Wasted: Falcon Brothers (Steel Country Book 3)

by Mj Fields

  I point to his shirt and try not to smile. “You can’t say all that with my...stuff on your shirt.”

  “Unbelievable,” he huffs as he walks to the stairs, grumbling as he looks at the rain coming down. “Un-fucking-believable.”

  Unable to stop myself, I hurry over and put my arms around his sides, running my hands up his rock-hard body and stop at his chest.

  “Five times,” I say, pressing my face into his back.

  “What?”

  “I came five times, not four, Gray. Five.”

  “Great, and I ended in a sweater instead of on your ass.”

  “Ask me again, Gray. Ask me what again,” I say, face still buried in his back.

  “Hell no.” He stiffens and starts to pull my hands away.

  I grab his nipple piercings and hold on. “Ask. Me.”

  “You let go of the bars if I do?”

  “Maybe.” I tug them a little.

  “Fine, what?”

  “Every other person I had sex with—”

  “Fuck that,” he sneers. “I don’t want to know.” Again, he grabs my hands.

  This time, I pull a little harder on the bars.

  “You wanna take it easy?”

  “Every other person I had sex with...”

  He stiffens again.

  “… asked me how many times I came.”

  “So now you’re telling me you get off easy with everyone, thanks—”

  “You hadn’t even been inside of me, and had gotten me off more times in those thirty minutes—with you, Gray—than everyone combined. I was smiling because of you. Because, if you asked, I knew the number and wouldn’t have to lie to stroke your ego.”

  “More times with me than in your whole life?” His voice is husky again, and I relax my grip on the barbells.

  “More times with you tonight than my whole entire life,” I say quieter.

  He takes his hands off mine and shoves them in his pockets. “Go on.”

  I can’t help smiling because he’s just so...so Gray.

  “When you were sucking my...” I pause.

  “Nipples?”

  “Yeah. I was thinking it’s possible that I have never had an...” Why is it so hard to say things to him?

  “Orgasm.”

  “Yeah. Honestly, if what you do to me and how hard I fall apart...and can actually feel my body...Oh God, this is so awkward.” I groan.

  “I came on your sweater, you fucking wiped with my shirt, and this is awkward?” he asks, taking my wrists again and holding my hands in the air as he turns and faces me.

  He puts my hands back on him. “Hi.”

  Smiling, I say it back. “Hi.”

  “Now go ahead and finish,” he says, his hands now on my waist.

  I glance down and see...me on his shirt then look back up.

  He’s got a small smile on his face. “That’s awkward.”

  “Deserved,” I correct.

  “Misunderstood,” he counters. “Now seriously, keep going.”

  “I know I’ve never had one of those”—I point to his shirt—“ever before.”

  “No?” he asks, looking from my eyes to my lips and back again.

  “Awkward,” I whisper.

  “No, Mandee, it’s fucking perfect.”

  He reaches back and pulls his shirt off, tossing it on the porch swing. Then he takes my big, old butt with his big, old hands and lifts me up. “Wrap ’em around.”

  I do, and then he walks us to the door, and I reach back and open it as he walks us through then stops.

  “Come on, Orange Cat.”

  I smile then laugh. He does the same.

  “That’s awkward, right?” I ask.

  “That you stole my cat?” He smiles bigger.

  “That you named him Orange Cat,” I say, kicking the door shut behind him.

  “Nice move,” he says when it slams shut. “And the cat is orange, so no.”

  “It’s called Tabby,” I correct, leaning in because I want to kiss him.

  “And while I’m here, in this fucking town”—he squeezes my ass the way I like him to—“those lips and every fucking orgasm is called mine. Awkward?”

  “No, Gray, it’s perfect.” I grab his face and pull him toward me. I kiss him until he takes over.

  Perfect.

  In my head, I say a prayer that he never leaves this town.

  Not ever.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bacon and Blowjobs

  Grayson

  Exhausted and fully re-emasculated, I am on a full-sized bed, in a pink and gray bedroom that looks like any normal teenage girl may have. Lying half on me and half off is not a teenage girl, but the woman who I first blew it all over a wall to, before her reality damn near ruined me. Then I blew it all over her sweater, and she looks at me like I’m anything less than a man. In fact, she looks at me like I am the fucking man.

  Not going to lie and say I didn’t lose my shit, possibly acted like a little bitch, and definitely needed my fucking ego stroked after the shit show. I did.

  Not going to lie and say, if it were possible to stick around longer, maybe try out this relationship thing, she wouldn’t be exactly what I would want, because she’s all that I want.

  Not going to lie and say, that girl, Mandee, is mine now, agreed to it and all, but I’m pretty fucking sure she was mine always. Yet, as my life dictates, I will be heading out again soon. Would have been tonight if not for the rain, and should be tomorrow, if not for this fucked up thought that will totally make me look like “the fucking man” to her, not just now, but forever. And yes, it’s pretty fucking selfish.

  I don’t want her to be with anyone else. I would actually like to fill her home with a dozen stolen cats and hope that was enough until I breezed back into town, but I’m not that fucking stupid that I can’t see her with three of four little kids circling her ankles and dragging her all over the place, and she will go, because she’s Mandee.

  I can’t imagine seeing her with anyone else. I would be in jail if I saw some dick lie to her, cheat on her, or mistreat her in any way. I want her to be fucking happy, so I’m going to show her how to find a real man. Not some little bitch like Blue, who thinks a man is to lord over her and knock her down a peg or twenty to make himself feel good. Not some fuck with a flat rim hat that requires dressing like a fucking wanna-be Hollywood thug, because he’s going to spend more fucking time in front of the mirror than she does. And not some fucking asshole who asks her how many times she came because, as a man, it’s your fucking job to get her off before you blow a few hundred thousand of your little losers all over her ass or waist, hoping not to get her knocked up because you are in fact not a fucking man if you have to ask that question.

  How many times did you come? Fucking joke. If you don’t know what it feels like to have a woman come around you, or all over you, you should stick to fucking your hand, like I did, until about four years ago. Sure as fuck have made up for that. But I can guarantee I know they have come, and it’s never after me, always before.

  And this girl, Mandee...Christ, she goes off in the most beautiful way that you just can’t wait to make her do it again...and again...and again.

  I bend down, smell her hair, and close my eyes, hoping to wake when the rain stops, knowing that Mandee came five times during set one, and seven during set two. A fucking easy dozen.

  More fucked up. After my epic sweater explosion, I came three times...all during set two. We fucked, I came, I ate her, which made my recovery time a quick couple minutes. Then we fucked again, I came again, and then we showered. I ate her in there, too, and fucked her, and yes, I fucking came...again.

  I close my eyes and smile, with Mandee wrapped in one arm and Orange Cat purring at my ear.

  §

  Fuck yes. I force myself to not wake up from this dream. Her lips are wrapped around my cock, her hand squeezing my balls gently, her other hand is stoking the part of me that won’t fit down a fucking giraffe’s
throat.

  That girl, Mandee, is fucking everywhere, even my dreams.

  She’s looking at me, and I tell her to stop, not wanting to finish in her mouth, because that’s a dick move, and I’m no fucking dick, not to a girl like her.

  I spread my legs wider, wanting her between them, not over them, so I can get to that ass, even if it’s just with my foot. That ass is...everything.

  She loves it, too, so much that she goes down harder, taking more. Right now, I’m not feeling like saying, “Don’t hurt yourself, hot lips,” because it’s what she wants.

  Bacon, I smell fucking bacon.

  Bacon and a blowjob. Now that, right there, that’s the tits, ass, and trifecta of orgasms. I would give up a nut to wake every morning to bacon and a blowjob.

  “Tritt, go,” I swear I hear her say, and then...then I feel that wet heat, that kind of sucking that’s begging for my cum.

  “I mean it.” Her voice again, and then I hear a hiss.

  Son of a bitch, this is no fucking dream, fantasy...This. Is. Happening.

  Fuck, I will my damn eyes to stay shut. If she wants to suck my dick while I’m sleeping, it means, if this ever happens again and I wake up wanting cunt and cake, I need not make one single fucking excuse, not one. I can just take it.

  “Tritt,” she snarls a whisper. “I will shave you.”

  The bed moves slightly, and I hear something hit the floor, and then the cat screeches and runs.

  Her hand is back on my cock, and then I feel a hot, wet tongue lick my balls and head right on up to the rim. She licks around it, too.

  She’s fucking good, I think as I will myself not to start rocking or release a noise.

  She’s hungry for cock, and I am horney. It’s a win-win.

  When my dick hits the back of her throat and she sucks, my eyes pop open. I need to see this shit for myself. But I can’t, because Mandee is under the fucking covers.

  I see the orange and white stripped tip of Orange Cat’s tail and take my eyes off the covered back of Mandee’s head to make sure he ain’t going to jump up here again and disrupt this fantasy that is now a reality.

  I see what he’s after—a plate of bacon on the nightstand, right next to my head. It’s covered with a paper towel, but I don’t trust the cat who left me for her. Nor can I blame him. But fuck that. It’s bacon.

  I shoo him away with my hand, and he jumps back, thankfully not making a peep. Then he trots his ass out the door.

  Blowjob uninterrupted and balls tightened up just enough that I know I got time for one piece, without moving the bed, I reach out and lift the paper towel with one finger and grab the bacon between two others. I slowly bring it to my mouth and take a bite. It’s real fucking bacon. Thick shit, too. Fucking good.

  I chew slow as she sucks harder. Then, well then, I have no clue what it is she’s doing, but mother of all good head, it’s epic.

  My leg muscles contract, and I swear to fuck my balls are being vacuumed up by the suction and, “Fuck yes. Fuck. Yes.”

  I throw back the sheet covering her, and she looks up and smiles at me. My dick’s in her mouth, and there’s bacon in my mouth and hand. She smiles again, then she fucking does something I never expected.

  She pulls the blanket over her head then sucks harder.

  I toss it back. I need to see. I don’t want to miss this.

  She looks up and take her mouth off my cock.

  “Good morning.” She smiles.

  “Best in my life,” I tell her as she starts stroking me again.

  “How’s the bacon?” she asks, serious as fuck.

  “Good?”

  “Just good?” she asks then licks around my tip.

  “Really good,” I hiss.

  “I’m glad you like it,” she says, then licks my balls, right in front of me, and I swear I’m going to fucking come.

  “This okay?” she asks before taking me in her mouth again and sucking like a fucking Hoover.

  “Best. Fucking...” I have to stop because she’s going to make me come or say some shit I won’t be able to take back.

  She descends again, then goes down, and I swear to fuck she sucks my balls...in front of me.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” I say. This is torture in the best way possible.

  My left ball falls out of her mouth, and she asks, “Is this okay?”

  “Right now, you could eat my balls, and I’m pretty fucking sure the visual of you, your lips, your fucking eyes, that face I could look at forever...” I stop the word vomit when she makes that awe face. “Yeah, it’s fucking okay. It’s fucking...okay.”

  I’m stammering like an idiot.

  “Okay then, you eat bacon, and I’m gonna try my best not to eat your balls, because I’m pretty sure—”

  She stops when I reach down and drag her up my body, and not without a fight.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  I kiss her. I kiss her fucking cheeks, her eyelids, her nose, and her lips.

  “Was it the bacon?” She giggles as I kiss her neck.

  “No, sweetheart, it was the combination. Bacon and a blowjob is like cake and cunt.”

  “Well then.” She sits back, nipples poking out through her tank top. “You should let me get back to it, and eat your bacon before Tritt takes it.”

  I’m sure I’m nodding like an idiot when she kisses me then immediately goes to town, starting with my balls.

  She points to the bacon, and I nod, reach over, and grab another piece. And yes, I take a bite, which makes her smile.

  Fucking love that smile.

  The tenth time it hits the back of her throat and she looks up, eyes watering and really fucking cloudy, I toss the bacon aside, sit up, and grab the back of her head, pulling her back and hiss, “Gonna come.”

  She nods, her grip tightening on my shaft, and she goes back down.

  “Not joking.” I grab the sheets as she sucks harder, pumps faster, and moans. “Unless you want a mouthful,” I warn.

  She nods, and I fucking flop back.

  “Fuck. Yes.”

  I have never come so hard in my life. I have never watched a woman suck, swallow, pump, and swallow more. Hell, I don’t even want to see them when they do, but her, it’s a different fucking story.

  When I am a minute past finishing, she is licking my cock, and I finally have to look away because she looks like she’s enjoying it, and I’m sure I’m either dead or passed the fuck out.

  I see Tritt licking his paw and look at the plate. It’s empty.

  “Fucker.” I chuckle.

  I look down, and she looks up.

  “What?” she asks.

  “Come here,” I say, reaching down and pulling her up so she’s lying on me.

  I kiss the top of her head then reach down to grab that ass that’s probably bruised from my foot rubbing the hell out of it. She looks up and leans in. I hesitate to lean down and take those lips.

  She wipes them. “Is there something on them?”

  “You just swallowed my losers,” I tell her, kissing the top of her head again.

  “Your what?” she asks.

  “Nothing, Mandee, nothing.” I pull her up farther and bite her nipple. She whimpers and moans. I bite again, and she cries out as her hips grind against me.

  “You need to come?”

  “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m okay.”

  “The fuck you are.”

  I pull her underwear down and drag her ass up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Kick them off, Mandee, and then I want you to sit on my face.”

  “Sit on you face?”

  “Fuck yes,” I say.

  “Nooooo.” She shakes her head back and forth.

  “Yeah, sweetheart, I need a taste.”

  §

  We lie in her bed, both spent, when I hear my phone.

  “Fuck,” I grumble as I roll her to her back, kiss her, then climb over her to get it.

&nbs
p; I answer, “What’s up?”

  “Where you at?” It’s Gage.

  “Not there,” I deflect.

  “Get here,” he says.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Will be. Need a talk.”

  “Okay, give me thirty.”

  “Ten,” he says, and I know he’s pissed.

  “Be there as soon as I can.”

  I hang up and look back at her.

  “You need to go?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” she says as she sits up.

  “Bar closed today?” I ask, knowing it is.

  She nods.

  “Any plans?” I ask as I throw on my pants and look around for my shirt.

  She gets up, bare-assed. “No plans. But to take some food up to your family.”

  “You feeding us?” I ask, still looking around.

  She walks out of the bedroom and yells over her shoulder, “Leftovers from the wedding.”

  “Gotcha. Any idea where my shirt is?” I ask, walking out and looking around for the first time at the house.

  I see pictures of little Mandee with her mom and dad. She looks fucking adorable. Pigtails down to her waist and two missing front teeth. Aside from that, she looks just like her mom. I want to tell her that, but I don’t know if it will upset her and send her off to the lake. Since I’m not going to be there, I’m really not cool with her going. She was nearly purple when I dragged her out last time.

  Looking from one picture to the next, I realize each is about a year apart. As Mandee gets older, her mother gets frailer, smaller, and her eyes, the ones that looked just like Mandee’s in the picture where she was about five, show less emotion, but her smile remains the same, just less bright.

  Her dad’s smile visibly fades. Fucking sad. But the way he stays close to his wife, the way he seems to be looking at her protectively, longingly, even adoringly, that doesn’t change.

  I hear a door open and move down the hall in the direction she went. I walk in to see her ass is still bare, still sexy, still all Mandee, but damn if she doesn’t look happier.