Whatever rollercoaster this woman has me on has already taken me to the highest highs and the lowest lows, but right here, this moment feels like pulling into the safety of home.
Her calves lock around my hips, and she pulls my chest to hers. I don’t want to suffocate her and hold some of my weight back, but she twines in and over me like a vine, taking it all. Her hands lock onto my back, and I freeze to make sure she’s okay. But she’s got other plans.
She uses the bounce of the bed to fuck me from below with shallow thrusts, keeping me inside her slick cunt as she works me. “Fuck, Erica. Keep doing that. You’re gonna make me come. That what you want?”
My face is buried in her hair, surrounded by the scent of her, a combination of oil, hand cleaner, and her shampoo. I rumble words of encouragement in her ear. “You are amazing . . . feels so good . . .” I don’t even know what I say after that because I’m one big ball of sensation and pleasure and my brain can’t form words, only grunting sounds.
I hover right on the edge as long as I can, and then when I can’t take it anymore, I jerk back from her. She cries out at the loss of my cock, but I grab her legs and fold her in half, putting her pretty pussy on display for me. I turn slightly so that I can support her legs with one hand and use the other to finger fuck her. At the same time, I tease her clit with my tongue, and she thrashes, both trying to get more and trying to get away from the onslaught.
“Oh, my God, yes,” she hisses. She flies apart beneath me. I feel her pussy start to clamp down as she gushes for me, and I rise up, quickly thrusting back inside her with her calves resting on my shoulders.
I find a punishing rhythm, fast and hard, giving zero fucks to the racket we’re making with the headboard banging against the wall and both of us damn near grunting like animals. Through it all, we never lose eye contact.
We’re fucking, make no mistake that this is a rough, aggressive, nearly violent taking of each other’s body, but there’s more beneath the surface of the pleasure. Her eyes are deep and full of a future I let myself dream of, and I tell her with my own that I accept her, just as she is.
We find our climax together, her second pulling mine from my body as my spine jolts, my balls tense up, and my cock swells. The condom is between us physically, but there’s nothing between us emotionally as I hold her tight, coming down from the haze with panting breaths.
I lower her legs, turning us slightly so that my weight is on the bed, but stay inside her a little longer. Pushing her hair back from her face, I trace over the freckles on her cheek with a fingertip. “You are so fucking gorgeous, Erica. Outside” —I sweep the swoop of her nose— “and inside.” I press my lips to hers, willing her to taste the depth of what I’m feeling but unable to say it.
Her mouth opens to speak back, but a door closing downstairs makes both of us freeze in place.
“Who was that?” she whispers.
I look at her, telling her silently that’s a dumbass question because how would I know? I’ve been in here with her.
A moment later, my phone buzzes in my pants on the floor. I hate to do it, but I pull out of Erica, tossing the condom in the trash. I dig my phone out and see that I’ve got a text.
Mark: Sorry. Mama says she’ll set Erica a place for dinner.
My eyebrows must rise or I must grit my teeth. Something must give me away because Erica asks, “What’s it say? What’s wrong?”
I scratch at my lip, downplaying the awkwardness. “No big deal. Mama Louise says you’re expected at dinner.”
Erica blinks once, twice, three times before she sits bolt upright. “Are you serious? Mama Louise heard us fucking like rabbits and is all ‘golly gee, perhaps they’d like some dinner’?” She falls back to the bed, arms spread wide like an angel with a halo of messy, dark hair splayed out beneath her.
“Not exactly. The text is from Mark, so it seems like it was both of them.”
Her hands go over her face, but I hear the mumbled reply. “Of course it was.” A slow beat later, she clarifies, “Only the two of them?”
I shrug even though she’s not looking at me. When she peeks one eye open, I smirk. “Silver lining? Mark knows I’m not working today. This morning, because I was hungover. Now, because you’re here.”
I approach the bed with every filthy idea I’ve ever had about having a woman in my bed written all over my face. Erica’s embarrassment morphs before my very eyes, her blush turning into a flush and her hands falling to the bed as her legs writhe. “Well, if they already know, guess there’s no harm in hiding out a little longer.”
“Woman after my own heart.” I quote the expression without thinking, but the truth of it is, she’s already got it.
She stalls my prowling with a single finger held up. “Go lock the damn door or I’ll be nervous the whole time.”
I huff like I’m annoyed by her request, but it’s a good idea. None of us are in the habit of having guests over so there’s no real family protocol for that. Not that I want to think about it, but I wonder how in the hell I’ve never noticed Brutal and Allyson fucking. They live in this house with me, Bobby, and Cooper, yet I’ve never heard a peep. I should probably pick his brain for some tricks on Mission: Impossible, Quiet Sex Edition.
“Fine. You stay there, though. Hand, hand, foot, foot.” I point at each corner of my bed, knowing she can’t reach the bed edges, teasing her to spread eagle while I’m gone.
Naked as the day I was born, I make a run for the front door and then the back door, locking them both. Hustling back up the stairs, I take them two at a time, honestly curious whether Erica will be laid out the way I said to. Hell, knowing her, she’ll be sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed just to be ornery and noncompliant and keep me guessing.
She really hates being told what to do, I think with a smile. I love that about her.
As I open the door, the breath I didn’t know I was holding escapes in a hushed, “Fuck.” She’s laid out just like I told her to, but never one to follow orders—how was this woman ever in the military?—she’s face down with that tiny ass in the air.
She smirks, her cheek against my sheet as she wiggles her hips, knowing exactly what she’s doing to me. “Like this, Cowboy?”
“Yep, Lil Bit. Just like that.” Hell, I’m not gonna argue when her plan for round two is better than mine.
* * *
“So lovely to see you again, Rix,” Mama Louise says as we pile ham steaks, bourbon glazed carrots, and fried okra onto our plates.
It’s probably just my hearing, but I swear there’s a tease in there. A slight emphasis on the ‘see you’?
I should’ve known better. Big-mouthed men, clucking women, and hot gossip are the worst combination for polite dinner conversation.
Erica chokes a little on the swallow of her tea. “Uhm, yeah . . . good to see you too.” She looks to me, eyes asking ‘what the fuck?’ loud and clear.
Shayanne is next. “I heard you’ve been real busy lately.” After a dramatic pause, she finishes, “At the shop.”
Erica blinks. I blink. I take Erica’s hand beneath the table for moral support. Hers? Mine? I’m not entirely sure.
“Guess you’re feeling better after staying in bed all day,” Brutal grunts my way. He’s probably the one who made the coffee for me this morning and left the aspirin on the coffee table for me when I passed out drunk last night.
I look around the table, every pair of eyes looking from me to Erica with giddy humor. I’m glad Allyson and Cooper are in town tonight at a school thing because I wouldn’t want to scar the kid with what I’m about to do. I’m not a shy, oh-no-don’t-make-fun sort. So I do what I always do. Go hard.
“Elephant in the room. Erica and I had sex. Enjoyed it. Mark and Mama Louise heard us today. It’s basic human functionality. We good here? Any questions?”
Ah, shit. I was doing so well. They all looked slightly chastised by my facing their teasing head-on, but now Shayanne raises her hand with a shit-eating
grin. “Oh, I’ve got a question or twenty.”
I hang my head, talking out the side of my mouth to Erica. “I am so sorry.”
Somehow, the already disastrous situation devolves even further, though I’m not sure how.
“Don’t act like you didn’t give me hell when Shay and I started dating,” Luke throws out.
“Language,” Mama Louise says quickly.
James jumps in. “You still give Sophie and me a hard time!”
Mark growls, “Because you two are so loud the neighbors threatened to call the cops.”
Sophie points at me. “Brody was the neighbor, so guess the table’s turned there, huh?” She shovels a tiny bite of pureed, non-bourbon-glazed carrot into Cindy Lou’s mouth, who is completely oblivious to the rantings of the adults around the table. Thank goodness the only words she knows are mama, dada, and baba. The last one is what she calls Bacon Seed.
My turn again. “And we all know what you and Katelyn get up to, so don’t even start with me,” I tell Mark.
“You don’t know anything, and don’t you forget it.” Cold ice has entered his voice and it becomes an actual threat.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” I snap back. “I can’t forget what I don’t know.”
“Exactly,” Mark says. I love the guy like a brother, and yeah, we’re more alike than different, but fuck, he’s weird sometimes. And that’s saying something coming from me.
“You know what I hear?” Mama Louise interrupts us all, and we turn our attention to her dutifully. “That my kids, all my kids, have grown up to be loving people who show their love with their chosen partners in a beautiful, pleasurable way.”
“Blech . . . Mama is talking about s-e-x. All stop. Abort conversation. Over.” Luke acts like he’s talking into a CB radio.
We all cringe a little. It’s one thing to give each other shit. It’s quite another to think of Mama Louise and sex in the same conversation, much less sentence.
“Hush up, Son. Your father and I had a very loving relationship. Not like we only did it three times with the lights out to get you boys. Why, this one time . . .” She trails off, smiling an evil grin. She knows exactly what she’s doing, that she’s killing a little thread of innocent denial in her boys’ hearts and diverting the conversation. Luckily, in this moment, she’s not my actual mother, so I don’t have to be too weirded out by her proclamation.
We’re quietly thanking the good Lord that we didn’t have to hear about Mama Louise and John’s nonprocreative activities.
Erica squeezes my hand. “Uh, Shayanne. Before we go sidetracked.” That’s putting it mildly. “Did you have an actual question?” Erica’s like me, a face-shit-head-on-er, and I don’t feel so alone.
No, that’s not it. I don’t feel . . . protective. I always protect everyone, from Dad, from the stress of the farm, from themselves. But Erica doesn’t need my protection. She’s willing to let me step in front sometimes, willing to step in front herself, and mostly, willing to stand by my side against the storm of my family. And she doesn’t need my protection to do it. She’s strong in her own right. Tiny, fierce, badass, mouthy Lil Bit.
If she’s going into this, I’m going with her.
Shay looks from me to Erica, but her question is all mine. “Another one bites the dust?”
She’s bragging about being right. I grunt, knowing she’ll take it as an affirmative.
Bobby intones solemnly, “And then there was one.”
Chapter 22
Erica
“It’s weird that we’ve never been on a date.” My proclamation probably would’ve served me better in my head, but of course, I said it out loud.
Brody is lounging on the couch, watching me get dressed. It’s warming and sexy to know that’s all he’s doing—not watching television while he waits, not playing on his phone, not trying to hurry me up. He’s just watching as I pull on panties, brush out my hair, slick on a tinted lip balm—my only makeup—and hold up T-shirt after T-shirt in the mirror.
In the mirror’s reflection, I see one of Brody’s dark eyebrows raise. “Two Roses. Hank’s. The races, twice. Your place dozens of times. My place a few times.”
His list is pretty succinct and accurate. But tonight feels different. It’s the first time we’re going out after the fight. And more importantly, after we made up and faced some hard facts.
Like I am so fucking over the moon for this man that I don’t even care if that makes me sound like lovestruck Emily because it’s the damn truth.
After that awkward dinner, I’d spent the night at Brody’s, a first apparently that had required rules about bathroom usage and knocking on doors. Allyson had assured me that they were mostly kidding and teasing Brody.
Still, though we’ve stayed at the farm house a few times like Brody said, we mostly choose my place, with its privacy and a bathroom we don’t have to share.
“The black one,” he suggests.
I hold the black shirt up, turning around to face him. “Why?” I’m honestly curious because I was about to put on the red shirt I bought while shopping with Emily. She’d said it looked ‘more approachable,’ which is mostly code for ‘not bitchy like usual.’
“The lacing at the shoulders makes me think of unwrapping you like a present and it makes your tits look good.”
Sweet and sexy. This man is my damn undoing, making me want things I don’t have time for but am making time to do with him. Like go on a double date with my sister and her doctor guy.
“You don’t need to undo the laces. You could just pull the shirt over my head. Or . . . we could just stay here and not even put it on.” I throw the shirt to the bed, standing in front of him in just my bikini panties, my nipples already hardening.
“Tempting.” His hat comes off, curls in his hands, and goes back on his head, letting me know he’s thinking about that plan of action really hard. “You and the laces. It’s the tease of it.” His voice has gone dark and deep, hitting every button I’ve got and he damn well knows it. He smirks. “Clothes. Date. Then we’ll fuck later.”
He’s good. The ordering me around, grunting like he’s telling me what to do is a surefire way to get shut down even now, but promising me exactly what I want? He’s playing dirty, and he’s good at it.
* * *
“How did you two meet?” Doctor Dan asks Brody. Dan is a tall, slim blonde and blue-eyed dreamboat, and I can absolutely understand what Emily sees in him. He seems friendly and kind, easily a Prince Charming type from Emily’s romanticized fantasies come to life.
“Funny story. She almost killed me with a wrench. I knew she was it for me right then.” Brody looks at me, his face perfectly impassive and not giving anything away.
Dan chokes on his whiskey and water at Brody’s dry delivery of the truth, sputtering. “You’re kidding, right?”
Emily places her hand on Dan’s arm. “Unfortunately, no. I told you my sister is a bit . . . interesting.” She winks at me, the smile letting me know she means it as a compliment.
“How about you?” Brody redirects.
“She sold me a truck and gave me her card. I took the chance that it wasn’t purely for warranty issues and was right, fortunately.” He chuckles like that’s funny, and Emily laughs along too. Brody and I look at each other, finding exactly zero humor in his lame joke. But I smile anyway because Brody looks hot tonight.
He’s got on black jeans, ones I know he’s never worked in because they’re completely free of any stains or rips and fit like a second skin over his ass, loosening up over his muscled thighs. His button-down shirt is black and so are his boots. He’s like a dark knight, with a gunmetal belt buckle, a camo-cow hat, and a thick leather strap bracelet.
That bracelet had been a surprise tonight. I’ve never seen Brody wear a single bit of jewelry, and I would’ve said he’d find it as unnecessary and useless as I usually do. But for some reason, all I’ve been able to think about are his fingers on and in my pussy with that leather bracelet
on . . . and nothing else.
He licks his lips, likely knowing exactly what I’m thinking, and takes a sip of his beer.
The waitress comes by to take our orders, doing the double-take that Emily and I are used to. Luckily, this time, there’s no stupid twin-ology question. Can you read each other’s minds? Do you get confused over who you are? If one of you is hurt, does the other feel it? Do you ever switch places?
We’ve heard them all, but our waitress seems much more taken with Dan and Brody than Emily and me having matching faces, and the guys are who she’s staring at.
“Chicken sandwich, plain and dry, sweet potato fries,” Brody says, pointing at me, then he continues with, “cheeseburger, medium rare, A1 sauce on the side, and onion rings.” He glances at me, giving me an opportunity to make any corrections, but he got it perfect. The best part is that I know he ordered that way so we can split everything, having the best of both worlds on every front because that’s what we always do.
We have a ‘usual order’, and the idea of that makes my heart jump into my throat. In a good way. It means history, of the evening where I could not make up my mind so Brody came up with the amazing idea to share everything, and it means understanding that we are an ‘us.’
And also . . . we might need to add some veggies to our diet. Maybe a salad night? I laugh a little at the image of Brody digging into a big dinner of salad. His dark eyes search me questioningly.
“Salad,” I say, with no context or frame of reference at all.
“Pass,” he answers as if we’re having a normal conversation. “That’s what we feed the hamburgers.”
Emily is watching the Erica and Brody show with rapt attention, like we’re fascinating creatures to study. I glare at her, ordering her not to make a big deal of nothing. Except I know that double negatives aside, it’s not nothing.
It’s something . . . when Brody casually lays his hand over the back of my chair and I snuggle into his side.
Rough Edge Page 23
