Oh, that asshole was going to lose that hand.
Isaac charged forward, plowing through the people on the dance floor, but when he got to Lilli, he stopped short. He didn’t see what she’d done, but Bohler was on the floor, clutching his throat and not breathing much at all. She must have punched him, her and her big silver rings.
Isaac touched Lilli’s arm, and she spun on him, backing off instantly when she saw it was him. “Asshole got fresh. Frien’ a yours?”
He brushed her cheek, while Bohler continued to writhed unattended. “You okay?”
“Sure. Room’s a little spinny, but I’m good.”
“You mind if I take it from here?”
“He’s all yours. I’m gonna sit.” She wandered unsteadily back to their table, and Isaac grabbed Bohler by his shirt, got him to his feet, and dragged him outside. He met Havoc, Len, and Show coming in, looking like they’d just been scrapping, too.
Show got a look at Isaac and Bohler, and asked simply, “Need help?”
“Nope. Somebody stay with Lilli. I’ll be back.”
“He hurt her?”
“She hurt him. But he took liberties. Needs a lesson.”
As he dragged Bohler out and to the back of the building, he heard Len tell Show, “I got his back.”
When he was done with Steve Bohler, he was well certain that there was no amount of drunk that would cause that cooker to forget his manners again around any woman, much less Isaac’s. He shouted a reminder as he was mashing Bohler into jelly.
His woman. Fuck. He had a woman. Hell, it had been his idea. He wanted her. She was not whom she claimed to be, and he needed to give a shit about that. She could be a threat to the club, and that made her a potential threat to his town. But he wanted her anyway.
He turned, shaking the blood off his be-ringed hands, and saw Len leaning against the corner of the building, regarding him curiously. Isaac walked past him without a word and went back in to find Lilli.
~oOo~
They left when Tuck and Rose closed up. Lilli had sobered up a little, but Isaac was still concerned about her ability to sit the bike. When she’d made the turn from buzzed to drunk, it had happened quickly. Something for him to keep in mind. Still, she’d managed to disable Bohler handily. Isaac wondered what she was truly capable of sober.
He pulled her close. “You good to ride, Sport?”
She smiled up at him, and in the sodium glare of the parking lot lights, he could tell that her eyes weren’t quite as focused as he’d like. “Abso-tive-ly. Let’s ride.” She grabbed her helmet and fumbled it.
Alrighty. He made a snap decision. For this woman, he was doing lots of things he’d made a point not to do. Why not keep it up? His place was half the distance hers was. He was bringing her home.
He mounted, and she climbed on behind him—a bit awkwardly, but not so bad that he thought they’d have to hoof it down to the 7 Eleven for a giant coffee.
“Hold on tight, Sport, okay? Don’t want to lose you.”
She laughed. “You’re just tryin’a get felt up.” But she did—she held him tight, and he felt her breasts on his back, her thighs squeezing his.
He took it slow, but they were still pulling up to his house within fifteen minutes. She dismounted and took a quick extra step, finding her footing. “Hey. Where are we?”
He’d purposely neglected to tell her where he was taking her, figuring she’d fight him, and it was much harder for her to do anything about it from here. “My place. C’mon, I’ll show you around.”
She glared at him, standing akimbo. “Did I say I’d stay at your place?”
“You didn’t say no.” It wasn’t a lie—he hadn’t asked, so she hadn’t refused. His assertion confused her, and diffused the fight in her. He held out his hand, and she took it. He led her into his house, which was unlocked, for the most part. There was a room in the house, as well as two outbuildings, he always kept locked. Otherwise, he only locked up if he was leaving overnight.
As soon as he got her into his front hall, she yanked on his arm, pulling him back to her. She reached up and pulled the band loose from his braid, unwinding his hair. Then she fed her fingers into it and brought his face down to hers. Before she kissed him, she asked, “Got sheets on your bed?”
Fuck it. He’d show her around in the morning. They’d talk in the morning, too. Getting her to talk might be easier when she was like this, but he could get it done when she was sober. What Bart found out was best discussed in the light of the day, anyway. His hands under her shirt, on the satiny, firm skin of her belly, and then on her back, unhooking her bra, he kissed her.
“I do. Wanna mess ‘em up?”
INTERLUDE: 2002
Lilli wondered if it always rained at funerals. She knew that couldn’t possibly be true, but she’d now been to three funerals, and it had rained at every one.
Her mother.
Her nonna.
Now, her father.
She was alone in the world now. And she’d left him to die alone.
She’d been on a training exercise at aviation school when he’d fallen ill, and it had taken a day for the message to reach her. It took another two days to work out the logistics to get home. By the time she got to the hospital, he was gone. He’d had a massive coronary. The doctors told her he’d never been conscious since “the event”—that’s what they called it, “the event,” like it was a fucking prom or something—so he didn’t know he was dying alone.
She knew, though. She knew.
He was buried with full military honors at the veteran’s cemetery. The place had a haunting beauty, a stillness and symmetry, every stone the same—white, narrow, and precisely aligned. The “mourners”—she guessed they were called mourners even if they would leave the cemetery, grab tacos at the drive-thru and go on about their damn lives—were all his former Army buddies or his business associates. Her father socialized a lot; as a high-level executive, it was part of his job. But he didn’t have many friends. He was naturally a loner, a family man who preferred the quiet of his home and his family. He was not quick to trust people. Except his old war buddies. They were far flung, though, and only met annually for a big fishing trip. Or when one of them died.
No, her father kept to himself. Since his wife and mother had died, Lilli was the only person he confided in, the only one to whom he felt close.
And she’d gone away and left him alone in that big house full of ghosts. At least “the event” hadn’t happened at home. Who knows how long he would have lain there if it had. But it happened on the golf course, while he was entertaining a client.
Her father hated golf.
When the military honors were over and the priest had completed the service, the rain pounding on the green canopy that protected him, the casket and the seated family—which was only Lilli—she stood and let the so-called mourners come to her to offer their condolences. The rain discouraged any lingerers. She stood there, holding a folded American flag, as every car pulled away, everyone heading back to regularly scheduled lives. Finally, she was alone at the graveside, her father’s casket still propped above the hole someone had dug for him. It was fitting that she was alone.
She didn’t know how long she’d stood there, but eventually, a man in a tidy black suit, holding a discreet black umbrella, came up beside her. “I’m very sorry, miss, but we need to inter . . .”
Her father. They needed to inter her father. She looked up and saw two men in work clothes standing at a respectful distance, getting wet and clearly waiting for her to move along. She did. She went home.
She had a regularly scheduled life to get back to, as well. She had one week’s leave. One week in which to figure out what to do about the leavings of her father’s life—and her own. The house she’d grown up in, full of the curios of a lifetime. Family photos. Her childhood keepsakes. Her grandmother’s pottery. Her father’s den, full of plaques and trophies and mysterious papers. Her father’s car—his beautiful, black 196
8 Barracuda fastback. He’d loved that car like a son. Her mother’s…no, there was almost nothing left of her mother. Her father had gone through the house in a purifying rage shortly after they buried her.
She wanted almost none of it. She packed up the family photos, the books, her grandmother’s pottery, a few pieces of jewelry, and a couple of mementos and put it all in storage. Then she contacted her father’s lawyer and set to him the task of selling everything else, taking his percentage, and sending her a check for the rest.
She threw her duffel into the back of the ‘Cuda and drove back to Fort Rucker, Alabama from Stockton, California, which was her home no longer.
CHAPTER NINE
Lilli knew she was drunk—too drunk. She’d had too many shots, too many beers, and not nearly enough to eat during the day. She’d screwed up. But she could not make herself care. She felt good. She felt loose. She’d had fun. And she felt really, incredibly, epically fucking horny. She was standing against Isaac, pressed snugly to the hard wall of his huge body, feeling the rough, thick skin of his palms and fingertips on her back, unhooking her bra.
(She was in his house, though; this was a problem. She didn’t even know where his house was. She needed to focus on that.)
She was standing there, feeling his hands on her, his mouth on her, his big, hard cock bound in his jeans but still digging into her belly. And then his hands were on her breasts, cupping and caressing under her buttoned shirt and loose bra. Too many clothes. There were far too many clothes in this scenario. She fumbled at the buttons of her shirt, needing to free his hands and her breasts.
His mouth still hard on hers, he chuckled and turned his hands, grabbing the placket of her top from the inside and ripping it open. The buttons that had still been closed must have held, because Lilli heard a clear sound of rending fabric as her shirt fell open wide.
As she shrugged it off her shoulders, she backed away from his beautiful mouth enough to say, “Tha’ sucks, dude. I don’ have many clothes with me.”
(Something told her that she’d said a wrong thing in that sentence, but she didn’t bother figuring it out.)
“I’ll buy ya a new one,” Isaac growled and he yanked her bra off her arms and took full possession of her breasts. “Fuck, you feel good.” Surprising her completely, he dropped to his knees, pressing his mouth to her belly. His beard tickled and scratched as he sucked her skin. She felt his hands at her jeans, opening them roughly, and she canted her hips closer to him, grabbing fistfuls of his hair to keep him as close to her as possible.
“God, God, God,” she moaned, wanting to be naked, wanting him to be naked. But his hands were on her ass now; he wasn’t pulling her jeans down, though he was biting at her thong, plucking it with his teeth. She moaned, feeling a need for his rough hands on her bare skin.
“You smell so goddamn good.” He took a deep breath and growled it out; she felt the rumble of it against her pubic bone. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs and slid firmly down until he reached her boots. “These are badass, Sport. Sexy as fuck.” He pulled down the zipper on one, then the other, and held her hips as she kicked her feet free of them.
Then he reached up and grabbed the loose waistband of her open jeans and yanked hard, bringing them down, her thong tangled up in them, until she could pull her feet and legs finally free.
And again, she was naked while he was fully clothed. But his hands were on her, finally. He pushed her roughly against the door—Jesus, they were still standing in his front hall—and lifted her right leg to hook it over his shoulder, spreading her wide. He ran his fingers back and forth through her folds, over her clit, and she couldn’t shut up, she couldn’t hold still. She had her hands yet knotted in his hair, and she pulled, trying to bring his mouth back to suck on her. With a low, unbelievably sexy chortle, he obliged, his hands wrapping around her hips until his fingers hooked in the cleft of her ass. He pressed his mouth to her clit and sucked it hard into his mouth, dragging it over his teeth.
“Oh, fuck!” Her hips were spasming so hard she didn’t think she could keep standing, especially not with her right leg over his shoulder. But he pushed harder on her, holding her up on the door, his hands clutching her ass. She felt his fingers at her anus then, and she arched hard, pulling away from the door. “Oh, yeah! Oh, do it!” God, she wanted that. She needed it.
Isaac stilled and pulled away. Whimpering with the loss of the beautiful sensations he’d been making all through her, dizzy with drink and desire, she opened her eyes and looked down at him, kneeling at her feet.
He was looking up at her, panting, his beard glistening with her wet. She still had his hair in her fists; she let go now, and brushed her hand through his beard. He turned his head and kissed her palm. The simple gesture made her loins cramp. As they looked into each other’s eyes, Isaac brought a hand around to her front and pushed it between her legs, sliding his fingers slowly between her folds. He rubbed hard circles on her clit until she whimpered, then moved to probe inside her until she moaned. Then he drew his fingers back farther and pushed against the taut seal of her anus. Her hips flexed involuntarily, and she nodded. “Yeah. Please. Please.”
He pushed his finger in, and when she cried out, he stilled again. “Don’t stop. I want more.” He pulled that finger out and went back in with two this time. And this time, he flexed them inside her, back and forth—and he leaned forward again and sucked her clit.
Ecstasy exploded through her body, and her knee gave, which drove her body down farther onto his fingers. She came immediately, screaming his name and writhing on his face and hand until she was flailing. He stopped and stood, holding her up as her body twitched the end of its release.
“Jesus motherfucking Christ, woman,” he growled. He swung her, still woozy from the crushing intensity of her climax, into his arms and carried her down a hall. She had no idea where he was taking her, and she didn’t care a whit.
He laid her on a bed, a huge king-size bed with lush cream-colored sheets and a fluffy black comforter. Comfy. Feeling liquid and loose, she opened her eyes and watched him stripping his clothes off in a clumsy rush. It was cute to see her huge, macho biker man hopping around on one leg, trying to yank his boot off. She squirmed, nesting deeper into his soft, lovely linens.
(Her biker man? Was he her biker man? Should she stop and think about that?)
He was naked now—so fucking gorgeously naked, with that amazing, beautiful cock standing right up for her—and her crawled over her with a fistful of condoms. When he was looming over her, grinning at her like a wolf, his long hair hanging around them, she rolled to her stomach. “I want more of that.”
He groaned, and she felt him shift; then his hand was moving from her neck down her spine to her ass. He pushed his fingers between her cheeks and massaged her. “You want me up your ass?”
“God, yes.” She knew he was big, but she didn’t care. She wanted it. Nothing else would give her what she needed.
“Lilli—are you sure? I don’t have lube.”
She rolled to her back as he still hovered over her, framing her with his arms and legs. Taking the hand that had been on her back, she pushed it between her legs, grunting a little at the sweet pleasure of his touch. “Does it feel like you need lube? Use me.”
He looked hesitant, confused. Shaking off her tipsy haze a little, she asked, “Don’t you want to?”
He laughed. “Do I want to have your ass? Your spectacular ass? Uh, yeah, I do. But, baby, I can honestly say that never once in all my years of fucking women has one ever asked for that before.”
She shrugged, unsure whether he was criticizing her or praising her or what. She didn’t really care, unless it got in the way of what she wanted. Because she was just about vibrating with need. “That a problem?”
He shifted down to his elbows, and she felt him feeding his fingers into her hair. His cock was pressed uncomfortably into her belly. She could think of a much, much better place for it. But he was staring into her
eyes, and she settled, letting him have the moment he apparently needed. “You astound me,” he whispered, then kissed her.
The kiss was deep and passionate—meaningful, somehow—and when he sucked her tongue into his mouth, she moaned and arched, loving the coarseness of his body covering hers, but wanting so much more. “Please, please, please,” she whispered against his lips.
With a wild grin, almost a snarl, he came up on his knees and flipped her over. He dragged her hips up until she was on her knees. Then he pushed a hand between her legs, fingered her clit roughly, and then plunged three fingers into her core. She cried out and arched, loving his intensity. He pulled his fingers back, wetting her cleft, circling her anus.
Then he stopped. “You want me to cover up?”
Her head and chest on the bed, Lilli lifted up a little and looked at him under her arm, upside down. The room tipped back and forth a bit. “Not for this, no.”
He growled and shoved himself into her core. She tried to care that he wasn’t wearing a condom, to remind him not to come inside her that way, but he felt so fucking good. And then he withdrew, and she felt him pressing steadily against her anus. She could feel his girth already. But she wanted it. This was not something she liked all the time, but now, yes. Oh, yes.
He entered her, moving slowly. God, he made her so full. Already she felt stretched and full to bursting. She could feel the muscles around him and around her clit pulsing, and she moaned.
“Fuck, baby, fuck. This is so good it might well kill me.” He was still moving slowly, and she could feel a tremor in his hands where they held her hips. She pushed back toward him, bringing him into her, to the hilt. They both cried out at that. And then he started to move, rocking in and out, slowly at first, but speeding up with every firm thrust. She could feel his whole body shaking.
Move the Sun (Signal Bend Series) Page 11
