Bite the Bullet Read online

  He nodded. “Yes, Mistress. I understand completely.”

  But Clint could see the strain on Drake’s body. Still, he knew what an excellent sub Drake was and that he had the control he needed to do Montana’s bidding. Clint wasn’t so sure about himself, especially as she reached between her thighs to find her clit and her very wet pussy.

  Stroke, stroke, stroke.

  Her hand moved in a steady pattern, her fingers alternating between rubbing her clit and thrusting into her cunt. Drake’s fingers moved on his shaft in a slow, steady movement from root to tip and back again. And Clint was about to explode.

  He reached into his back pocket to pull out a handkerchief and wrapped it around the head of his shaft. As Montana’s mouth fell open and her breathing increased, so did the rhythm of his own hand. When she climaxed, she thrust three fingers into her opening, hunching with her hips to ride her hand until the spasms finally subsided.

  Clint was so close to the breaking point himself he had to bite his tongue for control.

  “Now,” she commanded Drake. “Now you may come.”

  As aroused as the sub was, it took only a few pumps of his hand before his body tightened, the muscles in his neck cording, and thick semen falling over his fingers.

  And finally, Clint permitted himself his own relief, spilling into the handkerchief in hot, thick spurts. His muscles clenched as his cock flexed, his heart pounding as his release pulsed from his body. He looked up at Montana through lowered lids, reveling in the satisfaction on her face, the light flush that colored her soft skin. It excited him that he could please her this way. Perform for her. Because his entire focus was to please his Domme.

  Cleaning up, he wadded the handkerchief into a ball and shoved it into a pocket before tucking his shaft back into his pants and zipping up.

  And all he could think was shit, shit, shit! I am so very screwed.

  Chapter Three

  Montana turned on the outside tap, lifted the end of the hose, and bent to let the cold stream of water run into her mouth. Not the most ladylike way to drink, but then there wasn’t much that was ladylike about breeding bulls for the rodeo circuit. When she’d drunk her fill, she ran water over her wrists, patted some on the back of her neck, and planted her hat back on her head. People sure as hell weren’t kidding when they said Texas was hot in the summer.

  Yet she was glad for the heat. For the honest sweat that slicked her body. The hard work that put it there. She was up and out of the house every morning by seven, working until the last light of day faded. Hoping exhaustive work would help her sleep at night. Would chase away the images of a dark-eyed, dark-haired man—so masculine he made her mouth water—on his knees before her. Hands behind his back. His mouth between her thighs. His tongue driving her to pleasure. His back and thighs striped red from the cane.

  She still wasn’t sure she’d made the right choice in applying for the membership at Rawhide, but she’d been there three more times since that first night, always requesting Drake. She’d taken the edge off the coiling desire that threatened to consume her, but it also put her in close proximity with Clint Chavez.

  Every week, when she went to the club, there he was, holding himself aloof while his eyes ate her up and his body silently begged her to take him. Whatever his conflict was, she hoped he resolved it before it drove them both crazy.

  Because every time she spent an hour with Drake, in her mind it was Clint Chavez naked and doing her bidding.

  The electricity that snapped between them was even more intense than what she’d felt with Dusty. And despite the fact that no one made reference to it, her inner radar sensed Clint was a natural submissive. And she had to consciously tamp down the rising desire to see if she could involve him in a night of play.

  Nothing more than that, she kept reminding herself. Been there, done that. Even though Clint was as far removed from Dusty as a man could get. Dusty was all about show and tell, about himself, about winning medals and notches on his bedpost. Clint seemed very comfortable in his own skin. She wondered if he had a steady relationship?

  Stop it! Right now! You promised yourself never to get involved again.

  Mentally shaking herself, she shaded her eyes and looked out over the landscape that was now hers. Well, hers and the bank’s, although thanks to a shark of a divorce attorney, she’d had plenty of money to use as a down payment and also as seed money for stock and operating expenses until she got a better handle on things. Not that the newly-named MS Stock Ranch wasn’t a thriving operation.

  The McConnell ranch had come with a ready list of clients, the small and medium-sized rodeos that were the bread and butter of any operation. But Montana was determined to make a named for herself at the top of the circuit. Oh, she was well aware the issue was pride, an in-your-face kind of flip off to Dusty. But she had the goods to do.

  She’d used all the contacts from her days with Dusty on the rodeo circuit, even offering some of the bigger shows special deals to introduce them to her stock. Of course, not everyone was interested. The really big boys had been dealing with the same breeders for years. But in the past month, she’d picked up two of the larger rodeos as clients on a trial basis, and she was damn determined to prove herself to them.

  All of the breeding bulls were registered in the American Bucking Bull Association, and it helped that three of the prize bulls had sired two national winners each. Credentials were always the tipping point.

  In the corral closest to the sprawling ranch house, one of the hands, a twenty-something named Jimmy, was breaking in a new horse that would eventually replace his own aging pinto. Beyond that, in the pasture closest to the barn, three of the hands were checking on several young bulls that were growing every day. This particular group was made up of two year olds, and next month, the hands would begin the grueling process of training them with mechanical riders.

  Bulls didn’t show up on the rodeo circuit full grown and ready perform. She’d learned that from her first days hanging out with Dusty. Sam Meltzer, one of the country’s foremost breeders, had hung out with her when Dusty was busy “being on” for all the buckle bunnies. He’d told her chapter and verse how the bulls were trained with four second rides, as opposed to the eight second with live riders.

  Most people had no idea bulls went to school to “learn their trade,” so to speak. But breeding a top bucking bull started with good bloodlines and continued with excellent training.

  Nearly every bull was crossbred, part Brahman and part something else, although McConnell had left her with two purebred Limousins, whose offspring were making their mark.

  “I guess we’ll start on this bunch next week.” Faron Goodrich, her foreman, walked up beside her, his eyes scanning the bulls idly munching prairie grass.

  Montana nodded. “I thought we’d start with Smokey and Hot Shot. They dropped a little before the others so they’ve got a tiny edge in the age department.”

  Faron nodded. “Sounds good to me. You want to come take a look at Molly? She’s getting ready to drop her calf any time now.”

  While Montana, just as her predecessor sold some of the semen straws of her prize bulls for hefty fees, most of the breeding was kept in house. Controlling the entire process was why she’d gotten into the business in the first place.

  But as she headed toward the barn, the cell phone clipped to her belt chirped at her. She looked at it and recognized the Hallidays’ number. She’d come with a recommendation from the club Reece used to belong to in Tampa, and the couple had been very welcoming to her. And Reece had certainly smoothed the way for her at Rawhide when she made the conscious decision to get back into the scene.

  But a call from the Hallidays reminded her of Clint and that reminded her of the unexpected electricity that had crackled between them the other night. A sensual and emotional pull she hadn’t felt for a long time and wasn’t sure she was ready for.

  “You gonna answer that phone?” Faron asked, grinning.

  �
�Oh! Of course.” She pressed the Talk button. “Montana Steele.”

  “Hi, there.” Katie’s cheerful voice never failed to fill her with warmth. This was the closest thing to a real friendship she’d ever had with a woman. Somehow she’d always felt more comfortable with men.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “I wondered if you’d be up to a little casual socializing on Sunday.”

  “Oh?” Montana wasn’t much of a social creature anymore.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Nothing fancy. Just a little barbecue. Alex and Liz Wright will be there. I thought you might like to get to know them better, especially Liz. She reminds a lot of you, as a matter of fact.”

  Montana laughed. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad one.”

  “Oh, good. Absolutely. And Reece is going to try and talk Clint into coming out, too.”

  Montana’s hand tightened on the phone, and her stomach knotted. A social evening with Clint Chavez?

  Ohmigod. That’s like deliberately stepping into a dynamite blast.

  “Oh, Katie, I don’t know if—”

  “Like I said, it’s just a casual evening among friends,”

  Katie persisted. “You know, Clint and Reece have known each other for years. As a matter of fact, Clint was the one who hired me to manage Rawhide last year, something that ended up getting Reece and me back together after a very long time. We feel we owe him something. And he doesn’t ever take time to just kick back.”

  “Why not?” She was curious now. Eager despite herself to know more about the man she seemed to have some kind of powerful connection to. “Is he a workaholic?”

  “I don’t know. I get the feeling it’s something in his past he won’t talk about.”

  “Well, nevertheless, I appreciate the invitation but—”

  “This isn’t a fix-up,” Katie assured her. “Clint lives such a solitary life and so do you. I just thought it would be nice for both of you to have some human contact for a night that didn’t have to do with business.” She dropped her voice. “Or pleasure by appointment.”

  Montana sighed. “I’m just not much good at that anymore.

  The socializing thing, I mean.”

  “Then you should fit right in,” Katie told her. “Liz is obsessed with her horses, and everyone else is wrapped up in their own things. You can all figure out how to make nice together.” She chuckled. “I’m not taking no for an answer.

  I’m even capable of having Reece hogtie and deliver you in the back of a pickup.” She paused. “Come on, Montana. Let yourself have some no strings fun for a night.”

  Should she? If she said no, Katie would be insulted. If she said yes, she just knew she’d be putting herself in the path of an unstoppable avalanche.

  Maybe this was the time…

  “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “No thinking allowed,” Katie laughed.

  “How about if I let you know on Sunday?”

  How about if I figure out if I can spend all that time in Clint Chavez’s company without making an idiot of myself?

  “How about if I have Alex and Liz stop by and pick you up?

  It’s right on their way. And Liz has really been wanting to meet you.”

  “I can drive myself, you know,” Montana protested.

  Katie laughed again, a low, musical sound. “Yeah, but that still gives you a chance to chicken out. Come on, Montana, it’s just an informal meal with some friends. Old and new. I’m hanging up now and calling Liz. See you Sunday.”

  “Katie—”

  But Katie Halliday had hung up.

  Montana stared at the phone in frustration. She supposed she could call back and just say she couldn’t make it. Or she’d drive herself. Or anything. But Katie Halliday was a force of nature and did whatever she set her mind to. It was easier just to go along with her. Anyway, Montana had heard really good things about Liz Wright, things indicating that, like Katie, Liz was someone Montana would like to be friends with.

  And maybe there was safety in arriving in numbers. A buffer where Clint Chavez was concerned. Because deep down she knew this burning need for him wasn’t about to go away easily. She just hoped when it exploded, she didn’t get burned.

  Clint lay in his bed caught up in a maelstrom of erotic images and surging lust. If he had any sense, he would have told Katie he was busy on Sunday. Except that Katie had unerring radar where he was concerned and would have known he was lying. But dinner with Montana Steele? He wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that other people would be around.

  Alex and Liz were no strangers. Alex had been a member of Rawhide almost since it opened, and when Liz had arrived in town, for the two of them, it was a blazing inferno from then on. Both the Hallidays and the Wrights were very comfortable with their D/s relationships, although they didn’t exactly discuss them in public. But with friends who were also in the life, they could make jokes and tease each other.

  Clint wanted that same kind of relationship so desperately he was afraid to give voice to it. Years ago, he thought he might have it with a woman he was in love with. They were together a long time. She was an incredible Domme, and he’d thought their life together was set in stone.

  But with an unusual twist, just when he thought about discussing marriage, she walked away from him for another sub. A woman. The whole thing had left him questioning his masculinity. If he could be discarded for a woman…He felt he’d somehow, with his submissive’s soul, been lacking in what his lover needed. Since then he kept his sexual preferences a closely guarded secret except from the Hallidays.

  And he’d satisfied himself with visits to the clubs in Austin and Dallas, where he found Dommes he could have a fairly emotion-free relationship with. But with women who always pointed out he’d never have a fulfilling relationship until he could let go of that last vestige of control and stop holding a part of himself back. Something nearly impossible for him to do, because in his mind, it was like surrendering that wounded masculine pride.

  But Clint was thirty-eight, forty before long, and he saw life slipping by. He wanted to find a way to have a relationship. And the moment he’d seen Montana Steele, something told him she could be the one. No, she was the one. But so many things held him back. For one thing, he wished he hadn’t imposed the strict rule about fraternizing at Rawhide. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Katie and Reece, but then they were old lovers reunited.

  For another, there was that old control issue and how to handle it. He knew instinctively that with Montana there could be no pretending. No playacting as he did in Austin just for the physical satisfaction. She would demand everything of him and be happy with nothing less.

  The image of Montana with her sub flashed through his brain. His guilty little secret was that he’d watched her every time she’d been back to Rawhide. And each time he’d jerked off in the hidden little hallway. How pathetic was that?

  And now…now…it was Sunday and here he was, hard as a rock again. Wishing it had been his ass she was sliding a butt plug into. That he was the one restrained for her pleasure.

  That it was her cane he felt across his body. Or the unique tire tread spanker that left such unusual marks on a sub. In fact, Drake had stopped on his way out of the club last time to thank Clint for hooking him up with Montana.

  “Never knew I could have such intense orgasms,” he’d said, smiling and rubbing his stinging ass.

  Clint had wanted to shove his fist in the guy’s face.

  His hand was wrapped around his cock now. The fingers of one hand pinched a nipple, imagining they were the special clips Montana used that left their mark after they were removed. His shaft pulsed in his hand, the skin hot to his touch. He tried to imagine Montana sitting before him as she’d done with Drake that first night, legs splayed, fingers caressing herself as she stared at his erection, daring him to come without her permission.

  As the scene played out in his mind, his hand continued to fondle
his cock from base to head and back again. His flesh was so hot it nearly scorched his palm. Closing his eyes, he worked his hand up and down, pinching his nipple until he had to swallow a cry of pain. He wanted that famous cane of Montana’s on his back and ass and thighs. Her special butt plug in his ass. Her eyes on him as she brought herself to completion.

  And then he wanted to beg her to please, please, please let him fuck her. He’d do anything for her if she’d grant him that favor. At the thought of her tight pussy walls gripping his shaft, his climax roared up from deep in his belly, catching him before he realized it, semen spilling over his fingers onto his thighs, body jerking in spasm after spasm.

  It took a long time to even out his breathing and get his heart rate under control. He lay there in the dim room, cursing himself for being ten kinds of a fool. Instead of telling Montana Steele how he felt, what he wanted, here he was alone in his bedroom, again with only his hand for satisfaction. What a dumb shit he’d turned out to be.

  Finally, when he was sure his legs were steady enough, he crawled off the bed and into the bathroom to shower.

  And get ready for this fucking barbecue.

  The evening had actually gone a lot better than Montana expected. The Wrights turned out to be very relaxing people to be with, happy to pick her up and to meet her. Before the truck had pulled out onto the highway, she and Liz had fallen into a conversation as if they’d known each other forever.

  When they parked in the gravel area at the Halliday ranch, Montana spotted activity in the corral. Someone had just opened a gate from a small pen and released two calves into a wider area. At the signal, Clint and Reece, both astride cutting horses, urged their mounts into a gallop as they focused on roping one of the animals. Her mouth went dry at the sight of Clint wearing only tight, faded jeans and dusty work boots. From the waist up he was bare, his skin gleaming in the dying sun.