Bare Yourself (Consumed: Book Two)

  Copyright © 2017 by Alex Grayson.

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by Judi Perkins at Concierge Literary Designs & Photography. Formatting by Freya Barker at Rebel Edit & Design.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

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  Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  All characters and events appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincide.

  Disclaimer

  Not suitable for anyone under the age of 18 due to strong language, extreme sexual practices, and child abuse. If this is something you cannot handle, then I would not advise you to read this. This is not your typical romance read. It’s erotic that deals with exhibitionism, so expect lots of sex in public places. Oh, and I was informed by my friend Marie that I need to add a warning that this story may make you horny enough to attack your spouse. Spouses can e-mail me to get an address to send thank you cards. ;)

  Dedication

  I dedicate this to anyone with a naughty side who likes to take risks by exploring public sex.

  Blurb

  My name is Tegan Zander, and I like to… bare myself. Yes, you read that right. It’s not just me I want everyone to see, but also the lucky person I’m with at the moment. No, I don’t go around whipping out my junk and pulling up skirts to flash all the Joe Blows around. Give me some credit; I’m a bit more discreet than that. Barely. No, I like to be watched while fucking. I like knowing someone else is in the room, getting off on what my partner and I are doing. This is my sexual vice, and I fucking love it.

  What I don’t do is relationships. I have too much fun in my bachelor life. I don’t want to be tied down to one woman when there are still so many out there to explore.

  Willow Bennett was just a woman I helped on the side of the road. Nothing more, nothing less, even if her hot little body demanded attention from mine. I did my good deed, kissed those sweet lips, ground my jean-covered length against her softness, and left, expecting to never see her again.

  But then, there she was, in her short skirt, tank top, and flip-flops, looking sexy as hell. She didn’t know it yet, but she was my next plaything. I was going to expose her along with me. I was going to show her just how good it could be if she lost her inhibitions and let me put her on display.

  I don’t do relationships, but with this girl, I just might… expose my heart to her.

  Chapter One

  Tegan

  Momma kisses my cheek, then pulls back and puts both her hands on my face.

  “You be a good boy, and we’ll get you something special later, okay?”

  I smile and nod. “Okay, Momma.”

  She always gets me special things when I’ve been good. Sometimes it’s candy, sometimes it’s ice cream, and sometimes it’s a brand-new toy.

  Momma smiles back at me, but I know it’s not a real smile. Her eyes look sad and watery. She doesn’t smile very often anymore. Most of the time, she looks sad and tired. But I’ll do anything to make her smile, even if it is a fake one. She looks so pretty when she does.

  She pats my cheek, then stands and walks out the door. It closes behind her, and I hear the click of the lock. As much as I love my momma’s smile, I hate the sound of the door locking even more.

  I turn and face my room, ignoring the eyes staring at me. I spy my toy box, a few toys hanging out of the open lid. I want to rush over and play with my cars, but I can’t. There’s something I have to do first. Afterwards, I’ll be able to play. I look to my small desk and see my crayons and the coloring page I was working on for Momma before she came in my room. I have to wait until later to finish that, too. I hope she likes what I colored for her.

  A shuffling beside me makes me turn. My bed is straight ahead of me. Momma says it’s bigger than a normal six-year-old would have. She said I was her big boy, and I needed a big bed. I hate my bed, but I would never tell her that. It would only make her sad.

  “Come on, kid. Up on the bed,” the man growls beside me.

  I look up at him. He reminds me of my grandpa. His hair looks like salt and pepper and his clothes look like he’s going to church. But he doesn’t have the wrinkly skin like my grandpa did. Another difference is my grandpa is nice and lets me help him build things, like the table beside our couch. This man is mean.

  My bare feet squish in the thick brown carpet as I walk over to my bed. The man is right behind me. I love my momma, but I can’t wait for Daddy to get home from his business trip. When he’s home, I don’t have to do these things she wants me to do. She told me what I do has to be kept secret, even from Daddy, or something bad could happen.

  The Spider-Man comforter feels cool against my hands and knees when I climb on top. I shiver when I lie down and stretch my legs out. I move my eyes away from the man when he gets on the bed beside me and starts unbuttoning his shirt. I don’t know why Momma makes me do this. I’ve told her I don’t like it. She says the men that come see me don’t have kids of their own, so she lets them borrow me for a little while.

  I can tell she’s sad when she says this because there’s tears in her eyes.

  I look over and see three more men sitting in chairs across the room. These men are younger than the man on the bed. One man has his shirt off, and he’s rubbing his hands over his stomach. Another man still has his shirt on, but is pulling down the zipper on his pants. The third man already has his pants pulled down and is touching himself. I turn my head away from them when they look at me.

  A cool hand touches my bare stomach, and I jerk. I hate it when they touch me. I want to push his hand away, but mommy says I have to do this. I squeeze my eyes closed when the hand starts moving down my stomach. The doctors always say no one is supposed to touch me there, but Momma says it’s okay. I wish she wouldn’t let them.

  I stare up at the ceiling and try to make shapes out of the small bumps as the man’s rough hand touches me. My stomach has that swirly feeling I get right before I throw up, and I try so hard to make it go away. If I throw up, it’ll make the man mad and my momma sad. I love my momma more than anything in the whole world, but right now, just like all the other times when the men come to see me, I hate her.

  I try not to think about what the man is doing, so I think about other things. I think about when my daddy comes home and all the things we’ll do together. Like fishing and playing ball in the backyard. I think about things we did before as well. I remember going to the movies with my momma and daddy, then going out for ice cream afterwards. That was when Momma was happy and she smiled a lot.

  What the man is doing hurts, and I try my best not to cry. I hate this part. I hate this man. And I hate my momma….

  I spring awake, blinking and looking around at my surroundings, disoriented. A man and a woman walk in front of my truck with a little girl between them. Each has one of her hands, and they swing her in the air. A horn honks to my left, and someone yells out of their car window to someone walking inside a gas station.

  I run my hands down my face tiredly, wiping the residual images of my dream away, then step out of my truck to grab a cup of c
offee. I’m going to need it if I’m going to make the last leg of my trip home. These trips are killing me, and I don’t even know why I make them. It’s not like I care about the person I go see on these visits.

  Three months ago, I got a call from the psychiatric facility my mom’s been in the last twenty years. They informed me my mom has terminal brain cancer and only has months to live. I don’t know why I feel compelled to see her, but I do. I’ve been making weekly trips for the past two months. It’s a solid eight-hour drive from my home in Atlanta to St. Louis. I could fly, but there’s no way I’ll ever step foot on an airplane. I keep my feet firmly planted on the ground.

  I’ve spoken with my dad about my trips to visit Mom. He’s still very angry about what she did to me as a kid and her taking me away from him. I know it hurts him to see me visit her, but I also know he understands in his own way. I still hate the woman with every part of me. And I hate the need to see her. Every time I leave, I tell myself it’ll be the last time, but each week, I make the trip again.

  The abuse she put me through went on until I was eight. Then one day, she up and packed our stuff and moved us away, without telling my dad. For the first six months after we were gone, my mom didn’t bring men to me, but then it started back up again. It was always the same. One man would touch me while other men watched. Most of the men were the same as before, even the one guy who was especially cruel. I begged her and told her that they hurt me, but she always said the same thing. I had to do this or something bad would happen.

  We were gone for three years before my dad tracked us down. He knew what my mom was forcing me to do. I didn’t find out until later that one of the men who came to the house was arrested and told the police about me. He was part of a pedophile ring, and to get himself a lesser sentence, gave up names of other participating members and names of the boys he’d abused.

  The day I saw my dad walk through that door of the house my mom and I were staying in, was the day my hatred for the woman who called herself my mom firmly took hold. I don’t know why I held on to the love I had for her for so long, but that was the day I let it all go, and it was replaced with loathing, even at such a young age. And it’s only festered since then.

  After grabbing my coffee, I pull my truck over to the gas pumps and fill the tank. I’ve got two more hours to go before reaching the outskirts of Atlanta. I made it this far before my eyes wouldn’t stay open anymore and decided to pull in to the gas station for a short nap. When I get home, I’m sleeping for a week. Luckily, I work from home and make my own hours.

  I climb in my truck and crank the radio up until I can feel the vibrations of my stereo system in my chest. Twenty-One Pilots blasts from the speakers as I cruise down the back roads to home, going five miles an hour over the speed limit. I always take the back roads when I take this trip. I like the peacefulness of having the road mostly to myself.

  Thirty minutes later, I come around a curve and have to slam on the brakes.

  “Fuck!” I shout as I grip the steering wheel tightly to keep from wrecking.

  There, on the side of a two-lane road with hardly any shoulder, sits a soft-top Jeep. There’s a woman standing outside her car, looking down at a flat tire. I pull my truck over in front of her vehicle and get out.

  She looks at me warily, before glancing back down at her shredded tire, hands on her hips. My first thought is that she would look damn fine bent over my desk at home, with my hands on her hips, my dick in her pussy, and her head thrown back screaming in pleasure, while someone watches from the shadows. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m fucked in the head for that one.

  I walk slowly as I take in her curves. She has on a pair of cut-off shorts, the bottoms short enough to just barely cover the globes of her ample ass cheeks. The tank top she’s wearing shows off a generous amount of her tits. Way more than a handful, just the way I like them. On her feet are a pair of black flip-flops. Her black hair is piled high on her head in a messy bun. When I step up beside her, my side view of her face shows she’s not wearing makeup, but she doesn’t need it.

  She doesn’t look at me, just keeps looking at her tire, a cute scowl on her face.

  “You know it’s not safe to stop on a curve like this, right?” I ask, still looking at her.

  Her eyes flicker to me for a brief second. “Thanks, Captain Obvious. It’s not like I really had a choice.”

  She’s a smart-ass. Another trait I like in women.

  “You got a spare?”

  She pushes a few strands of hair from her face before turning to face me. The side view I had of her face didn’t do her justice. The full view has my cock immediately turning to solid fucking steel. I swear, if I didn’t have better control of myself, I would drop to my knees and worship her.

  She’s fucking gorgeous. Actually, gorgeous doesn’t even come close to what she is.

  Her eyes run down the length of my body, lingering for several seconds at my crotch, before she walks around me to the back of her Jeep. I follow her like a damn lost puppy, watching her ass twitch with each step. My eyes are still aimed at the deliciousness when she abruptly turns and catches me watching her ass.

  “Eyes up here, stud,” she says, and snaps her fingers.

  Lifting my head, I give her a smile and a shrug. “Sorry, not sorry.”

  Rolling her eyes, she points to the spare tire on the back of the Jeep. “Can you change a tire? My dad never got around to showing me how to.”

  “I’m a guy, right? All guys know how to change a tire.” I wink as I step past her, grabbing the tire iron she holds out for me and starting on the lug nuts holding the tire on. I get a whiff of her scent, and it goes straight to my dick. “How about you stand on the grass behind the Jeep so you won’t get hit if a car comes around the corner.”

  With my dick pulsing in my jeans, I push the naughty thoughts away of the sexy-as-all-hell woman. My bigger head starts working properly again, and I once again notice how dangerous this situation is. Coming from either direction, you wouldn’t see her Jeep until you’re right up on her. The least she can do is stay off the road while I change her tire.

  She does as I suggest, but does it with a huff. I drop the tire to the ground, and my eyes catch on the contents in the back of the Jeep. It’s stuffed full with boxes and bags.

  “Are you moving or something?” I ask, trying to make idle conversation. I’m naturally a friendly guy and standing here in silence doesn’t suit my normal disposition. I need noise of some kind.

  “Or something,” she mutters, pulling her phone from her pocket and looking down at the screen.

  Grabbing the tire, I check to make sure no cars are coming before carrying it, the jack I grabbed from the back, and the tire iron to the side of the Jeep. I get to my knees and set the jack underneath it, making sure it lines up with the frame.

  I look up at the woman, who’s now standing beside me watching what I’m doing. In other words, not standing safely in the grass like I asked her to. Every few minutes, she looks down at her phone, a frown marring her face.

  “Is it just me, or would you let just any stranger change your tire?”

  Pulling the flat tire off, I put the spare on in its place and start working on the lug nuts.

  “Since I can’t change a tire, I didn’t really have a choice, unless I wanted to wait three hours for the roadside service to do it for me.”

  She doesn’t look at me while she talks. Just keeps her eyes on that damn phone.

  I want her eyes on me.

  “What if I was some rapist or killer? Wouldn’t waiting three hours be worth it to stay alive and unharmed?”

  “Do you always talk so much?” she says, and finally lifts her eyes to mine.

  “What can I say, I’m a talker. I don’t do the silence.”

  “Well, can you do it this one time and hurry with my tire?”

  Okay, then. Grateful much? Apparently fucking not.

  “Are you always such a bitch to people that help you out?”
I ask my own question, working faster on the lug nuts, ready to be done and get the fuck out of Dodge.

  She lets out a heavy breath before speaking. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I appreciate you doing this for me. I’m just in a hurry. I’m supposed to be meeting someone.”

  I don’t say anything, just finish up, then stand and wipe my hands on my jeans.

  “Done.” I turn to face her and stumble back a step into the Jeep when she launches herself at me. I’m stunned speechless when she grabs the back of my head and drags it down until our lips meet. It only takes seconds for my brain to catch up to what’s going on, then I grab her hips and pull her into me until her stomach meets my still-hard cock. It never went soft from when I first saw her. As bitchy as she was, she still had me straining in my jeans.

  She moans deep in my mouth, and it spurs me on. I bend my knees, grab the back of her thighs, and hoist her up. Her legs wrap around my hips, and it’s my turn to groan when her warm pussy meets my rigid length.

  My tongue swirls against hers, and she sucks it into her mouth before pulling back just enough to nip my bottom lip. Her hands pull at my hair, knocking the aviators from the top of my head. I turn and push her against the door, grinding against her center. Leaning my weight against her, I keep her pinned to the metal and move my hands to her ass. Her shorts have ridden up, damn near exposing her ass cheeks. I put all four fingers of one hand against her pussy and push against her. She breaks the kiss and lets out a small cry. My mouth goes to her neck, leaving little bites, before kissing the flesh. Her legs tighten around me, and I use my fingers against her harder. I want to tear the material away and fuck her with my fingers before plunging my cock inside her.

  I hear the thump of her head hitting the Jeep. I look up and see heaven. Her head is thrown back, her eyes are closed, and her mouth is open on a silent cry.