Expose

by C. D. Breadner

  “My place?” she suggested, pulling back to gaze down at his face. His eyes were on hers immediately, mouth still open so he could draw enough air.

  “Your place,” he agreed softly. “I have to get away from these assholes first.”

  She had to smile. “Just tell them the truth.”

  He barked a chuckle out. “That I’m horny?”

  She ground into his groin again. “Yeah,” she answered as he growled in the back of his throat. “Tell them that.”

  “Are you off soon?”

  “I only came in for this. It’s my night off, yeah.”

  He was nodding, eyes raking down her neck, chest, stomach. “I’m sneaking out the back with you then.”

  She chuckled, a sound that was lost in a gasp as his hands slid up her thighs, thumbs teasingly close to her crotch. “Okay,” she whispered, brushing her lips across his. “They might worry about you, though. How about this: I’ll head home. You know where I live?”

  “Yeah,” he answered immediately. Tank knowing her address wasn’t weird; it gave her a warm wash of happiness that he had some kind of second-hand knowledge, like he’d asked after her or something.

  “Okay,” she replied after a pause where they just stared at each other. “I’ll get changed and go home. You get there when you get there?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yeah.” Then his large hands were cradling her jaw, pulling her in for another kiss. He was so warm, so sweet, his lips working against hers so gently she wouldn’t have believed it if she wasn’t feeling it. One of those large hands slid down her neck to caress her breast, his palm brushing against her nipple. She moaned, arching her back, that pebbled bundle of nerves wanting much rougher treatment. But he denied her that.

  “This is crazy,” he whispered, eyes falling shut as his forehead rested on her collarbone.

  One of her hands smoothed down his hair. Rose’s cheek pressed to his head as his arms came around her tightly, holding her. His flannel shirt tickled her breasts at first, but then it was just nice to be held.

  “Might be crazy,” she agreed after a moment. “But I won’t regret it.”

  He pulled his head back to look up at her again, smiling that brilliant grin of his. “Well damn, I hope not. I’ll try to make sure of it.”

  Rose grinned back before planting another controlled kiss on his lips. “Then let me go, Cowboy. I’ll go light some candles, drink a beer or two. And if you take too long I’ll get started without you.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Don’t wait too long for that. I might want to watch.”

  “Then hurry,” she whispered, scrambling off his lap. “I’ll be waiting.” She darted around the room, collecting her clothes then made for the door

  “Wait,” he called out as her hand circled the knob. She turned back, clothes clutched to her chest.

  “What?”

  Tank got to his feet, not discreet about adjusting his crotch as he came her way. He got close, one arm coming up. “My hat,” he explained, plucking it off her head and returning it to his own. “Although, it looks better on you.”

  “I doubt that,” she quipped, darting out the room before she could get distracted by his scent and proximity again. Her heart was hammering, she could feel the heat in her face as she plopped down in front of her makeup mirror again, catching her reflection. She was grinning, eyes bright. Jesus, she looked like a love-struck teenager.

  She had to admit, it was a good look. If she said so herself.

  Chapter Five

  The good thing about a birthday celebration was that it only took about five rounds of shots before the birthday boy didn’t really have to be around anymore. His brothers were six sheets to the wind by the time he got his raging hard-on under control and joined them.

  Knuckles was grinning around his Coca-Cola straw, half-rising to pound fists with him. “How’d you like my present?” he asked knowingly, dropping into his seat while elbowing Fritter.

  The Southern gentleman in return bolted upright, nearly toppling over due to his level of intoxication¸ glass raised. “Happy Birthday, Veep!” he shouted. Tank grabbed a beer bottle, whoever it belonged to, and clinked it to Fritter’s tumbler.

  “Thanks, Fritter,” he returned, sinking into his spot next to Knuckles.

  “How was my present?” Knuckles repeated, eyes twinkling and his shit-eating grin twice as wide as normal. “She look good? I bet she was dressed right up.”

  Tank accepted the tequila shot Tiny handed over with a nod of thanks. “Yes, Knuckles,” he replied, monotone. “She looked fantastic.”

  “Cowboy boots?”

  “She was wearing cowboy boots,” he confirmed on a wince as the tequila burned him on the way down. Playing it cool was going to be easy with that shit rotting out his esophagus. “Thank you,” he said with a wink. “She was lovely.”

  Knuckles cackled away, leaning into Tank’s arm. “Lovely. Jesus, she makes you a gentleman. Must be the accent.”

  More girls, a bit more tequila, and his guys were sufficiently distracted. They were collecting more party mates to take back to the clubhouse, since the dancers on occasion were known to join them. Sometimes the sweet butts got their noses out of joint to have the competition, but guys like Knuckles, Spaz and Tiny saw sex as a team sport, so no one was ever left out of the celebrations.

  As the crew was circling the club to the alley that led to the clubhouse compound, Tank peeled off. But of course Knuckles noticed.

  “Big guy,” Knuckles called out, catching up to him. Tank cursed under his breath, turning back to the cold-eyed fucker while reaching into his pocket to pull out a cigar remnant and his lighter.

  “Yeah?” he asked around the Cuban, lighting the end.

  Knuckles pulled out a cigarette, lighting it as well. “Where you headed?” he asked on the first exhale.

  If Tank didn’t know any better, he’d swear the guy’s eyes were twinkling. “Nowhere, man. Don’t worry about me.”

  Knuckles grinned. “You off to meet someone?”

  Tank shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Who?”

  Tank exhaled a plume of cigar smoke. “Does it matter?”

  Knuckles raised both hands in self-defense. “Easy, just wondering. You’re leaving your own party. Not that I blame you, because I have a pretty good idea where you’re going.” Knuckles raised a fist. “Go get her, man. ‘Bout fucking time.”

  Tank bumped fists just to shut the guy up, then turned away again, shaking his head.

  “Have fun!” the asshole shouted after him. “Make me proud, big guy!”

  Tank flipped him the bird over one shoulder, hearing the guy’s insane cackle as he rounded the corner.

  He did know where Rose lived, that hadn’t been hard to figure out in a town the size of Markham. He’d witnessed her walking home one night, gave her shit. From then on she’d been driving the two blocks, rolling her eyes every time he asked if she was driving or walking. But their banter back and forth was one of his favorite things about her.

  Until that day, that is. Jesus. He’d watched her dance before, seen her basically naked plenty of times. But this evening, having her perform just for him … It hadn’t felt like she was working, or maybe she was just that good at her job that he believed it. When she’d climbed onto him and kissed him, he was so strung out from want that he immediately dismissed his earlier concerns about pursuing anything other than a working relationship.

  They were adults. They could handle this.

  He turned down an alley that he knew led to her apartment, intending to shortcut it to her building. Behind her apartment complex he heard a “Cowboy!” shouted, and he looked up to see Rose on the fire escape overhead, leaning on the railing. She had a beer in her hand, her hair was loose and framing her head like a halo and her smile was white and bright in the streetlight.

  He stopped, taking a long drag on his cigar before dropping it and crushing it under his boot heel. Then he smiled up at her. “You dropping th
at ladder for me?” he asked.

  She moved away from the edge, out of sight, and he heard the metal shriek as the black iron dropped to knee height. With a grin he got his first hand and foothold, scaling the ladder and stepping off the stairs on her level. She was climbing out of the window as he did so, holding out a beer for him. He took it with a nod, giving himself a chance to really look at her while he took his first sip.

  She was wearing a gray skinny-strap tank top, her breasts looking high and tight in it, nipples peaked in the night air. Her skirt was the same material as a T-shirt, a navy and gray striped pattern to it, nearly to her ankles. The top of the skirt folded over, and above it she was showing some of that drum-tight stomach that made his mouth dry.

  Good thing she’d handed him a beer.

  She smiled and moved past him to the railing, leaning back on it, crossing her arms across her stomach. He looked down, somewhat disappointed to see that she was barefoot. “Where are the cowboy boots?” he asked, letting the disappointment show.

  She laughed, head back. “They weren’t mine and they were a bit small. They were killing my feet.”

  “That’s too bad,” he lamented, taking another long pull. “Might have been my favorite part of the outfit.”

  She pretended to be insulted. “Not the underwear?”

  He grinned then. “The clothing looks best on the ground, English.”

  She let her grin fade, pushing away from the rail and heading for him. He loved how that body moved, so lithe and graceful. She was gorgeous walking; she scrambled his brain when she was actually dancing.

  Rose took his hand, pulling it slightly. He followed her through the window, stepping through it onto a bench-type seat, then onto the hardwood floor of her apartment. He let his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, provided solely by a few candles, as promised. The radio was softly playing some kind of hippie-dippy music, which was fine by him.

  The girl liked her accessories. There were collage photo frames on the walls, all adorned with scarves and necklaces that he knew she wore from time to time. They weren’t part of the décor. It was all scattered and kinda messy, but artfully so. The throw on the blue sofa was zebra print, the armchair blood red. The coffee table was painted aqua. The walls were a weird melon green, or so he thought. It was hard to be sure in the candlelight.

  He remembered he wasn’t alone when Rose stepped in front of him again, taking the beer from his hand. She set it on her table, then ran her hands up his arms, pushing off the leather from his shoulders. Tank shed the kutte, folding it and setting it on the armchair. When he turned to her again she was pulling his flannel shirt open, and that, too, she pushed off his shoulders. He let it hit the ground, hands going to her hips, squeezing them, amazed by how small yet strong she seemed.

  Her beautiful, graceful hands pressed to the center of his white muscle shirt, sliding upward until her arms came around his neck. He was watching her face closely, and she was just studying parts of him. Her lips were parted as she did it, those dark eyes skipping over his chest, arms, shoulders, neck, up to his mouth and then his eyes.

  “I’m not even nervous,” she whispered, smiling slightly.

  “Were you before?”

  She shook her head. “I guess you’re not that scary,” she teased, eyes twinkling.

  Tank grinned, sliding his hands around that narrow back to reel her in so he could get his mouth on her again. When his lips hit their mark he inhaled, still shocked at how sweet it was to kiss her. He’d never tasted anything so fresh, so new, in his entire life. And the way she kissed back was like a whole new kick to the head. She dropped one arm under his, hand clutching at the back of his shirt hard enough he felt her nails in his back.

  Oh hell, that gave him all kinds of ideas.

  She was good with that tongue, too. Aggressive while still being sweet. He couldn’t kiss too hard or too fast with her, she was right with him no matter how tightly he clutched her to him or how roughly their teeth hit each other.

  His erection was hard and painful, his denim and belt rough enough to keep him in check while still reminding him how soft her belly was on the other side of it.

  His hand cupped her ass, pulling upward so her hips rolled into him. She went up on her toes with it, moaning. That sound alone gave him the confidence to lean her back, walking her to the sofa until her legs hit it and she had to sit down. He dropped to his knees in front of her, ending the kiss by pulling away and running his hands up her thighs. This floppy skirt was soft, cuddly. And he wanted it off.

  Rose was breathing hard, squirming in place as his hands slid under the hem of the skirt, finding her ankles first. He skimmed his hands up her skin softly, not grabbing, just gently brushing all the while. Her legs kept moving like she couldn’t sit still, slouching back into her sofa. Her knees were already parted around him, so gaining access was easy. He pushed all that fabric up to her waist, eyes catching sight of the neon-blue panties she had on. Not a thong like she usually wore at work, they almost looked like short-shorts but a lot smaller. Having her reclined, legs open and squirming, was suddenly all he wanted in life.

  Tank brought his eyes up from those panties, recognizing the look on her face as she rested her head back on the sofa. Yeah, she expected him to do the work and get her going. Hardly a lot to ask of him. His mouth was already watering.

  He had to lean forward on his elbows to hitch a few fingers into the waistband of her underwear. As he pulled down, she raised her hips, one of those moments that always made him grin. Permission granted.

  He tossed the fabric over his shoulder, eyes on that prized skin that was bare and open to him now. Not a single hair, everything visible. Jesus, she was perfect everywhere. His hands slid under her ass cheeks and pulled her forward, increasing her slouch on the sofa. She gasped when he did it, but before that was finished she was moaning because his mouth was on her.

  “Tank … oh Tank.”

  His eyes cast upwards he caught sight of her arching, squirming more, her arms over her head, clutching at the back of the sofa. As he thought: gorgeous to watch. Even better to taste.

  She was like honey. But tangy at the same time. Already wet and slick when his tongue teased at her opening. So he contented himself with just her clit, lapping at it in even strokes while she moaned behind a bit lip.

  He knew he was on the right track when her left foot struck out for the coffee table and her red-painted toes hooked around the edge. Her right leg wound over his shoulder, circling his back. He nearly grinned, but he was busy watching, listening, waiting.

  Rose didn’t disappoint. She let loose with a guttural groan, back bending to an impossible angle, every limb tightening dramatically before twitching and then relaxing in ebbing shudders. So completely free of pretense, he felt like he might have been intruding.

  With his tongue he got rid of any excess wetness, which was pointless but he liked it, and she twitched as though she couldn’t handle it. Then he wiped his chin and beard with one hand, rising to his knees in front of her and reaching across for his kutte. He pulled a couple condoms free, and before he had tossed the leather back to its place she was sitting up, panting, eyes dewy and warm, pulling at his undershirt. He let her yank it up over his head, then fell still as her hands slid over his skin.

  “So strong,” she whispered, sliding both palms down his chest to his stomach. He wasn’t cut or shredded, never had been the type. He supposed he fell into the husky category. Tank absently wondered if she preferred over-inflated and defined muscle.

  Her lips pressed to his chest and he closed his eyes, her hair tickling his cheek. Then her nails raked up his stomach and he hissed. It tickled.

  “Sexy,” she declared, still whispering. Her dark eyes found his again. One hand clamped around the back of his neck and she pulled him in to kiss again, the other pulled his belt open and had the button to his jeans open in mere seconds. More thrusting tongue, dueling lips as he rose his ass off his heels to get his jeans down f
ar enough. He let her hold him just so as he rolled a condom in place, working by touch. He wasn’t breaking that kiss for anything.

  When he was ready, Tank grasped those firm hips again, pulling her off the edge of that couch and lowering her onto him, slowly, inch by inch.

  Halfway to the mark she released his mouth to gasp, eyes opening to stare into his. Inches from his face. When he was to the root she leaned back, rolling her hips to slide up and then take him back in again. He grunted, eyes closed, trying to get used to the feeling, which was impossible because it felt so fucking good.

  Her skirt hid everything from view. He could only stare into her eyes, those deep pools of uncontrolled heat, as she kept both hands on the back of his neck for leverage, riding him so painstaking slowly and completely. Every nuance of her expression cranked him up more. When she’d ease up on her hips and he’d hit that spot inside she was looking for, her eyes would flutter, and she’d gasp, every damn time. And when she’d lower back onto him, it was his turn to grunt, hands tensing on her hips.

  He realized he wanted her shirt off. He slid his hands up her sides, taking the top with them, until he had it off over her head.

  Fucking perfect. He suspected they weren’t real, but he could give a shit. Her breasts filled his palms warmly and he pulled and pinched her nipples Rose gave a high cry, biting her lip but keeping her eyes in line with his.

  It could have been hours, might have been fifteen minutes. He had no fucking idea. He was watching her as she climaxed again, whimpering through it, when he realized he’d actually made it this far without losing it.

  He wanted it, though. It hurt, he had to release so bad. With a spin he angled her away from the sofa, lowering her to the floor between the couch and the coffee table carefully. She was trying to catch her breath, but she smiled up at him so brilliantly. “Cowboy,” she moaned, eyes falling closed like she was still trying to cope.

  “What is it, English?” he asked, trying to catch his breath as well.