“Oh God, oh… Oh yes, Walk…” She writhes on the bed, her fingers fisting the sheets and her back arching. I slowly pull my fingers from her cunt so I can suck her sweet juice. I keep licking her up and down, squeezing her ass and drawing her pussy closer, my thick beard sending pleasure over her as I grind my mouth against her delicate little cunt. She loves it, her panting is growing louder and I tell her to breathe. “Take a deep breath, Wavy. I got you,” I promise.
And I do. There has never been a thing I have had more firmly in my hand than her precious heart. I will not drop it, won’t let go. She is mine. We both know it. And it’s time for her to come like she was made to do. Utterly and entirely.
“Walker,” she screams my name as she does, and I can’t help but let a smile cross my lips. My name on her lips is so damn sweet. I continue to lick her tender folds and I realize her cunt might be just as sweet as her words.
“I think you’re ready, baby,” I tell her, leaning over her as she pants, the orgasm rocking through her body. I want in on that sweet release. My cock is thick and ready, so I take her hand and guide her to my shaft, wanting her to feel how hard she makes me. Rock-solid and sure to get her off all over again. I am long, thick and oh-so ready. The gleam in her eyes tells me she knows just how lucky she is to be fucked by me.
She has no goddamn idea what it means to be fucked by a girl like her. Walking perfection; an angel in plain sight. Mine.
I’m a lucky son of a bitch and I plan to make sure she knows it for the rest of her life. There is no doubt. The truth — she is my salvation, my saving grace.
I press myself nice and slow into her wet cunt which is ready for me. She sighs contentedly making my heart swell with pride, and I wonder when the fuck I became such a goddamn sap. Probably around the time I laid eyes on this girl. Because the moment I did, I knew.
“Oh, Waverly,” I moan as I fill her slick little hole. She may have been finger-fucked until she came, but she is still a tight little thing, so new to the girth of a man inside her. So new to me inside her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. “It isn't possible,” she whimpers. “I know you won’t hurt me.”
Emotionally, of course not — but my cock is so thick and hard, and I don’t want her to cry over my size. I go easy as I did at the motel. I take it slow, knowing that the only way this will get easier is if we do it more often. Over and over until her body joins with mine effortlessly, fitting together like we were cut from the same cloth.
“Oh, yes,” she sighs, her legs wrapping around me as she gives herself over to me. I run a hand over her flawless cheek, cupping her face and kissing her slowly as I move inside her, my heart tightening at the momentous reality. Waverly is mine and mine alone and that means I need to protect her whatever the cost.
Jameson said there were Makers in Alaska. That means they’ve found me. But they will not get to her.
Not under my watch.
“It feels good?” I ask her, kissing her neck, her nose, her nipples.
“Perfect,” she moans as I move deeper inside her tightness. She clings to me and it makes me proud. This is what it means to be a man. A real man. Protecting what is his.
And Waverly is mine.
My cock aches and my balls get tighter; I know I’m close to shooting my hot come deep in her cunt. She seems to know this is happening, but she’s coming too — her eyes close and her fingernails dig into my back as she holds me.
“Oh God, Walker… Walker… Ohhhh… oohhhh, Walker,” she moans. We’re sweaty and slick with sex and I grind myself deeper into her until she is undone. Until we both are. My hot milky come fills her up and she pulls me closer, kissing me as our bodies entwine deeper, deeper, forever.
She pulls herself out from under me, and I roll onto my back. My angel looks down at me. Her hair brushing against my chest. Her big, round tits grazing my belly. God, I want to titty fuck her. I want to cover her in my come, and I want to shower her face with my release. I want to get dirty with her and teach her what it means to be fucked until you can’t see straight. There is so much for my virgin girl to learn. So much my cock wants to teach her.
“What?” I ask, looking up at her, a small smile spreading across her face.
She runs her hands over my tight balls, my still stiff cock.
“I want more, Walker,” she says dipping her mouth to my raging dick. A droplet of come on the tip. She licks it with her pretty pink tongue. “I want so much more.”
16
Waverly
I take all of him, in my mouth and God, it feels good. To please him, to taste him. To have his pulsing length ram in my throat as I bop my head up and down, my breasts swaying as I suck him off, his ridges against my tongue a comfort I never thought I needed to feel. But now that I have, his cock makes my pussy drip, my body ache, as I clench and moan. I want this. For Walker to consume me -- heart, mind, and soul.
He does. When his come shoots hard and fast into my willing mouth, I gasp. The creamy warmth shocks me in the most glorious way. I close my eyes, savoring the moment for what it is— Walker giving himself to me. The way I asked for. The way I always dreamed of. He is giving himself entirely.
Although I wasn’t born yesterday, I realize all men love sex. They want sex, think all day and night about sex — but even as his come slides down my throat, filling my belly with a heat I crave, I know this isn’t just sex. This is more, bigger, better, everything. This is love and yes, it’s insane but there are crazier things than falling in love with a man you just met. A man who sees you wants you and literally saved you. Is saving you still.
Because as he runs his calloused hands through my hair, easing me on top of him as I lick my come-stained lips, I know that this night changes everything. He asked me to stay and I will.
He isn’t done saving me.
Choosing me means saving me until I’m found by those men. Those horrible men with guns and drugs and a dark look in their eyes so menacing my skin still crawls. Tears blur my vision and Walker’s steady hand cradles my face.
“What is it? Why are you crying?”
I shake my head, scared. Yes, I want this – to be with him, but what will he think when I tell him the truth?
Not just what I saw… but why I was there.
I was on that boat for a reason — hired as a hooker, a whore. Calling me a yacht girl is a pretty coat of polish on a cracked veneer.
I’m broken and Walker deserves to know the truth.
“I’m on the run, Walker.”
He draws me close until I am straddling him and his thick cock is nestled under me. There is a comfort of having his length so close to my core as if at any moment I need it, need him, inside me, I can have it. I can be filled up in case I am empty. Walker is here, ready to make me whole.
“Aren’t we all?”
I run my fingers through the hair on his chest, then trace the lines of tattoos on his bicep. “In different ways though, I think. And Walker, my way is bad. There are men after me. I’m sure of it.”
His eyes narrow as he sits up, leaning back against the headboard and pulling me in his lap. “Men? What kind of men?”
“Horrible men. Men who… look, this is the truth.” I cover my face with my hands, scared to be seen. But how could I hide when I’ve already been found? Found in this man’s arms? “Walker, this is my story.” My bottom lip trembles and Walker runs his hands over my back, hushing me, telling me to breathe and I remember to take a big long breath. “My sister died as I told you. But the day she died; bad things happened. She’d been hired as a paid escort for this rich man with a yacht; there is a whole circuit of this sort of work on the coast. And Jemma was beautiful, so it was no surprise she could get a job like that — she could have been a model. Anyways, she’d been working for a few months and I didn’t know where she went, or who she was with.”
I run my hands through my hair, twist it into a bun on the top of my
head. “Walker, she was my only family. The only person I had in the world. But more than that, I was hers. Her only solid rock. So, I went to her. Got hired by the same man, desperate to be close to my sister.”
“You were a paid escort?” Walker’s eyes harden and I understand why. He thinks I am a liar. That all of this was a game, pretend. But he is wrong. None of it was fake. Every single thing with him is real.
“Technically, yes.”
His entire body tenses and I press my hands to his face, not letting him look anywhere but straight at me. He needs to look in my eyes and see my heart.
“It was my first day on the job, Walker. My first day. And before I had to submit to my boss, I watched him and my sister take line after line of coke. I went to take a shower and change clothes, nauseated by what I was watching. When I came back, she was passed out, but worse. I knew she was too still, her breathing too shallow, so I ran for a phone, but we were too far out on the water for my phone to work. I was terrified and begged him, Maker, to call the police. He refused.”
“Maker?” Walker’s body stiffens and he becomes rigid. Although he is as solid as rock, right now I can see the adrenaline coursing through his powerful veins. I see the anger rising inside of him. “That is the man who did this, who hired you?”
I nod. “Yes, he was a big drug dealer. A boss. And my sister was dying. She needed help… but instead of giving her a chance, they tossed her overboard. Just like that, she was gone.”
I’m shaking now, tears spilling down my cheeks. Thinking of it makes me cry, but saying it out loud, explaining it in all the gory details is horrible. To put it out there, to admit what I saw… what I can’t escape.
“You saw this man throw her into the water?” He looks ill, the impact of my story hitting him deeply.
“I was below deck. They said I needed to calm down. When I got free and asked where she was, they told me what they had done. I was crying in the bathroom as she was sinking to the bottom of the ocean. What kind of sister am I?”
“What could you have done?” Walker asks smoothing my hair, holding me close to his chest. I breathe him in. He isn’t pushing me away. He isn’t disgusted. He holds me closer still.
“I know,” I say. “But then… then I left. I didn’t report it to the authorities. I just ran.”
“How did you get away?”
“It was easier than it should have been. Maker and his buddies got in a big fight, shouting about what he’d done, saying awful, unrepeatable things. About a wasted cunt. How they wouldn’t mind fucking a corpse if it looked like that.”
I cover my mouth, bile rising as I say the horrific words out loud. Those words sent a fire blazing inside of Walker.
“And so, I wanted to make them pay,” I tell him. “Suffer. They thought I was in the room crying, but I was really taking their stash, filling my suitcases with their drugs and then I grabbed a gun. They had turned around to go back to the yacht club by then and the moment we docked; I made a run for it. They were so busy fighting they didn’t see, didn’t hear. I may have a pretty face, but I grew up fighting for survival. If I wanted food, lots of times I’d have to steal it. Clothes? Shoes? Shampoo? I was good at not being caught.”
“So, you made it off the boat without being seen?”
I nod. “Mostly. But they knew. They saw me. I was walking down the dock, two suitcases in hand, when several security guards for the yacht club asked where I was going. They seemed worried. I wasn’t wearing shoes. I said I needed a ride, and grinning, they offered me one.”
“That makes no sense. Maker would have known the guys at the club. He wouldn’t have just docked somewhere without knowing he owned them.”
I frown. “What do you know about those men?”
“I’ve known men like them my entire life. Drug dealers won’t risk getting caught.”
“Well, that makes sense because the moment I was in their town car, they were cracking up, talking about how I was a good score. Jose was one of their names. We were in Baja, south of a town called Todos Santos and it was then I felt real fear. I was more alone than then I have ever been.”
“Yet, you managed to get to Alaska?”
“Yeah. We stopped to get gas and I ran. They thought I was a hysterical woman, assumed I was a whore, desperate and probably high. But they were wrong. I took my bags and got in a semi-truck headed north. I rode that as far as I could. An old man let me sleep until we neared the border, then told me I had to go. I got on a boat, stowed away, and ended up in Tijuana. I managed to get to San Diego on a Greyhound bus.”
“And why do you think Maker’s men are after you?”
I lick my lips. “I stole his drugs. An entire bag of them. Filled my suitcase with their money and cocaine and pills and… So much.”
He steadies his eyes on mine. Worry filling them, and it makes me worried too. “Wavy, where are they now?”
“In a storage locker. In San Diego. At the bus station. I was going to get rid of them, but then I thought it would be obvious, cameras everywhere and I couldn’t go home — I didn’t have one. I got rid of my apartment to take this job; I couldn’t afford it on my own anyway. And then I saw there was a bus leaving for Sacramento in ten minutes and I just made the decision to go.”
“Just like that?”
I nod. “Since then, I’ve thought of a hundred things I did wrong, At that moment, I was reeling from my sister’s death, from being taken by the cartel, knowing Maker’s men were going to be looking for me. Plus crossing the border illegally with a suitcase full of drugs… I was a mess, hardly hanging on. And so, I bought a ticket and got a ride and left.”
“How did you buy the ticket, Wavy?” he asks, his voice so calm and steady, it unnerved me more than a flash of anger would.
“With my debit card. I had my last several hundred dollars on it. I hoped it was enough to get me here. To the commune. Somehow, it was.”
“So, they could trace you?”
I nod, tears blurring my vision. “I know I sound stupid like I’m an idiot and a complete mess but I’m not, Walker. I swear. I can be strong and smart. But I just made a lot of bad choices, but you are not one of them. You are the first good thing that has ever happened to me.”
His eyes are dark, bruised. I did this to him.
“You did what you had to do, Waverly. And I can respect that.”
“Trouble is coming for me, I know it.”
“We will cross that bridge when we get to it. You’re safe here, with me.”
“You don’t hate me?” My chin trembles while my heart quakes. I want to be enough for Walker. I want him to keep on choosing me. I want to be his.
He holds my shoulders, keeps me steady. “Listen to me Waverly, I could never hate you. You are a brave, good woman who loves deep and wide and that is fucking beautiful. Far more than a fuck-up like me deserves.”
“I do,” I tell him, heart pounding. His.
“Do what?”
“Love you.” He breathes in and out and his eyes are fixed on mine. My raw words are real and true and meant for him alone and I hope he hears them. Deep down to his core, to the depths of his heart. To his center. “I love you, Walker. I do.”
He kisses me hard. He doesn’t speak and I don’t care. I just want this. His mouth on mine and I sink down on his steel-hard cock and he fills me up and I take and take and take until there is nothing left but two hearts beating as one.
We sleep in an embrace and his words come later as he whispers in my ear. When he thinks I’m asleep. “I love you too, Waverly. But I’m not what you think.”
I close my eyes. Because I don’t care what he isn’t.
I only care what he is.
And right now, he is mine.
17
Walker
The next two weeks pass in a blur. I want to tell her more, everything. Well, almost everything, but how the hell am I supposed to tell her — the girl who loves me — that I am not the man she thinks I am?
If
she knew the truth, she would run from me the same way she ran from my brother.
Because Maker is more than a drug dealer — he is my family.
And our family business is what killed her sister.
The idea of telling her this, a woman so fragile and scared, that I am more than her lover — that I am a monster — is too painful to consider. I don’t want to hurt her. Won’t hurt her. I can do that at least.
So, I keep the truth at bay. I kiss her hard and soft, all over, up and down. I listen as she tells me about her mother, her childhood, how she hated school but loved the ocean. How Alaska is more beautiful than she imagined. How even though the commune was a cluster fuck, she feels like it all worked out for a reason. To bring her here. To me.
I’m a liar and each hour with her I know I am digging myself deeper into a hole I can’t dig out of. But I can’t devastate her now, not when she is just learning how to stand on her own two feet. Not when she is grieving the loss of her family, her entire world. Not when she has been running for weeks and now… now she needs to rest.
“What about you?” she asks. We’re out on a motorboat in the middle of my lake. “What was it like for you growing up?”
I knew the question was coming… and Waverly deserves the answer. Deserves the whole wide world.
“It was good… while my mom was alive. She made Sunday Sauce every week, enough pasta for everyone at the table. Poured wine with a heavy hand and smiled wide when my brother and I took a second helping.”
“And your dad?”
I swallow. “He was a good man, in his own way. Until my mom died when I was ten. Then…” I shake my head. “He changed. I’ve found that death does that to people. Hardens them.”
“How did she die?”
My jaw tightens. The truth too harsh for her to hear. “She was killed.”
By my father’s enemy. The cartel. The men who put her in their car after she got off my brother’s yacht were probably the sons of those men. It all comes back to drugs. To power. To money.
WALKER: The men of Whiskey Mountain Page 8
