Sexual Affection (Contemporary Cowboys 3)

“You can’t blame Braden,” Evan said. “No one would’ve thought about Kane leaving you tied to the bed for half the afternoon and into the early evening. Under normal circumstances, he can’t manage an hour if he isn’t touching you.”

Peyton seemingly tried to ward off a smile. Kane’s nose twitched. They both knew what Evan had said was true. Kane rarely let Peyton out of his sight and perhaps that was the problem. He’d given her an inch and what happened? She’d taken far more than a mile. Now, she’d been punished appropriately and she would remember this day should the urge to flirt ever cross her mind again.

And he was pretty sure it wouldn’t.

“Let’s test that theory of yours, Evan. Shall we?” Peyton fluttered her eyelashes and cocked her head. “After spending the day in bed with my arms and legs spread wide, I’d like to tie him to the bed and see how long he can stay there!” She thinne

d her lips. Her small nostrils flared. “Trust me, Kane, I have more willpower than you do. You couldn’t stand five minutes of restraint, let alone several hours!”

“I didn’t forget about you, baby,” Kane said, stroking his chin and loving the flush in her cheeks. “I always know where you are.”

“Hmm. Well yeah. I can believe that,” Peyton snapped. “Because you’re obsessed. O-B-S-E—”

He hurriedly left his seat and grabbed her around the waist, bracketing his arm around her middle before yanking her forward. Her palms landed on his chest and he smothered her lips with his. He assaulted her feisty mouth with a driven kiss, loving the way she resisted at first before she finally relaxed in his arms, seemingly ready to concede.

Peyton had deserved her punishment. She’d outwardly flirted with one of Clink’s new bartenders. Clink, owned by Patience McKay and his daughters Kimberly and Ansley, had begun to attract the older crowd. Part of the reason the forty-plus women often walked in the place had a lot to do with the bartenders in their late twenties. Each bartender there had apparently learned what it would take to earn a better living—flirt with an accomplished older woman and point her in the direction of the tip jar.

Thinking of the stories that had been generated and how women in town had called the bartenders hotter than any male stripper or perhaps equivalent to Showtime’s Gigolos, Kane deepened his kiss, clutching the back of Peyton’s head as he thrust inside her mouth, willing her to see the error of her ways.

Not only had Peyton openly come on to the dude, but she’d also told the young prick if she wasn’t happily married, she’d place his name on her dance card. As luck would have it, the bastard tracked her down and called her, pitching some kind of bullshit about providing Peyton with dance lessons. Kane was more than happy to tell the squirt her dance card was full seven nights a week, three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. Kane then went on to explain that three partners could dip and dive far better than any salsa dancer.

“Dance card hell,” he muttered, smoothing his lips over hers before releasing her.

Braden lifted a brow. “What are you groaning about now?”

“We’re even, sweet cheeks,” Kane said, slapping Peyton’s bare ass and ignoring Braden.

“We’re far from even, Kane,” she said, rubbing her wrists with enough force to make those fine tits bounce and jiggle. “You’re lucky I don’t smack the shit out of you for this stunt.”

He stroked his rough face, thinking he could take the smack just so he could punish her yet again. Then again, Peyton’s fit had made him as hard and erect as a launched rocket. He couldn’t wait to bend her over. Then he’d fuck out every last bit of rebellion still living within the wildcat he’d had the good fortune to marry and call out as his wife.

“What if something had happened? What if the house had caught on fire? What if—”

Kane framed her face with his hands. “What if I hadn’t found out about the pass you made at that young bartender?”

“Maybe you missed the part where I told him I was happily married!” She shook her head and gritted her teeth.

“I think he’s got that much down now,” Kane said, shooting her a wink.

Her blue eyes sparkled. “You’re jealous. After all these years?”

“Damn right.” He walked away.

“That’s an understatement,” Evan said. “You’re lucky he didn’t kill the guy.”

Evan was a good one to talk. When he’d found out what had happened at the club, he’d called Clink and asked for the fellow by name. Then, he’d pitched a few threats, reminded him of how many lovers—husbands—Peyton already had, and left him with a final warning. If he went sniffing around his woman again, he wouldn’t just be out of a job, he’d need to relocate for his safety.

Kane chuckled at the thought. Evan hadn’t acted like a renegade in years.

“Careful, Evan,” Braden said. “Kane wasn’t the one who tried to fire the guy.”

“Only because he beat me to it,” Kane bit out. “Besides with a name like Stealth Wales, he ought to be fired.”

“So you’re making fun of his name now, too?” Her gaze hopped from one man to the next. “Give the guy a break.”

“I did,” said Kane. “I didn’t follow him home from Clink and rough him up.”

“And we didn’t help Kane here hide a body so it’s safe to assume the little prick is still among the living,” Evan said.