An American Bulldog

www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

An American Bulldog

Liz Stafford

Copyright © 2011 by Liz Stafford

All Rights Reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright. 

This book is a work of fiction.  References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only.

Published by

Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC

PO Box 61

Colfax, NC 27235

www.beautifultroublepublishing.com

Cover Art:  Les Byerley
http://www.les3photo8.com/

Editor: Sonya Mott Young,
http://legacyediting.com/

Proofreader: Novellette Whyte

http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/

Formatter: Jim & Zetta,
http://www.jimandzetta.com/

E-book Conversion:
Jim & Zetta,
http://www.jimandzetta.com/

ISBN: (e-book)
978-1-61788-197-8
  

Note about eBooks

eBooks are NOT transferable.  Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.

CAVEAT

This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot.  This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made.  Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.

Author
’
s Note

Sometimes, just the right word is not 'available'. Consequently, the author likes to make up words now and then. In this case, a word was needed to describe the way one might look at a hunk, hence, the word droogle—drooling and ogling. 

Chapter One

The vet clinic buzzed with activity today. Seemed like everyone’s pets needed shots all at once. Oh well, it was job security. Taryn checked the name written in magic marker on the tab of the manila file in the holder outside Exam Room Two. Oh God, not him again. Why was it, every time he came in, she was the tech on duty? Seemed like some kind of conspiracy.

Bulldog. That wasn’t the breed. Well, it was, but it was also the owner’s name. His only name. Like Cher, or Meatloaf. But it wasn’t his name that sent her insides flapping and fluttering like laundry in the wind. It was everything else about him.

Okay, okay. Suck it up and do your job. He’d be gone in ten minutes and she could go dry herself off. Taryn gripped the folder against her meager chest, stepped inside Exam Room Two, and closed herself in with two American Bulldogs. One was the kind you’d expect: white with brown patches and weighing around a hundred pounds. The other—he was white too, but no patches. At least none she could see. And he weighed far more than a hundred pounds, more than double that she guessed. Most of it was in his yard-wide shoulders. The defined curves of his abs showed through the tight yellow T-shirt. So did thick nipples—big enough for a mouthful—and standing at attention.

“Good afternoon,” she said.

“Good afternoon to you, too, Taryn B.”

That voice. Like hot maple syrup. The actual words set her on edge. Why did he insist on mocking her? If she looked at him, he’d be smiling—a wide white smile set into a beefy, almost-handsome face that carried some extra weight in the jowl area, which always made her smile. It’s said that people tend to look like their dogs. Or was it the other way around? Either way, the chubby jowls made him look a lot like his dog, which was the reason they were both here.

A rabies shot. For the dog.

Taryn crouched beside the dog. “Good morning, Denver. Have you been a good boy since you were here last?” She ruffled his ears then scratched under his chin—the dog’s, not the owner’s—although, from the first moment he stepped into the examination room three months ago, Taryn had the idea he’d like to be ruffled and scratched, though probably in places other than his head. She wondered how he’d react if she did chuck him under the chin or scratch his tummy. Probably do the same as the dog and flop on his back twitching his—

“What’re you laughing at?” Denver’s owner asked.

Had she been laughing? Maybe. The image of him on his back sporting two twitching appendages was more than amusing. It was downright horny-inducing.

“Sorry, Mr…” Taryn checked inside the file folder for the guy’s name. Maybe somebody had filled it in there. Nope. Still missing. Somebody was supposed to fill this in three months ago. “What’s your name?” Taryn asked him yet again.

He thumped an oh-sooo-thick index finger on the file. “What’s it say?”

“Bulldog. But—”

“Then that’s what it is.”

“How are we suppos—” She heaved a sigh. Let management take care of it. He obviously was playing games with her. But man, what a person to play games with. He had it all. Humor and intelligence. He’d demonstrated the intelligence the first visit when he talked about, oh gosh, what was that word now? Some kind of –esis. Taryn couldn’t begin to remember but it had been something scientific. He’d gone on about it, not in a boring way, but in that deep, I-want-to-suck-you voice that made her tingle all over.

He didn’t wear a wedding ring. In today’s world, that didn’t a hundred percent mean he was single. A dozen times that first meeting, she’d almost asked him out. Her mouth opened and shut so many times he probably thought she was part goldfish. One thing holding her back was explaining him to her sister/roommate. How did she say she was going out with a guy named Bulldog? A white guy named Bulldog. A white guy named Bulldog who actually looked like a bulldog. Another sigh squeezed past her lips. Back to business.

“Okay, Bulldog it is then. Let’s get on with the exam.”

“Isn’t the doctor coming in? Or did you suddenly get a veterinarian’s license?”

Why did he ask this every time?

“I am a vet tech,” she explained. “I
help
the vet. In this case I will examine the dog, weigh him, trim his nails, etc.” To prove her words, she grabbed the trimmers from the drawer, knelt beside Denver and went to work.

When Bulldog laughed she realized she’d been had. He shined a wide Chiclet grin down on her. Taryn went back to work on the dog’s feet.

“Nice.”

He drew out the word so long she had to look up—and realized he’d been looking down her shirt. Talk about embarrassing. The one day she couldn’t find a clean bra and went without one.

Rather than go all shades of red, she nodded and said, “Same here.”

Which made him realize he’d worn baggy running shorts—and no underwear.

Oh God, oh god, oh god. He had red hair. She dropped the trimmers and lunged out of the room. The sound of baritone laughter followed her down the hall.

Chapter Two

Dolf
Bulldog
Brown threw back his head and laughed so hard the dog yelped in surprise.

Man, what a doll she was. Doll was probably too tame a word. Dolls were plastic with synthetic hair. Nothing synthetic or plastic about that gal! From the top of that ebony black ’fro to the high—though small—dark points visible down the front of her shirt to the tips of those clunky, awkward looking blue clogs.

Nametag said she was Taryn B. Since the first time he came here, he’d wondered what the B stood for. Darned if he’d ask. No way she’d tell him since he gave her such a hard time about his own name.

The door at the back of the small examination room opened. The shortest vet—well, the shortest woman—he’d ever seen came in the room. She couldn’t have touched five feet tall, but she was perfectly proportioned. “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Tonya Lansing.”

“Dolf Brown. Nice t’meetcha.”

She went to reading the dog’s chart and he went to wondering how he could get Taryn back in here. If he told the vet she hadn’t finished trimming Denver’s nails, she might catch some trouble. And the only trouble he wanted that woman in was with him. Under him. On top of him. Or slapping skin-on-skin against that wall beside where the vet stood.

“Something wrong?” the vet asked.

“No. Why?”

“You sounded like you were choking.”

“No. No, I’m fine.”

The vet tilted her head at him. He wondered if this perspective could give her insight into his psyche. Before he could ask, she righted herself and went on to give Denver what was known as a “comprehensive exam”—kinda like the physical he got last week. The wrestling commission required them every six months.

Dr. Lansing straightened up and patted the dog on the head. “Good to see you again.” She shook Dolf’s hand. “Nice seeing you also.” The vet picked up the folder and dangled it in her fingers.

“Ditto.”

How to get Taryn B. back? He didn’t want another three months—or longer—to pass before he saw her again. He was pretty sure this was the one who’d bear his children, and sit beside him in a rocking chair. Damn, if the guys at the arena could hear his sissy thoughts, he’d be the brunt of every joke that came over the loud speaker. They’d bounce him off the ropes till he grew too dizzy to fight back. At the same time, the crowd would boo and taunt…

“Um. Ma’am?” Yeah Dolf,—real intelligent conversation-maker you are. Be a real turn-on for Miss Taryn B.

The vet turned, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

Why not try a dose of honesty, Dolf?

Sure, tell her I want to shove the tech up against the wall and slide my dick between those glorious dark folds and push it up as far as her tonsils. Over and—

Yup, she’ll run right out and order the woman back here. More likely she’ll send the SWAT team. Try again. “Um. I wondered if you’d ask Taryn to come back. I, er, wanted to ask her something.”

“Any problem I should know about? She doing her job all right?” Vet Lansing tilted her head again.