Authors: Desiree Holt
TROUBLE AT THE TREBLE T
A Total-E-Bound Publication
Trouble at the Treble T
©Copyright Desiree Holt 2011
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright November 2011
Edited by Stacey Birkel
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2011 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
This story contains 55 pages, additionally there is also a
at the end of the book containing 5 pages.
If one man is great, how hot will it be with three?
When Marti Jensen took the job managing the Treble Shooters honky-tonk, little did she know that the three Thompson brothers—Justin, Mark and Cade—had more in mind than having her pour drinks and keep order among the rowdies. But a visit to their vast ranch, the Treble T, showed her just what kind of erotic fantasies they had and the role they expected her to play. The question then became…what next?
To every cowboy who rides by my house or waves to me as I cruise past his ranch in my truck. You inspire me.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Jeep: Daimler Chrysler Corporation
Stetson: John B. Stetson Company
Are You Gonna Kiss Me Or Not?:
When’s It Gonna Be My Turn?:
Live a Little:
It’s All Over Now:
Need You Now: Lady Antebellum
Some Lessons Learned:
I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry:
We’ve Got It All:
The jukebox had been playing nonstop in the honky tonk since five o’clock, nothing unusual for a Friday night. People got off work for the weekend, ranch hands started filtering in, the beer began flowing and soon the postage-stamp-sized dance floor was filled with bodies gyrating to old and new country tunes.
Cade Thompson sat with his brothers, Justin and Mark, at a table in the corner of Treble Shooters watching people move to the music—faces flushed, hips wriggling, practically having sex with their clothes on while Travis Tritt and Lady Antebellum echoed off the wooden walls of the honky tonk. They’d spent a hard week with the hands moving cattle from one pasture to the other and culling those for branding. Tonight they’d decided to give themselves a break from the ranch and hang out at the bar they’d bought when the previous owner died. Spring Valley was small enough as it was, with few entertainment options. They didn’t want to see the only real place their hands could hang out close down.
Getting a full-time manager on a permanent basis, though, had been harder than they’d expected. Apparently the list of people who wanted to relocate to Spring Valley was a short one. The men had been burning both ends of the candle—running the Treble T ranch during the day and taking turns running the bar at night—when fortune had finally smiled on them.
Now Cade looked over at the bar, watching as Marti Jensen poured three drinks at once without breaking a sweat, and gave silent thanks once more for the day she’d walked in. He admired the way she kept her cool with all the chaos around her—the raised voices, the clicking of pool balls, the heavy thump of a bass and the squeal of the slide guitar, the lone waitress fighting for her attention along with everyone crowded at the bar demanding their drink
She was tall, maybe five ten.
Just right for three brothers who all top six four.
Stop! What are you thinking?
But he couldn’t take his eyes away from her lush body. The way the Treble Shooters T-shirt fell softly against her ripe breasts and the jeans clung lovingly to the finest ass he’d seen in a long time. The way her riot of curly black hair cascaded down her back and framed a face with high cheekbones, violet cat’s eyes and full, sensual lips. He’d wanted to fuck her since the day she’d walked in with the San Antonio classified rolled up in her hand and said in her saucy tone of voice, “Someone in here looking for a manager?” And ever since, he’d done his best to try and push the thought out of his mind.
She’d had excellent references and they still wondered why the hell she’d wanted to come to a tiny spot in the road like Spring Valley. But all she’d tell them was it had been time for her to move on. She had moved into the furnished apartment over Treble Shooters and taken over the bar as if she’d been running it forever. Nothing seemed to faze her—not the normal complement of drunks, not the cowboys who came on to her, not the over the top crowds that jammed the place on weekends. She was a godsend, delivered up to them as if by fate.
And he still wanted to strip her naked and fuck her blind.
Damn, damn, damn.
Justin leant close enough to be heard over the high noise level. “Better put your tongue back in your mouth, big brother. That’s one body you won’t be licking unless you want to go looking for another manager.”
One corner of Cade’s mouth kicked up in a grin. “Maybe I could make it part of her employment contract.”
“Thought of that myself a time or two,” Mark chimed in. “But you know the rules about mixing business and pleasure.”
“Unless, of course, she indicates she’s interested,” Cade told him.
“Which she hasn’t,” Justin reminded him.
But at that moment, Marti looked up from behind the bar, caught his eye and an unexpected jolt of electricity sizzled between them. Cade’s cock instantly hardened to steel and a low ache set up in his balls. Was she sending him some kind of signal? He’d sure like to find out.
“You won’t get any answers by staring at her,” Justin chuckled.
“Maybe I just did,” he said, almost to himself.
“Well, she won’t be interested on a Friday night, anyway,” Justin pointed out. “She’s got all she can handle behind that bar and more.”
“Maybe so, but we’ve been too damn busy at the ranch. We’ve done so long without that my hard-on might not go away for weeks.”
Mark laughed and leant across the table. “Then we’d best figure out what to do about that.”
At that moment, the fates delivered a bundle into his presence in the form of Shannon Moore. Five seven, curved in all the right places, blonde hair tumbling down her back in lustrous curls. Cade knew every inch of that body, as did his brothers. She’d played their games more than once. When she plopped herself into his lap, he wondered if she was ready to play again.
She looped her arm around his neck and put her mouth right next to his ear, her breath like a warm breeze, and murmured, “Long time no see, cowboy. How’s tricks?”
He wrapped an arm around her waist and shifted her so his cock pressed firmly against her bottom. “Feel that? Tell you just how things are?”
Her face flushed red and heat flared in her eyes. “How about a dance?” She looked at Mark and Justin. “One with each of you?”
Justin grinned. “Suits me. But one of these times I want to go first.”
She laughed as Cade stood and set her on her feet. “Invite me over again and I think that can be arranged.”
There was a brief pause in the noise level before the jukebox clicked over to the next tune and cranked out Thompson Square’s slow honky tonk melody,
ou Gonna Kiss Me Or Not?
“That’s our cue,” Cade said, leading Shannon to the dance floor.
He wedged them into a tiny space at a corner of the floor then pulled her body hard against his. She leaned against him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and sighed when his hands lowered to grab the cheeks of her ass tightly. He ground his pelvis against hers as they caught the rhythm of the music.
“Feel that, sugar?” he murmured in her ear, below the noise level. “Feel just how hard I am.” His cock was pressing hard into her pussy, her heat blazing into him even through the layers of their clothing.
“Oh, yeah,” she breathed.
Cade glanced quickly around and realised half of the people on the dance floor were all but fucking to music with their clothes on. Bodies were glued to bodies, hips swaying, arms wrapped around each other.
At least no one
s paying attention to us.
He closed his eyes momentarily, inhaling Shannon’s familiar essence, the light perfume she always wore that had become so familiar with all their sessions together.
And that’s what they are, he reminded himself. Sessions. Hours together, the four of them, to play their erotic games. He knew the sexual desires of the Thompson brothers had become well known in the county. Almost notorious. While they were highly respected as ranchers, they were envied by most men for their sexual activities. And there never seemed to be a shortage of women to accept their invitations.
He opened his eyes and glanced around again. Marti was busy at the bar pouring drinks, not looking up at all. If he kissed Shannon on the dance floor, she would hardly notice.
“Well, sugar? Like the song says, are you gonna kiss me or not?”
In tacit invitation, she tilted her face slightly.
Cade shifted his head so his mouth could find hers. As they swayed to the music, he licked the outer edges of her lips, tasting the lingering flavour of the margarita she must have had earlier before sliding his tongue into her hot, willing mouth. Her own tongue met his, dancing with it, gliding over its surface.
Thank you, Shannon, for saying hello tonight. I damn well needed this.
Her breasts, soft mounds of flesh, pressed against his chest and her nipples were so hard he could feel them even through her bra and the soft material of her T-shirt. He moved his tongue over hers in a rhythm that captured the beat of the music, until he felt the heat simmering all the way from his toes to the top of his head. If he wasn’t careful, he’d come in his jeans on the dance floor and embarrass himself.