FOLLOW THE HONEY (Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance Book 4)

by Cathryn Cade

  “C’mon back to bed,” Pete ordered from the doorway. “And yeah, you’re sleepin’ with me. At least that way, when you wake me up with your wild-ass dreams, I don’t have to get out of bed to quiet you down. And I’m through talkin’, so move, woman.”

  Lesa tossed her hair back and glared at him, although the effect was wasted on him as he was already headed back to his bed. She followed, once again watching his every step—although she managed, barely, to yank her gaze off his long, powerful legs before he reached the bedside and turned.

  He waited until she was under the covers on the far side of the bed to snap off the light, but then had the gall to laugh as he lay back on his pillow, rocking the bed slightly.

  “You may as well c’mon over now, milaya. We both know you’ll end up over here.”

  “Not hardly,” she snapped, flouncing onto her side away from him. She’d rather bite him than snuggle him.

  “We’ll see.” He yawned again, but shut up before she was forced to beat him over the head with her pillow.

  "And what is that mee-lay-ah thing you keep calling me?" she asked.

  He laughed again. "What d'you think it means?"

  "I don't know," she muttered. “Probably fat girl or something."

  "No," he barked. "Jesus, I wouldn't call you that even if you were fat, which you're not. It means … I don't know, babe or sweetheart."

  He yawned again. "No go to sleep, da?"

  Lesa lay for a moment, gazing at the star peeking in through the window blinds, and made another list to soothe her nerves.. Disadvantage, her life had descended into weirdness like an episode of SOA—well, not that bad. Advantage, no one had been beaten up, knifed or shot.

  Also, she had her phone back, and she had some good money coming her way. For those, she could put up with this—whatever this was—for a few more days.

  And her willingness to do so had nothing whatsoever to do with the sheer male beauty of the man lying in bed behind her. No, sir. Just being practical, that was all.

  Pete Vanko had become one huge—and yes, she meant that too—disadvantage. One she’d better keep her distance from, physically and mentally. Not that she was in any danger of actually liking him—not in this century.

  Anyway, she’d call her dad first thing in the morning, and tell him not to come here. Maybe she could go to Ellensburg or Wenatchee, and look for work there. She’d have to decide what to tell her sisters, though. Billie and Traci needed to be worrying about their studies, not her. They were both in pursuit of their dreams, as they should be. They both knew of their father’s failings, which had surfaced months ago. They didn’t need to worry about their big sister too.

  And the rest of her disadvantages would turn back to advantages. She’d make sure of it … somehow. And before she left the Hangar for the final time, she was absolutely having a talk with Sylvie, Pico and Joe, and telling them she was not a thief, and that the boss they looked up to so much had blackmailed her into being the butt of their dislike and distrust. Then he could see what it was like to have people giving him looks that said they couldn’t believe how awful he was.

  On this note, and because she was exhausted, she fell asleep once again.

  Her nightmare returned, but this time it had changed. Her younger sisters were the ones she faced, and their gazes accused her.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us? We’ll quit school and handle this, since you can’t.’

  “No! No … I can do it, I promise.”

  ‘And who is he?’ they demanded, which was when she realized Pete once again held her on his lap, and he was stroking her, his big hand between her legs, the other on her breast, as if they were alone, somewhere private. And even in her distress, she was incredibly turned on.

  “Lesa. Wake up.”

  She woke with a start, and opened her eyes to the thin light of winter dawn, and Pete’s bedroom. Oh, God. At least she’d only dreamed her sisters were here. But she sure hadn’t dreamed the part about him holding her.

  And oh, mama was he holding her. She was once again snuggled in his lap, and his huge, hard, hot penis was prodding her, snug in her ass crack through her sleep pants. And his heavy arm lay over her waist, his big hand cupping her intimately as if he had a right to do so.

  Like a lover.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a mere husk. Oh, shit, could she sound more like a porn star? “Quit poking me in the ass with that thing.”

  He snorted in her hair, and his hand tightened on her mons. “Woke up this way, and you weren’t protesting when you started giving me a lap dance a few minutes ago, so I’m not gonna apologize. But I will say, if I was poking you in the ass, you’d be screaming with pleasure, not bitching.”

  “Euww! I certainly would not.”

  His arms tightened, and he groaned, clearly as turned on as she was. “Fine, just a hand-job. But you gotta take off your pants.”

  She gasped, half in outrage at his arrogance, and half in shock at the instant arousal that flooded her. No, no. Down, girl. Wait, she was lying down, with him. And that was good, because her legs wouldn’t have held her up.

  “I’m not taking off my pants,” she said, and then bit her lip to keep from informing him that he could just put his hand inside them, the way he had that first night. Because her brain knew it was a terrible, horrible idea but her pussy was already aching for his touch, as if she’d go up in flames the instant he touched her.

  She bit back a moan as he cupped her through her thin sleep pants, his longest finger rubbing back and forth, back and forth.

  “You gotta take ‘em off,” he told her, his voice deep and soft as velvet. “Unless you want me to cum on your back again. Or between your gorgeous tits, which would get me off real good. ‘Cause I don’t think either of us wants to get out of this bed without gettin’ off, and I know you’re not ready to let me fuck you.”

  Her breasts tightened, her nipples aching points of need. She turned her face against his bicep, her mouth opening as she inhaled his scent and rubbed her cheek on him, satin skin over knotted muscle.

  He stiffened around her, his breath shuddering in her hair, his hand tightening on her mons. “Jesus fuck, woman. Say yes and I’ll fuck you till neither of us can walk.”

  “No. Not that,” she said against his arm. “I don’t even like you.”

  Full penetration? That was the last frontier, the gate behind which she must not let him venture. She’d never be able to look him in the eye and tell him off with righteous indignation before she walked away, not if she let him turn her over onto her back, her thighs open, and slide that magnificently long, thick sex tool of his inside her pussy.

  And she needed to stop imagining it right now. Because she was not having sex with a man she despised, but she wanted to.

  “Don’t have to like each other to fuck,” he told her, his deep voice a sexy croon in her ear. “We get each other off, then you can go right back to hating me.”

  Her hands clenched on the sheets as he stroked her again. She shook her head, biting her lip to keep from saying yes.

  “Need to do somethin’ here,” he groaned. “Fuck, I can smell your pussy, creaming for me.”

  "I'm a woman, I'm not getting you off if I hate you," she managed. "We negotiate the terms of our agreement, or we're not doing any—any sex stuff."

  “What? We already negotiated. Oh, fine. You'll talk, I'll listen. In the morning. I swear. Now, you gonna take your pants off?"

  He wasn't the only one hanging by a frayed rope. "Yes."

  He hissed in a harsh breath, and it turned out she didn’t have to take them off, as he did it for her, with swift and ruthless efficiency. Then he filled one hand with her breast and thrust his fingers into her panties, cupping her mons and stroking his fingers into her slick, swollen folds. She whimpered as he grazed her clit.

  “You need me to get you off?” he asked her, flexing his hips to rub his cock against her ass cheeks. “Need me to fuck this little pussy
with my fingers?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, and nipped his arm, partly in retaliation for his goading and in a demand to get busy, partly just because his taut, resilient flesh felt so good under her mouth. “Just do it.”

  He grunted, his fingers slipping past the edge of her panties and inside her, hard and invasive and so right. He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

  “Now ride my hand the way you’re gonna ride my cock next time.”

  She did, and her world narrowed down to his thumb working her clit as his fingers found that magic place inside the front wall of her pussy and pressed, causing pleasure to coalesce inside her there until she arched in his grasp and came helplessly, completely his in that moment.

  “That’s right,” he growled. “Who gives you that?”

  “You,” she whimpered, coming even harder. “Oh, God … Pete.”

  “That’s right—me. Fuck, you’re workin’ my fingers so hard.”

  He pulled back and moved down, so his cock prodded between her thighs, then began to move, his face buried in her hair, big body rigid against hers as he flexed so hard and fast the bed shook under them. His cock slid easily back and forth in the slickness of her arousal.

  With a deep groan, he stiffened, and wet heat flooded her inner thighs. Now she could smell him, too. The scent of his skin was even more intoxicating, mixed with the scent of his cum. She wanted to turn over and nuzzle him, lick him, trace those inked wings with her fingers and her tongue.

  “Yuck,” she protested, even as her pussy spasmed again around his fingers at the thought of that big, satiny rod inside her. “How is that better than cumming on my back?”

  He yawned in her hair. “Use your pants to clean up. Then quiet down, da? We gotta get up in a couple hours.”

  “Bossy biker. Just don't forget our talk."

  He snorted. "Like you're gonna let me forget. Now go to sleep."

  If she hadn’t been so comfy and relaxed, Lesa would have told him what he could do with that. But she was, and moving was just too much trouble.

  She used her discarded sleep pants to clean up, and fell asleep again with his heavy arm draped over her waist, and his chest moving slowly against her back ... almost like they were really a couple.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  February 3rd

  The next time Lesa woke, she was—thank you, baby Jesus—alone in the big bed. When she moved, her panties stuck to her skin. Just that fast, memory flooded back. She pulled the covers over her head, hiding in the pillows that smelled like Pete Vanko.

  Oh, God, no. No, no, no! She’d done it again, let him talk her into groping like a couple of teens. Okay, that was it. No more. Today, she’d figure out a way—no, negotiate a way—to get away from him, and away from here … before she did something completely stupid.

  “And what would that be, Lesa?” she muttered at her flushed, rumpled reflection in his bathroom mirror. “Only thing left is full penetration.”

  And if she had to be around Pete much longer, she most likely would give into the temptation to let him have her completely. Because just the thought of that thick, satiny cock moving inside her made her pussy weep with longing.

  Giving herself a stern talking to all the while, she showered, then girded herself by bundling her hair—now hopelessly curly after sleeping on it—up in a messy bun, applied makeup including plenty of under-eye concealer for the shadows caused by her interrupted night. She donned clean skinny jeans, a long-sleeve pale blue tee under a Hangar tank top, her favorite silver dangle earrings and matching bangle bracelets, tossed Pete’s bottle of pain reliever in her purse along with her favorite lip-gloss, and headed downstairs for coffee, phone in her hand.

  Lesa entered the kitchen with a scowl, ready for Pete to smirk or say something hateful and smug about her not being able to resist him.

  But Pete sat on one of the tall stools at his kitchen island, head down over his own steaming mug. Lesa headed straight for the coffee-maker and mixed her own mug, took several fortifying sips, then turned to face him. He was rubbing his eyes with those long, talented fingers, his blond hair rumpled around his face and throat.

  “Gee, Pete, you look like crap,” she said sweetly. Hah, turnabout was fair play.

  He gave her a dour look over the rim of his mug. “Yeah, that’d be because a crazy-ass woman kept me awake half the night talkin’ in her sleep,” he said, his voice gravelled with weariness.

  She took another drink of coffee, her gaze falling away. “Huh. I slept great.” Well, not great. Too many nightmares for that.

  “Yeah, after I brought you into bed with me, you slept—and 'specially after I got you off. Before that, you woke me up twice, carrying on.”

  Damn, that was true. By now, she should’ve outgrown that childhood habit, but the stress of the last days had brought it screaming back. “What did I, um, say?” Please God let it not be something about his hands on her, and in her.

  “Hell if I know. First you’d whimper. Then you’d shout something, then you’d mumble for a while—but it was all just shit. Hell, coulda been Martian, for all I know.” He shook his head and held out his empty mug is a silent request for a refill.

  “Not Martian.” Lesa grabbed the pot in her free hand and moved to refill his coffee. “Women are from Venus. Men are from Mars.”

  “Huh?”

  She wrinkled her nose, carefully topping her own coffee. “Never mind. An old book on relationships that my grandma had on her coffee table. I think she left it there for my grandpa to read, but he used to hide it under his car magazines.” It had been kind of funny.

  Pete gave her a look over his mug. “Woman, you are definitely from somewhere out there.”

  “Yeah, and just wait till you see me transform into my true appearance on the next full moon.” If only. She’d bite his neck first, before anyone else's.

  He chuckled, and the deep huh-huh in his chest made her want to smile back. “Just don’t do it in my bar—bring in the kind of attention we do not need.”

  Lesa’s stomach chose that moment with embarrassing loudness.

  He eyed her as she clapped a hand to her belly. “You better feed that.”

  True. She’d hardly eaten yesterday. And it was his fault, so he could darn well share his food. Shoving her phone into her jeans pocket, she opened the fridge, and examined the contents. “You have a blender? I could make a fruit smoothie.”

  “Knock yourself out,” Pete said, and yawned. “Bottom cupboard. Whip me up some waffles while you’re at it.”

  She snorted, pulling out his blender, a new and powerful model. “Right. How ‘bout some crepes and a quiche too, while I’m at it?”

  “Sounds great. I’ma go take a shower.” He padded away, and Lesa avoided the temptation to ogle his bare back and arms by opening cupboards.

  Okay, she totally ogled him, then she looked in the cupboards. She found canned peaches, strawberry jam, fresh bananas, and a container of Greek yogurt in the fridge. Everything she needed for a smoothie.

  Pete could whistle for his waffles … or they could hit the drive-through window at the local burger chain. They served breakfast now.

  She ended up with enough smoothie for both of them, so she poured two tall glasses full, and perched at the island to power up her phone while she drank her own. It was cold, sweet and delicious.

  As expected, she had a raft of messages, five from her father, two each from her sisters, and a few from friends.

  She listened to her dad’s messages first. By the time she reached the last one, his normally mild voice was agitated. And then he said the words she dreaded.

  “Leesey girl? Don’t know why you’re not answering your phone, but it’s making me worry more. I’m coming up there. Be there at your Hangout place tomorrow afternoon, you better be there, and that pissant boss of yours too, or I’m calling in the heat, and coming down on them like a ton of shi—manure! Now call me back soon as you get this, and no more stalling, you hear m
e?”

  She sat, guzzling her smoothie, and pondering what to do. Finally she texted him.

  ‘Daddy, sorry I missed yr calls. Phone battery was dead. Pls don’t drive all way up here. I’ll call you, ok?’

  Pete came downstairs a few moments later, showered and dressed in a black western shirt, jeans and black motorcycle boots, only the top half of his hair pulled back, so damp strands teased his collar. He still had shadows under his eyes, but he looked much better.

  He held out a black, puffy jacket to her. “Here, take this, wear it while it’s so cold.”

  Lesa took the jacket. “Who’s is this?” It was down-filled, soft and light in her hands, and a woman’s brand. If it had been left by one of his fuck buddies, she was not wearing it.

  Pete shrugged, picking up his smoothie and taking a sip. He took a longer drink, and another. “Hell if I know. Been here since a party the club threw when I bought the place last February. No one’s ever claimed it. It’s been in the back of a closet since then, may as well use it.”

  “Okay, if you’re sure,” she said, stroking the sleek fabric. The brand said it was a high-end fashion garment. And thankfully, it didn’t smell of cigarettes or stale booze, just faintly of expensive perfume.

  Pete walked away, draining his smoothie, clearly done discussing. The coat fit, which meant the previous owner had been curvy too. Zipping it up, Lesa slipped her hands into the pockets. What a prize, like finding a good brand in her size at a thrift store.

  She looked up to find Pete watching her as he pulled on his own leather coat. She was surprised to see a look of satisfaction on his face, although it disappeared as he raised his brows at her. “Ready to roll?”

  She drained her smoothie and rinsed the glass. “Okay. Wait, my purse. I’ll be right back.”

  “You call your old man yet?”

  She glared up at him. “I texted him, and that’s all you need to know.” Although it might be too late.

  Pete's answer was a hard look that said he might want her warm, but he didn’t care one bit about her privacy. She growled under her breath. Part of her wanted to rip the gifted coat off and throw it at him. Instead she stomped up the stairs to get her purse and mittens. They headed out into the cold, frosty morning and into town in silence, broken only by Pete reminding Lesa to put her damn seat-belt on.