it.

Just as I start to turn my eyes back to my vehicle, I see movement within the darkness of the interior of her car. I peer harder, willing the light from the nearest security post to reveal the inside, and if I’m not mistaken, the seat is leaned back and someone’s lying down, perhaps having just turned from one side to the other.

What the hell?

I close my door and walk quickly across the lot to her car, my head tilted in curiosity. As I get closer, I can see better, and it is indeed Catherine lying in the driver’s seat reclined all the way back. She’s on her side with her hands curled up by her face, her back to me. Those long, dark locks are spread out over her back and shoulder.

I tap gently on the window, knowing I’m going to startle her but not being able to help it. She jerks upright, looking at me with frightened eyes. When she recognizes me, I can see her give a sigh of relief. She raises the seat up and rolls the window down. It’s then that I notice her car is running.

“Hey,” she says, her eyes darting around the parking lot.

“What are you doing?” I ask, completely perplexed to find her sleeping in her car. I know she’s not drunk because Catherine doesn’t drink.

At all.

That’s because she does some crazy shit in the club, and she doesn’t want anyone to ever think it’s not of her own free will. She owns her kinky fuckery… and owns it good. I don’t think she does drugs, so it’s very confusing to find her here like this.

“Um… I just…” Her voice trails off and her gaze falls down to her delicate fingers, which are intertwined tightly with one another.