Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6

by Kingsley, Claire

  “I love you, too. Now get busy fucking me.”

  Biting his bottom lip, he took his dick in his hand and stroked a few times.

  “Keep going,” I said. I wanted to watch him make himself hard.

  He stroked a little faster and his cock quickly hardened. His abs flexed and he squeezed my ass with his other hand.

  “You like that, baby?” he asked, still stroking himself.

  “Yeah,” I breathed. “That’s so hot.”

  “How about this?” He slid his hand to the base of his shaft and scooted closer to me. Then he rubbed the tip up and down my slit.

  I moaned at the feel of him rubbing himself all over me. “That’s good.”

  Focusing the tip right over my clit, he rubbed it up and down fast. “Holy fuck, this looks good.”

  Pressure built again as he teased my clit with his cock. I rocked my hips back, seeking more. The friction was good, but I needed to feel him filling me.

  “Gibson,” I whimpered.

  “Yeah, baby?”

  “Gibson, please.”

  “You want this?”

  I looked over my shoulder and he stroked his cock again. Fast, this time, like he was serious. His abs were tight, his chest glistening with sweat. He groaned, his jaw clenched, as he rubbed his hard length, his fist moving up and down his thick shaft.

  “You better put that cock inside me,” I said.

  “Yeah?” he asked, still stroking hard.

  I rocked backward. “Now, Gibs.”

  Grabbing my hips, he shoved his cock into my soaking wet pussy. I cried out at the sudden pressure—the agonizingly sweet feeling of his thickness inside me. Two hard thrusts and my inner muscles danced, vibrating with tension.

  He smacked my ass check with a sharp crack. I arched harder, the sting of it driving me crazy. One more smack and I laughed. Safe in Gibson’s bedroom, I was uninhibited and free. I loved the way he made me feel deliciously dirty in all the best ways.

  “I’m gonna come so hard in you, baby,” he growled. “This pussy feels fucking amazing.”

  His grip on my hips tightened and he thrust harder. I fisted the sheets, breathing hard, relishing the way he fucked me like this. Like I could take it. He didn’t treat me like I was broken. He loved me like I was whole and strong enough to handle him.

  I loved it.

  The heady rush of a second orgasm hit me like fireworks. He grunted hard and drove in deep while my pussy pulsed around him. I felt his cock throb as he emptied himself into me. Groaning, thrusting hard, both of us lost in this moment. In each other. In the intense physical expression of everything we felt.

  When he finished, he slipped out and let go of my hips. I collapsed onto the bed, breathing hard.

  “I don’t think I can move,” I said, my face in the sheets.

  He toppled over next to me and slid his hand around my waist. Hauled me against him. “Then just stay right here, love.”

  We lay together, completely spent, catching our breath. His sweat mingled with mine and he peppered my ear and neck with gentle kisses.

  It was everything I needed. He was everything I needed. I was sated, content, and so in love.

  34

  MAYA

  Saturday afternoon, we sat out on the back porch steps, side by side. Gibson idly tossed a ball for Cash—his fenced-in area was working out great—and listened to the birds sing.

  Without a pressing need to go anywhere, we’d spent the day at home. We didn’t know what we were going to do if Lee Williams stuck around, or if he started poking around enough to come out here. For now, he had an entire town watching his every move, and he had no idea they were doing it.

  Gibson’s phone buzzed and he gave it the side eye for a moment before checking.

  “Huh. Henrietta’s got something trapped in her cabin again.”

  “Henrietta? The woman who doesn’t speak?”

  He nodded and stood. “She says it’s a bear, but it’s probably just an angry raccoon. I should hike up there and help her get rid of it.”

  I blinked at him a few times. “I have so many questions right now.”

  His mouth curled in that slow, sexy grin that turned my insides to liquid. “Do you want to come out with me? It’s a bit of a hike, but nothing you can’t handle.”

  “Yeah, that sounds great.”

  Gibson suggested I put on long pants to keep my legs from getting scratched, so I changed into jeans. A bank of clouds had rolled in, dimming the sunshine, and there was a crispness to the air. Fall was descending on the West Virginia mountains.

  With a very excited Cash on his leash, we struck out into the woods. Gibson had a backpack stuffed full, although I wasn’t sure what he’d put in it. The land rose steadily, and we had to pick our way through the underbrush, eventually coming to a more defined trail. Cash scrambled over logs and rocks, his tail wagging. He seemed to be enjoying our little adventure.

  “I take it you’ve been out here before.”

  “Couple times,” he said. “She got real sick once—the flu, I think—so I brought her a supply of canned soup and some Tylenol to get her fever down. And last year she had a raccoon problem.”

  “Do you know anything about her? Why she lives out here?”

  “Nope.”

  I grabbed a branch and used it to balance as I pulled myself up a particularly steep incline. “But aren’t you curious about her?”

  “A bit. But it’s her life. She should be able to live it how she wants without people bothering her about it. Besides, if she wanted me to know more, she’d tell me.”

  “But she doesn’t talk.”

  “She communicates just fine.”

  We continued in silence for a while. It was a tough hike. Yoga kept me strong and flexible, but this was something else. Just when I thought I might have stop and rest—my legs were burning—the land leveled off. The trees were thick and the cool air felt good.

  There was something about the way Gibson navigated the woods with such ease. A big, bearded man in a flannel and jeans, with his strong, calloused hands.

  I indulged in a brief daydream. Gibson and me, taking to the woods to disappear. Building a shelter, living off the land. Watching him chop wood. Cozying up in front of a fire to keep warm.

  The reality of living in the wilderness wouldn’t be nearly as romantic. But it was still fun to imagine Gibson as a mountain man, taking care of me in the forest.

  It made me wonder what would have happened if I’d made it to his apartment that night, instead of being picked up by his father.

  “It’s just up here,” he said.

  We emerged into a small clearing with a weathered cabin in the center. The wood was gray with age, but the boards were straight. It had a small porch at ground level and one old window that I could see, with remnants of chipping paint on the frame.

  Henrietta sat on the porch, her thin legs bent, her back against the door. She had long, graying hair that hung around her shoulders. Her clothes were worn but her sneakers looked new.

  “Having some trouble?” Gibson asked.

  She nodded and jerked her thumb behind her. As if on cue, there was a crash inside the cabin. Cash barked.

  “Another angry raccoon?” he asked.

  She shook her head hard, making her hair whip around her face, then held up an arm to indicate height.

  “Bigger than an angry raccoon?” he asked.

  She nodded, just as vehemently.

  “That’s why you think it’s a bear?”

  She nodded again, her brown eyes wide.

  I grabbed Gibson’s arm. “You can’t go in there if it’s a bear.”

  He laid his hand over mine and turned to speak quietly. “It ain’t a bear. Henrietta’s not afraid of much, but for some reason, she’s terrified of raccoons. Makes her exaggerate.”

  There was another crash inside the cabin. I still didn’t like this. “Even if it’s a raccoon, that doesn’t sound good. What about rabies?”

&
nbsp; “I’ve been vaccinated.”

  Cash barked again, the leash going taut in Gibson’s hand.

  Henrietta’s eyes fell on me, like she’d noticed me for the first time. Using the door handle to help her stand, she rose on skinny legs. I stood still, mesmerized by her intense gaze. She had deep lines in her forehead and around her eyes. She took slow steps forward, scrutinizing me.

  Gibson placed a hand on the small of my back. “This is my friend, Callie. You remember Callie?”

  She touched her hand to her chest, still staring at me, then nodded slowly.

  “She was gone for a long time, but she found her way back,” Gibson said.

  Her face broke into a wide smile. She stopped in front of me and took one of my hands in hers. Her skin was somehow soft and calloused at the same time, her fingernails short and clean. She held my hand up, laying her other hand on top of mine. Her eyes still didn’t leave my face and she nodded, squeezing my hand.

  “Hi, Henrietta.”

  “I was glad to see her, too,” Gibson said.

  Another crash in the cabin reminded us why we were out here. I took Cash’s leash while Gibson dropped his backpack and opened it, pulling out a pair of thick leather gloves, a baggie of dog food, and a big green tarp.

  “Okay, Henrietta,” he said, fitting his hands into the gloves. “You stay out here with Callie and Cash. I’ll get your bear.”

  Henrietta and I backed up a few steps. Cash barked again but didn’t seem interested in following Gibson into the cabin. He stayed near my legs.

  “Be careful,” I said.

  Gibson just grunted. He paused at the door, his hand on the handle, took a deep breath, and went inside.

  Henrietta clasped my hand. We waited, staring at the cabin. For a long moment, all was quiet. I couldn’t decide if that was a good sign. What if Gibs was wrong and there really was a bear inside? Or what if the raccoon bit or scratched him? Had he been serious about already having a rabies vaccine?

  Sudden crashes and clatters rang out from inside, making me jump. Seconds later, the door flew open and Gibson barreled out, the tarp bundled up in his arms. Whatever was inside growled, and the tarp shook.

  Gibson’s face was calm, his jaw set. With his arms around the violently thrashing tarp, he jogged into the trees, disappearing from sight.

  Henrietta let out a sigh and let go of my hand, as if the worst was over. My heart raced and I held Cash’s leash to keep him from following Gibson into the trees. Quiet settled over the forest and Henrietta went into her cabin, leaving the door open.

  It felt like ages before Gibson emerged, walking through the woods like he hadn’t just wrestled a wild animal. He had the tarp slung over his arm, obviously no longer filled with a raging raccoon—or whatever it had been.

  “Are you okay?” I ran to him, Cash leading the way. I expected to see scratches and bites. Maybe blood. But he seemed fine.

  “Of course. Fucker was pissed, though. I can see why she was scared. That was one of the biggest raccoons I’ve ever seen.”

  “How did you catch it?”

  “Suckered him onto the tarp with some dog food, then wrapped him up.” He crouched down to give Cash some attention, rubbing his head and letting him lick his face a few times. “Works every time.”

  “You’re something else, Gibson Bodine.”

  He glanced up at me and grinned.

  “Should we go talk to Henrietta?” I asked.

  “Yeah. We’ll leave Cash out here. It’s a bit cramped inside.”

  I helped him stuff the tarp in the backpack. Then we tied Cash up on the porch. Gibson fished in his pocket and handed him a dog treat.

  He rapped his knuckles on the open door. “Everything all right now?”

  Henrietta was busy cleaning up the mess the raccoon had left. She set a small wooden sculpture on a rough wood shelf, then nodded and gestured for us to come inside.

  It was like walking into an antique store, only far more fascinating. Bits of broken CDs hung on strings, glinting in the light as they twirled. The walls were covered with a dizzying arrangement of items. Faded signs, pieces of rusty metal, old license plates. There were oddly shaped sticks, shelves full of rocks, baskets overflowing with odds and ends, and something that looked like it might be a piece of broken road cone. She’d arranged everything in such a way that it was strangely beautiful.

  An old-fashioned ceramic sink that looked like it weighed about five hundred pounds sat on a sturdy cabinet, the dark stain faded.

  “Does she have a well?”

  “Yep,” Gibson said. “I don’t think she’s the first person to live up here, but I don’t know who built it.”

  There was an interior door, open a crack, and a curtained area at the back. She had shelves with food and supplies from a store. Herbs hung from the ceiling above the sink and she had almost an entire wall of shelves holding mason jars. Red ones looked like they might have jam or berry preserves. Others had dried meat and various things I couldn’t place. A wood stove appeared to provide both heat and a cooking surface.

  Gibson dug in the front pocket of his backpack and handed her a cell phone. “Fully charged, and no crack in the screen.”

  She took the phone and held it to her chest, smiling at Gibson. With a nod, she carefully put it on a shelf, patting it as if to say she’d take care of it.

  I didn’t see any lights or outlets. “Does she have power?”

  “No, but I got her a few spare batteries that charge it. When she comes into town, she charges everything up at the library. Or sometimes she just comes to my place and swaps out a dead battery for a full one.”

  “Wow. I guess you guys have a good system.”

  He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s mostly for emergencies. I doubt she keeps it on most of the time. But it has GPS, so if she got in real trouble, she could call for help and a rescue crew could get out here.”

  “Or if she has a bear in her cabin, she can let you know.”

  He grinned. “Exactly.”

  Henrietta worked quietly, righting her belongings. Picking things up off the floor and finding places for them on her many shelves.

  “Can we help?” I asked.

  She nodded, so Gibson and I picked up what we could. She directed us with silent gestures, ensuring we put things where she wanted them.

  “You have quite the interesting collection.” I righted a little wooden sign that had toppled over. The paint was faded almost to nothing, but I could see the faint outline of the words ice cream.

  She beamed with pride, clasping her hands and looking around.

  There was a beat-up Virginia license plate next to the ice cream sign. I brushed my fingers across the bent metal, and it felt like a bolt of electricity shot through my body. Gasping, I jerked my hand away.

  “You all right?” Gibson asked. “Did you touch something sharp?”

  “No.” I stared at the license plate, unable to look away. The frame was warped, but still intact. White scratches marred the surface, but I could read it. Richmond Music and Dance Academy.

  The box in my mind exploded, as if a bomb had gone off inside, blowing the lid off its hinges. I clutched my chest, gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe.

  “Callie, what’s wrong?”

  My arms burned, as if new slices oozed blood. As if I was sixteen all over again, with razor cuts in my skin. Shoving my sleeves up, I stared at my arms. The scars were still covered in tattoos. No blood. No new wounds.

  But I knew. I remembered. Those old memories that had been shrouded with hazy darkness suddenly broke free, clear and terrifying. The last piece of Callie’s life—the piece I’d buried so deep it could never hurt me again—came ripping to the surface.

  “It was her.”

  “Honey, what’s going on?” Gibson was there, his hands on the sides of my face, his brow furrowed with concern.

  “My mom had a license plate like that,” I said, my voice shaky and weak. “I took music lessons th
ere and they gave us those frames. She put it on her car. It was prestigious. I had to audition to get in. She wanted everyone to know.”

  He brushed my hair back from my face. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.” I held his arms, drawing strength from his touch. I kept my eyes down, remembering.

  35

  CALLIE

  Thirteen years ago

  A droplet of sweat trickled down my back as I walked down my driveway. I’d been at the lake all day, but that wasn’t why I was sweating now. I didn’t know what was wrong, really. I wasn’t coming home late. I hadn’t done anything that I wasn’t allowed to do.

  Today, that is. Yesterday was another story. But my parents didn’t know about that.

  I tugged at the sleeves of my red cardigan—a reflexive gesture. They were already down. It was amazing how quickly I could go from feeling relaxed and carefree—hanging out with all the Bootleg Springs kids—to anxious and afraid. This was my home—my summer home, at least. The sight of it shouldn’t have made my stomach knot with fear. But I couldn’t remember a time when I’d felt safe at home.

  Taking a deep breath, I went inside.

  I closed the door hard enough that it would make a sound without slamming it. It was a delicate balance—make sure they knew I was home, but avoid calling too much attention to myself.

  Luck seemed to be in my corner this evening. Dad was in his study, but Mom was nowhere to be seen. He looked up as I walked by, giving me a brief nod. Even seated, my father was an imposing figure. His hair was going white, but his shoulders were square, his posture rigid. He was authority personified.

  The tightness in my back eased as I went upstairs to my room and softly closed the door behind me. The lavender floral bedspread had ruffles around the edges, and a pile of decorative pillows were placed with precision. The walls were painted lavender to match, the furniture all whitewashed beige.

  Most girls I knew had posters of bands or celebrities papering their bedrooms. Not me. I had colorful framed prints of flowers and ducklings. It looked like a ten-year-old lived in this room, not a sixteen-year-old girl with only two years until adulthood.