Renegade (Moonshine Task Force Book 1)

by Laramie Briscoe

  “Lift up your arms, sweetheart,” his voice is low, seductive, and fucking sexy as he brings my tank top over my head. My bra is meant for sin; a hot pink number that is cut low. If I make one move too fast, you can see a nipple. I know, because I checked. My underwear? They match. I had a plan tonight. It’s up in the air if I would have gone through with it had I not run into Ryan.

  “Shit, why do you keep these covered up?” he asks, bringing his palms up to the sides of my breasts, using his thumbs to agitate my nipples into hard buds. They’re pulling taut, begging for his mouth.

  “Please, Ryan,” I use my elbows to push myself towards him. He doesn’t need to know my shyness, doesn’t need to know that it took me a shot of vodka and a shot of Jim Beam to even put these clothes on and walk out of my house tonight. All he needs to know is that I want his lips on my nipples, I want his length inside my body, and I want to be screaming with release as soon as possible.

  I don’t have to ask twice as he leans forward and captures my flesh in between his teeth, scoring the nub lightly, before he soothes it with his tongue. I dig my fingers into his shoulders as he leans closer to me, spreading my legs further apart. I dent those strong shoulders with my nails, yanking against his skin, wanting his weight on top of me, wanting to feel it more than I’ve ever wanted to feel anything.

  He makes one nipple stand at attention before he does the same to the other, causing me to grasp him under his arms and pull him up and over me. I’m holding him as tightly and as closely as I can. My subconscious is scared he’ll leave before he’s done, before I’m done. “Now, Ryan, I can’t wait. Now, please,” I beg him.

  He spreads out over top of me. Grasping my hands, he puts our palms together and stretches them up over my head, entwining our fingers. “Hold on,” he rasps as he slides deep inside me.

  It takes my breath, the feeling of him stretching my core, of his hardness inside me. It’s something I wanted, but until this moment, I never knew I did. I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, because Ryan is a thousand times more tender than my ex-husband ever was, even being as rough as he is. It’s something I want, something I need. I hook my legs around his hips, urging him on, digging my heels into his ass. Even the words I’m thinking are dirtier tonight than they’ve ever been. Finally, I’ve given myself permission to be a woman who knows what she wants. Damn the consequences.

  “Faster,” I breathe out against the heat of his neck as I bury my mouth there. “I haven’t come from anything other than my hand in such a long time, even when I was married. Ryan, get me there,” I’m straining against him, wanting to let the feeling wash over me, dying for this orgasm.

  “C’mon Whit, you’re feelin’ it, baby. I can feel you tightening against me.”

  He’s right, I am. He’s thrusting and withdrawing at such a pace, I feel like I’m in a souped up foreign car running the quarter mile. I’m heading on a one-way course to coming, and I want it so bad I can taste it.

  “Just let it go, babe, let it go,” he tells me as he shoves deep inside me, and let’s go of my hands to tilt my ass. He bottoms out and grinds against my clit. It’s a move no one’s ever used on me before, and good gracious, if they had, I’d know what a spectacular orgasm was before now.

  That’s all I need. All the tension breaks loose and I arch into his caress, closing my eyes tightly, letting the feeling wash over me.

  “Ryan!” I moan, feeling him spill inside me, as I pulse against him.

  Like that, my world brightens, changes, and spins so far off its axis that I’m not sure it’ll ever be straight again. As I try to come to grips with what I’ve done, all I can do is smile a sappy grin. For once, I did something for myself – damn the consequences. For once, I’m happy. With a giggle, I make a soft little pew pew because if it hadn’t been for Renegade, I wouldn’t be here.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Whitney

  Hot, I’m so hot, burning up in fact. I don’t remember ever being this hot in my life, and there’s something pressing against me. A gentle pressure that I’m feeling at the core of my body. Using my hand, I move down to where I feel the pressure, and feel hair. Prying my eyes open, I look down, only to see Ryan’s head between my legs.

  “Oh my God,” I breathe out as I feel his tongue lick up against my clit. His fingers grip the flesh of my thighs, holding them open with his shoulders to give himself room. “Don’t stop,” I beg him, grasping the tips of his hair, yanking his mouth closer to me.

  I’m grinding against his tongue, wondering how long he’s been doing this because I’m there already. Normally it takes me a while to loosen up, to let myself go and feel. My ex-husband, he never went down, so this is a treat I wasn’t expecting. I’ve also never been woken up for sex, so I’m going to enjoy this while I can. Three ticks off the “never done before” list in less than twenty-four hours. I’m feeling mighty proud of myself.

  Pressing my body down against his face, I’m trying to widen my thighs even more when he inserts two fingers inside of me and then uses his tongue to flick my clit. That’s all it takes. I can’t stop moving, rotating my thighs to try to get closer. I’m screaming, grasping hold of his hair. He’s with me the entire way, never letting up no matter which way I move. Ryan sticks with me, his lips never detach from mine.

  Pushing against his head, I move him. “Please, so sensitive.” My words are still slurred, but I think this time I’m sex drunk instead of wine drunk.

  He lets go, then uses his hands on my thighs to flip me over onto my stomach.

  In the darkness, I hear his words, rough with sleep and hard with arousal. “Grab the headboard, Whitney.”

  Ohhh, this is also something I’ve only ever done a few times. I like this side of Ryan. I try to tell him, but as he thrusts inside me, the breath and words are taken from my throat. “Shit,” I let my head fall against the headboard, resting my hot cheek against the cool wood. It’s the one thing that’s keeping me grounded. The way he’s pounding into me makes me feel like I can fly.

  “What did you say to me earlier tonight, Whit?” he pants into my ear as he layers himself over my body. His sweaty chest slips against my back. “You needed a red handprint on your ass?”

  I’m trying to think as I tilt my head back, sucking in air, trying to focus my eyes. “I think, oh God,” he grips my hip as he pushes even deeper. “I think that’s what I said,” I pant, grabbing for anything I can use to anchor myself.

  He lifts himself up and that’s when I feel his palm connect with my ass cheek. It shocks me, making me scream, but in a really good way.

  “That what you wanted?”

  It’s everything I wanted and more. “Yes!”

  And then I can’t form anymore words as he smacks my flesh again before he grips my hips, resting his forehead on my back. The only thing I can hear are his grunts and the deep intake of both our lungs trying to get oxygen, before I feel him erupt inside of me.

  Turning me onto my side, he spoons me from behind, using his index finger to flick my clit. I feel myself fly again as I explode.

  One thing is for sure. I won’t ever forget this night. Those are the last thoughts I have before sleep overtakes me again.

  * * *

  The sun is bright as it tries to invade the darkness of my closed eyes. I moan, those rays feel like safety pins poking small holes in the blanket of my eye lids. I’ve never felt like this before, even when I was a college co-ed and indulged in a few frat parties. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and I am hot, so hot. Which is weird, because I’m usually freezing. I reach down to pull the cover off me, only to figure out that I can’t pull it off, it’s heavy – as if something has pinned it down or snagged the edge. Even as I grunt and yank with all my might, I can’t make it budge.

  I pry an eye open and glance to the other side of the bed. Laying there, with the blanket down to his waist and half of it wrapped around him is Ryan Kepler. What in the world is he doing in my bed? I gasp, because there’s nothi
ng else for me to do, as I move away from him. It’s then that I feel the soreness between my thighs and memories of the night before flash through my head like a movie. It’s almost as if I’m outside my body watching us as they flood back to me. I slept with my little brother’s best friend. Holy shit! My movements must disturb him because he rolls so he’s facing me and gives me the hottest smile I’ve ever seen in my life. It makes every part of my body tingle and tremble. Every part he touched last night relives it right there in that moment.

  “Morning.”

  His voice is everything, it makes me close my eyes as I let it run through me. It’s rough and deep with sleep, tinted with the southern accent of our hometown, and I can hear all the words he said to me last night as he thrust his body into mine. It causes my face to burn, and I know right now that I have to get him out of my bed, out of my house, out of my life. I can’t believe what I’ve done. I’m an addict that’s taken her first hit of heroin.

  “Morning,” I tell him back as I get up, hugging the comforter to my naked body. I push the sheet towards him, hoping he remains covered. My eyes don’t meet his. I can’t bring myself to do it, I can’t make myself look at him and lay myself bare, it’s not how I’m hardwired – not after five years of marriage to a man who ended up either scaring or humiliating me on an almost daily basis.

  There’s a sigh, and I realize that it’s not mine. It’s his.

  “So that’s how it’s going to be?” His tone doesn’t mask the hurt.

  “What do you mean?” I can plainly hear the disappointment. I’m still not meeting his eyes, can’t stand to see what the look in them must be.

  “You know exactly what I mean, Whitney,” this time it’s clipped and pissed.

  I hear him fling the sheet off and brace myself for the raised voice, the accusation, the humiliation, but it doesn’t come. Nothing happens and that makes me even more nervous. Finally curiosity wins out and I have to know what’s going on. I lift my eyes and see him looking at me as he quietly puts his clothes on with jerky movements.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, because I am. I wish this could be different; wish like hell that I could be different. But I’m not. I haven’t been able to move on that far yet, and I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to.

  His face is dark, the beard growth covering his cheeks and chin, his hair is an absolute mess, and he looks dangerous with his chest exposed, tattoo showing. “You got what you wanted didn’t you? You proved to yourself that the fuckface you married didn’t break you completely. That’s what you needed – right?”

  He has this all wrong. It is what I needed, but not this way. Yes it was about using each other, but I never wanted it to feel cheap, and this morning, that’s exactly how it feels. “You don’t understand,” I shake my head. “You’re too young to get it.”

  His head snaps up, and now he’s pissed. Before he had been irritated, now there’s a rage. I can feel it coming off him in waves, see it in the way his eyes narrow. The words he flings with his irritation exposed, hits me harder than any fists ever could. “Don’t tell me how young I am, Whitney. I’ve seen and done things you can’t even imagine.”

  While I’m sure that’s true, I have ten years of life experience on him and I can’t say that I’m proud of what I did last night. If someone had slept with my brother and they were my age, there would definitely be some judgement – mine included – pointed toward them. I can’t change that I feel a little dirty about what I’ve done.

  I try again, using the tone I use with customers who are upset about the service they’ve received. It doesn’t happen often, but I do know how to soothe ruffled feathers. “I don’t want to offend you.”

  “Too late, sweetheart,” he says as he yanks the shirt over his head, blocking my view of that tattoo.

  “This isn’t how I meant for this to go,” I try again, holding the blanket against my middle. I can recognize that I’m bent over trying to disappear into myself, making my body smaller as not to attract his attention. I always have to explain myself, I always have to make sure that I’m understood, it gives me anxiety not to be understood.

  He finishes putting his clothes on and then sits down on the bed, covering his feet with boots. When he gets up and buttons his jeans, he walks over to me. Ryan raises his hands and I immediately pull into myself, flinching away from him, without meaning to.

  Awareness flashes in his eyes, and then his jaw sets even harder than it was. “Jesus, Whit,” he whispers.

  I try to keep the tears out of my eyes, but it doesn’t work. “Yeah,” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, looking anywhere but at him. There’s nothing else to say. He now knows every humiliation I’ve suffered.

  His touch is tender as he cups my face in his palms. They’re warm and I want to bury myself there, let him make all of my hurts better. I’m not sure I can ever give anyone that power over me again, though. “I think I do understand, and you shouldn’t have kept that from anyone,” he swallows hard, sighing again. “And if this is what you needed, then I’m glad I could be the man to give it to you.”

  “Thank you,” I tell him. I’m so grateful for him. I’m so thankful that he gave me back this part of myself, even if only for a few hours.

  “Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t kill me, because there’s so much I want to say to you right now, but I know you aren’t ready for it.”

  He’s right, I’m not ready for anything more than this, at all, and I’m lucky that he recognizes it and is man enough to realize this isn’t about him. It’s about me. This is all completely about me.

  “I’ll never forget what you did for me,” I tell him, clearing my throat. “Last night means the world to me.”

  He opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. He rocks on the balls of his feet, then shakes his head.

  Leaning forward he kisses me, softly but thoroughly, leaving an imprint on me that I’m not sure will ever go away.

  He lets me go and walks towards the doorway of the bedroom, but he turns at the last minute. “I’m gonna be honest, because this could be my only chance,” he stops and takes a breath, seems to collect himself. “You’ll never know how much this,” he waves his arms towards the bed, “means to me.”

  With that he’s gone, and I’m left to try and process just what in the world I’ve done. Those consequences I was damning last night hurt in the harsh daylight of the morning.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Whitney

  Six Weeks Later

  God I feel awful. Either I’m depressed or I’m losing my mind, not sure which. Every morning for the past two weeks it’s taken a superhuman motivation to drag myself out of bed and last night I went to sleep at seven p.m. I’m not sure it was even dark outside yet.

  Losing my mind would be easier to explain. If I’m depressed it’s because my one night, one night, with Ryan Kepler has ruined me for life. I find myself thinking about him in the weirdest parts of the day, when I shouldn’t be. I’ve dreamed about him, picked up the phone to ask Trevor about him, and more than once thought about driving by his apartment to see if he’s home. If I had known one taste of him would do this to me, I’m not sure I would’ve told him it was a one-time thing. He’s called no less than fifty times, but I can’t bring myself to answer. If I do, I’m opening myself up to something I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready for. He’s the most intense person I’ve ever met in my life, and his intensity intimidates me. The way he owned my body? While I love it, I’m not sure I can handle it.

  Losing my mind is definitely the lesser of the two evils. Admitting to Ryan he got under my skin opens me up to a vulnerability I don’t want to open myself up to again.

  I yawn, trying to force myself out of bed, but it’s so damn hard. My phone rings from my nightstand and I pick it up, seeing the name of my friend and business partner, Addison, on the line. If I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling. Today I’m not sure my nerves will tolerate it. If I continue to ignore her, she’ll just show up and sta
rting ringing my doorbell. “Hello?”

  “What’s wrong with you? Are you still in bed? You sound like you just woke up,” she’s rapid-firing questions at me and I’m struggling to keep up. My brain is sluggish and, screw it all, I just want to go back to sleep.

  “I did just wake up,” I yawn again, trying to hide the sound from her.

  “Whitney…seriously? It’s almost noon on a weekday what the hell is going on with you? I’m starting to get worried. The last few weeks you’ve been more tired than I’ve ever seen you. Do we need to hire more help? Am I letting you take on too much of the business? You’ve never complained about the workload before,” she worries on the other end of the phone line.

  I’m struggling to keep my eyes open as she’s continuing on. “No, Addison, it’s just a seasonal thing.” I hope I’m right.

  “Girl, that happens in the winter, not in the freakin’ middle of spring. Right now the flowers are blooming, birds are singing, and we don’t have to kick on the heat at night. You need to get your ass to a doctor.”

  She’s worse than my mother, which is why I didn’t want her to know I was still feeling off. “Look, if I don’t feel better in the morning, I’ll make an appointment okay? There aren’t any client appointments today and I’ll work a day this weekend to make up for how slow I’ve been lately.”

  “You know that’s not it, Whitney. I’m worried about you,” her voice softens. “I haven’t ever seen you like this, not even when you went through the divorce. Something is wrong and I wish you’d tell me what it is, or go get it checked out.”