Page 126 of Outlaws of Tulsa

“So tight,” he murmurs. “You were right. You’re not ready for my big dick.”

I squirm at his words.

“I bet your pussy is ready. Tell me, little storm, did Filter get your hole nice and stretched to take a real man’s cock?”

“I hate you,” I snap.

He slides his finger out of my hole and smacks my ass. “But you want me.”

His body covers mine once again, sending waves of terror rippling through me. I let loose a sob when his cock rubs between my thighs in a teasing way. “You’re going to crave my cock every second of every day because once I’m inside you, it’ll feel like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. I’ll own you, baby.”

“Jeremy,” I say once more, my voice firm. “If you fuck me tonight, it’ll be rape because I don’t want this. I don’t want you. You can make me come and whisper sweet words, but you’ll be a rapist. Like the sonofabitches who raped your niece and sister-in-law.”

He freezes as my words sink in. Then, as though someone struck him with lightning, he climbs off the bed and yanks his sweats back up. I cry out when he grabs me and picks me up.We struggle as I fight to escape his hold. He’s stronger and thus more successful. I’m only freed from his grip when he dumps me on my bed in the guest room.

He stalks off, leaving me alone. I yank the blanket up over me, needing a moment to myself. Away from him while I figure out my next plan of action. Before I can decide what to do next, he appears with a vengeance, yanking my good hand out from beneath the covers. I scream when the cold metal of handcuffs wraps around my wrist, clicking shut. He jerks my wrist up toward the headboard and hooks the other end to the metal pole that attaches the wood headboard to the frame.

No escape.

“Copper!” I cry out, shooting him with a nasty glare. “What the fuck?”

His dark eyes are icy as he glowers at me in disgust. “You want to play the victim role, then be the fucking victim.” He shakes his head at me, his nostrils flaring. “I had good plans for you, Stormy. I was going to fuck you and keep you. But you’re still out for number one. You. Using what happened to my family as ammunition to fuck me up. Great job, bitch. You succeeded. Now I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head. Hope you enjoyed it while it lasted because I won’t ever fucking touch you again.”

With those words, he flips off the lights and slams the door behind him. I’m so shocked by the cold hatred flung my way, all I can do is gape in the darkness.

I’ve really gone and done it now.

Copper

Iwake to barking. Loud and excited. Groaning, I try to ignore the pounding in my skull. Last night, I drank way too fucking much. Everything is a blur. Absently, I reach across the bed, looking for warm flesh. It’s then I remember everything.

The bath.

Her vulnerability.

My finger in her ass.

I was going to fuck her and keep her tucked into my side for last night and every single one after, but then she said some horrible shit that mindfucked me.

I slept alone while she slept handcuffed to her bed.

It’s for the best. Sleeping with her would have just sent me down a path I can’t afford to go down with Stormy. She’s our fucking enemy. Koyn would want to kill me. Filter probably would. Letting Stormy into my heart, like I was so clearly eager to do, would have betrayed my brothers in the worst way.

Never again.

Someone bangs on the door downstairs, really making the dogs go nuts. I slide out of bed, ignoring the intensifying throb in my head as I stalk through the house to see who the fuck is bothering me at this hour. If it’s Krista, I’m going to go off on her.

When I fling the door open, my dogs whine and jump, eager for attention. Koyn, in all his asshole glory, crouches to give Hansel and Gretel some neck scratches.

“Needy fucking dogs,” Koyn gripes, though there’s no malice in his tone. “You spoil them.”

I grunt out my agreement. “Look at them. It’s hard not to.”

Koyn chuckles and then rises to his feet. The dogs take it as they’re not going to get any more love and tear off the porch, eager to chase whatever squirrels they can find. I motion for him to come inside. As I busy myself at the Keurig, Koyn crosses his arms and watches me. He’s wearing his black Royal Bastards leather cut over a white Henley and dark jeans. His boots are muddy, which makes me cringe. Between his mess and the one we made last night, my floors are wrecked.

“Where’s the traitor?” he asks when I set a mug down in front of him.

“In bed.” I turn my back on him and stir some sugar into my own mug.

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