Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

I closed my hands around the edge of the countertop, dropped my head between my shoulders. My entire body throbbed. Every last inch of me. This fucking hurt and I was the only one to blame. I could've stripped off Brooke's clothes and given us what we needed right there in the back room. All I needed was five minutes to finish her off and send her on her way.

  But the same part of me throbbing from nothing more than her skin under my lips couldn't accept five minutes in a storage room. It'd taken me months to admit it to myself, but I wanted her naked between my sheets, mouthing off about everything, taking her sweet time as she struggled on my cock.

  And I fucking hated that.

  My life was too busy and my head too full to add the complication of Brooke-Ashley Markham. I had a tavern to manage, a distillery to open, a business partner obsessed with pirates and hard seltzers, a foster child bar hand trying to find his sea legs, and now that months had passed without her looking me in the eye once, Brooke was back and starved for attention. That was all she wanted from me—attention. Sex was part of it, sure, but not the entirety.

  "If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't ask," I said to Nate. "This is your last chance, kid. Tell me if you're prepared to close."

  He swung his gaze from side to side, a frown deepening as he scanned the tavern. "Can I call you if there's a problem?"

  I didn't need the complications that came with Brooke. I didn't need the distraction or the drama, or the months-long sexual hangover that followed a night with her. But needs and wants were two separate, distinct creatures.

  I folded my arms over my chest, gave a quick shake of my head. "There's not a chance in hell I'm answering my phone after I leave here."

  Nate stared at the door to the back room, narrowed his eyes. "Is she still in there?"

  "Probably not," I replied. "There's a delivery bay, an exit to the alley, and four windows. I'm sure she went through one of them. She's crafty."

  "That's—well, okay." His brows arched up his forehead. "Yeah, all right. I can do this."

  "You're a good man, Nathan." I clapped him on the back. "If everything goes wrong, just lock the doors behind you. Try not to start any fires or floods."

  "I can do that," he replied. "I can lock the doors."

  "Yes, you can," I called as I backed across the tavern. I was ready to sprint my ass home. "No fires, no floods."

  I didn't wait for Nate's response, instead breaking into an easy jog through the village. It was late enough that most people were at home, zoned out in front of the television or tucked into bed, not minding the likes of me hauling ass for a woman who'd always demand but never appreciate that hustle.

  And there she was, kicked back on my porch with her legs stretched out in front of her, ankles crossed. "That was thirty-nine minutes, Jed."

  I stepped over her on my way to the door. "You can take your complaints up with my cock, Brooke."

  "I'm merely pointing out you asked me to be here within thirty minutes," she continued. "Either you don't respect my time or this is some kind of dickhead power play, and I have to tell you, I'm not interested in either."

  I opened the door, flipped on the lights, greeted Butterscotch with a head scratch. It was odd to find her awake at this hour. "It's always something with you, Brooke," I said, mostly to myself. The dog wasted no time on me, instead rushing to the woman's side as if she'd been waiting for her. You and me both, Scotchie. "At least the dog likes you. I'd have to say good night if she didn't."

  Brooke glanced up from dousing the golden retriever in affection, smirked at me. "It's a wonder she likes you."

  I kicked off my shoes, shrugging. "I feed her. Speaking of which, have you eaten?"

  Brooke knelt down, raked her fingers through the dog's shiny coat. "Don't ask me questions like that."

  "And why is that?"

  Still focused on my dog, she replied, "You're not my keeper. It's none of your business."

  "I was asking because I haven't eaten but this is a fine reminder you're an awful lot of work." I ran a hand over my head. "What are you doing here again?"

  "Take your pants off and I'll show you." She stood up, sanded her palms together, and tipped her chin in the direction of my jeans. "You can eat after I leave."

  "Or right now." I pointed at her jeans, her top. "Off."

  She flicked a glance at my belt. "Same."

  Neither of us moved. Butterscotch paced between us, alternately licking our hands and nudging our legs as she whined.

  Brooke held out her palm and Butterscotch went to her. "Your dog wants you to stop screwing around."

  I whistled, snapped my fingers in the direction of the kitchen. "Scotchie, go lie down." The dog gave Brooke one more lick before taking off for the kitchen. "Are you going to get what you came for or are you going to stand there and prove a point only you care about?"

  "Why is your mermaid holding wheat?"

  "Why did you move home from New York?"

  That one landed like a slap across the face. It wasn't the reaction I'd wanted, not the one I'd intended, but she recovered quickly. "My question requires considerably less explanation, so you're welcome to answer first."

  "You might think it's simple, but I reckon it's just as complicated as the one I want from you. There's some history, some family shit, and some laziness, and that's the answer."

  She glared at me, the air between us heating and rippling with hostility with each breath. Then she charged toward me, her head shaking as she seethed, "You are the worst."

  My back hit the wall as she reached for my vest, weaving her fingers between the buttons, dragging me toward her. I didn't doubt she'd tear it to shreds if she wanted. "And I keep good company."

  I grabbed her waist, thumbed her fly open. I stared at her lips, and for a moment, I thought about kissing her. Nothing sweet or precious, but the kind of biting, brutal kiss she deserved—and wanted. I didn't doubt that for a second. She wanted me rough and rude, not giving a good damn whether I ruined her sweater or marked her skin. But I didn't kiss her. Not yet, not this time. Kisses were promises, even the vicious ones. Especially those.

  "There's no confusion as to why you're here, sweetheart. Either get undressed or get the fuck out. I want your bare ass in my hands right now or we're not doing this tonight"—I shoved my hand down her panties and flicked her clit hard—"or any other night."

  "What the fuck was that?" Brooke wailed.

  "Exactly what you want," I replied, forcing her jeans down to her knees.

  She yanked the vest open, sending at least one button flying across the room as it snapped free of the thread. I had her sweater over her head and off while she worked my shirt open. "Why the fuck did you stop wearing long-sleeved thermals?" she yelled. "You know, the ones without buttons? You used to wear those thermals every damn day unless it was summer, but no, you had to go and complicate your life with buttons."

  The next time my cock wasn't throbbing a hole through my jeans, I planned to make sense of Brooke's accounting of my attire. But right now, I had her bra unhooked, but I couldn't discard today's fine lingerie until she gave up the button fight. "Would you fucking stop with the shirt?"

  "You stop with the bra," she yelled. "Let me do this."

  "Let go of the goddamn shirt. I'll take it off myself." I closed my fists around the delicate bra cups, tugged them apart. "If you think I won't rip this thing in half, you're not paying attention."

  She dragged her gaze up my chest, to my face. "Don't you dare."

  "Have it your way." I grabbed her hands away from the shirt and freed the bra from her arms. My shirt was quick to follow. "Just so you know, your way does not involve you fiddling with buttons for an hour."

  I pinned her wrists behind her back and held them there with one hand. I shoved the other into her panties and strummed her clit as I walked her toward my bedroom.

  "Rude," she muttered.

  "Yeah, just the way you like me, Bam." I kicked the door shut and wasted no time yanking her jeans all the way off,
bending her over the bed, pressing her cheek flat on the quilt. I traced the line of her panties from waist to hip to crotch. "What am I allowed to do? Or do you still not know what you need?"

  "Bag up your meat and fuck me," she answered. "Don't act as if you know anything about me."

  I fisted her panties, twisting the fabric until it wedged between her folds. She sent me furious glares over her shoulder, but she also squirmed like crazy to get the friction she wanted.

  "You're cute like this," I said as I kicked off my remaining clothes and fished a condom out of my bedside table. "Never cuter than when you're bent over and snarling mad."

  She wiggled out of the panties. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

  I kicked her ankles apart and took my cock in hand, pressed it to her opening. Of all the things I hadn't been able to get out of my head in the past few months, the way her body opened to me was the most vivid. I remembered it like a punishment.

  "It's true." Pushing that thought from my mind, I slammed inside her. I stayed there, my head bowed and every inch of me throbbing as she shifted beneath me. I listened to her uncomfortable gasps and frustrated sighs, holding myself steady as she adjusted to me. I thought I wanted this. I thought I'd enjoy watching her struggle like she did the last time, thought I'd get some satisfaction out of it. I didn't. I wanted to make it better, make it good for her. So fucking good. "It's true, Brooke."

  "If you think calling me cute will soften me up, you're extremely confused."

  "Not confused." I eased out of her, hooked my arms around her shoulders and behind her knees, and chucked her on the bed. "I know how to soften you up."

  She went with a yelp and a curse—"Motherfucker!"—but her legs fell open when I crawled over her, a clear and welcome invitation.

  I rested my weight on one arm as I fisted my cock, moving inside her with slow, easy rolls of my hips. She barely had half of me, but that half was heaven. There was a reason men were content with just the tip.

  "This is better for you," I said. She licked her lips, hummed in agreement. "Then it's better for me."

  "Don't bullshit me," she said, canting her hips up to take more. "The last thing in the world I want is your patronizing, nice guy bullshit."

  "I don't know how I went from being the asshole to the nice guy, but I'm not patronizing you with any amount of bullshit, sweetheart." I dropped my forehead to her chest, ran my lips around her nipple. "Is this all right?"

  Instead of speaking, she arched up, feeding me her small breast. I licked and sucked her nipple to a stiff peak while I snared the other between two knuckles. Now this, this was all right. She was wet like a river and all her tightly wound tension was melting away.

  I couldn't claim to know everything about Brooke's mind or body, but I knew it took time for her to relax enough to enjoy this. She came to me with a head of steam and enough stress to form a diamond, and none of that disappeared when I dropped my pants. I couldn't argue it away and I couldn't fuck it away; I had to learn how to unravel it. I had to learn Brooke, and I was beginning to believe I wanted to make room for that challenge in my life. It was foolish and definitely in service to my dick, but I liked this. No matter what happened when it was all said and done tonight, it wasn't ending here.

  "Your cock is not as great as you think," she said, her nails cutting into my biceps. "You need to do something with it. You need to move. You can't just stick it inside me and think you're done."

  This fucking woman. Goddamn, I did not want to like her.

  "And you can't just lie there and expect me to know what you want," I replied, giving her a slow roll of my hips. "Speak up, sweetheart."

  "Keep doing that," she said, her head thrown back and her eyes closed. "Keep doing that and—mmmm."

  "That is the right fuckin' answer, Bam."

  * * *

  Brooke sighed at the ceiling approximately thirteen seconds after I rolled off her.

  "Time for me to go. This was, well"—she glanced at me—"you know what it was. No need to explain."

  My dick was half hard and still wet, and there was no reason for anyone to leave this bed. "Nah, you're staying right there."

  "In fact, I am not. I'm leaving." She said this, but she remained where I'd left her.

  "Give me two or three minutes." I moved my hand to her thigh, dragged my fingers over her silky skin. God, she felt good. "Don't move. The blood flow will return in my extremities and then I'm licking your pussy."

  She shifted to her side, which put my hand between her legs. No complaints from either of us. "That's a real nice offer, but I'm leaving."

  "Do I have to teach you how to enjoy that too?" I slipped a finger inside her, grinned at the way her eyes popped wide in response. "I don't mind, Bam. I'll put in the hours. I'll do the work."

  "Your opinion of yourself is not proportional to the quality of your dick," she replied. "It would be nice if the two had a stronger correlation."

  I brought my hand between her breasts, pushed her back down as I shifted to my knees. "Let's see how my tongue rates."

  I was still shattered from the orgasm she snapped out of me like a sea witch's curse, but I wasn't passing up an opportunity to win an argument. Not a fucking chance.

  I settled between her legs, careful to scratch my beard up her inner thighs as I found a comfortable position. She made some quiet noises, little gasps and whines that suggested she liked these moves, but the best indicator was the way her belly jiggled. There wasn't much to her, not an inch to pinch, but the area around her belly button was barely soft enough to telegraph every clench and release.

  "I know it's lovely down there and I do put some effort into keeping things tight and tidy," she said, "but I was under the impression you were doing more than rubbing your beard all over my leg and making eye contact with my clit."

  I blinked up at her for a second. I thought about arguing with her, but quickly determined the best course of action required no words. I shoved both hands under her ass, dragged her center to my mouth, and got my first real taste of her. Her clit was the most perfect little pearl. I couldn't stop circling it and sucking it while her body shook in my hands. That clit tasted like I was meant to obey it and fuck me if I wasn't ready to kneel.

  In no time at all, I had her belly quivering and her most delicate flesh throbbing under my tongue. And since I was here, I was getting that ass too.

  "Jed," she cried, her hands fisting around my hair. "Jed, I'm—almost—what—oh my, fuck."

  The spasms crested and I backed off when she pulled my hair harder. I knew she could take more, but I wasn't going to tell her how to own and operate her body tonight. I'd save that for tomorrow night.

  My head resting on her thigh, I looped an arm around her waist and pressed tiny kisses on her mound. "How'd I do?"

  "This isn't the Olympic ice dancing qualifier. Stop waiting for a score every time you put on a show." She said this, but she also brushed her hand through my hair with more plain, transparent affection than she'd ever offered.

  I flopped down beside her on the pillow. "When should I expect you again?"

  "Expect me?" She sat up, an arm banded over her breasts as if I couldn't identify them in a blind taste test. "Why the hell would you expect me?"

  "Because you'll be back." I dragged my gaze down the heart-shaped curve of her ass. "We both know you will be, so there's no sense in pretending otherwise. You're not a silly woman, Brooke. Don't play silly games with me."

  "Is that because you believe I'm fond of your dick? Because I'd skip the victory lap if I was you. I can count the single guys in this dismal, hole-in-the-wall town on one hand and that includes old widower Lambertson, the Mulcaheys' grandson, who can't be more than twenty, and your little friend Nate, who is also too damn young for me." She climbed off the bed and stood in the middle of my bedroom, completely nude, and said without a hint of humor, "You're the least offensive option in the bunch."

  I shouldn't have fallen for the obvious trap she
laid, but I couldn't stop myself. Her words annoyed the shit out of me, so I laid a trap of my own. "Here's what I can't understand, Brooke. If you hate living here so much, why don't you leave? Go back to New York?"

  She scooped a stray shirt off the floor, held it to her chest. She refused to meet my eyes. "I have my reasons."

  "Such as? While you're at it, why don't you fill me in on why you came back here in the first place." I watched as she slipped my shirt over her head and took great pains to keep her gaze away from me. "I have some ideas, but I'd love to hear it from you, sweetheart."

  "You don't get to call me that," she said, her voice barely audible. "And you don't know anything about me."

  "You're not that difficult to understand, sweetheart."

  "Uh, yeah, okay. Whatever. Believe what you want, but I don't have to sit here while you make all these accusations."

  "I've accused you of nothing."

  She snatched the only remaining pillow from the bed and winged it at my head while I pulled on my clothes. "It sounds like you're accusing me of something."

  Tell me the truth. Tell me what's happening with your father and I'll help you. "Nothing you're not guilty of."

  "Oh my god. I'm so finished with this." She pushed past me, into the hall. "What the hell is wrong with you? We had sex, that's it. You're not entitled to explanations. You don't have to go and explore issues and make sense of things." She stepped into her jeans, wrapped her sweater around her shoulders as if she'd planned on wearing it that way all along. "All you have to do is get your dick out and shut up, and apparently, that's too much to ask of you."

  "It's a reasonable question, Brooke. You don't hide the fact you hate it here. What's the problem with asking why you stay?"

  She shook her head and then flung the front door open. "Do not follow me."

  The door banged shut behind her while I shoved my feet into shoes and whistled for Butterscotch. We stayed a fair distance behind Brooke, but that didn't stop her from tossing furious glances over her shoulder every few minutes.

  "Why are you in such a rush?" I called. "It's the middle of the night."