Woman on Top [McQueen Was My Valley 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)
McQueen Was My Valley 2
Woman on Top
Wild child Brooke McQueen has promised to behave, starting a new life at her sister’s Triple Play Lodge in Utah. But she falls hard for the wounded mercenary and antiquities expert, Adrian Kinsey, and can’t keep her hands off him. Adrian wants nothing to do with another woman after he was betrayed by a fiancée back east, and peaceful game warden Gabriel Verona offers to be a buffer zone between the destined lovers.
The trio tries to pretend it’s all merely a lusty game of bondage and discipline as they hook up around the lodge. They walk a delicate balance in their power plays, but Adrian can’t avoid his passion for Brooke forever.
A despicable animal poacher they’ve nabbed vows revenge. Emotions run deep as they scramble to keep one step ahead of the unbalanced criminal. Brooke’s deepest desire is to emerge as the woman on top of every game.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 52,777 words
WOMAN ON TOP
McQueen Was My Valley 2
Karen Mercury
MENAGE EVERLASTING
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
ABOUT THE E-BOOK YOU HAVE PURCHASED: Your non-refundable purchase of this e-book allows you to only ONE LEGAL copy for your own personal reading on your own personal computer or device. You do not have resell or distribution rights without the prior written permission of both the publisher and the copyright owner of this book. This book cannot be copied in any format, sold, or otherwise transferred from your computer to another through upload to a file sharing peer to peer program, for free or for a fee, or as a prize in any contest. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. Distribution of this e-book, in whole or in part, online, offline, in print or in any way or any other method currently known or yet to be invented, is forbidden. If you do not want this book anymore, you must delete it from your computer.
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
If you find a Siren-BookStrand e-book being sold or shared illegally, please let us know at
legal@sirenbookstrand.com
A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Everlasting
WOMAN ON TOP
Copyright © 2013 by Karen Mercury
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-354-5
First E-book Publication: February 2013
Cover design by Les Byerley
All art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
If you have purchased this copy of Woman on Top by Karen Mercury from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.
Regarding E-book Piracy
This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.
The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.
This is Karen Mercury’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Mercury’s right to earn a living from her work.
Amanda Hilton, Publisher
www.SirenPublishing.com
www.BookStrand.com
DEDICATION
To Olivia. Thanks for all the skiing info. You must be eighteen years old to read this.
And Carlita, who assisted with all the lodge business.
WOMAN ON TOP
McQueen Was My Valley 2
KAREN MERCURY
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
Bird in Hand, Utah
Brooke had seen this man walking back and forth past her desk for four days now.
The most he’d done was nod at her, acknowledging her existence, that she sat behind a desk. Sat there day in, day out, doing nothing more than point to the complimentary lemonade, strawberries, and apples. Oh, sure, once in awhile there would be a newbie guest and Brooke would be required to actually get up and give them a tour of the mineral pool, whirlpool, dry sauna, wet sauna. This was the highlight of Brooke’s day, pointing at the thermostat, showing people where to hang their white terry robes. Sometimes old-timers would want to go sit on their noodles in the outdoor shiatsu pool, and she’d have to explain that it was too snowy and therefore dangerous out there. The outdoor area of the Triple Play Lodge was closed in January.
Of course, Brooke kept her e-book reader on a pull-out tray under the desk and read books between greeting guests. This was how the real highlight of her days became the redheaded man who passed by her desk a few times every day. With an exquisitely rounded ass and wide shoulders, he carried himself stiffly, erect as though alert for enemies. His peridot-green eyes reflected light from the skylights above, giving the impression of steely intelligence, a gritty courage.
Brooke concluded that he had a military background. She had nothing better to do, in fact, than to invent an entire background for the ginger fellow she’d heard the masseuse call Adrian. Never married, she concluded the hunk in his mid-thirties had been running black ops overseas. He’d come to Utah to ski and forget the horrors he’d seen. She knew he skied because once she’d seen him head out of the dressing room all decked out in ski attire. Brooke made excuses to walk by the mineral pool just to catch glimpses of his finely molded ass as he took a dip in his tight swim trunks. Adrian had several long, slashing scars across his back that Brooke romantically imagined were caused when he was held captive by insurgents. Of course the terrorists got no information out of him.
After a few days of this torture, Brooke talked to Adrian’s masseuse, Ashley. “That guy, Ashley. The redheaded one. What’s his story?”
Ashley’s face lit up. “Oh, Adrian Kinsey? He’s a mouth-watering morsel. He’s got game, doesn’t he?”
“What is his game, exactly? Is he married?”
“I don’t think so. At least, he’s never mentioned a wife. No ring.”
“And he’s not gay,” Brooke presumed. Her gaydar definitely hadn’t pinged.
“I don’t think so. He’s made some…remarks about women before. That he appreciates them.”
The next time Adrian showed up for his massage appointment—nodding ever so minutely to Brooke as he passed by her desk—Brooke took impulsive action. She just could not tolerate watching this delectable man walk by without becoming more intimate with him.
She waited twenty minutes before completely abandoning her desk and walking upstairs. She lingered outside Ashley’s treatment room, staring into her cup of chamomile tea, practically whistling with nonchalance. A couple other masseuses walked by and tried to engage her in conversation, but she cut them off abruptly. He’s got game. Brooke wanted to know more about Adrian’s game.
Then Ashle
y emerged, on time to give Adrian his ten-minute meditative rest listening to space music while lavender steam drifted through the room. Luckily, Ashley just nodded at her before continuing down the hallway, and Brooke slipped into the room once she was out of sight.
Adrian lay on his front, a sheet draped over his buoyant ass. His swim trunks hung from a peg on the wall. Ashley was a pert, vivacious young woman—just like every other masseuse at the Triple Play. It wasn’t supposed to be intentional, but it somehow turned out that way, probably because pert young women drew in more customers. So Brooke needed to have one up on Ashley and all the other Ashleys of the Triple Play. She needed to stand out in some way if she wanted to tempt this unusually gorgeous man.
She needed to be bold.
And since Brooke had fearlessness in spades, she snatched up Ashley’s bottle of massage oil and warmed some between her palms. She was loud about it, too, not stealthy. She smacked her palms together like a child playing patty-cake, appreciatively eyeballing the lovely slope of Adrian’s lower back. His beautifully shiny, scarlet-red hair looked to have been cut in a military style but had grown out for perhaps over a month, giving him a shaggy, boyish look. Lust surged through Brooke’s uterus, actually making her ovaries throb as she stood beside his prone body, rubbing the oil salaciously into her palms.
He didn’t jump one centimeter when she touched her palms to his shoulders. She didn’t know if she should avoid the scars, which didn’t seem that old. Is he asleep? My, his skin is as soft as cream. Sweeping her hands down his biceps, she squiggled each of his fingers in turn between hers. Several times she had to add more oil, and her eyes were fixed on his face. He had a pointed, aristocratic nose that gave him a very thoughtful, refined look. Of course, being redheaded, he had exceedingly white skin, flawless aside from the flogging scars that flared angrily across his milky back.
Brooke was shocked at how deeply this man had already affected her. Was she not accustomed to partying at nightclubs with many international, jet-setting men? Yes. That’s why I was dragged here to Utah kicking and screaming against my will. Too much partying. She had always been able to bag any man she wanted, on a whim, never a single rejection. She had a feeling this refined, aristocratic man might be her first. This made her want him all the more. Is that my problem? Do I need to conquer every man in my sights? Maybe.
She leaned against the massage table in order to prop his hand in her lap and squirm his fingers between hers. That was when his beautiful green eyes popped open and he noticed her for the first time. His face showed no expression. “You’re not Ashley.”
Brooke kept her composure. “I have a different technique. She sent me in because I’m very good with hands and…backs.” She looked meaningfully at the florid scars that decorated his shoulder blades.
“Backs,” he stated, supporting his chiseled chin on his fist. “You’re the receptionist.”
“I’m Brooke,” she conceded, letting his arm dangle toward the floor and grabbing the oil bottle, which sat in a warmer. She poured a good palmful this time, and did not rub it in, just let it pool in her hand. “Ashley told me you had a painful back, and that’s my area of expertise.” She was bluffing, of course. She just assumed that most people, especially men, had painful backs at one point or another. Before he could respond, she poured the palmful of oil into the delicious depression of his lower back, right where an angel had pressed her fingers to create two dimples.
Adrian went with it, closing his eyes as she smoothed her hands over his hips. His skin is soft as velvet—aside from these ropey scars. She also dared to brush her fingertips against the bottom edge of one scar, taking note that his nostrils flared in pain or sensitivity. She didn’t try that again but focused on his lower back, adding more weight behind each pass of her hands, keeping her eyes on his face for any signs of pain. This part was easy. What girl hasn’t given a hundred massages to men? Men were always demanding massages. At least, the type of demanding man she was accustomed to being around.
She tugged the sheet down lower to reveal the blindingly white rise of his ass. Oh, absolutely delicious. Brooke longed to bury her face between his thighs. When her fingers swept over one of the shapely rises, she spoke to take his mind off her fingers. “This is a Forbes five-star spa, you know. Utah’s only. Well, aside from that other spa.”
“It’s very nice,” Adrian muttered without opening his eyes.
She dared to undrape his ass further, lightly sweeping her fingers over the delicious globes then returning to the plane of his lower back. “And you enjoy skiing,” she stated, gliding her palms again over his rounded butt. This time her fingertips strayed over the very lowest slope of his ass, and Adrian lifted his hips to adjust himself. In doing so, he spread his thighs even farther apart, and she moved down to eyeball the rounded pouch of his ball sac that was exposed to view. I can tell he enjoys skiing. His haunches are muscled like a bull’s.
“I like it all right,” he admitted apathetically.
“And where are you from?” She really wanted to know where he’d obtained the scars, but of course that question was too direct, too personal. “You’ve got a sort of vague, British accent.” She knew she had him in the palm of her hand. She could tell by how swollen his testicles were, squished between his thighs like that. I’m turning him on. He’s never going to be able to forget me now. Her taunting and teasing of him would be seared in his memory for days, or until he could stand it no more and sought her out again.
He spoke all in a rush, his eyes squeezed shut now. “I grew up in Ireland until I was ten, then came to Hartford, Connecticut.”
She tried to laugh lightly. “That explains the accent. It’s music to the ears.” But really, the buoyancy of his ass under her palms was making her sweat. If she’d been wearing a skirt, for sure a trickle of pussy juice would’ve been dripping down her inner thigh by now. As it was, her soaking panties and even her leggings cloyed annoyingly at her, itching. She wiggled her hips to rub her pussy lips together. Adrian must have felt the jiggling in her hands that swept over his tailbone, for he wrenched his torso off the table, twisting his hips out of reach of her hands. Of course, this only displayed his massive penis even more prominently, and his erection bobbed in the air, purplish and delicious. His eyes flashed with ire, and he snarled, “That’s enough.” Leaping to his feet, he strode to the peg and stepped into his trunks.
“But…” Brooke protested feebly, holding her hands before her as though they were bombs. What the hell did I do wrong? She had only tugged the sheet down a few inches, to let his skin…breathe. Now he had his back to her, snapping the snug trunks over that stupendous ass, stuffing his hard-on into the crotch, stamping up and down like a marching soldier. “I’m not done yet.”
“Yeah? Well, I am.” He shrugged into the white robe and took three long steps to the door.
Why is he being so mean? Before she could utter another word, he was gone out the door in a swirl of musky lavender, and Brooke collapsed into a chair in a confused mess of limbs. That’s enough. Well, I am. He had vastly overreacted to her innocent teasing, especially considering he had been obviously aroused by her touch. His prick had stood out, stiff and proud. Proud, even if Adrian himself wasn’t!
But shame overcame her triumph at having stimulated him. Brooke leaped to her feet, too, and ran out the door. She didn’t stop until she reached her reception desk, where she yanked her radio from her purse and barked into it, “Brooke to Xandra. Do you copy? ” A bit more frantic now, her voice rose in pitch. “Xandra, come in!”
Xandra’s annoyance was evident when the radio crackled. “What, Brooke?”
“What’s your location? I need to talk to you.”
“I’m just leaving the Neon Cocktail,” said her sister.
“Good. Stay there. I’ll be right there.”
“But it’s not five o’clock yet,” Xandra started to protest, but Brooke was already on her way, quitting before quitting time.
Brooke’s
beautiful older sister wore a look of frank disgust when Brooke entered the lounge and took a seat next to her by a window. Brooke knew she was being a burden on her capable sister, but it had always been that way—that was her destiny! True, Xandra had been sent out to Utah by their father in order to get her away from a questionable boyfriend in Charleston and his drug-dealing ways. Brooke herself had fallen in with Javier’s crowd, and following Xandra’s path, had traveled to the Triple Play Lodge. But this time it was Xandra yanking Brooke from the hard-partying Bolivian crowd in Charleston, demanding she come to Bird in Hand, Utah with a promise of a healthier life, safer surroundings, and a luxurious spa job.
“I need a new job,” Brooke panted, eagerly looking for a cocktail server.
“Already?” Xandra had just returned from her Hawaiian honeymoon, flaunting her bronzed, tropical tan in the frigid snowy Utah landscape.
Brooke knew she should’ve been settled into what they’d decided would be the best spot in the lodge for her, the spa. Xandra was already doing her no-good sister a favor by giving her the receptionist position. What else did Brooke know how to do? She’d only worked in a lingerie shop and done some modeling before, nothing terribly skilled. She’d been given one more chance by coming out here, only to blow it in her arrogance—what their father used to call her “high-spiritedness.”
Because of her impulsive nature and the fact that she’d pretty much gotten everything she ever wanted, she had automatically assumed Adrian would fall for her talented fingers, her bountiful figure, her seductive sex appeal. Brooke was beyond mortified to realize not only had he not fallen for her—he’d rejected her outright.