From Bestselling Erotica Author Erika Masten
Broken: Bitter Creek Doms #2 An Explicit Erotic Short Story
In Bitter Creek, Vicky is one of those women. The small town slut who wears too little, drinks too much, fucks too soon, and never spends the night. The hard jilting she got from her high school sweetheart and fiancé broke something deep inside her. Now it’s up to his best friends, twins Morgan and Heath, to break her down yet again—with gentle words and rough handling—and get what’s broken to heal right this time.
Bonus Material: Includes excerpts from Bridled: Bitter Creek Doms #1 and Public Display of Submission: The Dom Next Door #1 by Erika Masten.
Warning: Explicit sexual content. Intended for mature readers only. All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older, and all sexual activities are of a consensual nature.
This isn’t going to derail us. I rub myself shamelessly against his hip and come up on tiptoes to graze my lips against his cheek. Gotta love lip stain—no smear. “Is there a storage room back here?”
His eyes narrow, and his breath snags. “You’d be okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I? Is that so much less romantic than a dark little office? Honestly, Morgan, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m no wilting flower.” I make him jerk when I yank his shirt open, ripping more than one button loose. “Storeroom…” My fingers find one of his pebble-hard nipples, dark rosy brown and so damn warm, while my tongue finds the other. His first instinct is to close his large hands over my shoulders like he’s going to push me away, but his fingers slide up into my hair after a moment, gently tugging at the nape and giving me shivers. “Up against the wall out behind the building,” I suggest between long, slow licks around those sensitive nubs. His abs tense and flex in time with the motions of my tongue and his ragged breath. Impatient, I grab his crotch, pressing the heel of my palm hard against the impressive ridge of his erection through his black jeans. “Over the hood of your car. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
Morgan starts to lever up my cowboy hat. “I want to see your face, Vicky. Your eyes…”
My hand darts up from his groin to catch the brim and pull it back down, further than before. “My face isn’t the important part.”
“A hard woman, huh?” His voice dips to a low murmur that wouldn’t have worked out on the floor. Back here, in the shadowy hallway, thick wood walls blocking out all but the deepest, most guttural notes of the guitar music, it’s a devastatingly effective weapon.
I chance removing my hand from my hat to pop the button on his jeans with speed and skill that makes me proud. As I’m gripping the tab on his zipper, I purr, “Looking for a hard man.”
Swearing under his breath, Morgan jerks my hand from his pants and hauls me down the corridor two more doors to a sizeable storeroom stacked with crates of liquor and kitchen supplies, with cleaning agents and tools piled on shelves, a couple of empty barrels left over from the specialty brews they order from some local breweries, even a battered brown leather sofa against one wall. Flicking the light switch turns on a small yellowish bulb under a plain metal shade, about center of the room. It casts the space in a soft amber glow, perhaps a bit too soft-focus for my taste, but it would be hard not to look good in this light. That’s a plus.
“This will do.” I nod decisively and use Morgan’s hold on my hand to tug him into the room, kicking the door closed behind us with the heel of my boot. Under that amber light, I fumble to get his zipper down. My eagerness to hear his soft voice turn to growls and curses, to feel his tender mannerisms give way to shoving and pulling and brutal thrusts, has me biting my lower lip. I hate that my hands are trembling. They never do that.
“Slow down,” Morgan huffs as I cup his heavy, bulging testicles through his black briefs.
“Don’t want to,” I say as I reach for the waistband of his underwear.
In a blink, the room is swirling around me, as Morgan spins me hard and fast and lays me out face down bent over a crate. I grunt as the hard edge of the wooden box digs into my stomach, as my cunt pulses frantically at the sudden turn in Morgan, at the rough handling. His hat and his shirt hit the crate next to me. Then he’s got me by both arms, hands closed like vices just above my elbows, pulling them back enough to get me to arch my spine. His hold makes me press my ass flush to his erect cock.
“Is this more what you had in mind?” he asks, a mild scolding tone in his voice.
“It is,” I pant, my face hot, my inner thighs wet with the juices seeping from my pussy. “Assuming you’re man enough to know what to do with me in this position.”
“Oh,” Morgan coos and whistles and shakes his head. “I bet that line usually works. Challenge a guy’s manhood, and most will lose their heads.” He gazes down appreciatively at the curves pinned underneath him. “Especially with that mouth and this body.”
My hands ball up into fists, and I grind my ass back against Morgan’s rigid tool. “We playing mind games again, Mr. Dixon?” I squirm violently against him when he lays his body over mine and wraps his arms around my chest. So much bare skin against mine is making it difficult to concentrate on just how mad I am. His hot breath swirls in waves against my neck as he exhales, sending hard shudders through my shoulders and back.
“The game has been all yours up to this point, Vicky. I’m just trying to slow you down enough to see if you’re still in there somewhere.”
My stomach flushes with disappointment, my chest with anger. “Bastard. Enough with the pop psychology. Let me up. I’m out of here.”
One of Morgan’s big, calloused hands dips inside my shirt and grips my breast, kneading ruthlessly before pulling at the aching nipple. “You really want me to?”
I let out an uneven breath and toss my head back against his strong, hard shoulder. “Not if you’re going to do that. Fuck me or don’t, Morgan. Make up your mind.”
“I heard from a couple of the guys around town that you’d turned into quite the little wildcat,” Morgan mutters, his soft lips just behind my ear, teasing the tender curl of flesh. “A cat in heat, one said, but I didn’t believe him. Not sweet little Victoria. Our little Vicky.”
“Our Vicky?” I scoff. “I don’t remember dating you.”
“Nope. Allan latched on before either Heath or I had the chance. Then we weren’t around to step in when he fucked it up. And by the time we get back, little Vicky is the wildest, sexiest, coldest, bitchiest brat for a hundred miles any direction.”
This makes me burst out in laughter, despite the insult of being held down like this for no good reason, and despite the shivers running through my body, cunt to nipples, toes to crown. “Brat?” Sure, why not? I’ve been called worse.
Morgan plucks and pinches at my nipple again, snuffing out the amusement in my voice. “It takes a very particular kind of man to handle a brat. To give her the discipline she needs without playing into her hands and giving her everything she wants, which would just make her unhappy anyway.”
I twist best I can to look over my tensed shoulder. I’m panting with effort, trying to find Morgan’s gray eyes and read them. He actually tilts his head so I can get a better look at his face. His eyes are hooded with arousal, but his jaw is clenched firm and sharp, his lips set in a determined line. But determination for what?
“That doesn’t sound like something I’d hear from bashful Morgan Dixon,” I point out. “I’m not the only one who has changed.”
He shakes his head before crushing me even tighter to his chest, before angling his hips up just so, to push the ridge of his hard-on against my slit through the leather shorts. My pussy lips part, the thick inseam drawing tight against my clit. I gasp and buck.
“Nothing has changed,” Morgan insists. “Being in the Navy, out in the world, taught Heath and I to stop hiding what we really wanted, to go after it. The world taught you to hide behind a smart mouth and a sexy body. But what’s inside hasn’t changed, not for any of us.”
I start to argue, but Morgan’s other hand, the one that’s not massaging and twisting my tingling breast, takes me by the chin and turns me toward his mouth to meet a sudden, forceful kiss. He doesn’t let up when I bite his tongue, just nips my lower lip and dives back in. He doesn’t let up when I’m hurling out half-smothered curses, just pinches my nose and makes me whimper for lack of air. Only when he has kissed me breathless and pliant does Morgan pull back to lick my trembling lips and nuzzle my cheek.
“I’ll take you at your word that Allan abandoning you didn’t break you,” he pants against my skin, his hips bouncing slightly but constantly against my ass, making my pussy lips flare every time the bulge of his cock presses against me. “But I think breaking might be just what you need to get that head and that heart to set right this time.”
My lips curl back from my gritted teeth, my jaw clenched in rage and in need. “If you think you’re big enough to do it.” I’ll prove him wrong.
“Between the two of us,” a voice from the doorway calls, and I twist my head to see Heath Dixon shutting the door behind him, “I think we can get the job done.”