by Kati Wilde
Grasshopper rolls up behind me. He and Duke go join the brothers while I haul Osprey out of the trunk.
Out of the light are Blowback and Zoomie, Gunner and Spiral. Looks like Stone made it back for this, but although he’s wearing the enforcer’s patch, he defers to me and the role I’ve taken on with him gone, letting me bring Osprey to the prez and finishing what I started when I first contacted Woodridge.
The fucker goes quiet, the fight going out of his body the second he sees what’s waiting for him. Maybe he’s tired of running. Maybe he realizes there’s no use trying.
No speeches are made. There’s no bullshit here, no posturing, no ceremony.
The prez simply looks over at Grasshopper and asks, “The boy was your godson, yeah?”
His jaw tight, Grasshopper nods.
The prez holds the sledgehammer out to him. “Then you get the first swing.”
And although the fight went out of Osprey, there’s plenty of screaming left. When it comes round my turn, last in the circle, the sledgehammer’s dripping red. But it’s not the blood I’m seeing. I see Justin and remember how many rides that little boy took on my shoulders, how wildly he’d laugh. I picture Maurice in that hospital bed wishing that he’d never woken up, wishing he could take his boy’s place, wishing he were dead. But it’s not Maurice who’s dying tonight.
My swing is the one that quiets the screaming.
14
Bull
At the clubhouse, I shower and change clothes before riding home. Sara will probably notice. Different T-shirt, darker jeans. She’s smart enough to figure out without my saying a word that the others were splattered with blood.
Maybe that’s why some men prefer the dim bulbs. If a woman’s not too bright, then there’s fewer questions, no judgement, no explanations to give.
And there’s no worrying that she’ll be done with you when she realizes what you really are. Because accepting a hypothetical and accepting a reality are two different things.
That reality’s about to come home.
Though it’s well past two in the morning, both she and Pop are waiting up, sitting at the kitchen table with coffee and a pack of cards. As soon as I come in, Pop gets to his feet and grumbles something about going to bed. But I’m hardly even listening, watching Sara’s face as her gaze seems to slide all over me, maybe looking for injuries or just noticing the different clothes and processing what it means.
She’s changed her clothes, too. The past few days she’s been borrowing my shirts, which are so long on her she didn’t always bother with pants. But now she’s back in the T-shirt and jeans she arrived in.
Because that’s what she’ll be wearing home.
A sick nervous ball rolls up hard in my gut. The past few days with her here were better than I ever dreamed—but she wasn’t exactly allowed to leave. Now Osprey’s dead and she’s free to go.
And if she’s done with me? I don’t know how I won’t turn into the same crazy fucker she’s running from.
Not that I’d ever hurt her or anyone she loves. But I don’t know if I could let her walk away without chasing after her.
As Pop heads out, she carries the coffee mugs to the sink. “I have to be at work in about an hour, so I’ll need a ride into town soon. But take a seat at the table and I’ll warm up your dinner so you can eat something before we go,” she says. “Unless you ate while you were gone?”
I didn’t. And I take a seat but—“I can’t eat a fucking thing.”
Her eyebrows draw together and concern darkens her eyes. Setting a mug in the strainer, she dries her hands while studying me. “Are you all right?”
I suppose that will depend on her. And maybe I shouldn’t say anything at all, but keeping my mouth shut didn’t work out so well between us before. What did help was talking. Not giving details, but still offering the truth. “What I did tonight, a lot of people would say a good man wouldn’t do. They’d say it’s something that can’t ever be right, can’t ever be justified. Some kind of primitive, caveman shit.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
Her question’s so unexpected, I can’t answer right away. From her post by the sink, she watches me work it through, her gaze unwavering.
“No,” I tell her and can’t keep the hoarse note from roughening my voice. “There’s no pleasure in it. There’s satisfaction because I did what needed to be done, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t some sick ugly shit and that it doesn’t leave a stain. But I also can’t say I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she says and crosses the kitchen toward me.
I frown, not following her meaning. “What do you know?”
“This. About you.” She settles her supple weight on my lap, straddling me on the chair. Her arms link around my shoulders. “I always knew this about you—that you had this side of you. The bad side that can do some terrible shit and not apologize for it.”
Not sure if I’m relieved or worried. “Did you?”
“Mmm-hmm,” she confirms and leans back a bit, looking up at me. “What would you do if I’m in trouble?”
I don’t even have to think about it. “Protect you.”
“And if a friend of mine needed help?”
“I’d help her.”
“If someone hurt Pop?”
“Fuck ’em up so bad they never could again.”
“Would you ever hurt me?”
“Not in a million fucking years,” I vow.
“See? I already knew all that. And knowing how you might solve those problems didn’t bother me. Instead I liked knowing how far you’d go to take care of yours.” A wicked little smile curves her full mouth. “Why do you think I was always swinging my ass in front of you?”
Putting on that sexy walk she has? I figured her ass just naturally swung like that. “Were you?”
She nods and tugs playfully on my beard. “Maybe I was hoping you’d just lose control, let some of that primitive caveman out.”
“And show you my big caveman club?”
A laugh shakes through her, jiggling her soft tits. She’s wearing her bra but the lace is thin, and her little T-shirt doesn’t conceal the tight buds of her nipples beneath the cotton.
“Did you ever think it?” she wonders.
Think about fucking her after watching her swing that curvy ass? I can’t believe she has to ask. “You want me to show you?”
Breathlessly she says, “Yes.”
Her answer’s barely out before I have her facedown over the table, my right hand working the fastening of her jeans, my left hand cupping her chin. Bending over her, my rigid cock right up against that curvy ass, I growl against her ear, “The counter where I always sit is too high for anything but eating you out, but all those little tables? I imagined having you on every single one.”
Though I couldn’t have fucked her properly on the spindly café tables at Reggie’s. Here, though, the table’s good solid wood that can stand up to a pounding. Roughly I drag her jeans and panties halfway down her thighs, hobbling her with denim and lace.
Falling to my knees, I bury my face in her hot cunt.
“Bull!” It’s a half gasp, half muffled scream.
Then a wild moan as I lick all the way up the seam of her pussy in a long, broad stroke. She’s already so fucking wet, then wetter as I suck on those pretty pussy lips and take another long lick from her clit to her ass. Christ, she’s got the sweetest rounded cheeks. I press my thumb against her puckered little entrance.
She trembles and I softly nip the tender skin at the bottom curve of her right cheek.
“You’re too small to take my cock here,” I tell her gruffly. “But maybe we’ll get a few toys. You like how thick I am, but I’ll feel even thicker inside you when you’re filled up everywhere.”
And I’ll be buying those toys soon, because simply talking about filling her up has her rocking her hips and moaning, her pussy glistening with more of those sweet juices.
Hungrily I lick them all up, then fil
l her cunt with two thick fingers. Her inner walls are like hot wet velvet clamping down on me. Groaning, my dick so fucking hard I’m about to come in my jeans, I pump my fingers deeper, and her sleek thighs start shaking when I get my mouth up in there again, sucking on her clit. She’s getting real close but I want to be in her when she goes over. I ease up, withdrawing my fingers, and when she moans in frustration I slide my tongue up and tease her entrance until she’s begging me for more and desperately rubbing her pussy all over my face.
Fuck yeah. I give her what she wants, feasting on her cunt with my hungry mouth and thrusting tongue. She’s shaking again when I unbuckle my belt and ease my aching dick free of my jeans. These past couple of days I’ve been carrying a handful of rubbers around in my pockets, and it takes me about two seconds to rip one open and roll it on.
Rigid with need, I align my stiff cock with her slick entrance. A single hard stroke sinks every thick inch deep inside her.
Sara cries out, her eyes squeezed shut, her face flushed and pillowed in her arms, her full lips parted in ecstasy. For a long second, I can’t even move, looking at how beautiful she is when she’s lost to her need.
Fuck, I’m all but lost, too. She’s so damn tight and burning hot. I could heat up a peach and drill my cock through it, but that sweet flesh still wouldn’t feel as juicy or as luscious as her cunt does. Her plush inner walls take my cock in their voluptuous grip, hugging my thick shaft as I begin stroking deep and hard.
Already shaking again, she turns her face into her arms to muffle her ragged cries.
And I can’t get deep enough. Gripping her hips, I tilt her ass up higher, lifting her up off her toes so I don’t have to crouch so low, and fuck her harder. The new angle drives her fucking wild. Moaning helplessly, she thrashes her head from side to side, her hair flying, then pushes up against the table, bracing her hands and throwing her hips back against me, giving as good as she’s getting.
When she comes, her pussy’s a velvet vise squeezing my cock, drenching me in a rush of hot juices. Feeling that, I can’t hold back. I load up the condom with what feels like gallons of cum, pumping into her lush cunt until I’m completely spent.
I collapse over her, bracing my forearms on the table beside her shoulders to take my weight. She gasps as I rock gently against her, her plush walls clenching at me again. I need to pull out, to get rid of the condom, but I don’t have the strength yet.
Burying my face in her hair, I tell her, “I’m real glad I didn’t stick my thumb up your ass.”
A giggle works through her. Fuck, that feels good. From now on, I’m always going to make her laugh when I’m inside her.
Through her giggles, she asks, “Why are you glad? Seems like I should be.”
“Well, it’d be real awkward if my thumb was up your ass the first time I tell you I love you.”
Her giggles abruptly stop as she catches her breath.
Is she surprised? Or just feeling awkward, anyway? Gruffly I say, “I know I move fast.”
“Yeah, you do,” she whispers. “Let me up?”
I do, then drag off the condom as she turns around and pulls up her panties and jeans. All the sudden, she looks real fucking wary.
With her dark eyes watching me so carefully, that hard ball of nerves sits heavy in my stomach again. I trash the rubber and rake a hand through my hair, try to smooth my beard. This is the part where she leaves. And I’ve got to act like I’m not going to turn into some fucking stalker. “You heading straight to Reggie’s or to your place first?”
Stiffly she says, “My place. I need to change and my car’s there. I can drive to Reggie’s from my house.”
Does she think I’m just going to dump her at her house and take off? “I’ll still follow you in to work. But I likely won’t be at breakfast. I’ll probably come back here after, get some shut eye before heading out to the job site.”
As if I’ll ever sleep again without her beside me.
And it seems like she’s still stepping real careful when she asks, “Do you want me to warm up that dinner before we go?”
“No.” Though maybe I should have said yes, kept her here longer. I rake my hands through my hair again. “Fucking hell.”
Something softens in her face—and suddenly I realize the wariness she wore before was nerves stretched as taut as mine. And she’s still not steady as she whispers, “Will you kiss me, please?”
Hell yes. I cross the distance between us in two long strides. I kiss her hard, loving the way she rises up on her toes to meet me, loving the sweetness of her mouth and the warmth of her skin.
Loving her.
Her breath is coming quick and shallow when she draws back, looks up into my eyes. “You do move fast. But I haven’t been going any slower.”
My throat’s tight. “No?”
“No,” she echoes huskily. “After all these months of knowing you, even before you kissed me that first time, I was completely crazy about you. Why do you think it hurt me so much when I thought we wouldn’t have any kind of future?”
The same reason it ripped me apart to think I’d lost her. “Are you hurting now?”
“Not at all.” She rises onto her toes but can’t get high enough. Bending my head, I kiss her smiling lips until she slowly lowers to her heels again. Her hands smooth down my chest as if she’s reluctant to stop touching me. “If you’re not coming into breakfast, maybe you can take me out to dinner? And we can try it all again—and see how good we are together when we’ve got work and real life always intruding.”
“We’ll be so damn good together. Christ, I love you.”
So damn much. Overcome by the feeling, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her up against me. And she’s a hell of a lot better at this than me, because I’m holding her and her mouth is against mine the first time she says, “I love you, too.”
Not a bit fucking awkward. Just fucking perfect.
Just like she is.
15
Bull
We take my bike, and Sara holds onto me tight all the way into town. Though she was nervous about riding behind me at first, by the smile on her face when we roll into her driveway, I think she ended up enjoying it.
Shutting down the engine, I help her with the buckle on her helmet. Her skin’s soft and smooth, her face flushed—but as I move in for a kiss, something suddenly changes, her expression going tight and wary.
Her eyes aren’t on me. They’re on her house.
Softly I ask her, “What are you looking at?”
“The living room curtains are closed.” She bites her lip, tearing her gaze from the house to meet my eyes. “I always leave them open. But I guess maybe Woodridge closed them.”
It’s not Woodridge she’s afraid of, and her fear is like an iron fist squeezing my heart. “Tell me his name.”
Expression suddenly fierce, she shakes her head. “He’s not worth risking you.”
She’s worth risking me. But I won’t argue. Blowback will get the name and then I’ll be taking a trip to New York.
Gently I tip her chin up so she meets my gaze again. “Are you always afraid?” I ask her.
“Not afraid, exactly.”
“So what are you, exactly?”
“Careful.” Nervously she wets her lips, her gaze darting down the street, and I figure the real answer is closer to completely fucking terrified. “I try to be aware of my surroundings. Like I notice when there are new cars around. Such as that one.”
I look where she’s looking, at a vehicle parked at the curb a few houses down. The dim streetlight doesn’t penetrate the darkness of the tinted windows. “That black SUV?”
“Yes.”
“You want me to go check it out?”
“No.” Her fingers clamp around my wrists to stop me and she offers a shaky little laugh. “It’s not necessary. The woman who lives there has overnight visitors sometimes. So she keeps me on my toes.”
She’s real jumpy on those toes. But I nod, easing back. W
e’re not staying here now, and I can make certain she’s always got someone watching out for her when she gets off work.
“How about this for a solution? You won’t be sleeping alone again. And you likely won’t be sleeping here.”
Most of the tension seems to bleed out of her. “That sounds like a good solution,” she says softly. “That and a new name.”
“You still want that, you’ll get it.” Taking her hand, I tell her, “We’ll go check out your house together. Then I’ll follow you in to work. All right?”
The relief in her eyes almost kills me. How many months has she been coming home terrified like this? I shouldn’t have been so damn patient, waiting for her to become comfortable around me before asking her out. I should have been with her, protecting her before this.
But I can’t change the past. I’ll just do what needs to be done now.
Abruptly she stops. “Oh shit. My keys.” Her wide eyes meet mine. “I dropped them in the garage that day.”
When Woodridge attacked her. Come the end of the day, I’m going to beat that little weasel’s ass for sure.
“I don’t see a problem,” I say, leading her up to the front porch.
“I do. I can’t unlock my front door.”
“Not a problem,” I say again.
“Why? Are you just going to break in?”
“Something like that. Because you know I’ve got my bad side.” Grinning, I pause to kiss her sweet lips. “And I think you’re about to like that bad side a hell of a lot more than you already do.”
Sara
I do like Bull’s bad side. I like all his sides. I like the side of him that patiently waits while I dress for work. I like the side of him that follows my car to Reggie’s and looks around the kitchen—to make sure there aren’t any perverts waiting, he says—then shoves me up against the door and kisses me. And I especially like the side of him that presses into me when he does, because that’s the side with his thick yummy cock.
