Move the Sun (Signal Bend Series)

by Fanetti, Susan

  Propping himself on one hand, with the other he grabbed her nipple and pinched it hard. She cried out. Okay, this is more what she had in mind. He was thrusting into her deep and fast, pulling and twisting her nipple. The unfamiliar position gave her few options to participate; he had her fully under his control. So she went with it, savoring the deep intensity of his sideways entry, the sharp thrill of his fingers around her nipple. She was elevating quickly, heat pooling in her joints. She started moaning loudly every time he went deep. She was working her other breast as savagely as he was working the one he had; when he noticed, his eyes got dark, and he sped up his thrusts.

  When she could remember to open her eyes, she watched him, saw him concentrating. Sweat ran down his temples into his beard. His chest was wet with it, dewy drops beading in the hair over his pecs. Knowing that he had to work so hard to keep his promise thrilled her endlessly.

  Then he grabbed her leg and pulled out, flipping her to her belly with a growl. He was growling almost constantly now. He yanked her onto her knees, grabbing her ponytail and yanking her head back, and he was inside her again, pounding hard, the hair on his legs scratching at her thighs every time they slammed together. Okay, she was coming; he was so fucking deep, stretching her wide. She bucked against him, making as much noise as he was, her breath coming in something like shrieks now. “Fuck, Isaac. Fuck, it’s good.”

  “Not enough,” he rasped. “I want you screaming, baby.”

  He yanked her hair again, pulling her off her hands, bringing her back hard against his chest. With his other hand, he reached around and slapped her clit sharply. The sensation was like an electric bolt through her, and she cried out and arched hard. He did it again. And again. Then over and over, quick, sharp slaps, until she was coming so hard she could feel her juices running down her legs, even as his thrusts filled her, and she was screaming and screaming.

  When it was over, he laid her down on the bed, and she relaxed, her muscles liquid, her brain muzzy. That was way up on the list of her best orgasms ever. Top three, anyway. Maybe higher. But he wasn’t done. He was still moving inside her, still hard as granite. He hadn’t come. “I owe you another one,” he murmured behind her before biting down on her shoulder.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Isaac was simultaneously exhausted, exhilarated, and so turned on he thought his cock might well explode inside her. Lilli. Beautiful name, beautiful woman.

  Lilli. He’d have to get used to that. He’d known her only twelve hours, but “Sport” had stuck in his head.

  She was completely relaxed beneath him, breathing heavily, her strong, firm limbs pliable, giving easily to his touch as he moved inside her. She was tight, the lingering spasms of her climax still holding him firmly. Drenched with sweat, as he was, she smelled fantastic. He much preferred the natural scent of a woman to the acidic crap so many of them sprayed all over themselves, and Lilli’s scent was intoxicating to him. Her taste, too. Damn, she made him hot.

  “I owe you another one.” He bit down on her shoulder, sucking her sweet sweat into his mouth. “You think you can take me again?” Her eyes still closed, she grinned.

  He reared back and pulled out of her in one fast move. Then he grabbed her legs and flipped her to her back. She laughed, and what a sound it was, rich and full of pleasure. He didn’t know what her story was—he’d damn sure find out—but she was something special, something to behold. Something dangerous.

  Maybe it was just her newness. Living in a town like this, being single and wanting it that way, a man tended to cycle through a smallish number of willing women. Even the girls who came from other towns to hang out at the clubhouse were the same every week. Fucks got familiar pretty fast. The number of women not looking for more was even smaller. Isaac had been slowing down of late, wary of women looking for his ink. Not gonna happen.

  But this wild thing writhing under him and looking up at him with bright, avid eyes—they were grey—she was something else entirely.

  He hooked her legs over his shoulders and sank into her, pushing her thighs to her chest. She was strong and limber and hadn’t yet balked at anything he’d done—no stretch, no force, no depth had been too much. In fact, she wanted more. She’d taken his cock without complaint. Usually he had to soften a woman up a bit first, get her ready, but Lilli had thrown that back in his face, wanting him to come at her hard.

  He was at her hard now, thrusting with all the force he could muster, even feeling the intensity of it himself, his hips and thighs feeling bruised as they slammed against her. She was grunting and moaning, clawing at his arms. He was beginning to have trouble holding himself off. The amazing head she’d given him had bought him a lot of time for a fuck this strenuous, but she was a wild one, hot as hell, and they been going at it for awhile. He tried to distract himself with mundane thoughts, but he just didn’t want to. He wanted to be present here, feeling her, hearing her, smelling her.

  She brought her legs up even tighter to her chest, and then her feet were on his shoulders, and she was pushing against him hard. Confused at first, he looked down at her and saw in her eyes what she wanted. He knocked her feet off and gathered her up in his arms, coming up on his knees and lying backwards, putting her on top of him, her feet under his arms. He shifted to straighten his legs. “You want to ride me, that it?”

  “Fuck yeah.” She leaned back a little, her hands on his thighs, and did just that. He wrapped his arms around her legs and just held on. Jesus, the muscles in her legs rippled beautifully as she drove her hips down onto him, riding him every bit as hard as he’d ridden her. Her head was thrown back, and her ponytail brushed his legs. Somehow he thought that, that silky tickle across his knees, was the thing that was going to undo him. He’d promised to make her scream again.

  He sat up and grabbed her arms, folding her whole body tightly to his chest. Staring deeply into his eyes, she stopped, panting, her breath leaving her body in sexy little moans. For several beats, they simply sat there tangled together in a complex knot, sweaty and breathless, staring into each other’s eyes.

  In that look Isaac felt something shift into place between them; he felt it like a thrill up his spine. He had no idea what it meant. But he grabbed her ponytail and brought her mouth to his, sucking the sweat from her upper lip and then kissing her deeply. But softly. She went with it, kissing him back in kind, her hands moving into his wet hair and holding him close. Suddenly, she pulled back with a little gasp and stared at him, her brow furrowing. She’d felt it, too, he knew.

  Something dangerous.

  She yanked on his hair. “I thought you were gonna make me scream again. That was the deal, right?” She kissed him again, biting his lower lip hard at the end. He tasted blood.

  “Fuck! Bloodthirsty bitch.” He rolled abruptly, putting her on her back. Then he grabbed her ankles from behind him and held them out wide as he pounded into her, gaining more and more speed with every thrust. If this wasn’t enough for her, then she was just too fucking much for him.

  “Oh, fuck! Yeah! Yeah! Fuck! Harder!” Harder? Jesus Christ. He found something more to give her. And then, thank the blessed baby Jesus, she was screaming, her nails embedded in his forearms. She was tight, so tight, around his cock, and he finally, finally, finally let himself go with a long, loud, extremely relieved groan that came through his chest, his throat, his clenched teeth like it was being yanked out of his very cells. He came for fucking ever.

  When it was done, he dropped in a heap on top of her, between her legs. He was still inside her. He was gratified to hear the strain in her breathing, so like his own. At least he’d worn her out, too.

  She laughed. “Okay, fuck. That was fantastic. I won’t doubt you again.”

  “See that you don’t.” He kissed her cheek. With a weary sigh—he was wondering about the logic of this kind of exertion, since he hadn’t slept last night and wouldn’t have the chance again until late tonight—he pulled out of her and sort of dropped off her to lie at her side. N
ormally, he’d be up and getting dressed right now. When he fucked, he did it at the clubhouse or at the chick’s house, and he did not cuddle. Cuddling is where complications happened. But he didn’t think he could move.

  Plus, he wasn’t done touching her yet.

  She rolled to her side and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. “9:30. Does Marie’s stop serving breakfast at some point? Because you owe me eggs and waffles.” She put the phone down and started to roll onto her back again, but Isaac stopped her. Instead, he scooted closer as she lay on her side.

  She had a line of text inked up her left side, from her hip to about even with her tits. It wasn’t English. That and a very pretty, intricate black and grey butterfly, about the size of his fist, on her left shoulder blade were her only tattoos.

  He traced the line of text up her side. “Marie’s serves breakfast all day. What does this say?”

  She looked back over her shoulder at him and didn’t answer right away. Then she said, “It’s Italian: L’amor che muove il sole e l’altre stelle.” The words in her voice were beautiful; she spoke as if she were fluent in the language.

  “That’s beautiful. What’s it mean?” He spread his hand over her hip and rubbed a long oval over her thigh. He could not seem to stop touching her.

  “The love which moves the sun and the other stars.” He couldn’t read her expression.

  That sounded familiar to him, and he took a second and searched his head. “That’s Dante, right?”

  She turned fast, landing on her back. “Yeah. It’s the last line of The Divine Comedy. You know Dante?” The look on her face was naked shock. That had rattled her. Not the fight last night, not a gun to her head, not him finding her and knowing her name, not the epic fuck. The fact that he knew Dante—that flattened her. He was offended.

  “We hicks do go to school, you know.”

  Now her look was skeptical. “You went to a school where you read Dante?”

  No, he hadn’t. He grinned. “Well, we used to have a town library, too. I like to read. Always have. I told you, there’s not a lot to do around here. So, why do you have Dante inked into your side?”

  “My dad’s favorite book.” Instead of saying more, she got off the bed. “I’m starved. You owe me breakfast. I’m getting in the shower.”

  “Want company? I need one, too.” He wiggle his eyebrows at her. “Always good to conserve water—we’re on wells out here.”

  She shook her head. “That’s okay. I’ll go fast, leave you some.” She walked into the bathroom and closed the door.

  Isaac lay back, feeling like he’d done something wrong and not sure why he cared. But there was some insight there into the mystery that was Lilli. He’d need to work that out. He still had the condom on, now looking sad and deflated on his mostly-soft cock. He pulled it off and went hunting for a place to discard it. He ended up dropping it in the trash under the kitchen sink.

  ~oOo~

  Lilli had refused to ride with him, saying she needed to have her car so that she could do errands after breakfast. So she followed him to Marie’s. On the ride, Isaac thought about the events of the past half-day. Far more eventful than usual, they were.

  Jimmy had sacrificed only three fingernails to the truth. Meg had tried a couple of dodges around the facts, but Isaac was nothing if not perceptive, and after Vic pulled the nail from the middle finger of his right hand, with its broken wrist, she’d caved completely, ignoring Jimmy’s frantic head shaking.

  So now, Isaac knew that the St. Louis crew the Horde was beefing with, The Northside Knights, had some kind of new player backing them, and they were looking to annex the cookers down the I-44 corridor—which was, in its entirety, from Illinois to Oklahoma, Horde turf. They’d just about turned Jimmy and Meg, among the biggest cookers in Crawford County, but they were leaning hard on Jimmy to prime Will Keller for a buyout of his property—a family farm of 150 acres, held by his bloodline for a century.

  All of that for three fingernails. Well, he’d known she’d be the weak link. Meg didn’t know why they wanted the property, but Isaac had a damn good idea. There was a lot of dense forest on that acreage—about half the property. The canopy was tight. Good obstruction from satellites. Built right, a fucking meth mass-production center could hide in there. Right smack in the middle of the pipeline.

  Mass-produced crank on a scale like that was not going to happen on Isaac’s watch. No enemy of the Horde was going to own property on Horde turf, period. A backer for the Northsiders with that kind of capital—someone who scared Jimmy Sullivan enough that he was willing to be tortured rather than name—was a very serious, very dangerous problem for the Horde, and for Signal Bend itself.

  And then there was Ms. Lillian Carson, allegedly from Austin, Texas, but with no discernable Texas lilt in her voice. Bart had come up against the wall quickly, but he hadn’t yet been able to breach it. He’d been perplexed, because she didn’t seem to have worked hard to hide the fact that she was hiding. Her created history would pass the most cursory and rudimentary of checks, something typically businesslike—to rent a house, say, or get a job—but anyone who thought she might be up to something would quickly know she was. Conversely, the wall itself seemed strong. According to Bart, that was a very strange circumstance. He’d said it enthusiastically. Young Bartholomew liked himself a puzzle.

  Interesting that she’d shown up the exact same day that Jimmy had gone off the rez. Isaac couldn’t understand how those dots connected. Maybe they didn’t; maybe it was pure coincidence that brought trouble to town on two roads at the same time. But Isaac was paying attention.

  He wasn’t one normally to believe in coincidence, at least not without some deep inquiry first, but he found himself really hoping that whatever Lilli was hiding, it wasn’t something that would get in his way. He liked her. He would hate to hurt her.

  He would, if he had to. If she threatened his people or his town, he’d end her without hesitation. But he’d be unhappy about it.

  Isaac felt sure her name was really Lilli. He caught that vibe right away. She seemed perfectly comfortable correcting his usage from Lillian to Lilli, as if it was a reflex born of long habit. He wasn’t nearly so sure about “Carson.” At least “Sport,” he knew, was hers. He knew because he’d named her himself.

  He pulled into Marie’s, Lilli right behind him. Not too crowded—10 o’clock was late in the day for breakfast. The lunch crowd would be coming in soon. For now, there were only four other vehicles in the lot, including the Sullivans’ pickup. That could be awkward. It wasn’t until right then that Isaac realized what a stir he was about to cause, the President of the Night Horde walking into Marie’s for a late breakfast with the new girl everyone was talking about. The smokin’ hot new girl everyone was talking about. The one who’d been seen by the majority of the town this morning, running all over in what people were calling, variously, her underwear or a bathing suit.

  Yeah, the tongues would be wagging this Sunday after church. And everywhere, every minute, from now until then. Oh, well. Been awhile since the gossips had something good to chew on.

  He dismounted and put his helmet on the handlebars, then walked over and opened the Camaro’s door for Lilli. She gave him a surprised smile and stepped out. Similar getup as yesterday: same low-heeled black boots, slim, low-waisted jeans, simple t-shirt—yellow today—that left just the slimmest bit of belly showing. An extremely distracting slimmest bit of firm, flat belly. No jacket; too hot for that. Aviator-style Ray-Ban sunglasses. She didn’t seem to carry a purse. He added that simple fact to the growing list of fucking sexy things about her. Women with big purses freaked him out. What the fuck was so important they had to carry a damn suitcase with them everywhere they went?

  Her hair was caught back in a ponytail again. It was long and thick, a rich dark brown, with just a hint of red in the sun. She did this fussy little thing with the ponytail, wrapping a lock of hair around it, tucking the end in. He’d watched her do it this morning
. It was fussy, but he liked it. He didn’t know why.

  That was absolutely the only fussy thing she’d done. She wore no makeup or scent—and he would have protested if she’d gone to cover up the way she smelled naturally. Today, she wore no jewelry but the big silver rings, and he was beginning to think those, like his own rings, were more practical than ornamental. She’d done some real damage to Meg’s throat last night.

  He almost took her hand to escort her into Marie’s but thought better of it, and instead put his hand on her back, bringing her gently forward to walk in front of him. When the bell over the door jingled to announce their entry, the ten other people in the diner—six customers, two waitresses (including Marie), and, peering over the service area from the kitchen, Dave (her husband and the cook) and Evan, the dishwasher—every one of them turned to see who it was and then stopped to gape. Gotta love the small town life.

  Lilli, to her credit, seemed unfazed. She smiled and nodded at whomever met her eyes. He led her to his usual booth; they passed the Sullivans on the way. Jimmy’s three nail-less fingers were thickly bandaged, and his arm was in a cast. Havoc had driven them both to the urgent care center in Cuba and had seen to it that they told the right story about their injuries. From the look of Meg, though, her injuries didn’t really get started until Havoc got them back home. Jimmy was right handed, but he’d obviously overcome that to beat the shit out of his wife with his left. Isaac felt bad for her, and pissed at Jimmy, but it was hardly the first time Meg had walked around town with bruises on her face. Like a lot of women in this part of the world, she was well acquainted with the feel of her man’s knuckles on her skin.

  Besides, one of those bruises was Isaac’s. She’d come by that one honestly, but he didn’t relish hitting women. He didn’t give them a pass when they came at him, but he took no pleasure in it, as he had breaking Ed Foss’s nose last night. That had been satisfying. Backhanding Meg had been expedient.