Stripped Down (Sonoma Book 1) Read online

  STRIPPED DOWN

  By Mae Harden

  For my sister, who pushed me when I needed it and my husband, who is now required to read a romance book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, 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.

  Cover art Copyright © 2020 by Mae Harden

  Editing by Kraken Communications

  Copyright © 2020 by Mae Harden

  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.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2020

  www.maeharden.com

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: Olive

  Chapter 2: Brooks

  Chapter 3: Olive

  Chapter 4: Brooks

  Chapter 5: Brooks

  Chapter 6: Olive

  Chapter 7: Brooks

  Chapter 8: Olive

  Chapter 9: Brooks

  Chapter 10: Olive

  Chapter 11: Brooks

  Chapter 12: Olive

  Chapter 13: Brooks

  Chapter 14: Olive

  Chapter 15: Brooks

  Chapter 16: Olive

  Chapter 17: Brooks

  Chapter 18: Olive

  Chapter 19: Brooks

  Chapter 20: Olive

  Chapter 21: Brooks

  Chapter 22: Olive

  Chapter 23: Brooks

  Chapter 24: Olive

  Chapter 25: Brooks

  Chapter 26: Olive

  Chapter 27: Brooks

  Chapter 28: Olive

  Chapter 29: Olive

  Chapter 30: Brooks

  Chapter 31: Olive

  Chapter 32: Olive

  Chapter 33: Brooks

  Chapter 34: Olive

  Chapter 35: Brooks

  Chapter 36: Olive

  Chapter 37: Brooks

  Chapter 38: Olive

  Chapter 39: Brooks

  Chapter 1: Olive

  As I shepherd my friend's bridesmaids back into our hotel, I can't help but smile. This has been one of the best, most ridiculous, nights of my life. Sure, maybe sweet, innocent, virgin Chelsea should have stopped and thought about it before letting our friend (and resident wild lady) Sally plan her bachelorette activities. We’ve suffered no shortage of girly drinks, carousing, and penis jokes.

  When we get to Chelsea's room, Sally slips into the bathroom and reappears with two bottles of champagne. I don’t even know where she had those hidden. Just because she’s creeping up on 65 doesn't mean Sally has settled down one bit. With her curly riot of lavender hair and a leopard print pantsuit, she led us on a bar crawl of downtown Napa. Each stop featured a different sexual cocktail along with a gift for each of us, tailor made to make Chelsea blush as hard as possible.

  I met Chelsea in high school during the two torturous weeks I spent on the track team, and she’s been my bestie ever since. When she asked me to be a bridesmaid, I jumped at the chance to be part of her big day. Though, I never could have predicted that a bachelorette party for someone like Chelsea would reach such epically filthy proportions.

  We started with Pink Silk Panties in the hotel suite where we opened little gift bags containing pale pink thongs. The color is demure but the barely there polka dot mesh screams “Watch me strip.” I'm pretty sure Chelsea's soon to be husband will pant like a dog if he catches her wearing it. Next was a round of sweet-as-shit Bend Over Shirleys and bottles of strawberry flavored lube. Chelsea blushed as pink as her drink and asked what you use flavored lube for.

  Then there were the Leg Spreaders with a pair of fluffy handcuffs, the Screaming Orgasms with high-end vibrators. The Pop My Cherry shots with a full set of white bridal lingerie from Sally's boutique, complete with a little veil on the back of the white cage panties for Chelsea. The rest of us got black lingerie minus the veil. I started pumping the breaks and passing half of each drink back to the bartenders. Sugar and alcohol don’t love me as much as I love them so I switch to seltzer with lime early on.

  Poor Chelsea has been a flustered mess all night, Googling how to use each gift before squeaking and throwing her phone back in her purse. I've never had so much fun. Chelsea’s twin cousins from Boston, Kate and Kristen, started out the night as buttoned-up as her, but with each of the dirty drinks, they loosened up a little more. The bartender at our last stop was an excellent sport, but once they started calling for more “shawts” while modeling their lingerie over their clothes I knew it was time to go. They had one too many Slippery Nipples, and it was starting to show.

  It's only 12:30 when we get back to the hotel room, but the party isn't even close to over because Sally puts on some classic rock while waving her pink panties in the air. God, I hope I still party like that in my 60s. Kate is dancing on the couch but Kristen looks like she's wilting and I ask Sally if we should put her to bed.

  “Don’t you dare! She’ll miss the entertainment!” Sally hoots over the music. Oh no. I’ve been friends with Sally long enough to know this can’t be good.

  “What entertainment?” Chelsea asks innocently.

  Oh, sweet baby girl… I think to myself. “Sally, tell me you didn’t.” She smirks and straightens the jacket of her pantsuit.

  “What kind of bachelorette party doesn’t have a hunky stripper?” She looks like the cat that ate the canary.

  "The nice kind," I reply. Poor Chelsea's eyes are round as saucers and she's gone pale. "The kind of bachelorette parties for virgin brides!" I hiss at Sally.

  “She won’t be a virgin after Christmas!” Kate crows from her dancing platform on the couch. Chelsea blushes so hard I’m worried she will burn up. Her Christmas Eve blowout of a wedding is fast approaching along with the inevitable end to her virginity.

  Kate and Sally clink glasses and chug the remains, letting out another “Woooo!” I can’t help laughing. I’ve never been a woo-girl but when Chelsea puts on a brave face and follows suit, pounding the last inch of her champagne I can’t help but join in. It’s her night.

  Sally squints at the clock, “What time is it?” She asks.

  “Almost 1:15.”

  “Damn stripper is late!” She scowls as she tries to pop another bottle of champagne, holding it between her thighs in the least ladylike display I have ever seen. There’s a pounding on the door and her head whips up, lips lifting in an evil grin.

  “Open up ladies! You’re being too damn loud!” The voice filtering through the door is a deep baritone and one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard. The festivities have gotten to me because I’ve never gotten so turned on by a man's voice before.

  I give Sally the evil eye as I open the door. “I can’t believe you ordered a strip… Oh my fucking god.” The sight in front of me sends a shiver through my body.

  This man is not at all what I would have expected from a stripper. I guess I was expecting a cheesy, oiled up, twenty-year-old that man-scapes and thinks he’s Magic Mike incarnate. This man must be in his late 30s with a short, well-kept beard and chocolate brown hair. There’s a sprinkling of silver-gray hairs at his temples. Fuck me. Why is that so hot? He's rugged and muscular in a way that makes me think he works with his hands.

  His flannel has several buttons undone at the top, showing off the broad expanse of his chest, dusted with dark brown hair. My eyes drift down to his jeans, slung low on his hips and the muscular V that dips into the waistband. I know I shou
ldn’t look, but I can’t help myself because either he's stuffed a sock down his pants or that bulge promises a lot. I can't swallow because my tongue seems to have grown too big for my mouth.

  Sexy Lumberjack leans an arm against the door frame and looks me up and down, his deep blue eyes sweeping over me, burning me. Jesus, how much did I have to drink? I’m turning to a puddle under his piercing gaze. A very wet, hot puddle. I’d love nothing more than to run my hands over his bare chest. I want it so badly my fingers are twitching and I curl my hands into fists to stop myself.

  “You ordered a stripper?” he asks. He’s still wearing a steely expression, but there’s a hint of a smile underneath it.

  “Nuh… nah…” Holy shit, I can’t talk. “You don’t look like a stripper...” I start but then I throw a hand over my mouth. Was that rude? “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I mean, you look like you could strip. Obviously you’ve got the body for it... I just thought strippers would have less chest hair…” Oh fuck my life. Why did I just comment on his chest hair?! I sound like a babbling idiot.

  Sally saves me, calling out from somewhere behind me.

  “That was me, sugar. I booked the stripper.”

  Sexy Lumberjack takes his eyes off me for the first time since I opened the door and smirks. “Is it just the five of you? I expected at least a dozen ladies dancing on tables from all the noise you were making.”

  Sally pouts. “I ordered a cop, not a cowboy. You don’t even have a hat.”

  He chuckles, “I’m not a cowboy, I’m a contractor.”

  "Close enough, I guess." Sally shrugs and reaches around me, grabbing hold of a muscular arm. He lets her pull him into the room, watching me as he slides past. His body so close to mine that his bare chest rasps against the front of my dress, making my nipples pebble. It's all I can do to keep my drunk self from licking him. Drunk Me is a horny mess.

  Sally jumps on the couch in her heels. “Let’s see it, Mr. Contractor!” I am one hundred percent sure she will be paying damages to the hotel.

  Mr. Contractor just looks at us like we’re crazy. This must be his first time because he looks like he has no clue what he’s doing. What the fuck is going on? I mean, I’ve never actually seen a stripper, male or otherwise, but aren’t they supposed to come in with a boom box and props and stuff? Despite being the sexiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, this guy doesn’t seem prepared. Those jeans don’t even look like rip-aways.

  “I just came over because you’re all being so loud...”

  “Hurry up and strip so we can put Kristen to bed!” Kate calls out.

  He cocks an eyebrow and gives us a stern look. God, that shouldn’t turn me on.

  Chapter 2: Brooks

  I wonder if I should just strip for them. I'm not particularly shy about my body. I might not be stripper-level ripped, or even a good dancer, but I could fake it for a couple minutes and then maybe then they'll settle down and go the fuck to sleep. I must be truly desperate to get some peace and quiet, or I would never consider this.

  The frisky lady in the leopard-print suit hoots at me and selects a song on her phone. Familiar lyrics followed by an iconic BWOW WOW. The unmistakable first beats of You Give Love a Bad Name blasts out of the in-room sound system. I rub my hand down my face.

  "Bon Jovi? Really?"

  Leopard-print Lady starts a chorus of WOOs but the stunning woman still standing by the door doesn't join in. Instead, she watches me with a distrustful, almost appraising expression on her face. Like she can't figure me out.

  She seems less drunk than the rest of the party, which isn't saying much, but she's not jumping on the couch or wearing her underwear over her dress. Her sexy curves and bright green eyes are shown off to perfection in her little blue dress. Long black hair falls in soft, touchable curls. My hands flex, dying to get tangled up in it.

  She's not just pretty. She's fucking beautiful, but more than that, something in her eyes has my cock stirring in my pants. I’ve never felt drawn to a woman like this. I feel like I need her even though, logically, I know I can’t have her. She’s just passing through.

  “Yeah, sorry ladies. I’m not a strip--”

  “TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF!” Chants the brunette wearing a lacy bra on top of her dress. Green Eyes cocks an eyebrow. One part challenge and one part curiosity. I can tell she wouldn’t mind if I lost a few pieces of clothing.

  A frustrated growl rips its way out of my body. Fine. Whatever. I just want them to go to bed so I can sleep. I’ll never see any of them again anyway, right? They’ll be leaving and heading back to wherever they came from. Boston, if the accents are anything to go on.

  The woman in the bride sash throws her hands over her eyes, but I’m not worried about her. I lock eyes with the woman by the door as I unbutton the rest of my shirt. Her pretty mouth hangs open as she watches me. I can think of a dozen dirty and obscene things to do with that mouth. Her gaze slides down my bare chest, lower, lower, lower… So I pop the button on my jeans and kick my boots off. I’ll do this all night if she’s the one watching me.

  Chapter 3: Olive

  If this man is a stripper, I'll eat my baker's hat. Don’t get me wrong, I'm not complaining. He doesn't even glance at Chelsea, despite her hot pink BRIDE sash. Instead, he pins me in place with just a look as he undoes his shirt. His eyes rake over my body, leaving hot trails of awareness everywhere his gaze lingers.

  His shirt hangs open and maybe I’m shallow, but dear god his abs are giving me the dirtiest fantasies. Is licking a stripper inappropriate? If he even is a stripper, that is. I’m pretty sure strippers are supposed to dance. He isn’t dancing, but this is so much better. This feels… intimate. This feels like it’s just for me. The other girls are only getting to watch because they happened to be here.

  He slides the shirt down his shoulders and tosses it right at me. I catch it on pure instinct because the logical, thinking part of my brain has completely failed me. Shamelessly, I bring his shirt to my face and breathe it in. It smells like lumber and pine and fresh laundry. Oh jeez. Of course he smells like heaven. It’s not enough that he looks like a god. Maybe he’ll toss me the pants next…

  As if he can read my mind he flips the button on his jeans and lowers his zipper. I can see the top of his black boxers in the open V of his pants but instead of losing the pants he shoves a hand down the front of his underwear and gives himself two long, slow strokes. Oh god, I think I’m drooling. Did I just moan out loud?

  Just as quickly as it started, the song is over. The other women sit silently, watching with gaping mouths as Mr. Contractor removes his hand from his pants and zips them back up. He doesn’t bother with the button before stalking towards me. “Go to bed, ladies,” he growls. His eyes never leave mine and I’m frozen to the spot, just drunk enough that common sense has abandoned me.

  Sally pops up from her spot on the couch where she’s been fanning herself. “Hey! I paid for the full hour!”

  “And I told you, I'm just a contractor that needs you ladies to be quiet so I can get some sleep. You’re welcome, by the way,” he tosses over his shoulder. He stops in front of me and he’s so close I can barely breathe without my chest touching his.

  My back is against the wall, giving me no place to go. The warmth radiating off his body sets my heart pounding at a frantic pace. I’m still clutching his shirt to my face, covering my mouth and nose as if I can hide from him.

  He looks at me hard and arrogant for several seconds. Long enough that I squirm under his ominous glare. It’s almost like he’s angry at himself for liking what he sees. Or maybe he’s angry because I clearly like what I see. I don’t care. Either way, my skin is tingling and aching for him to touch me.

  “Go to bed.” His voice rumbles through my body as he pulls his shirt from my grasp.

  I don’t enjoy being bossed around. I would also be lying if I said I didn’t want to see how this fuck-hot man would react if I push back, so I lift my chin. “Make me.”

  He gives
me a threatening look, one that might make a lesser woman give in. Not me. “Maybe I need a goodnight kiss first,” I say tauntingly as I rest my hands on his chest. I can’t help but notice the way his hard pectorals flex under my finger tips, their raw power barely contained.

  "Ah, fuck it," he husks. His hands catch my wrists, pinning them to the wall beside my head as his lips crash down on me, his body pressing mine into the wall. The world could burn down around me and I wouldn’t care because, right now, this man is the only thing that matters. The hard planes of his body grinding against my curves, his dominating mouth claiming me, and the deep groan of lust that rumbles out of him.

  My body gives into his, melting like chocolate on a sultry day. I’m putty in his hands. He tears his mouth from mine, releases my wrists, and with an intensity that sends shivers skittering through my body he whispers, "Go to bed."

  Chapter 4: Brooks

  I can’t believe I just did that.

  I figured my buddy Sheldon was doing me a favor when he offered to let me stay in one of his unbooked hotel suites while my floors were being resealed. He was even thoughtful enough to warn me there was a bachelorette party booked next door and they might get “a little rowdy.”

  I just didn’t expect the walls to be so thin or the party in question to have a marathon weekend of siren impersonations. Or the green-eyed beauty with a smart mouth. I always liked a mouthy woman. The kind of woman who wouldn’t take any of my shit.

  It’s been way too long since I've had a woman pressed up against me and that wasn’t just any woman. Groaning, I think about the way she tasted. The way she writhed against me, so close I could feel the heat of her pussy through her dress. Gritting my teeth, I roll over in bed. The bachelorette party has finally gone quiet. I’d give anything for them to carry on and give me an excuse to go back over there. I’d like nothing more than to lay claim to the green-eyed woman.

  She deserves better than a cold workaholic like me though. Running a construction firm is demanding. I have funneled every ounce of my time and energy into my company for the last nine years. It’s taken a shit load of planning and hard work, but there's a reason my reputation is one of the best in Napa. And it’s not because I go around kissing random chicks.