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

by Cathryn Cade

  “What gifts?” Dmitry demanded.

  “Oh, we’re not gonna tell you that,” Rocker drawled. “Spoil all our fun.”

  “And I’d like to get back to my own fun,” Pete added. “So, we’re gonna send you on your way, special delivery.”

  The Seattle Flyers were ready. Pete moved to roll up the outside door of the bay, revealing the waiting delivery truck in the darkness. Other than a small light inside the body, the outside lights were off. They wanted no eyes on this operation.

  “All right,” Stick agreed. “Give ‘em a drink, and load ‘em up.”

  Hook moved in, wearing gloves, and with ruthless efficiency, forced each of the three brothers to swallow a pill and a drink of water.

  The Flyers loaded the three, kicking, struggling and, in Mikhail’s case weeping, into the back of the truck. A produce crate had been lined with blankets.

  “You gave ‘em blankets?” Bouncer groused, panting from helping carry the last one in. “We spoilin’ em now?”

  “Don’t want them to freeze to death on the ride,” Pete pointed out. He flipped one of the blankets over them. “After that, it’s up to Uncle Vlad.”

  Hands on hips, Rocker looked down at the three laid side by side. “Body heat oughtta keep ‘em cozy. Okay boys, night-night. Those pills should be kickin’ in real soon. You won’t even feel the bumps.”

  With Dmitry and Yvgeny spitting curses at them, the Flyers shoved crates full of vegetables in front of their captives. Then they jumped down, Bouncer closed the back of the truck, and it started up and rolled away into the night.

  Pete hauled down the garage bay door by hand, glad to have something to take out the rest of his anger on.

  When he turned back to the room, his brother was waiting for him. “It’ll all work out,” Stick said.

  “Sure,” Pete said. “All your way, just like you like it.”

  “Hey,” Stick said, holding out his hand. “Ease up, da? I’m just looking out for you here.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Pete said, stopping in the door to the hall, and gazing ahead of him at nothing rather than look Ivan in the eye, because he was close to punching him. “You’re looking out for me, just like I’m still a fucking kid, who can’t execute a plan with his brothers. Only guess what, Ivan? I’m all grown up now. Don’t need you holding my fuckin’ hand.”

  “Not trying to, just doing what I do as president of this club.”

  Pete shook his head. “You know what? Forget it. I’m gonna get Lesa and go. Enjoy your party.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Pete stalked back out into the main club room, where Lesa sat at a big table with Sara, Kit, Lindi and Velvet. Something inside him eased at the sight of her pretty, smiling face. And when her eyes lit up at the sight of him, that smile hit him right in the chest and then headed south, straight to his cock.

  Suddenly, he wanted more than anything to be somewhere alone with her. Buried deep inside her sweet, wet pussy, where the rest of the world disappeared in a fog of heat and pleasure.

  He walked to her, and bent to tip her face up for a kiss. She tasted like whiskey and Coke and her own sweet, fresh taste. “You ready to go?” he asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “If you are. We can come and party here again, right?”

  “Yeah,” he promised. “We’ll be back, no worries on that.”

  All he could think about was getting her back to the Hangar, and into his office, where they could be alone. Or maybe this time, he’d take her back in the brewery—it was soundproof, so no one could hear her sweet cries when he ate her pussy, and then fucked her hard.

  And then he’d take her home and do it all over again.

  * * *

  “Everything okay?” Lesa asked, reaching to lay her hand on his hard thigh as he drove them away from the club house. He’d been sweet with her, and smiled as he said goodbye to the other women, but she could feel tension rolling off of him in waves, and not the good kind.

  He grunted. “Yeah … no. Fucking Ivan, he’s up in my business.” He shook his head. “Just family shit, you know?”

  “Shyeah,” she agreed. “I so understand."

  “Yeah, I know you do, moye. Ivan thinks he’s doing me a big favor by going behind my back—and T-Bear and Moke’s—meddling in shit.”

  A cold, greasy finger of foreboding slid down Lesa’s spine. “He, uh, meddles a lot?”

  Pete snorted. “Yeah, not all the time, but he just doesn't see I don’t need that anymore. Hell, maybe I need to do like you did and put some distance between us. You wanna move back to the Tri with me? Or hell, how about over to Wenatchee or even to North Idaho?”

  Lesa swallowed, and stroked his thigh. He was joking, but she was going to have tell him tonight about Stick’s offer to her. And hope it wasn’t already too late.

  “No, silly,” she said. “You’ve made a success out of the Hangar. You deserve to stay and enjoy it.”

  He smiled crookedly at her as they slowed for the brewpub parking lot. “You think so? Good to know I got you on my side then. Not sure I deserve you.”

  Having absolutely no idea what to say to this, she gazed at him, taking in all that was Pete, and hoping she was going to get to do so for a lot longer. Because when she told him the truth, she might be the one leaving.

  The Hangar was quiet when they walked in, only a few guys playing pool, one of them T-Bear, a few groups at tables talking quietly over beer and wine, a couple of singles at the bar.

  Pete lifted his chin to T-Bear, gave a nod to Streak behind the bar, and hustled Lesa back through the heavy door and into the brewery.

  She let him pin her against the door and kiss her until she was hanging onto him, whimpering with need as he fondled her breasts, and then unzipped her jeans and slid his fingers into her panties, claiming her pussy in one stroke of his powerful hand. He petted her clit as he kissed her, until she was riding his hand like a stripper on a pole, her pussy clenching on nothing.

  “Fuck me, honey,” she pleaded into his mouth. “Oh, God. I need you now.”

  “Wanna eat you.”

  “Next time, okay? I want … want your cock.”

  He hissed in a sharp breath, already yanking at his jeans. “Fuck, my milaya talks dirty to me, I can’t wait either. Get your jeans off.”

  Lesa wriggled them down, kicking off her boots, and stepped out of her jeans, standing before him in striped knee socks, panties and her top.

  He ripped open a condom and rolled it on, his cock pronging out toward her, rigid and flushed and gorgeous. Lesa curled her fingers around him, pressing her thighs together to ease the ache there.

  “Fuck, even those socks are hot,” he said. “But the panties gotta go.”

  He pulled them down her thighs, bending to press his nose and mouth against her mound as he did so. “Fuck, love the smell of your pussy. C’mere.”

  He put out his tongue and gave her a few long, hungry licks, his tongue rough velvet on her sensitive folds, and swollen clit.

  “Oh, God, Pete.” She dug her fingers into his hair and held him to her, even as she spoke again. “Honey, hurry up and fuck me.”

  “Oh, yeah. My cock wants in there even more than my tongue.” He straightened, and lifted her leg up to the side. Bending his knees, he found her slick opening and thrust up and in, both of them moaning with pleasure as he disappeared inside her.

  “Come up here,” he ordered. “Legs around my ass.” He cupped his hands under her ass and lifted her up so she was impaled on him, held up by his strength.

  The wall at her back was cold and hard, his fingers dug into her ass cheeks, and with every thrust, he slammed into her inner thighs. She was so going to have bruises, but she didn’t care, not even a tiny bit.

  Because he was so big and hard inside her, filling her to bursting, and raking against her G-spot and every other nerve with every stroke.

  She held on, her arms around his neck, and took every jolting thrust eagerly, joyfully, until the world narrow
ed down to him in her arms, his mouth on hers and his cock inside her, filling her, possessing her, making every part of her his.

  She came so hard she convulsed around him, pleasure seizing her body and clasping him in secret pulses that pulled a muffled shout of release from him. He buried his face in her hair and slammed up into her one last time, then stood rigid, trembling, his cock jerking inside her.

  At last he relaxed and fell against her, holding her in place with sheer leverage.

  She petted his hair with trembling fingers, smiling beatifically to herself. “I think I like brewery sex,” she murmured. No, she loved it.

  “I know I do,” he agreed, his voice husky. He moved, letting her down carefully, and holding her until her feet were steady on the ground. “You good?”

  She smiled up into his handsome, flushed face, her heart swelling with joy. “I am sooo good, biker man.” And she would be, as long as she got to stay with him. And just like that, her heart squeezed painfully.

  Oh, God. If she got to stay.

  He kissed her one last time before stepping back. “Yeah, you are.”

  He walked away, grabbing a disposable towel from a wall rack to dispose of the condom, and Lesa bent to pick up her panties.

  “Darn it, you ripped them,” she said. Oh, well, at least they were an old pair. In fact, she was glad he hadn’t had time to really look at them, as they were faded to a dingy off-white. “I need to go shopping.”

  He turned, tucking his shirt in before zipping up his jeans, then raked his hair back with his fingers. “I’ll pay, if you get some sexy red lace ones.”

  She shook her head, smiling at him. “No, big guy. I don’t need any more money. You gave me a bonus, and Stick—”

  Oh, no. Oh, God no. She was going to tell him, but not this way.

  Pete’s chin went down, and he stared at her, a storm gathering on his face to rival the one outside as his shoulders went rigid. “My brother?” he repeated. “What the fuck does Ivan have to do with us?”

  Crap, crappity crapola. Lesa bent and stepped into her jeans, pulling them up as she tried to think. But her mind was a big, fat blank.

  “Uh …” Crap. This was so not the right time—it was the worst possible time. He was already feeling bruised that his big brother had ridden in and taken over to save his bar.

  Pete leaned forward and put a hand under her chin, lifting her face. “Talk.”

  “I was going to tell you,” she said weakly. “I was. But … he told me not to.” Oh, brilliant, Lesa. Stick’s order was more important than being honest with Pete?

  Pete’s hand tightened to the point of discomfort. “Woman, I said talk.”

  She put her hand on his wrist. “You’re hurting me, honey. Let me go, and I’ll tell you.”

  He let her go, and although she instantly wanted his warm grip anchoring her, comforting her, she instead clasped her hands tightly in front of her, and talked.

  As an icy storm gathered on his face to rival the one outside, Lesa found herself wishing she could do a move like one of her sister’s game characters, and blast out of the pub, magically arriving somewhere far away. Because she thought she’d seen Pete angry before, but now she realized that had only been irritation.

  This was anger.

  Pete turned and paced away several steps and then turned coming back toward her. And this time he prowled like a predator who was through toying with his prey, and was ready for the kill.

  “So you made a side deal with Ivan, along with the one you made with me. Sounds like you stand to profit pretty well here.” He planted his hands on the wall behind her and leaned in, his icy-hot gaze burning into hers, his breath warm on her cheek. “Wanna talk some more about trust? I think you made a big withdrawal from my trust bank, behind my fucking back!”

  She recoiled from him as his voice rose on these last words, her eyes wide, heart going thumpity-thump.

  Then she remembered that she was not the only one at fault here. He’d done her wrong first—and yes, that was little kid reasoning, like ‘Teacher, he pushed me first’ but it was true. And at the time, she’d been scared to say no to Stick, and she’d wanted as much payback as she could get to start over somewhere else.

  “I’ll tell you. But would you mind not taking your birth order issues out on me?”

  He blinked, and then took a step back and cocked his head, squinting at her as if she’d just suggested he crack open one of the big silvery vats and take a swim. “What?”

  She crossed her arms under her breasts. Men rarely got this stuff, they just reacted, trying to pretend they weren’t driven by history just like everyone else.

  “My younger sisters get ticked off at me when I try to manage things for them,” she told him. “At least Traci does, Billie’s usually in her own world, so she doesn’t notice. Anyway, your big brother may be heavy-handed, but he was just trying to help.”

  He snorted. “Stick Vanko, just trying to help. No, he was just trying to run this corner of the fucking world, as usual. And especially the part of it that I’m in. But that doesn’t explain why you were scheming with him behind my back, so cut the psych-babble shit and talk.”

  Ouch. She had the sick, cold feeling that no matter what she said, he wasn’t going to forgive her.

  Oh, she’d give anything to have already told him this. Now she felt as if one of his big vats had fallen over and was rolling toward her, ready to crush her against the wall. But it was he who’d started the whole situation rolling—she was just caught in its path.

  “I know it sounds bad now,” she told him. “But honestly, Pete? When Ivan asked me to stay, and told me he’d give me a bonus to do it, I’d already lost one job for a theft that I didn’t do, so if my life was going to be ripped apart a second time? I wanted something for it.”

  “And what I offered you wasn’t enough,” he snarled. “Offered you a job as manager of this place. And, fuck—” He closed his eyes for a second and shook his head, then laughed without humor. When he opened his eyes and looked at her again, his gaze was as cold as ice, piercing clear to her heart.

  “Wanna know the real kicker, moye? I was gonna ask you to move in with me, for real this time. Guess I should thank you for sparing me that, at least. Fuck, when am I gonna learn, fuckin’ a bitch long term never works out … especially when she’s got one hand on my dick and the other on my money.”

  Lesa recoiled as if he’d slapped her. Hurt seized her, and as he went on, all she could do was gape at him, every word an icy blow.

  “Yeah, you can go now,” he told her, sweeping one arm toward the doors. “You got your double bonuses, so you got enough to tide you over, right? Till you find another job, and another man. Maybe next time find you a banker—then you’ll really have your hands in the till.”

  She shook her head. “No. No, that’s not the way it happened, Pete. I didn’t set out to get paid off.”

  “How it looks from this side.”

  She shook her head again, and then stopped, straightening to her full height even though her stomach was tied in a sick knot, and her heart felt ripped out and stomped on.

  “You know what?” she choked. “If that’s what you want to think of me, I will go. I have had it up to here—” she sliced her hand across in front of her throat, “With taking the fall for men who don’t deserve it. So yeah, I made a deal with the devil—or two of them!"

  She gave him a scathing look and shook her head. "I thought your brother was the cold one, but you could give him lessons, Pete Vanko. You think you can manipulate the people around you like—like your precious brewing ingredients, and then stand back and watch us ferment? Well, you can’t.”

  “I hear you say you’re goin’, but I still see you standing here,” he shot back. “Go on. You think I’ll be lonesome, think again.”

  She flinched again, as this blow hit home, and a hot ache pressed against the back of her eyes.

  “No, I’m sure you won’t be,” she managed. Without another loo
k at him, she turned and hurried to the door.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Pete reached the door back into the pub before Lesa, a long arm barring her way.

  “I'm not throwing you out with no place to go,” he said, his jaw clenched, scowling over her head. “You can stay at my place till you figure out what you’re gonna do next.”

  “No.” She kept her head tipped down so he couldn’t see the tears flooding from her eyes. “No. I’m not coming back there. Don’t you worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t move. “Where are you gonna go?”

  “What the hell do you care?” she asked, reaching up to swipe tears from her face. Then she smacked his arm away, hard. “I’ll go stay at the motel tonight, come get my things tomorrow. Now for God’s sake, get out of my way. Unless you’re not quite through telling me what a mercenary b-bitch I am.”

  With a muffled curse, he finally moved aside. Lesa grabbed her coat and purse and rushed through the pub, ignoring the bikers who stopped what they were doing to watch her go. Outside, she hurried to her car and then had to stop and shrug into her coat, and hunt for her keys in her purse. Finally, she found them, and got into the car. It started up smoothly on the first try.

  As she drove away, Pete stood inside his pub, the light falling on him, tall and golden. A mirage, a dream she’d never been meant to have.

  Driving back across the main road to park outside the motel, with the other shabby rigs parked outside, after being with Pete the past weeks in his beautiful house, felt like crossing a divide in her life, returning to being a lonely outsider.

  When she walked inside, Wanda was watching TV. When she saw Lesa in the lobby, she took one look and beckoned her into her tiny sitting room.

  “Aw, sweetie. Come and have a drink with me, and tell me what’s wrong.”

  So Lesa did—without giving away any Flyers’ club business, of course—and the old lady listened with sympathy.