Wargasm (Payne Brothers Romance Book 3)
Part I
Wargasm
The classic tale of the Navy SEAL and the Geese Police.
Wargasm
A Payne Brothers Romance
Sosie Frost
About the Author
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WARGASM
Copyright © 2018 by Sosie Frost
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Design: Pink Ink Designs
Photographer: Wander Aguiar Photography
Created with Vellum
To L.G.
Stop. Editing. At. 3. AM.
Also by Sosie Frost
ALSO BY SOSIE FROST
Payne Brothers Romance
Babyjacked
Boyfrenemy
WARGASM
Sixty-Nine (Coming Soon!)
Bad Boy’s Series
Bad Boy’s Baby
Bad Boy’s Redemption (Previously Bad Boy’s Revenge)
Bad Boy’s Bridesmaid
Touchdowns and Tiaras
Beauty And The Blitz
Once Upon A Half-Time
Happily Ever All-Star
Standalone Romances
Sweetest Sin - A Forbidden Priest Romance
Hard - A Step-Brother Romance
Deja Vu - An Amnesia Romance
While They Watch - A Sexy BDSM Romance
A Note From Sosie
Thank you so much for grabbing WARGASM. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!
As a special bonus, I’m including extra books!
Before Marius and Gretchen, the tiny town of Butterpond was home to the romance between Cassi Payne—baby sister to the Payne Brothers—and Remington Marshall—town bad boy and new guardian to two little girls. BABYJACKED is the classic romance of a lumberjack and his nanny, and I’ve included it with Boyfrenemy just in case you want to read Cassi’s story.
It was later that the town of Butterpond was rocked by scandal—Julian Payne, golden boy and town favorite, met his match with the most beautiful pain in the ass this side of Ironfield. In Boyfrenemy, The chemistry between Julian and Micah was instant. (And, by chemistry, I mean the baby they created was pretty much instant.) They hate each other. They hate not being with each other. It’s a match made in heaven that first goes through hell. :)
I’m also including my favorite super sexy, possibly a little intense romance—While They Watch. This BDSM exhibitonist romance is best read under the covers with the curtains drawn. It’s a little darker than most, and certainly not for everyone, but it might be the sexiest book I’ve written…
All three books in this file are full-length romances: 75k+ words (350 paperback pages).
I hope you enjoy!
Sosie
Contents
I. Wargasm
About the Author
Also by Sosie Frost
A Note From Sosie
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Epilogue
Coming Soon - Sixty Nine
Also by Sosie Frost
About the Author
Babyjacked - Payne Family Romances #1
Boyfrenemy - Payne Brothers Romance #2
While They Watch
1
Gretchen
I’d hoped to be wearing a bra on the day that I fell in love.
After all, love was a momentous occasion. Fates collided. Stars aligned. The princess met her prince, and they lived happily ever after…while wearing every appropriate undergarment.
Apparently, that wasn’t in the cards for me.
No butterflies fluttered in my tummy. In fact, summer in Butterpond meant a haze of mosquitoes that flitted around any star-crossed lovers. And I had no flush of heat teasing my unmentionables. Only a knotted stomach courtesy of the discount, ready-made cheeseburgers purchased from Barlow’s Market for the bridal party.
At least I did fall head over heels. Unfortunately, I’d tripped in a literal sense. I’d scraped my bare toes, crumbled to the sidewalk, and tore the bridesmaid’s dress ankle to thigh. The pins held the waist in place, however; we had not yet secured the sleeveless corset with the requisite double-sided tape. I smacked the ground and revealed my twin frustrations to the entirety of Main Street.
In that moment of accidental, public indecency, I fell in love. Well, give or take a couple of frantic heartbeats.
I wasn’t a complicated girl. All I asked for was a little preparation before I gave my heart to a stranger. The right clothing. A well-behaved dog who hadn’t stolen my bra and bolted down the street.
What was the saying? No shirt, no shoes, no heartbreak?
Well, romance in Butterpond wasn’t dead. It just needed a spritz of DEET behind the ears, an antacid, and a pair of pasties to cover my princesses, all-too-eager to meet Prince Charming.
And maybe a prettier dress.
Most women waited for the wedding to meet a man. I gave it a whirl during the dress fittings. Unfortunately, the petticoats had won the day.
Layers upon layers of ruffled lace puffed from my nether r
egions.
How in the hell had this fashion ever attracted a lover?
It was hard enough for men to find their way around down there, so what did we do? Hundreds of years ago, women shimmied into a cone of sandpaper knitted together to form a damn net, and then we expected a man to navigate our twists and turns while foraging through an obstacle course of chiffon, delicate stitching and starched silks.
This wasn’t fashion. It was cruelty—to both adventurous suitor and the girl sweating her booty off under the layers.
But the bride thought petticoats would be unique. Like my ass needed the extra padding. I didn’t have hips for days—I had curves for weeks. And while I was proud of my figure, I would not allow my future soulmate to suffocate somewhere inside those ruffles.
Lord have mercy, we’d never find him under there.
The petticoats and skirts had gone up. The top had rolled down. And my mongrel of a dog played hide-and-seek with my underwear.
“Ambrose!”
If it had been any other occasion, Ambrose would have heeded the desperation in my voice. But on this day, my border collie tested his boundaries and the textile strength of my last good bra. What should have been a white flag of surrender was now his chew toy.
“Ambrose, get back here!”
My dog knew to look both ways before crossing the street, but not to steal the undergarments of the woman who provided his nightly kibbles. Not the wisest of decisions. Then again, it wasn’t wise for me to dart into traffic after him.
A lone, dusty pickup truck attempted to turn into the nearby parking lot. He tapped his breaks, mercifully stopping before he struck me. It saved him quite a lot of paperwork with Sheriff Samson, and it prevented me from making the front page of the Butterpond Gazette for the second time. Local Animal Control Officer Tranquilized By Her Own Dart had been one of the better headlines in the recent year. I did not need to add yet another accident to my repertoire…even if it would look great under the engagement announcement between my father and his bride-to-be.
Who was I kidding? Anything would look better than the picture of my fifty-eight-year-old father and his twenty-two-year-old future wife.
A woman two years younger than me.
I preferred vehicular homicide to mingling with my future stepmother and her sorority sisters. Even chasing Ambrose—and my bra—was a welcomed escape. The bride-to-be, Chloe, had drowned her wedding jitters in a morning’s worth of sangria, and I’d escaped when the conversation had shifted to garters.
In particular, which garter my father was most likely to enjoy removing with his teeth.
And while I loved discussing my father’s sex life and his disastrous mid-life crisis with Chloe, for my own sanity, it was better for me to wrestle with a four-ton pickup truck then a one-hundred-and-ten-pound ginger coed who thought it would be the cutest if I started calling her mum.
The dusty pickup narrowly avoided me as he squealed into the parking spot, though I still dodged and hopped onto the sidewalk, fluorescent orange dress wafting up over my head courtesy of a quick gust of wind.
I’d always imagined meeting the love of my life a few different ways. Not that I spent that long planning it, but a girl had to be prepared. For instance, a pen pal seemed most romantic. Followed by a casual encounter on a sunlit beach. Hell, I’d even left my phone number with the county deputy who had the cadaver dog.
But I never thought I would fall for the man of my dreams as he pulled into one of Butterpond’s three prized handicap spaces.
I wasn’t one to judge, but I knew the temperament of a small town. Butterpond’s tenuous peace was largely influenced by the happiness of the elderly population. Whether it was honoring double coupons at Barlow’s Market, offering free tartar sauce at the church’s Friday fish fry, or storming the municipality’s monthly meeting to prevent a tyrannical limit on birdfeeders, keeping the golden generation happy generally kept the rest of Butterpond sane.
But finding that an able-bodied, young, exceedingly handsome man had parked in one of their three reserved spots? Well, that would result in nothing short of anarchy at the monthly meeting. A crisis we couldn’t afford as the township was still reeling from last month’s battle royale between the historical society, crochet club, and an overbooked gazebo in the park. Families were torn apart, tapestries were unwoven, and some wounds could not be mended with formal apologies…especially when half of the combatants were armed with knitting needles.
Butterpond could not survive another careless mishap.
And this man did not belong in handicapped spot.
He belonged in my heart.
…Just as soon as he moved the truck.
This hopeless romantic was also a firm believer in the rule of law. As Animal Control Officer, it was my duty to ensure certain regulations were followed. Unfortunately, that zeal was one of the reasons I was no longer permitted a TASER.
Nevertheless, righting this wrong wouldn’t require a weapon of any sort—only a smile, a phone number, and a saucy little wink.
I marched to the pickup truck, knocked on the window, and convinced myself that this was not only my good deed for the day, this was karma. Fate. Cupid’s arrow.
In the instant he looked at me, it was over.
This man was a mountain of mouth-watering, tummy-tightening, knee-shakingly perfect muscle. The sort of bad boy any woman would have let park in her spot. Hell, a smart girl might’ve hoped for a fender bender too.
No wonder he parked in a handicapped space. Who would’ve ever told him no? A man as intense and dashing as he was not only absolutely intimidating, he was unapproachable, dangerous, and just the sort of man a father warned his daughter to avoid.
Then again, my father didn’t have the best judgment anymore.
Love at first sight had never seemed so naughty. I’d expected soft words and hazy warmth. Instead, my mouth dried. Other parts of me did not. This was not the wholesome, fuzzy fairytale I thought it would be.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. He was the sort of man who knew he was sexy.
He also should have known he didn’t belong in that handicapped spot.
And yet, there he was. Testing the limits of society, common decency, and my patience.
His ass didn’t deserve to be kicked. Honored, more likely. Maybe displayed in a freaking museum. But Butterpond had no museums. It did have rules though. Rules a man like him should have understood.
His broad shoulders and buzzed hair revealed a honed discipline, worthy of that chiseled jaw and his perceptive eyes. This man had come to Butterpond, but he looked ready for war.
And he stared straight through me. Into me. Memorizing my every panted breath.
He moved from the truck. His combat boot crunched against scattered gravel. Hell, the world shook under his stride. Probably surrendering. I never thought that a single step could be a declaration of war, but the man moved with such a lethal grace and deliberation that I should’ve retreated.
Instead, I lost myself in the camouflage green of his eyes.
That darkness concealed everything—his thoughts, his personality, his desires. He towered over me, edging from the truck only to slam the door with a righteous indignation. As if he couldn’t see the flamboyantly blue line designating the spot as handicapped.
I tried to speak. Swallowed my tongue instead. A wave of heat crashed over me. It was a good thing Chloe hadn’t wanted her bridesmaids to wear a corset as well. I needed every last breath I could muster.
And it was lost the instant he spoke anyway.
“Ma’am.”
His voice dropped like an artillery shell. Deep and heavy, gruff and impatient. His voice was an explosion of sensuality. I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak.
His eyebrow arched with frustration, irritated by the bridesmaid blocking him against his truck.
I had no idea what to say or how to say it. But that had never stopped me before. I didn’t believe in awkward silences, pauses, or considering the best thing to
say before I said it. There was no greater honesty in the world than awkward small talk.
After all, it was confidence that had earned me the contract to rid Butterpond of its crippling geese infestation. If that didn’t boost a girl’s self-esteem, nothing would.
It was hard to seduce a man with the mere glance. So, I cocked my eyebrow too. Edged a little closer. Offered him a smile.
“You know,” I said, biting my lip. “This is a handicapped space.”
A sensual amusement teased his words. “Then it’s a good thing I parked here. A sweet girl like you might cripple a man.”
I was a goner.
That was it.
Every happily-ever-after had to begin somewhere. Ours was here—in a parking lot outside of Butterpond’s little commercial district, under a summer sun near an illegally parked vehicle.
I leaned against his Dodge. My chestnut skin contrasted against the fierce red paint. He seemed to appreciate the darkness. Or at least, appreciated how it caressed his truck. Unfortunately, my skin was at odds with the obstinate orange of the bridesmaid’s dress, practically bludgeoning happiness down everyone’s throats. Still, his jungle green eyes traced my every hidden curve.