by Alison Kent
He wanted rough and he wanted wild and he wanted to knock a hole in the wall with the headboard. He wanted to tie her to it, climb up her body, and shove his cock in her mouth. But this was Faith and he had to think of her. If he ever wanted to have her again, and goddamn but he wanted her often, he had to make this worth coming back for, because Faith did not sleep around.
He moved one hand to her hip, his other to her pussy, his thumb pressing down on her clit, rolling over it side to side. She gasped, her fingers tightening on his thighs, and he did it again, then flicked the nub of nerves softly, a butterfly touch that had her muscles flexing, her breath hitching, her skin growing slick with the sweat of her lust.
“Casper,” she whispered, her voice coarse and caught in her throat.
Hearing her force out his name, he nearly lost it. “C’mon, baby. Come for me.”
“Shh. Quiet. You’ve got to be quiet.” Her eyes were still closed, her chest rising and falling.
He grinned to himself because she was the one doing all the talking again. “As a mouse, baby. Just come. All over me. I wanna feel you milk me dry.”
“I can’t wait,” she said, riding harder, faster. “I can’t wait. I can’t wait. I can’t wait.”
She came before he could tell her to be quiet, that her brother might be a heavy sleeper, but she was nearing the waking-the-dead decibel level and even Boone might not sleep through that. And then he quit thinking about anyone but Faith because Jesus H. Christ, she was tight, and she was tugging him, and she fell forward, her hands on his shoulders holding her weight.
She rode him like a wild mustang, back and forth with her hips, up and down, grinding the base of his cock and dragging her tits across his chest. He wanted them in his mouth, but settled for his hands, pinching her nipples until she yelped, then braced her forearm on his collarbone to return the favor.
And she didn’t stop with tweaking him, but breathed against his ear and nipped his earlobe, licking him, sucking his skin, bruising him, marking him. That was what set him off, the thought of wearing Faith’s brand. He hooked a leg over hers and rolled the both of them to the other side of the bed, reaching for her knees and sliding his arms beneath them.
He held her gaze as he slammed his body into hers, his cock sliding deep and hitting bottom, her cunt slick and inviting, her eyes huge and damp. He wanted to ask why she looked so terribly sad, but he was too far gone, and it was all he could do to keep his mouth shut while his balls bucked up and exploded, his cum pulsing in jackhammer spurts he swore were going to tear him apart.
He thought he’d never finish, his muscles bunching until they were spent, and he collapsed on top of her, crushing her, knowing he needed to move, knowing he didn’t have the strength. Faith didn’t complain. She kept her ankles crossed in the small of his back, her arms around his neck, her fingers massaging circles at the base of his skull.
Later, when his blood returned to his brain, he was going to have to figure this out, what was going on here, what they’d just done. Why he didn’t want to jump from the bed and find his boots and light the hell outta here. Why Faith smelling so sweet in his pigsty of a room had him wishing he’d given her something better than this. Hell, a bed of clean straw in the barn would’ve been better than this.
Finally, she lowered her legs and pushed him off. He fell to the mattress, his cock slipping from her pussy, then wrapped himself around her. He wanted to go again, but he wasn’t going anywhere until he recovered. If his exhausted body let him…
He was just drifting off, Faith’s weight at his side comforting and right, when she shifted, rolling away to sit up. Figuring she needed to pee, he drowsily asked, “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You weren’t crying, were you? Earlier?”
“No, Casper. I wasn’t crying.”
“Good. Then come back here.”
She shook her head, her hair brushing across her back. “I’ve got to go.”
He wasn’t so drowsy now. “No. You’re spending the night.”
“I can’t. If Boone heard any…of this, I can’t be here in the morning. He can’t know I was the woman you had in your room. If he asks, I’ll just tell him I couldn’t sleep for the noise.” She was on her feet, her ear at the door.
“What’re you doing?”
She turned to him, brought her finger to her lips, then started pulling on her panties and top. “I need to get back to my room and get my clothes before he gets up for the bathroom or a drink or something.”
He didn’t want her to go. He could stand up to Boone. They could get this particular truth out in the open, let the chips fall. Life might get messy, but it would go on. That was about him, however, and he had to think of Faith. First, above all else, he had to think of Faith.
“Okay,” he said, searching for his shorts. “You get to your room. I’ll head to the john. If he hears anything, he’ll hear me.”
She gave a nod, pulling her hair from the strap of her top, then looked down to where his cock was jutting again. “Are you going to go like that?”
He waved his shorts. “I’ll dress when I’m done.”
“Men are disgusting.”
“It’s just a cock, darlin’. Nothing your brother hasn’t seen before.”
“Disgusting. Like I said.” Then she hopped up on her toes to brush her lips over his before scooting down the hallway.
He headed in the other direction, glad for her sake to hear the epic snoring coming from Boone’s room. He made enough noise himself in the bathroom to mask the sound of her taking the stairs to the kitchen, and he left the water running, the old pipes clanking as if ready to fall from the walls, until the small frosted window showed her headlights coming on once she’d made it from the ranch yard to the road.
Then he decided since he was already naked and the steam was heating up the place, he might as well shower to save the time in the morning. And he did, lathering away the stink of the day and all traces of Faith’s smell, stripping the sheets from the bed once back in his room.
Not up to hunting down clean ones—did they even have clean ones?—he tossed the comforter on top of the seen-better-days mattress, collapsed on one half and covered up with the rest. But it was a long time before he fell asleep, and he did so missing Faith and feeling empty in ways he hadn’t known he could feel.
And hurting in places he couldn’t remember any two-thousand-pound bull ever making him ache.
EIGHT
THE SUN FALLING fast into the horizon behind him, Casper held his breath for a lot of the ninety-mile-per-hour drive from Luling back to Crow Hill. The plan had been to make a quick trip to town at first light, check in with Clay, and see where things stood with the water, the electric and gas, and the appliances.
Once he knew the state of things, he’d make a list of chores for the boy, before heading back for his own long day digging postholes for the new holding pen. That had to be done before he and the boys started a couple of days from now preconditioning steers.
Then, after knocking off this evening, it would be back to town to feed the kid and pick up whatever else Clay needed for cleaning. That done, he’d make a run out to the Summerlin ranch and put in an hour or two with the horses.
But today’s schedule had been blown all to hell when he’d arrived home last night, found Faith near to naked, and lost most of his mind.
Goddamn, what a night.
He hadn’t been laid like that in months. Hell, he didn’t think he’d been laid like that in his lifetime. For one thing, he’d been sober. But the biggest difference was that he’d been in bed with Faith. Faith with the gorgeous high tits and the willing mouth and that way she had of sounding like he couldn’t do anything wrong. That every which way he moved was exactly what she wanted.
He’d moved a lot because of that, sweated a lot because of that, and passed out after like a damn dog. He’d slept straight through sunrise, only waking when Boone slammed a fist against his door and told him
to put on his pants. He’d barely had time for coffee, much less breakfast, before the three of them had made for the holding pen.
He hadn’t thought about Clay until lunchtime, when he’d been sitting on a stack of fence posts downing a ham sandwich, and Bing and Bob had raced by, making him wonder how Kevin would fit in. Yeah. He was the guy Clay had come looking for because he didn’t have anyone else.
After that, he’d slammed through the rest of the day, taking off even though it had been his night to cook supper. Boone wouldn’t be happy, but Boone was a big boy and could fend for himself. It was Clay Casper needed to get to.
Instead of raising more eyebrows shopping in town, he’d made a quick run to Luling for a microwave and more groceries, crossing his fingers the power company had come through. He’d thought about a mini-fridge in case the one in the house was dead, but decided not to be stupid. He’d wait until he knew before spending that money. It would make more sense to pony up for a full-size secondhand one anyway.
All that aside, he was still on the hook for abandoning the kid. For all he knew, the boy had split, deciding his word wasn’t worth shit. Hard to argue that one.
As he pulled to a stop in front of the house, he glanced toward the front windows, glad to see Clay was sticking to his end of their bargain and staying out of sight. It was a bargain Casper knew would get both of them in trouble, but it was the only way he could think of to keep the boy in Crow Hill.
Why he felt the need to do so was yet another question he couldn’t answer, filed just beneath the ones about Faith coming to his bed. All he knew was that Clay had crossed two states to get to him. That was a responsibility he wasn’t going to shirk more than he already had.
He left his purchases in the truck bed and walked to the back of the house, looking for footprints that would tell him if anyone had been inside the gate. Stupid, when he couldn’t see his own, the damn yard being so dry. But there was a big pile of dog shit—oh fucking joy—a fresh one, telling him his squatters were still here, and at least one of them squatting.
He tested the faucet next to the back porch, glad to see the water running. Now to check the electricity, the gas, and the appliances. He took the steps two at a time, frowning at the vibration riding up his arm when he pulled open the door. Crap. If the pipes were bad…
He stepped into the kitchen just in time to raise his hands and deflect the full garbage bag Clay pitched at his head.
“Thought you were coming back this morning.”
That had been the plan. And then he’d forgotten Clay even existed. “Yeah, sorry. I got hung up.”
“Whatever,” the boy said, turning to leave the room.
Casper tossed the bag into the mudroom, realizing the trash dump was gone and replaced by dozens of similar bags stuffed to bursting.
Then he realized the rattle he’d thought was the water pipes banging in the wall was the washing machine running instead. He walked back into the utility room, checked the hoses for dry rot and leaks, but found none. Then he looked up to catch Clay staring.
“Just checking things,” he said, as if owing the boy an explanation, which he didn’t.
“I checked things,” the boy said, as if anyone who didn’t know to do so was dumb.
Crabby little thing, wasn’t he? “Where’d you get soap to wash your clothes?”
Clay gave a nod toward the garbage bags. “Found some detergent boxes in the trash. Scraped enough dried soap from the bottoms to do a load.”
Clever kid. And clean kid. His hair was about ten shades lighter without all the grease weighing it down. “Looks like you had a shower, too. Scraped together some soap slivers, did you?”
“There was a bar in the bathroom upstairs. And I took a cold shower. I didn’t want to light the hot water heater and blow shit up.”
Smart kid, too, though since he’d known to check the washer’s hookups for leaks, Casper shouldn’t have been surprised. “Thanks. I’ll put detergent on my list. I did buy a microwave.”
“Cool. The fridge finally came on, but I didn’t mess with the stove.” He shrugged, stuffed his fists in his baggy cargo pants. “That blowing-shit-up thing.”
“Guess you were the man of the house at home, huh?”
“Because I know how to work appliances?
“No one ever taught me.”
“No one ever taught me either.”
And yet they’d both had reasons to learn. Casper didn’t want to think Clay’s home life had been similar to his; Angie had seemed like a real good mom. But the more he was finding out about the boy, the more his curiosity was getting the better of him—and the more he was beginning to doubt that he’d ever had a clear picture of who she was.
Hardly surprising. He didn’t think he’d ever been with her sober.
He pushed aside the past, rubbed at his jaw. “I’m still thinking it would be better for you to be at the ranch.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone knowing I was here.”
“I don’t, but it doesn’t seem right, you being here by yourself.”
“Yeah. I get it.” He kicked his sole at the floor, marking it. “Right is putting me in a foster home where I have to share a ten-square-foot bedroom and one chest of drawers with three other guys.”
Anger itched its way up Casper’s spine. “Thought things in those places were monitored. That there were rules. Regulations. To keep stuff like that from going down.”
Clay only shrugged. “The girls’ bedroom was a converted den. They used the built-in bookshelves for their clothes. But it was pretty big. They had space to fold up all the laundry. Towels and sheets and rags. Go through papers and magazines for coupons. Clean up old junk for garage sales.”
Casper felt his blood pressure rising. “This was a group home? Or a sweatshop?”
“It was a foster family.”
“With seven kids.”
“It was clean. They fed us. Corn Flakes and ramen and hot dogs. I figure most of the state’s money went to the fifty-inch flat screen, stuff like that.”
And now he wanted to get his gun. “But they didn’t hurt you.”
“If you mean physically, no,” Clay said, and left it at that.
Casper thought about the size of this house. He’d lived a lot of places before coming to Crow Hill. Apartments. Trailers. For a while in a car. But when he’d been Clay’s age, this was the house he’d called home.
Thousands of square feet left empty while he’d holed up in a bedroom smaller than the one Clay had shared with three other boys.
He’d just shared his with spiders. “I’m going to talk to my partners, see if they mind me moving you out to the ranch.”
“I’ll be fine here, if it’s going to be a problem.”
“It won’t be. And I’d feel a lot better having you out there. We’re working on a new pen tomorrow, so I’ll feel them out then. In the meantime…” He looked around the kitchen, walked across the big room to the door leading into the hallway, and flipped the switch there on the wall.
The bulbs in the fixtures along the corridor’s ceiling burst to life. Three stayed lit, two fizzled and popped. The light was enough for now. “Grab a couple of trash bags. I’ll get you started on the first floor. Should keep you busy till I can get back here tomorrow.”
And then he took a deep breath, preparing to face six years he’d thought he’d put away forever. The closets where his old man had locked him, the marks cut into doorframes when he’d jumped out of the way of belts and fists.
The one deep gouge in the plaster left by a knife that had nicked him before cutting into the wall. He raised his hand and rubbed at his shoulder, wondering if the dried blood in that room was still visible, or if bugs had eaten it away.
If the papers he’d scribbled full of hate and silent screams were still hidden between the studs at the head of the bed where he’d slept.
“You okay?” Clay asked from behind him, the trash bags rustling in his hands, Kevin shaking his head and flapp
ing his ears in impatience.
Casper was still standing in the doorway, staring the hallway’s length, wondering how many nests of wolf spiders lurked in the woodwork.
“Yeah. Let’s go,” he said, and swallowed as he tugged his hat brim to his eyes.
NINE
FOR TWO DAYS now, Faith had not been able to stop thinking about the things Casper had told her in bed. Not about loving her body, and getting off to having her, and what the sight of her naked on top of him did to his cock and his balls. She’d had to push that part of the night to the back of her mind so she could try to make sense of the rest.
The frightening, sobering rest.
His mother had sold sex at Bokeem’s Truck Stop. She hadn’t supported him with her waitressing income and tips after his father had left. And he’d known this the whole time he’d been at Crow Hill High, while she hadn’t had a single clue.
How many others had known? Boone and Dax? The faculty? God, had his teachers known? His coaches? Her parents? Had Tess and Dave Dalton been aware of the life Casper had lived on Mulberry Street? For all intents and purposes, he’d raised himself, a thought that had her chest growing tight around the sadness it contained.
She couldn’t imagine growing up without her family in her business. Sure, she’d bitched about curfews, and weeknight suppers eaten together at a properly set table, and Sunday mornings at the First Baptist Church. And she’d acted out. Not as far out as Boone had, but still. She’d never felt alone or adrift. She’d had a foundation, a place to feel safe.
How had Casper lived otherwise, knowing what his mother did, having no father or other family on his side? No Christmas dinner or help with homework or cheering section on the sidelines of the football field. Had that excuse for a home life been at the root of his hell-raising ways?
