by Lane Hart
Hearing him say cuddle makes me smile. Just thinking about the big, bad, bearded biker cuddling has me giggling in amusement. Giggles that don’t seem to want to stop. Oddly enough, my mouth also feels like it’s full of cotton. Back to his request, Brede does have lots of amazing tattoos that I noticed when I undressed him, so I want a closer look at all of them. I didn’t have much time earlier before I sucked his cock and he put his tongue between my legs. In my…pussy. It’s odd to even think the vulgar word, much less imagine saying it. But after what he just did…wow, it felt so incredible, like nothing I could have ever imagined. I would do anything to have him do that to me again, including begging him by saying the words, Please lick my pussy.
Getting to my feet, I notice that I’m a little dizzy, and my legs are still shaking from the out-of-this-world orgasms before I quickly climb underneath the unmade bed covers for the warmth and to hide my nakedness. After everything we just did, I can’t help but feel…vulnerable. Behind me, the mattress dips and the sheets lift before Brede slips into bed behind me. His strong, heavy arm goes around my waist, and then his calloused hand reaches up to cup one of my breasts.
“Is this how you cuddle?” he asks while still kneading my boob. I nod with a smile on my face, even though I’ve never actually cuddled before last night. “Then I guess it isn’t all bad,” he says, giving my boob a heavy squeeze. “So tell the truth. You liked my tongue in your pussy, didn’t you?”
I nod again, more enthusiastically, making Brede chuckle. “Told you so,” he mutters into my hair. “But you’re not into ass play?”
That question has me quickly shaking my head.
“That’s too bad, but plenty of women declare that a no-fly zone.”
My shoulders relax now that the air has been cleared, without him being a jerk about it, even though he’s usually sort of an asshole. It’s…surprising.
“You smell good,” he says, his nose buried in my air. “You taste even better.”
Warmth spreads across my cheeks at the reminder of him tasting me between my legs. It reminds me of my late night prowler telling me he wanted to do the same.
“So…you can talk, you just don’t?” he asks, and I give a nod of confirmation. “That sucks because I would kind of like to hear how good I taste. I mean, you’ve let me come in your mouth twice now, so I assume you like it.”
Smiling even though he can’t see it, I answer with a nod in the affirmative.
“Nice,” he remarks with a pinch to my nipple that makes me squirm my ass against his crotch. “You’re really fucking good at it, too.”
I shake my head in denial since that can’t be true. Even after yesterday, I still have no clue what the hell I’m doing.
“Yeah, you are. Last night I rubbed one out just thinking about you on your knees with those assholes watching, wishing it was their cocks in your eager little mouth.” Against my bottom, I feel the hard poke of what must be his erection, and it feels nice, more than nice. I want him to press forward. I want him to push me onto my stomach and do what he was doing earlier when I freaked out.
Why do I get turned on thinking about him taking, not asking? Shouldn’t I want him to be easy and gentle with me? There must be something seriously wrong with me.
“See, now this is fucked up because you don’t say anything, and I can’t see your face, so you got me wondering girly shit like what’s going on in that mind of yours,” Brede says, making me giggle.
Rolling over, I come within inches of his handsome, bearded face propped up on his elbow. I can’t resist running my fingers through the hair on his fuzzy chin, and thankfully he doesn’t snap at my hand this time. The black designs on his chest catch my eye, so I trail my fingernails down his smooth skin that portrays two big stars with a huge, detailed eagle in the center. The wings span above his pecs, with the head and body in the center, running down the length of his sternum. Moving lower, there’s a snake with an arrow through it on his side, and realistic looking pistols angled over each of his sexy pelvic indentions with the barrels directing your eye to his large cock. I’ve never seen but one other erection before, but his seems massive, jutting out so far it’s rubbing against my stomach. I’m almost certain it’s gonna hurt going in me. And I’m sure it will be going inside me, eventually.
“They’re addictive,” he says when I move up and start tracing the outline of a handcuff tattoo attached to what looks like prison bars on his bicep. Below it there’s a dog tag or a license plate with a six digit number in it. Moving over to his right arm, there’s a beautiful angel with long flowing hair and dress. Her eyes are closed, and there are teardrops on her cheeks.
Unable to tell him how beautiful his tattoos are, I lean down and brush my lips over the angel, then the eagle, the snake and finally the gun, remembering the one he took from me. If I had it and bullets right this second, I don’t think I would be able to pull the trigger. Not after the way I know Brede and my late night guest can make me feel, and how both talk to and look at me like I’m not invisible for the first time in my life because they both see me.
“Why did you buy that gun yesterday?” he asks, obviously thinking about the same thing.
I debate whether or not to tell him the truth, but since that’s not what I’m after anymore, I show him, making the shape of a gun with my index finger and thumb and sticking the tip of my finger in my mouth.
“What the fuck!” he exclaims. When I glance away from him, he grips my jaw so tightly it hurts, forcing me to look at him. His icy blue eyes are angry like I just said I was gonna shoot him and not myself. “I thought you were scared of being alone, not that you were fucking suicidal!”
Not knowing how to respond, I shrug my shoulders.
“Jesus Christ! Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he shouts, letting my face go and reeling back away from me. “Why? Because life is so goddamn hard for a spoiled little rich girl? Or is this just some cry for attention bullshit?”
My throat burns from holding back the tears that instantly form in my eyes. The bastard has no idea the hell I’ve been living in for ten years. How dare he judge me!
So pissed that I barely refrain from slapping him, I scramble off the bed and start looking for my clothes, jerking them on as I find them. My bra is the most difficult part to put on in a scornful hurry. My hands don’t seem to have any coordination.
“Blair,” Brede grumbles on an exhale like I’m some ill-behaving child.
Finally dressed, I yank the bedroom door open and storm through the house, crossing the living room full of Brede’s gaping friends and out the front door. Sure, I’ll have to walk, but I would rather walk a thousand miles than be on the back of a bike with that jackass!
Why does he have to be a jerk, belittling the shit I’ve carried around for years, responsible for my mother’s death, being forced to lie and ruin an innocent man’s life and not being able to speak a word? He’s one of the few reasons I didn’t want to end my life. Well, him and a strange man who climbs in my bedroom window at night. They both make me feel so good that I can’t hold the words inside anymore!
Stupid me, I have my purse but I don’t have a phone, just my house and car keys, so no way to call a cab. I’m an idiot. And, of course, his friend’s house has to be outside the city limits, in the middle of freaking nowhere.
Chapter Eleven
Brede
“Goddamn…motherfuck…son of a bitch,” I grumble as I try to quickly redress. Knowing she wanted to kill herself, and that I’m the reason she didn’t is beyond fucking ironic. The idea of her blowing her own brains out flipped some sort of switch inside me. My entire chest seized up like it was being struck with a sledgehammer over and over again with each thump of my heart. Which is fucking bizarre because I didn’t realize I still had the worthless organ. I figured it had turned black and shriveled up by now, and that I could kill anyone at any time since the blood of a heartless murderer runs through my veins.
So while I may have been sent h
ere to take her life, there’s something truly messed up about her wanting to take her own. Like she shouldn’t be so fucking depressed or some bullshit, and knowing she is…
“What the hell is going on?” Rog asks when he steps into the bedroom and shuts the door.
“None of your fucking business,” I tell him, propping my booted foot on the mattress to tie it.
“It is my business. The DA wants to know why she’s still alive.”
Steeling my features, I finish cinching up my boot and stomp around the bed to face him. “You saw her, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. I saw her alive before you came in here and fucked her, and then you just let her walk right out the damn door. I should’ve ended her myself for that big ass payday.”
My fists clench tightly by my sides as I try and figure out a way to maneuver out of this rock and a hard place I’ve gotten myself into. Protective instincts I’ve only had for my squad mates in the Army are resurfacing at record-breaking speeds, so much so that without a doubt I could kill the man in front of me just for even mentioning harming a hair on Blair’s head. Hopefully it won’t come to that.
“What’s the rush?” I ask Rog, going with the first thought that comes to me. “Because he said I’ve got until next Friday. Eight more days. She sucks my dick so fucking good that I’m gonna keep playing with her. Just tell the DA I’m on it.”
“What’s in it for me?” he asks with a raised reddish-orange eyebrow.
Fucking greedy ginger. Swiping a palm over my face, I do the math to decide how much money I can part with.
“Two hundred grand.”
He rubs his thumb over his lip in consideration before he finally nods. “Deal, but I want to fuck her, too.”
“No.” The word flies out of my mouth so fast it nearly gives me whiplash.
“Why not?” Rog asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Not until I fuck her first,” I amend to cover my ass.
“But you just…” he motions toward the unmade bed and the general vicinity of the room that still smells like sex.
“Oral only. I haven’t popped her cherry yet,” I tell him honestly. “And I am gonna be the one who fuckin’ pops it.”
“What the hell are you waiting for?” he asks with a scrunched forehead. “Go find her and haul her ass back her so we can bust that shit up right now.”
We? Fuck that. I may like it rough, but I would never force myself on a woman, and definitely not Blair. I’d rather chop my balls off before I hurt her again like I did earlier by rushing her into something she wasn’t ready for. That’s right; castration would be less brutal than seeing her look so broken.
“I’ll let you have her when I’m finished with her,” I tell Rog just to appease him.
“Hurry up,” he says, his hand gripping the now open door. “And by the way, you know that if you pussy out on this, there’s gonna be a price on your head, too,” he adds before he walks out of the room.
After he’s out of sight, I stand frozen in place, knowing damn well that in a matter of seconds, every fucking thing I’ve ever known has just changed. I’m not gonna get that money that I desperately need because I’m not gonna kill her.
Somehow, in a weird twist of fate, I may have stopped her from committing suicide when I took that gun from her. Realizing what she planned to do…there’s no way I can end her life, not when the thought of her taking it herself makes me feel like I’m dying. Which means, once the deadline is up, I’ll be on the run, not safe until that fucker is dead.
Wow, the solution is so damn simple, why didn’t I think of it before now?
I’ll just murder the DA, and then Blair, as his daughter, will inherit all of the asshole’s money. She and I can then live off that shit for the rest of our lives, far away from this godforsaken hellhole.
The rest of our lives?
Did I seriously just think about settling down with one woman? A woman I just met who won’t even fucking talk to me when she’s not pissed, and now that she is pissed at me, I’ll be lucky if I can get her to breathe the same air as me? I guess I’ve got some begging to do. And honestly, I’ve never begged a single day of my life, but for her…yeah, that sounds about fucking right. It’s only been five minutes at most since Blair stormed out of here, and I already miss her, more than just getting her naked, even if that is what’s on my mind around her ninety-five percent of the time. I actually want to just…be near her. Which may be difficult after I was an asshole.
Needing to get going, I quickly throw some of my clothes that are strewn around the room back into my duffle and take it with me out the door to cram into the bike’s saddlebags. I have a feeling I won’t be coming back here again.
And fuck, I could really use a cigarette right about now, but I need Blair more.
Chapter Twelve
Blair
I’ve just made it off the long, gravel driveway and onto the main, paved road when I hear the roar of a motorcycle behind me. My spine stiffens knowing I’ll have to deal with him even when I’m so freaking angry and hurt.
“Blair, get on the fucking bike,” he shouts over the rumble of the engine when he pulls up next to me. I continue to stare straight ahead, ignoring him. “Don’t be so goddamn melodramatic,” he adds.
At that comment, I scoff and stop walking long enough kick the back tire of his bike like a toddler having a temper tantrum before continuing my journey down the long road of contempt. Bastard. Why does he have to look so good naked? I love his tattoos, not all of which I’ve had a chance to examine. The individual pieces of ink are dark and dangerous, but put them all together and they transform his muscular body into beautiful, intricate artwork.
Brede speeds off down the road, and I quickly try to smother down my disappointment that he gave up so easily. Really it’s best since I don’t want to see him or hear his voice right now. In fact, with each gust of the wind from a car whizzing by, I consider stepping out into the highway. On this backroad, the speed limit is sixty, so everyone goes at least seventy. That should be enough to kill me on impact, right? But I haven’t recorded my message yet that will right my wrongs, and I don’t have a damn phone!
As I walk, I decide my next stop will be to buy a cell phone or ask someone in town to use theirs. A mile or so later, based on the ache of my feet, I’m swiping the wetness from my cheeks with the heels of my hands when I’m suddenly attacked, completely blindsided by my assailant.
Strong arms band around my waist, and then I’m hefted into the air, kicking and swinging my fists because I’m emotionally raw, and how dare someone try to kidnap me! Don’t I have enough problems with a rebel biker and the breaking and entering intruder every night?
When I’m tossed over a hard shoulder, I see my attacker is wearing a plain, gray t-shirt and jeans covering an ass that looks familiar. Familiar because it’s the clothes I removed from Brede just a few minutes ago. My body sags in relief that it’s him, but I keep smacking on his back to try and make him put me down, still angry at him after his harsh words.
“Hope you know how to swim,” he says right before he jumps and then I’m drenched and gasping for breath underwater.
That asshole!
He lets me go, and I surface in the cool water with my arms swinging, trying to find and connect my fists with his head. Over the sounds of my splashing, I hear Brede’s deep laughter, so I start moving in that direction. Finally, I spot him through the slimy water dripping down my face, assuming he’s dunked us into a pond or a lake. My clothes are heavy and clinging to my skin. Certainly I must look like a drowned rat, and he’s still laughing at me.
I swim toward him, leaping for him the last few inches to press his shoulders down, trying to drown his handsome, mocking face, but it doesn’t work. The water’s not that deep, shallow enough that it only comes up to his neck, so he just stands there and grabs my wrists to halt my attack. As he pulls me to him, despite my continued protests, I notice for the first time how soggy his hair and beard
are. Water droplets are dripping steadily from his chin into the water like a leaky faucet, making me giggle uncontrollably.
When I quit fighting him, Brede lets my wrists go to reach up and swipe away the chunks of my hair matted to my face so that I can see clearly again. I blink the water out of my eyes and grab onto his shoulders to keep my head above water. Of course, I can swim since my mom took me to classes when I was five, but now I’m chilly since it’s early summer, and his body is so warm.
We both take a minute to catch our breath from the jump and laughter, and then the silence starts pressing down on us, reminding me that I’m supposed to be mad at him. I watch as the humor fades from his pale blue eyes, leaving them serious, which makes me uncomfortable. Like he’s sensing I’m about to pull away, Brede wraps his arms around my back to hold me in place against him.
“When I was only a few weeks old, my mom killed herself,” he says softly, and all the fight I had left in me instantly floats away. “Her and my dad were young, barely seventeen, and unmarried, so they weren’t planning on having kids. Apparently she couldn’t deal with it…”
My mouth forms the shape of an O since now I understand why he flipped out earlier, and I feel like shit for being so childish when he lost his mother before he knew her.
“My dad never told me how she did it, but a few years ago I looked up her death certificate. It was a single gunshot wound to her head. So, yeah…”
I cup his bearded jaw and stroke my thumb over his cheek to express my sympathy or more like my empathy. He and I might be complete opposites, but there’s one thing we have in common, we’ve both lost our mothers, him much earlier than even I did. I’m not sure which is worse, knowing her enough to miss her, or never knowing her at all.
“I’ve done a lot of horrible shit in my life,” Brede says softly. “But stealing that gun from you was maybe the only thing I’ve ever done right.”
