by Joanna Blake
I heard the breathing before I turned the corner. But not sweet little girl breathing. Heavy, creepy ass dude breathing.
A guy was leaning against the shelves, hunched over and staring at something. I squinted at him for a second, then looked past him to see what he was staring at. He was peeking through a hole between the stacks of the boxes. You could just barely see through to the other side.
Molly was curled in the next aisle. I could see the gentle rise and fall of her breathing as her breasts pushed against the thin cotton of her top. He was staring at her through the shelves.
And wanking.
“Motherfucker!”
I roared as I charged forward, knocking the guy onto the floor. He shrieked like a woman as he hit the ground. I heard a soft gasp as Molly woke up in the next aisle. The guy turned over, pushing his junk back into his pants. I stared at him, exhaling actual steam from my nostrils. I wanted to tear him apart.
“What the hell!”
“You motherfucker.” I pointed at him, stepping closer. “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
His eyes got wide and scared.
“Get out! I’ll call the police!” Molly came around the corner, looking like a sleepy angel. He looked at her like she was going to save him. Fucking coward. “Molly, go call 911!”
She looked at him and then at me.
“What are you doing? Go call the police!”
She didn’t move. Good girl.
“Get up. I want to knock you down again. This time, with my boot on your windpipe.”
He shook his head frantically.
“Callaway, what’s going on?”
I glanced at her. The worried look in her pretty blue eyes tore at my heart.
“Later. I need to handle this first.”
I gripped the front of his shirt and picked him up, setting him on his feet. Then I held him there while I bloodied up his face.
Bam. Bam-bam-bam.
I tilted my head to the side, deciding. He was still conscious. I figured he had one more hit in him. I wanted him to remember this.
“The SOS takes care of its women.”
He paled, fear making him start to blubber.
“You’re one of them?”
I nodded.
“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll cut your fucking dick off and feed it to you.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll never look at her again.”
“What kind of pig does that?”
He was drooling blood on my fist where I held his shirt. I shook him and asked him again.
“What kind of pig are you?”
“A filthy pig. A filthy, disgusting pig.”
I smiled at him like all was forgiven. Then I lifted my fist one last time. He stared at my fist, then back at me. He shook his head frantically.
“No. No, no, no, no.”
“Yes.”
BAM.
He slipped from my fingers and folded onto the ground. I’d even held back, not hitting him half as hard as I wanted to. But he was out.
I checked his pulse and then stood, wiping my bloody hands on my jeans.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Molly stared at the bloody mess on the floor, then at me. She nodded once.
“I need to get my stuff.”
I followed her to the breakroom and waited while she emptied out her locker. She wasn’t coming back here again. We both knew that.
I took her hand and walked her out through the back door.
Chapter Eight
Molly
“You’re . . . mad at me?”
Callaway looked shocked. He obviously thought he’d done me a favor by beating the crap out of my supervisor. Well, he was wrong! That had been an easy gig and now it was gone. I had no idea how I was going to dig myself out of the financial hole I was in.
“You cost me my job!”
He stared at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking. How could such a big, strong man be so stupid?
“He was bothering you.”
I gritted my teeth. I hadn’t said a word on the ride back to my place. I hadn’t known what to say. I’d been too stunned by the sudden turn of events.
“No, he wasn’t.”
“He was watching you sleep with his dick in his hands!”
Ew. Oh, my God. That was disgusting. No wonder Callaway had cleaned the floor with the guy. I tried to bluster through it anyway.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that!”
“He’s a fucking pervert!”
“And you aren’t?”
His jaw dropped. I noticed that he had a couple of bruises on his face in addition to the bloody knuckles he’d gotten from beating the crap out of my boss.
“What happened to you, anyway?”
“Lucky. It doesn’t matter. I took care of that guy for you. You aren’t going back there anyway.”
“You were not supposed to come into my work! We agreed on that!”
“I needed to see you!”
“Yeah, well . . .”
I had forgotten what I wanted to say. We stood toe to toe, yelling at each other in my tiny kitchen. He was so worked up his green eyes were practically sparking. I scowled at him and he glared right back at me.
For a second, it seemed like time stood still. Something changed as we stood there, both of us breathing heavily. The tension broke with an almost audible snap in the air.
And then we were kissing. Hot, filthy, messy kisses. Kisses that blew the roof off the other kisses we’d shared. And those had been pretty steamy. Even an inexperienced virgin like me knew that.
He was like an animal, tugging at my clothes while he practically inhaled my mouth. I moaned as his hands gripped my hips, yanking me against his hard body. He pulled my shirt off, then his, never breaking contact for more than a second.
Our bodies crashed together, skin on skin for the very first time. His tats filled my vision when I opened my eyes, quickly shutting them again as he lowered his head to my throat, kissing and biting and sucking my skin.
I heard something crash as he cleared the kitchen table with his forearm, then lifted me on top of it. He unhooked my bra with ease and then pushed me back so that I was half lying on it. His eyes flared as he stared at me, reaching for the top of my jeans and quickly unfastening them.
His big hands moved to his belt buckle. My mouth was dry as I stared at the skin above his jeans. His stomach was flat, with a narrow strip of hair that disappeared into his pants. I realized there was nothing under the worn-in denim. Callaway was buck naked under there.
He didn’t shove them down, however.
He was too fixated on me to finish undressing. More specifically, he was fixated on my chest. He moaned as his hands closed over my exposed breasts, my nipples rising up to meet the rough, hot flats of his palms.
“Jesus, Molly.”
His voice was raw as he fondled me, not being too rough but not being all that gentle either. Then he bent forward and pulled one of my nipples into his mouth.
Oh, sweet lord in heaven that felt good.
I gasped, my back arching off the table. His hands were busy too. He was stroking my thigh with one hand while his other played with my breast. I moaned as the pressure of his fingers moved to the junction between my legs.
The spot where no one had ever touched me before.
I nearly fell off the table at the feel of it. I’d touched myself there, of course, with varying degrees of success. But this . . . this was a whole other level.
He tore his face away from my breast and stared at me, breathing heavily.
“Molly . . . I have to . . .”
I stared at him as he broke off, gripping my jeans and pulling hard. Cool air hit my sensitive skin, and I realized he’d managed to strip my panties off with my jeans. Just like that, I was naked.
He pulled me up so that I was sitting at the edge of the table and kissed me again. His fingers slid between our bodies and he stroked me again. My worries disappeared
with a fresh onslaught of pleasure. I’d never felt lust like this before. I was literally gasping for air.
“I need—”
“It’s alright. I know. I’ll take care of you, Molly.”
His hands moved to undo his belt buckle and I had a moment of clarity. I was about to lose my virginity on a table. With a man I barely knew.
I mean, I felt like I knew him through and through, but did I really?
“Wait.”
He stopped, his hands on his jeans as he paused. His jeans were slung low on his hips. I swallowed, my throat suddenly feeling way too dry.
“I’m not ready for this.”
He stared at me, his breathing ragged. I knew this was not what he wanted. But it was too much.
“Please, Mols. Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not.”
“I need you. I need to be inside you.”
“I can’t. This is going too fast.”
“Okay. We don’t have to do that. But let me hold you.”
He closed his eyes and slowly pulled his pants back up.
“If you hold me, then we’re going to end up having the same conversation in five minutes.”
He shook his head.
“No, sweetheart. My pants stay on. Just . . . let me finish you. Please. I need to.”
I bit my lip, feeling ridiculous with my bare ass on the old table. It was green Formica from the 1950s and came with the place, but I sort of doubted anything like this had happened on it before.
Even in seventy years.
I finally nodded, and he smiled just a tiny bit. He gripped my thighs and kissed me deeply before pushing me back down on the table. I was breathing heavily, nervous about what was to come. He kissed his way down my body and knelt quickly on the floor.
“Callaway!”
I tried to sit up, but he shook his head, his palm on my stomach holding me down.
“Let me.”
He kissed me between my legs, and I was off the table, staring at him like he was a crazy person. But he was smiling.
“Somebody has sensitive skin.”
I was naked, standing in the kitchen. I started to cover myself with my hands, and he grabbed me, pulling me close.
“Don’t, baby. Don’t do that.”
He kissed me and I relaxed against him.
“We can go slow. I’ll do it another way. Okay?”
I nodded, practically hyperventilating. He stared into my eyes as his fingers moved over my bare skin. The rough pads slid over my bare belly to my pussy. I whimpered a little as he started to toy with me. He eyes held mine as he teased me softly. His touch was so light, it made me want more. More pressure, more friction. More of him.
He didn’t look away as his fingers started to dance over my clit, circling light and fast on the sensitive nub. He tilted his head to the side, observing me as I started to moan and rock against his hand. He lifted it away, a smug smile on his face as I gasped. Then his hand was back, playing with my folds a bit until he took pity on me and started his rapid thrum again.
Over and over, he did this, each time making me more and more frantic.
“Callaway!”
He smiled at me, licking his fingers.
“Yes?”
“Please!”
“What do you want, baby? You want to come?”
I nodded frantically, letting my head fall back.
“You want me to use my fingers? Or my mouth?”
“Fingers. Oh, God, please.”
He shook his head.
“Alright, sweetheart. You asked nicely. I’ll give you what you want.”
He hoisted one of my legs up around his waist and reached below my thigh to slip a finger inside me. We both moaned.
“You’re so tight, baby . . . Jesus.”
His other hand found my clit. He used his index finger to press down on it and circle. I gasped at the dual sensations of his one finger sliding in and out of me, the other busy driving me wild on my clit. I lost control of my body, writhing and wiggling against him, flexing my back and holding onto his shoulders for dear life.
“That’s it, baby. Reach for it.”
Callaway’s voice was husky and tender, sending me over the edge. I cried out, my head falling back as I peaked and exploded into a thousand shards of light. I shook all over his busy hands. He didn’t stop for a second. He added a second finger, sliding it deeper inside me, circling the other finger so quickly I thought that he must be half machine.
I was floating, cresting and falling without coming all the way down. His lips found my neck as I convulsed against him. He made an appreciative sound, a sound that was one hundred percent self-satisfied male.
Of course, he wasn’t satisfied, I realized. But I wasn’t exactly sure what to do about that.
“You did so good, baby.”
“Call . . . that was . . . is that normal?”
He grinned at me.
“Probably not.”
“It’s never been like that when I . . .”
He bit his lip.
“When you what, sweetheart?”
“When I touched myself before.”
He swallowed and closed his eyes.
“Lord, give me strength,” he whispered, and I giggled. I reached down his body. He caught my wrist, his eyes snapping open again.
“Can I . . . do that for you?”
“Yes, but not today. I don’t think I can handle it.”
“Are you sure? I want you to feel good too.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“I do feel good. Now, why don’t you take a nap? I’ll be back in a few hours to take you to Crestwood.”
He picked me up and carried me to my tiny bed. He even pulled the covers back and put me inside. He laughed when I pulled a nightgown out from under my pillow and slid into it.
“What?”
“You’re just . . . too cute to be real.”
“Well, I am real.”
“I know.”
He pulled the blankets up and over me.
“You rest. I’ll see you later.” He held up my keys. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Okay.”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead, and I sank into my pillow with a smile on my face.
Chapter Nine
Callaway
“She’s going to kill me.”
“What did you do now?”
I pulled on a beer and leaned over the piece of wood I was sanding. I’d needed to get into something tonight. And since heavy drugs were off the table, woodworking was the next best thing.
“No, she’s not mad. I mean . . . you know.”
“She took you back?”
“Yeah.”
“But she still won’t screw you?”
I gave Whiskey a sour look and he laughed.
“This is unreal. You are the guy who has never not gotten laid. What was your record again?”
“Ten.”
“You fucked a girl ten times in one night?”
“No. I fucked two girls, five times each. Actually, I think it was four and six.”
“And now you’re a monk.”
“She’s worth the wait.” I adjusted my nuts, saying a prayer that I wouldn’t have to wait too long. My balls were heavy and full. They felt like lead weights. I doubted whacking off would even put a dent in the load I was brewing. “Molly is special.”
Whiskey nodded. He might like taking the piss out of me, but he got it. He’d been head over heels with Becky from the start. He’d waited for her too.
I focused on the table I was making. It was a simple side table, but I was using it as a test run for an idea I had for a larger dining room table. I was starting to think about settling down, and this was a step in the right direction.
“You have any hickory around? I want to do an inlay.”
“Jack probably does. He has everything.”
Whiskey and I were handy, but Jack was a master craftsman. Bikes and woodworking, and pr
obably anything that required dexterity and know-how. I aspired to be as good as him someday. Of course, he couldn’t tat like I could. But I wanted to be able to make furniture and build a house like he could.
We’d all been over to help out with his secret project a couple of days a week for months now. If it had still been light out, I would have gone over there now. The big man was teaching me a lot, and I was eager to repay the favor with sweat. Even Lucky and Mac were helping out, though Lucky was a contractor so he probably enjoyed it a whole lot less.
“The table for your place?”
“Yeah. Unless Jack needs it.”
“I think Jack has enough furniture.”
I nodded. Jack had been building out his industrial building downtown for years, even before he partnered up with Janet. And it was a partnership. They were so tight it was hard to remember a time before they were together. But I’d known Jack back when he was called The Viking. The man never smiled back then. Nowadays, it was rare to see him without a smile or a redheaded tot clinging to his enormous frame.
“If things go right, I might be ready to get a bigger place. Been planning to for a while, anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“Gran could stay with me if I had a house. If she wanted to. I think she likes the nursing home. But if there were grandkids, I bet she would change her mind or at least come over.”
Whiskey yelped as he grabbed his foot. I stared at him. He’d dropped his hammer on it. He put his foot down and stared at me like I was a crazy person.
Of course, most people knew I was a wild man, so that wasn’t surprising. Whiskey knew how crazy I could get, more than most.
“What?”
“Grandkids? Who are you?”
“You know I love kids.”
“Yeah, you’re great with Petunia. But I never thought I’d see you settle down.”
“I have dreams too, Whiskey.”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me, Whiskey. I was pretty fucking surprised myself.”
I went back to my table. I wanted the surface extra-smooth so I could stain and wax it. No polyurethane for me. I was a purist. I hated that shiny shit.
