Brand Me (Imagine Ink Book 2) (3 page)

After facing forward, presumably so she couldn’t see his lips, and feigning system checks, he spoke, “What the heck is your problem, rock star? What did our beautiful passenger do to turn you in to the Hulk?”

Michael snapped his head toward his friend and instructor. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He threw a quick glance at Tori, then continued, “The only problem I’ve got with that fine piece of ass is how to talk her out of her clothes before I high-tail it out of civilization for months.” That comment earned him a look of disgust from John and made him feel like a jerk.

“First of all,
boy
, a woman like that needs a man, not some wet behind the ears punk who looks at her like she just pissed in his Corn Flakes. Secondly, she’s not a piece of ass, someone you take back to the storeroom between sets and tumble with on a stack of rum and beer cases.” Michael’s jaw dropped to reply, but John soldiered on. “Or, back to the locker room of your gym for a quickie between clients. A woman like her deserves to be wined and dined, appreciated and loved properly. And most definitely not by someone who only wants a one-night stand.”

Michael noticed John double-clicked for the weather recording again to keep Tori from hearing them. When Michael looked at his companion, really studied him, realization hit. “Holy shit, man, you’re not just flirting like you do, you’re really hot for this chick, aren’t you?” A look of guilt crossed John’s face. He’d never seen that look nor had he witnessed John really into a woman before. Michael was not going to let this rare opportunity to fuck with him pass.

He and John were long-distance friends, so to speak. He’d met John when he walked into the local airstrip looking for someone to teach him to fly. John happened to be stopped there with another student. John was like the older brother he’d always wanted, and it felt to Michael like he filled a void for John also. Even though they didn’t share much about their lives and pasts, they were still fairly close. It seemed to work for them that way.

“Well, first of all,
old man
, a woman like her needs to be ridden hard, have her ass slapped, and her hair pulled. Missionary with her would be like buying a Lambo and never topping fifty-five miles per hour. Secondly, she is primed for a cub, not a sugar daddy.” Michael let loose, laughing so hard at the look of anger overtaking his friend’s face, the subject of the conversation took her headset off and piped in.

“Is everything okay?” She cast a look of disgust Michael’s way and one of concern John’s.

“Everything’s fine, Tori, put your headset back on and we’ll take off in a second or two.” John threw his best smile at the lady, but it was obvious she wasn’t buying it, although she did as instructed, then stared out the windshield.

"You may have set some thongs on fire back in your day,
old man,
but I make 'em too wet to burn," Michael muttered under his breath.

As soon as she could no longer hear them, John scolded in a harsh whisper, “Don’t be vulgar.”

It only took John a minute or less to compose himself and shake off everything that just happened. Michael, not so much; he had to fake it. This lady had really gotten to him. Of course, a man’s first erection in months would do that to anyone. That was his dirty little secret; Tonya didn’t know—thank God—and John didn’t fucking know. Michael had carried on like he was an oversexed hound dog since Tonya fucked his best friend, in appearance only, but no one needed to be privy to that little tidbit.

His friend was probably thinking Michael would play “hit it and quit it” with Tori. It was the reputation he’d worked hard to cultivate to hide his inadequacies. John must have really taken a shine to this chick, the least he could do was bow out and give him a shot. It’s not like he needed a relationship anyway, and she had family and kids written all over her. He was grateful to her; she’d fixed him, somehow; she’d gotten a rise out of him, but he would find another outlet. A woman could do a Hell of a lot worse than John. Michael thought of it as a favor to his friend and a thank you gift to her.
If it’s the right thing, then why do I feel like utter shit even considering it?

“Sorry, man. I was just messing with you. She’s all yours, if she’ll have your cranky old ass. So, when are you going to ask her to bear your children?” Michael just couldn’t stop himself from poking the bear.

“Don’t you worry about it none,
youngin’
, I’ll chat her up for the hour or so on the Bobcat ride up the mountain, depending on the snow and how slow I drive. You’ll sit in the back and clam it. I’d just like the opportunity to get to know her better, nothing more.” With a wink toward Michael, he removed the headset from around his neck, and hopped out to do one more outside once-over. When he popped back into the seat, Michael shared his own plans before they got airborne.

“I wish you luck, man, and I expect an invitation to the wedding and the first son named after me.” It was a joke on his part to cut some tension, but it ratcheted down on Michael’s chest and sent bile into his mouth. Even the thought of tasting her sweet lips couldn’t cut the bitter. “Lucky for you, I have almost twenty-four hours before I have to officially be anywhere, so I think I’ll head to town for the night and see if I can find some company. I’ll see you in the morning, and you can ride me out then. That is, if that’s cool with you?” It was a rhetorical question he already knew his friend wanted to be alone with Tori.

“Thanks, I owe you one.” John beamed as they both finally put their headsets over their ears and fired up the plane. John’s look of sheer joy should’ve made him feel good about himself, but instead, he felt like a dick. A dick that’d just lost something special before he even had it.

M
ichael waited
in the airstrip lounge just out of sight, watching Tori and John leave as they headed toward the mountain. There was a handful of family-owned cabins around the lake, his family’s clutch included. It was popular with the locals for its winter game and seclusion. Some even rented their cabins to tourists when they weren’t using them, which must be where Tori’s headed.

She didn’t strike him as the roughing it type. Sure, she looked like she could hike Kilimanjaro, bench-press a small car, and ride a man into the wee hours of the morning. She just didn’t look like camping in a tent was her thing. She struck him as a woman who loved bubble baths, manicures, and designer bags.

Too bad she didn’t rent one of their family’s cabins, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t possibly see her. They’d converted one of the five into a bathhouse of sorts years ago. It had generator-powered on-demand hot water, a spa tub, and a surround shower. Lucky for him, that was the one next to where he was staying, and they shared their bathhouse with all the families around the lake.

A finger of the lake divided their family compound. Two cabins were on each side where the off-chute fed into the lake and one, the main lodge, was at the tip. It was twice the size of the others, but not as welcoming. That was the one where the family stayed when he was young. It had the pier, the boathouse, and all the shitty memories. The other four were for extended family and now a bathhouse—much more suited to him and definitely a plus when his brother would be in residence.

This way, his brother would be far enough—no matter which cabin Richard chose—that he wouldn’t have to deal with him on the daily. Of course, there was little doubt in his mind that Richard would stay at the main house. Richard wasn’t a hiker and was too uppity to swim and be uncomfortably wet. Each set of cabins, not including the main, was a quarter of a mile from the other in the set and a half a mile from the main on either side by land. Of course, a quick backstroke across the off-chute would only take a bit from one set to the other.

After Tori and John were out of sight, he headed to the POS car that was free to use by the pilots. When the Bobcat was completely swallowed up by the snow-covered trees, Michael experienced a deep sense of loss and anxiety, but he refused to give it any credence. He had a working cock and a free night with which to use it, and he wasn’t going to waste that.

Pulling up at the only hotel in town, he pushed down the sense of guilt, loss, and foreboding that kept trying to rise up and erupt like a volcano. He checked in, grabbed a quick shower, and took a few minutes to shave. He popped into the drug store next door for condoms and dropped them back at his room before walking over to the local bar slash restaurant, which was a stone’s throw away. Everything in town was—the bank, post office, dollar store, bait, gas, and hotel—all on the same block, the only block. It was a mile from the airstrip in one direction and a world away from everything else in the other directions.

He spotted a qualified jockey as soon as his ass touched down on the cracked, red vinyl chair. His waitress was ripe, blonde, and willing.
What more could a man ask for?
Making quick work of his burger, fries, and two drafts, he chatted her up. He knew women pretty well, or at least he used to, B.T., before Tonya. Being in a successful garage-style band would never go out of favor with women. Truth be told, that’s why they started the band back in high school, to get girls. Now, they had a standing gig every Saturday and rotating ones on Fridays. Not enough to pay any bills, but they enjoyed it too much to give it up. There was just something about being in a band that made panties drop, and he wasn’t above pulling that skill out, dusting it off, and putting it into practice now that he had the need.

In record time, Michael and the waitress—whose name he couldn’t recall—were hand in hand walking toward his room. The minute he closed the door, she was all over him. Fuck, it felt good to be touching and kissing a woman, but it also felt dirty somehow. It wasn’t until he felt her bare hand on his cock that he realized he wasn’t as into it as he should be.

Whatshername gave him a questioning look. Rather than answer, he threw her to the bed and came down on top of her, grinding his hips into hers and biting her neck while he freed a breast and pinched her nipple. Dry humping wasn’t doing it for him, but it was for her, she was lost—keening and writhing like she was about to come. Michael figured if he could just keep going, he would want it eventually.

He let one hand ride up her thigh and find its way under her polyester uniform skirt, only to discover she wasn’t wearing underwear. It had been so long since he’d touched a woman’s heat, his cock reacted, twitching and stirring to life, even if only slightly.
Hell, at least that was better than limp.
He put his fingers to work, playing her body like his Les Paul. In no time, she rode it out and was screaming his name while her pussy squeezed his digits. As good as it felt,
and shit, it did feel good
, he didn’t want to fuck her.

What the Hell was that about?
He had three quarters of an erection, a willing woman primed and ready to go, and he didn’t want to close the deal. He rolled off of—
shit, what’s her fucking name?
—and threw his arm across his forehead, moaning aloud when he realized which hand was there by the smell. God, he missed that scent, but it wasn’t whatshername he wanted to smell, it was a woman with raven hair and a name that tasted like Heaven in his mouth.

Tori.

“No, Wendy, but you can call me whatever you want,” whatshername, Wendy, said as she fisted his cock, which was still hanging out of his fly. That meant he’d spoken aloud, called for Tori when he had another woman in bed. He was no better than Tonya at that point.

Not so gently removing her hand—
shit, she had a grip like an ironworker—
he attempted to rise and exit the bed. “Thanks for coming here, Wendy, I enjoyed it, but, I’m really tired and not up for finishing the night. I hope you understand.” She threw her leg over his hips before he could protest, placed her hands on his shoulders, arms locked and started grinding her dripping wet cunt up and down his shaft.
How much can one man take?

“It feels like you’re up to me, cowboy, at least well on your way.” Michael grabbed her waist to set her aside, but on her next downward stroke, she angled her hips just right and his semi-wood entered her. His hands flew to cover his face, “Fuck.” It didn’t feel bad, as a matter of fact, it felt good, physically. But he was still only half there in body and not at all in mind. He had to stop this. He did not want to have sex with this girl.

“Wendy, I need you to stop.” His mouth was saying no, but his body was thrusting involuntarily each time she came down. A moan escaped his lips, and it encouraged Wen…her, to ride him harder. He couldn’t even think her name without being ill.

She was not who he wanted.

“No way, cowboy, you brought me here for a fuck and well, you’re giving me a good one. Shit, you’re big, even half erect you rock. Now let’s see if we can make you grow. You keep saying no, or whatever your fetish is, as long as you can make me come again, I’ll play along.”

She thought it was a game?
No, he really didn’t want to finish this. “Seriously, I want you to sto...” She reached around and squeezed his nuts, and he was a goner. His cock went full mast and he couldn’t help but thrust up rapidly and moan. “No, no, no, no, no,” he chanted, but it didn’t matter, she started contracting like a Chinese finger-trap and he fucking squirted like a champ with a name escaping his lips, “Tori.”

Wendy fell onto his chest, exhausted and murmuring his praises, and all he could do was gag as his soft cock slipped from her body.
What the fuck just happened?
He didn’t want it, but his body wouldn’t listen.
Could men be raped?
He wondered. Surely they couldn’t, but that’s kind of what it felt like. Who would buy that this one hundred and twenty pound woman forced a two hundred pound personal trainer to have sex against his will. Besides, his body reacted, so he must have wanted it.

He was yanked from his personal considerations when she kissed his lips. Michael threw her off him and she landed on the other side of the bed with a bounce. “You need to leave, now.” He jumped up and pointed to the door.

“So, you’re not a cuddler. I can live with that. When can I see you again?”

“Never, lose my number and this never happened. Now go.” Michael stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door. When he saw his face in the mirror, he hated himself anew. He thought his reflection couldn’t disgust him more than when he’d first discovered his inability to be a man, but he was wrong. Dead wrong.

He’d just had sex with a woman without protection; a woman he didn’t want to have sex with at all. Not true, he did, until he kissed her. He knew the moment their lips met he didn’t want her or any other woman, except one. But, he’d had sex with her anyway, so he must have wanted it on some level, but now he hated himself for it. Lucky for him, he had three long months alone to cultivate and culture that hate in to epic proportions.

Her voice floated through the door, “I’m leaving, but I won’t lose your number. I really like you, Michael. I don’t know what you’re going through, but give me a call when you sort it out. If I don’t hear from you soon, I’ll call you.” He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he heard the room door click closed. At least he lived in Florida, a far cry from Tennessee, so all he needed to do was change his number if she called. Doubtful a waitress in a microscopic town could afford a ticket south. Thank God.

Michael showered as best he could in the compact space. Even after the water went cold and the hour changed, he still felt dirty. He couldn’t believe he’d finally gotten his groove back but had zero control over it.

He ripped the sheets off the bed before plopping down on the bare mattress in his towel. Sleep played hide and seek with him for a while but eluded him in the end. Finally, when the sun hinted at rising, Michael jumped up, dressed, and left the room for good. He never wanted to see that room again, or that town for that matter. After his ninety days, he’d probably not see much of the cabins either. Richard wanted to sell them outright, but Michael wanted to run them as rentals and keep them in the family, maybe generate enough income to maintain them and pay a management company. Hell, the only reason he was staying now was so Richard didn’t get it all and throw away their inheritance for cash. It was all Michael’s dad had to leave them, and he’d be damned if he was giving it up without a fight.

Being tied to the source of some painful memories wasn’t ideal, and now to this town, too, but he couldn’t just toss his hands up and say screw it all. He was an adult, and adults did things they didn’t like to do all the time. At least he’d had the forethought to have the cabin stocked and John would be around the airport at the halfway point to run in any fresh supplies he needed. The more he dwelled on it, the better his outlook became. He needed this time, now more than ever.

He returned the loaner car to the lot and waited inside the airport. Before he knew it, John was greeting him and loading up the Bobcat. The ATV was decked out to handle the typical mountain snow; the piece of shit loaner car, not so much.

Michael pulled himself together, or tried to. “When’s the wedding?” The minute the words fled his mouth, he wished he could take them back. The disappointment that overtook his friend’s face was unsettling. Mostly, it was because he felt bad for John. But at the same time, he was doing a little happy dance inside. Not that he’d ever see Tori again. Even if he did, she wouldn’t want a weak man like him anyway—one who took another woman back to a hotel room when in his head it had been her, then changed his mind but didn’t have what it took to stop it.
Weak, weak, weak.
A woman like her would desire a strong man, not him.

“She’s got a boyfriend, meeting him for some romantic getaway out at the lake. If you ask me, he doesn’t deserve her. Asshole just stood in the door, waving her in. Didn’t step a foot outside to help with her bags, and the snow was already ankle deep up there. Finally, when I realized he wasn’t just getting his boots or anything, I grabbed her bags. Asshole was already in the other room calling for her to come see his new watch or something. Total d-bag man, anyway, how’d it go last night, killer? How many woman of this small town are now singing your praises?”

Michael cringed, his already-sour mood now rotted. “It was fine, now, can we get this show on the road and cut the chit chat?” Michael hated treating his friend like the enemy, but he couldn’t bear to think about last night, much less talk about it. Or, hear about Tori’s boyfriend, or, anything else for that matter. Maybe, he should ask John about last night, hypothetically of course. Just for some peace of mind or…something.

Ultimately deciding against it, Michael loaded his bags. It was impossible for a man to be raped, end of story. He wouldn’t embarrass himself by suggesting such a thing.