All the Sky (Signal Bend Series)

by Fanetti, Susan

He did it again, on her hip. Her confusion was total and paralyzing. She’d never been hit like this before, and it scared her breathless. But it also made her core clench so hard she almost came, just from that contact. If she could understand how he meant it, if he was trying to hurt her, or if this was a sex thing…

  “Hav, wait.”

  When she tried to turn and face him, he grabbed her hips—one stinging from the heat of his palm—and dragged her to her knees, leaving the bed himself to stand at its side. Keeping one hand on her, he bent down and grabbed his jeans. He was going for another condom.

  This was the time to stop him. He wasn’t holding her tightly; she could get off the bed and get some distance, try to understand. But she didn’t move. She knew she should, but she didn’t. She knelt there, on all fours, watching him over her shoulder. When he had the condom on, he took her hips in his hands, then rubbed his coarse palm over the skin he’d made tender. He was staring at her ass. She flinched, not because this touch hurt, but because she got the sense he was preparing for another strike.

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  His eyes moved up and locked with hers.

  “Please, Hav.” A lot rode on the way he’d respond, she knew.

  His forehead creased, but he didn’t say anything. The last words he’d said were nosy bitch. He looked as confused as she felt.

  Then he wrapped his hand around his cock and pushed into her.

  He went deep, and he went hard, and as he moved in her, she realized that all the strangeness, the excitement wrapped in trepidation, she’d felt in the past few minutes had sensitized her, readied her for the way of him—this way he had of being gently brutal.

  She had no idea if what they were doing made any kind of sense in any kind of way. She knew all the reasons it didn’t. She knew that there was something off about what was happening right in this minute, like Havoc was taking her this way as some kind of a compulsion, that she’d triggered something dark in him somehow.

  Her head wanted her to sort it all out right now, but her body wanted to feel what he was doing to her. Because God, it felt so good. Every deep thrust drew a bestial grunt from deep in her throat, a sound she thought she’d never made before, and she rocked back to meet him, bring him even deeper, if she could. He filled her so full she thought she could feel the actual shape of him inside her, moving along the most sensitive nerves, striking the spot that made her brain skid.

  “Oh my God, Hav. God, the way you feel. God!” She wasn’t normally a talker, but she needed to make some kind of connection with him. Before, face to face, her body all around his, she’d felt powerfully connected. Safe. This was different.

  Her words seemed to break his concentration, disrupt his grunting rhythm. He stopped entirely, deep inside her, panting so heavily she felt his belly pressing against her ass with every inhale. Just as she was about to turn and ask if he was okay, he leaned over her and grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her sharply back, and up, until her back hit his chest with a thump. He was standing at the side of the bed; she was kneeling on the side of the bed. He nudged her knees wider, bringing her a couple of inches lower, allowing him the depth he’d been getting.

  Sliding one hand between her legs, putting the other over a breast, and tucking his face against her shoulder as her head rested on his, he resumed his rhythm. His thick fingers slid over her clit and pinched and rolled her nipple, making her whimper and whine. She needed to move, but he held her fast, pounding into her, sliding over her, biting down on her shoulder, until the sensations all merged together in an explosion of light and heat, and she cried out, arching and pulsing.

  He stopped the motion of his hips but stayed on her clit until she grabbed his hand. They stayed like that for long moments—Havoc hard and throbbing inside her, her hand over his between her legs, his other hand holding her breast, his mouth on her shoulder.

  Then he moved his head, nosing her hair away so that he could press his mouth to her ear.

  “What are you fuckin’ doin’ to me?”

  With that, he pulled out of her and flipped her around to face him, then lifted her up. Answering instinct, she wrapped her legs around his hips, which was clearly the right thing to do, because he pushed into her again. She brought her mouth to his, and he fucked her standing next to the bed, kissing her savagely, his beard abrading her lips, her cheeks, her chin. She held on and met his thrusts, too exhausted to want to chase another climax of her own, but desperate to help him get to his. Watching it overtake him, the spasm of agony rolling over his face, hearing the wrenching, straining groan, she felt an intense surge of power. She had power over him.

  When he was done and his body was relaxing, he staggered to the bed and sat down, still inside her, still holding her around him.

  He looked up at her, and she saw a different man. Open. Raw. And deeply freaked out.

  So was she. They made quite a pair.

  “Hav, will you stay the night?”

  He searched her eyes, and then he nodded.

  ~oOo~

  Cory woke in the morning when the alarm on her phone went off. As she reached for it, she realized that she was really sore—her legs, between her legs, her ass, and also her arms, for some reason.

  She could also sense that she was alone in the bed.

  Alarmed and already feeling debased, she turned and sat up quickly, ignoring all the twinges.

  Havoc was sitting in the chair by the window, wearing jeans and nothing else, watching her. He was gorgeous. She’d thought that words like that couldn’t apply to him. She’d been wrong. She relaxed so quickly she thought she might ooze into the bed.

  Composing herself, she smiled and said, “Morning.”

  He didn’t answer or even appear to have heard her.

  “Hav?”

  “I don’t do this. I don’t know how.”

  “Do what?” She thought she knew what he was talking about, but she wanted him to say it. She wanted to have a conversation. Because if they were going to do something, start something, then he needed to learn how to speak in something other than insults and snark. She’d reached something in him last night, and she’d felt it hook into her heart. She wanted to try, but if he shut down and was just plain old asshole Havoc this morning, then she wouldn’t be able to deal.

  He huffed, frustrated, and waved his hand between them. “This. Us. Be us. With somebody. I don’t do it. I don’t know how.”

  “Do you want it? To be an us?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. I want to try, yes.” She saw no reason to prevaricate.

  “Why? I’m an asshole. You say that yourself. A lot.”

  “Yeah—you definitely can be. You weren’t last night, though. Not all the time.”

  “I hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “No, you didn’t. I was afraid you would, but when I asked you not to, you stopped. And”—she dropped her head, feeling shy, unable to say the next thing while she saw his eyes on her—“and I think I liked it. It scared me, but…” She raised her eyes. “Is that something you like?”

  He did hesitate. Then, “Yeah. I do.”

  “Then we could try that again.”

  “Why? If it scared you?”

  “Because that’s what being an us is, I guess. You didn’t answer my question. Is that what you want?”

  With a dark laugh, he stood and came to sit on the bed. He reached out and put his hand on her knee. “I honestly do not know. I know you’re in my head and I can’t get you out. I know that last night made that more true. I want you. When you’re not around I’m thinking about you more. But I never wanted anything like this. I really did not. I fuckin’ hate the way the Horde changed when guys started pairing up with chicks. All the nasty shit that’s gone down for the last four years, a chick is involved in one way or another, and I fuckin’ hate it.”

  Cory moved her leg out from under his hand, hearing nothing at all good in what he was saying. It didn’t matter that he couldn�
�t stop thinking about her, not if he hated it so much.

  But he reached out again, and pulled her leg back where it was, this time curling his fingers around it and holding it in place. “I want to try. I’m gonna fuck it up, or it’s gonna fuck me up, but it’s like I don’t have a choice.”

  “That’s not a ringing endorsement, Hav.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, honey. All I got.”

  She sat and explored her head, her heart, trying to decide if that was enough, his desire to try. He was going to hurt her. She knew it. Even if this worked, he was right—he was going to fuck up. She needed at least to set some parameters.

  “If we try, it’s gotta be just me. No club pussy. I have a history…Nolan’s dad…” She couldn’t give him details.

  “I know. Nolan told me.”

  “What?” Jesus, Nolan. Really?

  He nodded but didn’t feed her aggravation at her kid. “That’s gonna be hard for me, I won’t lie.”

  “It’s a deal-breaker for me, Hav. I can’t do that, be that woman again. I can’t.”

  He grinned suddenly. Its good humor made him look like a different man. “You better put out, then.”

  She laughed. “You really are an asshole.”

  Moving to sit against the headboard, he pulled her close. “Oh, yeah. Been perfecting that for thirty-eight years.” He kissed her, and she ran out of things to say or ask or think.

  When they pulled apart, Havoc said, “We should get movin’. Breakfast in less than half an hour. Lot goin’ on today.”

  “You want to go on ahead?” She wasn’t sure coming into breakfast together, so soon after all this, was such a fantastic idea.

  But Havoc, apparently, was. “Nah. Let’s give ‘em all a shock. That, at least, will be fun as fuck.”

  ~oOo~

  They were the last ones to arrive at the diner; the rest of the Signal Bend group was seated at a big, round table in the center of the restaurant. Gia and Bo were both in highchairs, and there was already juice and coffee at all the seats. As Cory approached the table, with Havoc right behind her, the table went quiet. Then Havoc put his hand on her shoulder, and every adult eyebrow lifted sky-high. Even Badger was stunned.

  “Mornin’, everybody. Sleep good?” Havoc sounded damn pleased with himself. Cory didn’t need to turn around to know he was grinning like a fool. Clearly, this part he liked.

  Badge had been sitting so that there was an empty seat on either side of him, but when he saw Cory and Havoc standing there as they were, he moved over one. Cory sat down next to Shannon, and Havoc sat next to Badger. The awkward quiet lasted for another second or two, and then Shannon handed menus to each of them and said, “Apparently, they’re famous for the Belgian waffles. But I saw the table over there get some, and they are freaking huge, so be warned.”

  Cory thanked her and looked around the table again. Show and Isaac were both looking at her like they were trying to figure out what was special about her. It freaked her out a little. But then Show smiled a little and nodded, and that little gesture returned Cory to her ease.

  Breakfast was a loud, chaotic affair. Shannon and Badger had gotten waffles with whipped cream and strawberries, and Gia wanted their whipped cream. She pitched a tantrum when Lilli and Isaac told her no, and finally, Lilli took her outside to calm her down. Then Bo started screaming because his mother left, but he quieted when Isaac took him out of the highchair and let him eat sitting in his lap. Around all of that, the grownups talked about the day. Isaac and Cory needed to set up for another selling day, and then Isaac was going to take off with the guys for some kind of Horde business. In the afternoon, Havoc and Cory were meeting people at a few wineries to taste and place orders for Valhalla. Shannon and Lilli were just having a day off, but with these kids, Cory didn’t think they’d be doing much resting.

  Again she was struck by the impression of family sitting around, enjoying a meal. Not at all like sitting around Lindsay and Alex’s table, with everything so precise and planned, and not like sitting around the table of their childhood, with their father drunk and their mother angry. Havoc had spoken about ‘nasty shit’ happening around the Horde in recent years, and how much he hated it. She of course knew about the movie, and the events that inspired it, but other than that, she didn’t understand what he’d meant. She knew the general reputation of the Horde as outlaws, but all she saw was business owners and town leaders. Rough around the edges, most definitely, but not dangerous, not in a criminal way. She wondered if she was missing something. If she was, it was important to know.

  But for now, today, Havoc had his hand on her leg, and she was talking to Shannon about making her a necklace, and she was content. More than that. Happy.

  After breakfast—for which she was, again, not allowed to contribute, they all walked out, ready to separate into their smaller groups. Shannon pulled Cory back just before they were the last ones through the door, and pulled a pretty scarf out of her handbag.

  “You might want this, Cory. Your neck looks like the Wolfman made a meal out of you.”

  Cory’s hand went immediately to the side of her neck that Havoc had enthusiastically and repeatedly sucked and bitten last night. It was sore. How had she missed that, through her—well, their—shower and drying her hair, and just generally getting ready? She’d been rushed, but still.

  She’d sat there with all these people through an entire meal, advertising the night she’d had. Her face went blazing hot, and she took the scarf with a muttered, “Thank you.”

  Shannon laughed and rubbed her arm. “Don’t be embarrassed. Nobody here cares. But since you’re selling your jewelry and going to the wineries, I thought you might rather cover it up.”

  Wrapping the scarf around her neck, Cory smiled. Too late to be embarrassed anyway, really. “Yes, I would. Thanks again.”

  ~oOo~

  Cory and Isaac went to the vender area to set up for the day. She was nervous about being in charge of Isaac’s booth and all of his expensive pieces for a couple of hours. She did not want to have to haggle with people over his stuff. But he told her he trusted her, and if she felt uncomfortable, she could just tell them to come back later, when he was back. “It’s not gonna make or break me either way, sweetheart,” he said.

  Still, when Havoc, Show, and Badger came by the booth for Isaac, Cory was nervous enough to feel a little ill. And then they left, and Havoc barely acknowledged her, and that didn’t help at all. She wasn’t sure whether there was anything to read in his lack of attention. It had been a long time since she’d started something new with a guy—no, wait, it had been eons since she’d started something new with a guy, and she’d been thirteen the last time she had. Matt. Only Matt. Until last night. So wrapped up in and confused by Havoc, she hadn’t even had the sense to feel inexperienced. She was thirty-five years old, and she’d just slept with her second man.

  She didn’t think that was something Havoc needed to know.

  Luckily, she didn’t have time to feel embarrassed about that. The day was warm and brightly sunny, a perfect October day, and the crowds were thick early. Most people in Isaac’s booth bought inexpensive things—the little beaded baubles she’d made, the small carvings of Isaac’s. She sold a chess set at the tag price, no dickering required. And she was starting to feel like she’d be okay. She relaxed a little and chatted with people. They were selling a lot. She didn’t know how sales compared with what Isaac usually did, but she was seeing a nice payment on a credit card balance, maybe even holding back some for Nolan’s Christmas.

  “You Isaac’s new fuck? I knew that thing he had going wouldn’t take. Bitch wasn’t all that.”

  The booth was mostly empty, which had been a rare occurrence in the couple of hours Cory had been alone. She turned to see a blonde, maybe fifty or so, pretty in an overly done way, standing just at the corner of the booth. She was wearing a lot of silver jewelry.

  “Excuse me?”

  The woman smiled and walked int
o the booth, to Cory’s display table. She picked up one of the stretchy beaded bracelets that were cheap and thus good sellers. “This your stuff? Isaac gave you space in his booth, huh? You probably think that means something.”

  Then she tossed the bracelet onto the table. Cory got the sense she would have wadded it up if she could have.

  Angry, and feeling defensive of Isaac and Lilli and of her own work, Cory put her hands on her hips and faced this interloper head on. “I don’t know who you are, but Isaac is a friend. He’s married. His wife is here with him. And they have two kids. So I’m pretty sure it took.”

  The woman blinked at that information, then recovered with a patently insincere smile. “Well, isn’t that sweet. Isaac a daddy. Do me a favor, then, sugar, and tell him Cin stopped by, wants to see him. He’ll be glad to know it.”

  Then she left. Cory watched her go, appalled. Not at Isaac—it was pretty clear from everything the woman had said that she hadn’t seen him in years—but at the woman herself. Quite the piece of work.

  “You okay?” She turned around to see one of Isaac’s friends she’d met the day before…a leatherworker…Duncan.

  “Yeah. Fine, thanks. Nobody’s tried to dicker with me yet over Isaac’s stuff, so I haven’t lost him any money, I don’t think.”

  Duncan chuckled. “I been doing these shows with Isaac a long time. You call me, you need some help with that. Or anything—I saw you meet Lucinda.”

  “Um, yeah. Interesting.”

  “That she is. You know, there’s nothing…”

  “Oh, that was clear. I wouldn’t rat him out anyway, but there’s nothing to say.”

  “Good. She likes trouble. Especially the kind she made.”

  “That was clear, too.”

  “Okay, well I gotta get back, but I’m just across the way. Call for anything.”

  “Thanks, Duncan.”

  He nodded and tipped an imaginary cap.

  This show was a lot different from anything she’d every done before. She’d sold at silly little town fairs and carnivals, just a card table and a folding chair, sitting next to the ladies who made clothes for ceramic porch animals, or crocheted toilet plunger cozies, or stitched inspirational sayings into pillowcases. This was an art show. These people were professionals. They were true artists. And they were treating her like she belonged—most of them, at least.