by Cathryn Cade
“Damn,” Pete said, peering out at the road. It did look entirely white under the streetlights, and he saw Rocker’s big classic Charger sitting outside, exhaust curling up, headlights on. “Better hit the road then. You got a woman in your car there?”
“Yep, and she’s primed and ready to go a few rounds, so I’ll just be getting back to her.”
Rocker’s expression changed, softened, and Pete turned to see Lesa in the office doorway, wearing only the thin tank and her jeans, her hair a wild tumble of curls. She gave Rocker a quick, awkward little wave and disappeared again, like a teen embarrassed to be caught. Pete grinned to himself.
Rocker looked back at Pete, speculation in his gaze. “Good luck with that one, bro. Guess I’ll be headin’ home, let you two get going too.”
Pete’s shoulders’ tightened. “What’s that mean, good luck?” Did Rocker know something shady about Lesa he hadn’t shared?
“Nothing, just she’s more settlin’ down material. Doesn’t strike me as the kinda woman a man, even a brother, fucks and forgets.”
Pete snorted. “She settles down with anyone, won’t be me.” He had yet to meet the bitch he couldn’t fuck and forget. This one might be a sweet, hot ride, but she was just another woman. He’d have no trouble with that.
His friend lifted his chin in wry acknowledgment. “’Bye, Lesa,” he called, in a teasing sing-song.
“’Bye,” she called back, her voice muffled.
With a last grin for Pete, Rocker ambled out the front doors. Pete followed him to make sure the security code was set, then waved as the big car rumbled away.
In his office, Lesa was on her hands and knees on the sofa, peering over the back. She lifted up on one foot and reached behind, giving Pete a great view as her round ass thrust out at him. Now there was a fine position.
He grabbed his tee and pulled it on. “What’re you doing?” he asked, picking up his shirt.
“Looking for my bra." She straightened, tossing her hair back in a messy fall before giving him a look of embarrassed exasperation. “You threw it behind here, and I can’t reach it.” She wriggled her hips as if she was uncomfortable, and tugged at one side of her jeans. Probably a little sore—he’d taken her hard. But hell, she’d asked him to, and she’d sure as hell enjoyed it. Her little pussy had squeezed his cock like a fist, and she’d whimpered his name there at the end.
He opened his mouth to tell her to leave the bra where it was, that she could wear her Hangar tees without it. Then he remembered that without it, other men would have the view he was now getting of her gorgeous tits. Her nipples poked at the thin knit of the tank, and he could see the dark outline of her aureoles too. Also, he was sure she had other bras, but he liked this one. He wanted to buy her more, just like it … maybe in red, with a matching thong.
“Move, I’ll get it,” he told her. He knelt on the sofa and fished behind it, finding the bra with a dust-ball clinging to it. Time to get on his janitorial service, make sure they cleaned under the furniture once in while. He lifted the thin apparatus of lace on one finger and handed it over. “Might wanna wash that before you wear it again.”
She stuffed it in her coat pocket. “I will, don’t worry. I can’t stand putting clothes back on when they smell like fried food and beer.”
He grabbed his jacket, and put it on. “True. One of the drawbacks of working this business.”
“I didn’t mean the Hangar is bad,” she told him, pulling on her shoes and tying them swiftly. “One of the places I worked, the owner let people smoke? God, it was awful. I had to get in my car stinking of cigarettes and grease every night. I would’ve reported him, but I needed that job.”
He led the way out into the pub. “You gonna report the brothers who bring their e-cigs in to enjoy with a drink?” he asked wryly.
“No, of course not,” she said. “If I don’t have to smell like it, or breathe their smoke, I don’t care. It’s still bad for them, but that’s their problem.”
Pete chuckled. “Yep. Bikers have a way of gravitating to things that are bad for them. Wild living, wild women, wild times.”
He’d done his share of that shit before he and Stick opened the Hangar. Now the party came to him, along with women, but the rest of it had palled.
Did he miss being fancy free, ready to get on his bike and hit the road whenever he pleased? Sometimes, but not all that often. He enjoyed rides on his days off, and he partied at the club, but he liked being here, liked knowing he was the one who gave folks a friendly place to eat and drink. Anyone who got too crazy, he could throw out.
“No kidding, bikers like things that are bad for them,” she agreed. “Like motorcycles—although I would love a ride on one of those big Harleys. Maybe I’ll ask Streak when the weather gets nicer.”
He scowled to himself. The hell Streak would put her on the back of his bike. If she was getting on the back of anyone’s bike, it would be his.
But what the hell he was doing thinking about that with her was beyond him. Spring was months away, and he never stayed with one woman that long. And fuck, they weren’t together anyway. She worked for him--which meant he may’ve bought a front row ticket to a shit show,just by fucking her once.
“C’mon,” he said. “We need to hit the road.”
CHAPTER FORTY
As Pete led the way outside, the cold wind whipped snow into their faces. He unlocked the truck and put her in, then walked around. He was glad he’d left Dima at home, although the big dog would be waiting by the back door of his house, ready to dash out and do her business.
He started the truck, then scraped off the windshield and the back window, squinting against the icy wind. When he climbed in, Lesa was waiting for him with the defroster turned up, her eyes wide.
“Are we going to be okay to drive in this?” she asked. “It’s like a blizzard out here. Maybe we should stay in town—oh, except Dima. Oh, my gosh, we have to go home for her. She probably really has to go, right?”
He gave her a wry look. “Glad you settled that for us. Relax, we’ll be fine. Wouldn’t drive if I didn’t think so. Rather have Dima piss or shit on my floor than be an idiot.”
He shifted into gear, and they moved off slowly through the storm. A semi passed, coming into town from the west, the wind whipping snow around them even harder in its wake. For a few seconds, he was driving blind, the night outside nothing but a dense curtain of white. His passenger let out a quiet gasp and then was silent, but he could feel her tension. Thank God after the semi, they were the only ones on the highway.
Pete turned off onto the county road and drove right down the middle, keeping it slow and steady.
“What did Rocker want?” she asked, rubbing her mittened hands on her thighs, like she wanted her mind off the fact that they could see nothing outside but the falling snow, the black night, and the edges of the road a few feet before them.
“Checking in to make sure it was me, not someone else in the Hangar.”
She nodded, her curls sliding against her coat. “I guess the Flyers are about as fearsome a security crew as you can get, right?”
Despite the tenseness of the conditions under which he was driving—was that the turn just ahead, or just another farm turnoff—Pete had to grin at this.
“Yeah, guess you could say that. Still get low-lifes up from Spokane, though, or farther, don’t know who we are and don’t care. Once in a while, we have to educate.”
“I don’t think I want to know how you do that.”
“Nope, and I wouldn’t tell you anyway. Club business.” Ah, there was the crooked pine tree that signaled the turn-off for his road. He made the turn, stopped to put it in 4-wheel-drive, then drove on, feeling the extra power kick in smoothly.
The truck fishtailed a little as they plowed through a drift, but they’d be fine. He’d put good tires on the truck. He also had sandbags in the back to put weight on the back tires. If they did get stuck, he could break open the bags, and dump sand under the tire
s to give them traction. And, the rebuilt engine had the horses to power through as needed.
Lesa was quiet as he drove, and that was good, because he needed to concentrate. The worst drift was right where he’d expected, on the other side of the little grove of pines. He set the truck at it, and they floundered a bit, but powered through. Even if they’d gotten stuck here, they were close enough to walk the rest of the way, but hell if he’d surrender to the elements unless he absolutely had to.
They rolled into the farmyard, and under the carport. As Pete turned the motor off, his companion gave an audible sigh of relief.
“Oh, my gosh, that was … nerve-wracking.”
“Yeah, glad I don’t have to do that every day. You didn’t wet your pants on my upholstery, did you?”
She gave a huff of disgust, and opened her door to slide out. Grinning to himself, Pete followed suit, and then reached in back to heft the big insulated cooler out. He braced himself against the wind, squinting as it blew snow into his face. “Grab onto my coat,” he called. “Hard to see in this shit.”
He led the way along where he knew the walkway was to the back door. She followed, and huddled in behind the storm door while he keyed in the code.
The green light blinked on, and Pete opened the door, bundling Lesa ahead of him into the warmth and light. Dima, sure enough, was at the back door, dancing in place in her eagerness to get out. She slipped by them and dove into the night.
“Will she be okay?” Lesa asked, stopping as if ready to go back out and keep an eye on the dog, even though she was still hunched into her coat, shivering under her snow-laden hat. Her nose and cheeks were pink, and she had snow on her long lashes, until she blinked and it fell onto her cheek, melting swiftly.
Pete reached out to wipe the plop of melting snow off her cheek. Her skin was soft and cool under his thumb.
“Dima? She’ll be fine. Her nose will bring her back, not that she’s gonna go far in this weather.”
He stepped back out, grabbed the cooler and brought it in. She hurried to close the door behind him, then pulled off her coat and hat. “Ooh, it’s so warm in here, nice. What’s that, groceries? When did you buy those?”
He set the groceries down on the floor by the frig, and opened it, beginning to unload the bin. “Didn’t, just made a list. One of the brothers and his old lady, Webb and Velvet, buy groceries for me, and I pay ‘em for it. They’re retired, except for watching the twins and shit.”
“Oh.” She yawned hugely, and stretched. “Need help putting them away?”
He closed the frig, and slapped the lid back on the cooler. “Nope. The rest are dry, we can get them in the morning. Go on up. I’ll be up soon as Dima’s back.”
She was in the shower when he trudged up the stairs. Pete pictured hot, soapy water sliding over her magnificent curves, and his cock twitched happily. Then he yawned, and rubbed his eyes. He had just about enough energy to fall into bed and snuggle up.
There’d be time enough in the morning for more fucking. And for whatever else he could dream up, because he had a feeling they wouldn’t be going anywhere until the plows came through.
Which sounded like a fan-fuckin’-tastic deal to him.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
February 6th
Lesa woke to the sensation of the covers being pulled slowly down her body, and her sleep tee—which she may have stolen out of Pete’s drawer—being nudged up by a pair of big, stealthy hands, and followed by a whiskered face that nuzzled, and sniffed, and stopped once to nibble gently. The sensitive skin of her back sent instant messages like ‘yesss, more’ and ‘ooh, that feels so good. Bet it would feel even better somewhere else’.
“Mmm-hmm,” she moaned sleepily, arching her back and drawing one leg up before her.
Then her eyes flew open as those long, calloused fingers probed between her legs, and pulled aside her panties. The bed moved under her as Pete slid downward.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped. “Don’t look at me there!” Thank God she’d washed up when she got home, but even so.
He was still for a moment, and then the bed quivered. He laid his face on her ass cheek, emitting strangled noises. Finally he gave up and laughed aloud, a deep, attractive sound of mirth.
Her face—and she was pretty sure her entire body—flaming with a hot blush, Lesa reached back and swatted him. Then she grabbed a handful of silky hair and yanked.
“Ow!” he grunted, still chuckling. “Might wanna quit that, ‘cause I got my hand on something a whole lot more sensitive here.”
Since he did and was tickling it, she let go his hair, but wriggled, trying to dislodge his hand.
“Yeah, keep doin’ that,” he ordered. “That is sexy as fuck.” He stroked her wet folds, slid two long fingers just inside her, and pressed a wet kiss to the lower curve of her ass.
Just that fast, she went from trying to get away to wishing desperately he would stroke up a little higher, or deeper, or something. “Pete.”
He nipped her lightly, and then nuzzled his face against her ass. “Mm-hmm? I like the way you say my name when you’re hot, baby. Say it again.”
“Pete … would you just …”
“What, milaya?” He stroked her teasingly again, his hot breath soughing against her bare skin. “Say it.”
“Pet me. Use your fingers inside me—and on my clit, like you do.” Oh, my God, she’d said it out loud. She hid her burning face in the pillow, then whimpered when he complied, his knowing fingers finding her clit and circling it with teasing lightness. But then he stopped.
“Turn over,” he ordered, and smacked her bottom lightly with his free hand.
She lifted her head. “Why?” She could hardly see him through her tumbled hair, but his stance said he was focused utterly on her.
“’Cause I wanna eat your pretty pussy, and I can’t do that if you’re layin’ on it. Plus I wanna look at your tits while I do it.”
Lesa’s pussy convulsed, pleasure and need streaking through her body from her nipples clear to her toes, which curled against his warm torso. “You want to what?” Oh, my God. Last night he’d said she was pretty down there, but what if in the light of morning, he realized her tummy was too round, or her trimmed but still natural snatch was gross?
He reached up and stroked her hair back from her eyes and tipped his head, studying her. “What’s wrong, you have to pee or something?”
“No! But I … are you sure?” She wrinkled her nose at him.
“Fuck me,” he said slowly, his gaze turning hotter and more intense. “Moye, haven’t you ever had a guy go down on you? Put his mouth on you and make you scream?”
Her expression evidently said it all, because he smiled slowly, and then shook his head. “Fuck. Me. I’m gonna eat you so good, moye. Gonna make you scream my name and beg me to do it over and over again.”
“I doubt that,” she said, although even as she spoke she doubted her own words, because when he gave her upper leg a tug, she lifted it and rolled to her back as directed. Oh, my God, he could probably make her cum just by looking at her this way.
He tugged her legs apart, lying on his elbows between them. “Now take my shirt off, baby.”
Lesa was more excited and nervous than she’d ever been in her life—because the night before had been amazing, but it had happened so fast, so physically, she hadn’t had time to be nervous. This was slow, and premeditated and incredibly sexy in a whole ‘nother way.
He was going to look at her all over. And touch her all over. Put his mouth on her all over. She fumbled with the shirt, and he squeezed her leg. “Moye. Take the shirt off now. Or do you need a spankin’ to get you in the mood?”
“No!” she huffed, glowering at him. Although when he waggled his brows at her, she had to lift the neck of his shirt up and hide in its folds for a few seconds to hide her urge to giggle, because a tiny part of her sort of did want a few smacks from his big hand. God, she was an idiot.
Slowly, she worked her arms
inside the sleeves, then pulled the shirt up from the inside. Her breast swung free, and she lifted it over her head and pulled it back, freeing her hair. She did her best to hold her tummy in too.
When she tossed her head, flinging her hair to one side, Pete watched every move. She felt his pale gaze on her like a physical touch. Her breasts swelled, her nipples tightening to hard, aching points. Heat pulsed down through her, and her pussy spasmed again, so needy she wanted to squirm.
“Jesus, fuck, you’re hotter than a stripper at State Line,” he approved. “Now lie back, and let’s get these panties off you. ‘Cause I’m hungry for the taste of you.”
The taste of her? Eep, just like in a romance novel. Men really did like that.
When she sat, gazing dumbly at him, he lowered his head, narrowing his eyes under his brows, and then growled deep in his chest. Coming up on his hands and knees, he crawled over her.
“Look out, look out, little brunette riding hood,” he said. “The big bad wolf is hungry, and he’s gonna eat you all up.”
Then he kissed her, an open mouth, wet, completely lascivious kiss, and leaned in so she fell back in the pillows. The kiss lasted until she was kissing him back hungrily, her hands coming up to caress his sides, and slip up over his back, tugging at him.
He was all sleek, muscled heat and power in her grasp, and holding him over her made her pussy clench, longing to have him inside her again. God, he was turning her into a complete slut.
“Nuh-uh,” he muttered, as if she’d spoken. He nuzzled his way down her throat, to her breasts. “We’ll get to that, baby. But now I wanna taste. First these.”
He cupped her breasts in his hands, pushing them up, growling again, and Lesa giggled, half nerves, half at his silliness. “Don’t bite, Mister Wolf.”
“Oh, I ain’t gonna bite these beauties,” he promised. “Just suck real hard.”
