things, he couldn't risk screwing around with jail bait. He'd learned his lesson ten years ago when a certain fifteen-year-old gal's daddy had come after him with a shotgun. If Farlan hadn't had the law in his hip pocket back then-both the sheriff and the chief of police-things might have gotten nasty. But once Farlan paid her father fifty thousand not to press charges, the whole ugly mess simply went away. Not one word had ever been printed in the local paper, thanks to the fact that MacKinnon Media had a monopoly on the press in Cherokee County. Max couldn't help shivering just a bit whenever he thought about the whole situation and how close he'd come to ruining his life. He owed Farlan a debt he could never fully repay.
Max lay in bed, naked as the day he was born, and let her remove his soiled condom.
When she got up, he swatted her smooth, round backside. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him, then disappeared into the bathroom. With the heat of passion fading, he felt a sudden chill, so he dragged the sheet and blanket up to his waist.
He had needed this evening's entertainment, needed it the way he needed air to breathe.
Sex with his wife-which he got about once a month, if he was lucky-had never been great, not in years. Not after she got a little older and more demanding. He liked'em young.
So sue him. If all men would admit the truth, most of them would prefer a sixteen-year-old to a thirty-year-old.
Hell, he wasn't a damn pedophile. Little girls didn't turn him on. They had to be mature enough to have tits and a furry pussy before he was interested. Somebody between fourteen and twenty. He'd enjoyed his share of the younger ones in the past, until he'd picked the wrong gal. Ever since then, he'd made sure they were either legal age or in an illegal profession. Lately most of his pickups were the later. Young prostitutes.
When she came out of the bathroom, she started putting on her clothes. Max patted the bed and motioned to her.
"If you want more, it'll cost you," she told him.
"That's fine by me." Max whipped back the covers and slid to the side of the bed. "I'll be good to go pretty soon, sugar. I took my Viagra today."
She let her jeans drop back on the floor and came toward him, her slender hips swaying and her small, perky breasts begging for his mouth.
Wade Truman threw back his head and groaned deep in his throat as he came. Shudders of release racked his body. A minute later, as the aftershocks rippled through him, his partner came. God, she was loud, he thought, as he listened to her scream in his ear. Swe-aty and exhausted, he rolled off her and onto the bed. While he lay there, gazing up at the ceiling, she cuddled up against him. If he didn't have plans for her later, he'd get up now, wash off, put on his clothes and leave. He'd bought her dinner; they'd talked and laughed and danced. He'd been charming and attentive, giving her what most women wanted, ladies and sluts alike. At thirty-five, he had yet to meet a woman he really wanted that he couldn't talk into his bed.
Don't lie to yourself. There was one. That fiery redhead who told you flat out no. And for the life of him he didn't understand why, not when she'd probably spread her legs for half the men in Cherokee County.
Looking back, he figured he'd just approached her at the wrong time, one of the times Jamie Upton had been in town. Everybody knew that Jazzy Talbot had been hog wild crazy about the bastard. And now that Jamie was dead, she'd latched on to the new heir apparent to the Upton fortune, Caleb McCord. Lucky son of a bitch. What he'd give to be in that guy's shoes. Wade chuckled to himself, thinking what he'd give to be in Caleb's bed, on top of Jazzy, buried to the hilt inside her.
He was an idiot! A damn fool. Hell, even his ex-wife had reminded him of Jazzy. Not as buxom. Not as tall and leggy. Not as wild. But a pretty redheaded lady who had made him a good wife. Too bad she'd been as boring as hell and
Max lay in bed, naked as the day he was born, and let her remove his soiled condom.
When she got up, he swatted her smooth, round backside. Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at him, then disappeared into the bathroom. With the heat of passion fading, he felt a sudden chill, so he dragged the sheet and blanket up to his waist.
He had needed this evening's entertainment, needed it the way he needed air to breathe.
Sex with his wife-which he got about once a month, if he was lucky-had never been great, not in years. Not after she got a little older and more demanding. He liked'em young.
So sue him. If all men would admit the truth, most of them would prefer a sixteen-year-old to a thirty-year-old.
Hell, he wasn't a damn pedophile. Little girls didn't turn him on. They had to be mature enough to have tits and a furry pussy before he was interested. Somebody between fourteen and twenty. He'd enjoyed his share of the younger ones in the past, until he'd picked the wrong gal. Ever since then, he'd made sure they were either legal age or in an illegal profession. Lately most of his pickups were the later. Young prostitutes.
When she came out of the bathroom, she started putting on her clothes. Max patted the bed and motioned to her.
"If you want more, it'll cost you," she told him.
"That's fine by me." Max whipped back the covers and slid to the side of the bed. "I'll be good to go pretty soon, sugar. I took my Viagra today."
She let her jeans drop back on the floor and came toward him, her slender hips swaying and her small, perky breasts begging for his mouth.
Wade Truman threw back his head and groaned deep in his throat as he came. Shudders of release racked his body. A minute later, as the aftershocks rippled through him, his partner came. God, she was loud, he thought, as he listened to her scream in his ear. Swe-aty and exhausted, he rolled off her and onto the bed. While he lay there, gazing up at the ceiling, she cuddled up against him. If he didn't have plans for her later, he'd get up now, wash off, put on his clothes and leave. He'd bought her dinner; they'd talked and laughed and danced. He'd been charming and attentive, giving her what most women wanted, ladies and sluts alike. At thirty-five, he had yet to meet a woman he really wanted that he couldn't talk into his bed.
Don't lie to yourself. There was one. That fiery redhead who told you flat out no. And for the life of him he didn't understand why, not when she'd probably spread her legs for half the men in Cherokee County.
Looking back, he figured he'd just approached her at the wrong time, one of the times Jamie Upton had been in town. Everybody knew that Jazzy Talbot had been hog wild crazy about the bastard. And now that Jamie was dead, she'd latched on to the new heir apparent to the Upton fortune, Caleb McCord. Lucky son of a bitch. What he'd give to be in that guy's shoes. Wade chuckled to himself, thinking what he'd give to be in Caleb's bed, on top of Jazzy, buried to the hilt inside her.
He was an idiot! A damn fool. Hell, even his ex-wife had reminded him of Jazzy. Not as buxom. Not as tall and leggy. Not as wild. But a pretty redheaded lady who had made him a good wife. Too bad she'd been as boring as hell and
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