by Tonya Brooks
“John,” her strangled voice pleaded. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” he said as his lips and tongue continued their gentle exploration.
“Why?” She moaned in agony.
His goatee tickled her flesh and she knew he was smiling when he replied, “You have beautiful lips.”
She snarled in frustration and grasped his head with both hands. Wild blue eyes met intense blue as she demanded, "Make me come, John. Right. Now!"
He flashed that melt you with a look smile and said, "All you had to do was ask, darlin'."
She was wound so tight, all he did was tap two fingers firmly against her clitoris and Cyn went off like a rocket. Fireworks exploded behind her eyes and lightning flashed through her body. She screamed John's name again and again in rapture. Her mind went blank; a haze of euphoria enveloping her as consciousness faded away.
When Cyn became cognizant of her surroundings again, she was bundled warm and snug inside of a blanket yet her entire body was shivering. She felt two strong arms wrapped around her and smiled in utter contentment. John was holding her cradled against him as his smoky voice crooned something soft and soothing, lulling her deeper into the purest form of peace that she had ever known.
"John," she sighed and rubbed her face against the warmth of his chest.
"Hey, darlin'," he said softly and placed the gentlest of kisses atop her head. "Welcome back."
"Umm," she responded vaguely and forced her heavy lids open. The statement made no sense to her hazy brain, but the cocky self-assured smile he wore had her asking, "What?"
"Never had a woman pass out from pleasure before," he admitted with a smile so wicked that it should have been illegal. "Gotta tell ya, darlin'. That shit was awesome."
That was when comprehension dawned. Holy sweet baby Jesus! Her orgasm had been so intense that she had actually lost consciousness. He was right. That shit was awesome. "Oh. My. God," she breathed in awe. "That's never happened before."
"I can guaran-damn-tee it'll happen again," he promised and the intensity of his blue eyes assured her that he was more than ready to start all over again.
"You talk a lot of smack for a man who's still fully dressed," she pointed out with her usual sass.
His laugh was downright sinful as he hugged her closer. "That's the beauty of it, darlin'. We never got around to having sex," John reminded her arrogantly. "Can you imagine what it'll be like next time when I'm buried balls deep inside you? With my pearls rubbing your g-spot and clit with every stroke? That shit's gonna send you into orbit."
"John."
"Yeah, darlin'?" Cyn gave him look filled with enough heat to singe his eyebrows.
"Make me see stars," she dared.
God love him, he did.
Chapter Eleven
Sunday, June 1
Cyn woke and stretched languorously. Her entire body felt so relaxed and boneless that she never wanted to move. The gentle kisses trailing up her thigh quickly dispelled her of that foolish notion. Blinking sleepily, she lifted her head and smiled when she met his intense blue eyes. “Good morning,” she said softly. John proceeded to give her a good morning ‘kiss’ and it was a wonderful way to start the day.
Much later, neither of them knew or cared how they had wound up hanging off the foot of the bed. They merely scooted back up onto it and collapsed together in a tangled pile of limbs, their feet resting on the pillows. Once she regained the ability to speak, Cyn kissed his cheek and said, “Thank you for last night.”
John laughed softly and replied, “Darlin’, you might have been too far gone to notice, but I was seeing stars right along with you.”
“Not that,” she giggled, holy effin’ shit, she actually giggled like a giddy teenager. This man had the strangest effect on her because she had never been a giggler. Then again, she'd never been completely wanton before either, so she wasn't about to complain “Although that was pretty damn spectacular.”
“So what are you thanking me for?” He asked curiously.
“For the song,” she clarified. John had dedicated several songs to her since they met, and he sang her to sleep every night, but him leaving the stage and singing directly to her while they danced was the most romantic thing she had ever heard of. Her heart had melted right along with the rest of her. "Best. Seduction. Ever."
His arms tightened to give her a gentle squeeze and he replied, "Damn, darlin', you're good for a man's ego."
"Ha! Like your ego needs stroking," she grinned up at him and asked, "What possessed you to do it or is that your normal hook-up routine?" Something about the thought of him pulling that move with other women caused her spirits to sink a bit. So not a good sign. Temporary, she reminded herself sternly. This is just temporary.
"Yeah, about that," he said and rubbed his chest absently. Don't say it, he warned himself. John knew he shouldn't. With anyone else he wouldn't. But this was Cyn, so... Ah, hell, he was gonna say it. "Gotta tell ya, darlin'. Didn't like the way you and the underwear dude were eyeball fuckin' each other."
"We were not!" She exclaimed and leaned up on her elbow to stare down at him in surprise.
"Yeah, ya were," he disagreed. "You couldn't keep your eyes off of him."
"Well, duh," she said with a laugh. "He is my favorite designer and you know how I am about my shoes. Besides, I've never met a celebrity before. It was exciting."
"Uh huh," was the doubtful response.
That was when it hit her. John was jealous! A tiny part of her sat up and cheered before her brain ruthlessly squashed that ridiculous idea. They were temporary and he didn't want a relationship any more than she did. This was the typical reaction of an alpha male trying to mark his territory. Hmm. Maybe she should teach this bad boy a lesson.
"Well, he is a handsome devil," she teased. "Have you seen his underwear ads? Oh, mama, what that man does for a pair of briefs."
He merely grunted in response. Or maybe it was a growl. It had certainly sounded like a growl.
"And he does live up to his reputation," Cyn pressed even further and gave a little shiver. "Lord, is he sexy."
He did it again and this time it was definitely a growl.
She could barely keep a straight face as she stared at him wide eyed and said, "If you hadn't danced me out of my clothes I might have wound up banging his headboard last night."
Yep, he was growling alright.
John flipped them over and brought his body down firmly over hers, his eyes as intense and focused as lasers. "That what you want?" He demanded.
"Nope," she denied and draped her arms around his neck.
"Sure as shit sounds like it," he pointed out, not at all appeased.
"Don't get me wrong. In another time, another place, I might have been interested," Cyn said seriously. "But not here and now."
"Why not?" He asked with a scowl, not liking the other time and place bullshit one bit.
"Sexy is a really nice guy, but he's not real," she explained. "The name, the swagger, even the clothes he wears is all part of the image. Kind of like the eyeliner you wear onstage. The difference is he's on stage all the time."
"Uh huh," he agreed and still wasn't satisfied with the answer.
"Besides, I've already hooked up with a ridiculously handsome guy who doesn't have to parade around in his underwear to prove how sexy he is," she admitted with a huge grin. "This guy sings me to sleep, wakes me with a kiss and makes me see stars. There's no way that Sexy Grayson can compete with that."
Yep, it was official. The woman was damn good for his ego. John actually felt ten feet tall and bullet proof. Since he had no idea how to respond to that, he used his standard, "Uh huh."
Cyn narrowed her eyes and asked suspiciously, "So was your seduction routine meant for me or Sexy?"
Ah, hell. Shit could go bad real quick unless he said the right thing. "Now, darlin'," he drawled in a teasing tone. "All I did was dance with a smokin' hot woman and sing her a song. You're the one who decided w
hose headboard you were banging."
Yeah, he was full of shit, but she just couldn't be mad with him for it. It really had been the most romantic thing anyone had ever done, regardless of what his reasons were. Choosing not to delve too deeply into that line of thought, she sighed and shook her head in amusement. "I guess I should be grateful you didn't pee on me."
"Say what?"
"When you marked your territory, you big horn dog," Cyn clarified.
The whole bed shook with his laughter. The woman really did say the damndest things.
~~~~~
John was not amused when they walked outside and he saw his truck tilted at an angle. Ah, hell. He had a flat tire. That really sucked. Although he carried a spare, the lift kit he'd installed made changing a tire with a regular jack impossible. He was gonna have to haul it down to the garage and put it on the lift.
When he got close enough to see a knife impaled between the treads, he stared at it in shock and yelped, "My tire's been slashed!" Then he cussed a streak so blue that Cyn raised her brows in surprise. He could not believe that someone had deliberately slashed his tire. That was sick. Who did shit like that?
"No, don't touch it," Cyn said when he reached for the knife. "The police need to fingerprint it first."
John balled his outstretched hand into a fist and barely resisted the urge to punch his truck. Instead he pulled his phone out and called the police chief. "Need you at the club, Brett. Some mofo with a death wish slashed my tire."
Brett was surprised to hear that. Vandalism was not something they often dealt with in Lakeside and no one had ever reported having a slashed tire before. "You're sure it was slashed?" He queried and then realized how stupid the question was. John had managed a tire store for years. If he said it was slashed, you could put money on it.
"There's a hunting knife stuck in it," he responded sarcastically. "So, yeah, I'm sure."
"Don't touch it. I'm on the way," he said and ended the call.
John glanced at the time and shoved the phone back in his pocket. If this made him late for Luke's wedding there would be hell to pay. "Head on over to the house, darlin'," he suggested since he had discovered that it took her a god awful amount of time to get ready. "I'll get this shit cleared up and be home soon."
"Are you sure?" Cyn asked doubtfully and couldn't figure out how he was going to change that tire.
"Yeah. Brett's on the way," he said as he walked her over to her vehicle.
John never would have believed that a Wrangler could look girlie, but hers did. It was painted cobalt blue at the top and faded into a gleaming black at the bottom. She even had some kind of crazy customized kit attached to the undercarriage with blue neon lights. The coolest thing about it was a stencil across the top of the windshield that said Blue On Black. At least her taste in music was badass.
"Alright," she agreed and pressed a kiss to his cheek before she slid under the wheel. "I'm sorry about your truck."
"Not your fault," he said and even managed a lopsided smile as she drove away.
John was so pissed he couldn't be still. He could not believe that someone had deliberately damaged his baby. He paced back and forth, glared at the tire, paced some more and finally gave in to the urge and kicked the damn thing.
Even flat, a mounted thirty-six inch tire with deep treads made specifically for gripping mud was pretty much an immovable object. The tennis shoe had offered little protection when the side kick connected with extreme force and now his foot throbbed like a bitch.
When Brett pulled into the parking lot, he saw John standing there with one shoe on and one shoe off. A strange sense of foreboding filled his gut and he didn't like it. This was just a little too déjà vu for his peace of mind. Fortunately they were not dealing with a serial rapist this time. What they were dealing with was yet to be determined so he needed to get some answers.
He walked over to the truck and bent down to look at the tire. Sure enough, a hunting blade was embedded to the hilt between the treads. He whistled in surprise and glanced up at John. "Aren't your tires reinforced with Kevlar?"
"Yeah," he admitted and stuffed his throbbing foot back into the shoe.
Brett whistled again and stood. Shoving a knife in a regular tire was difficult enough, but putting a blade in a mud tire reinforced with something five times stronger than steel should have been damn near impossible. "I thought these things were practically puncture resistant."
"The sidewalls are reinforced," John explained with a scowl and pointed at the multitude of nicks the mofo had made while trying to stab the exterior of the tire. "He went for the void between the treads when he couldn't penetrate the side."
"You must have really pissed someone off this time," he deduced and knew there was nothing unusual about that. Women flocked to the singer whether he encouraged them or not. Dealing with irate boyfriends and husbands was just a fact of life for the youngest bad Baker boy. "Any idea who it might be?"
"Nope," he admitted and not a soul came to mind. Hell, since he hadn't been having sex with anyone but Cyn lately, he couldn’t imagine who... The blue eyes glowed hotly and he growled, "Think I might have pissed your brother-in-law off last night."
Brett couldn't help laughing at that. The look on Sexy Grayson’s arrogant face when John carried Cyn off had been priceless. The man had been flirting with her all night and could not believe that she had blown him off. "I owe you a drink for that," he grinned and shook his head. "S.X. is an ass, but it wasn't him. He left with us last night and he and Dizzy sat up talking until almost dawn."
"S.X.?" John repeated.
"His initials. Dammed if I'm gonna call another man sexy," he complained. The whole family used their initials and the craziest nicknames that went along with them. S.X. was Sexy, D.Z. was Dizzy and E.Z. was Easy. Brett didn't have a clue what any of the initials stood for and his wife refused to tell him. If he didn't love Dizzy so much it would make him nuts.
Brett pulled out his phone and took a few pictures before he donned gloves and tried pulling the knife out by the tip with a finger and thumb. It didn't even budge. The damn thing was lodged tight. He went ahead and dusted it, but couldn't find a single print on the handle.
After a good deal of tugging, he wound up wrapping both hands around the handle and pulling with a surprising amount of force to dislodge the eight inch blade. Either the perpetrator was as strong as an ox or he had been in a rage to sink it that deep. His money was on the rage. The number of nicks attested that the perp had tried to stab the tire repeatedly before moving to a more vulnerable area.
"Looks like an ordinary hunting knife that's sold all over town," he admitted as he studied the serrated blade. "It's new so I'll check around and see if anyone remembers selling it."
"Good luck with that," John grumbled. Every man in town had a hunting knife or three. Hell, he had two and he didn't even hunt.
Brett knew the chances were slim to none. "Any surveillance on the outside of the club?" He queried.
"Nope. Cameras are all inside."
Another dead end. "Need a hand with this?"
"Nope. Just drop me off at the garage so I can grab the tow truck. Once I get her on the lift it’ll only take about ten minutes to change the tire," John admitted. The brother's all had spare keys for each other's businesses and vehicles just in case of an emergency. This shit definitely qualified.
~~~~
Luke and Easy’s wedding was an event that shocked the entire town. The couple had decided they did not want a formal ceremony, but would rather have a wedding that reflected who they were. Oh, boy. Considering who they were, it was simply unforgettable. The guests, who had been asked to wear jeans, gathered on the front lawn in the middle of the horseshoe drive of the Baker family home. No seating was provided as the service was going to be short and sweet.
Luke and his best man, Joe ‘Bear’ Barrett, President of the local Heathens OMC, wearing faded jeans, banged up biker boots, white dress shirts and their colors, wa
ited on the verandah. The groomsmen, Matt and Mark were dressed in similar attire minus the motorcycle club insignia on their black leather vests. Dizzy, as maid of honor, and the bridesmaids, Harley and Desi all wore red stilettos, blue jeans and red leather bustiers. Each woman held a single red rose while the men wore matching boutonnieres.
The growl of a finely tuned engine heralded the arrival of the bride. Governor Jerome Barnhill rode his pearl white Gold Wing up the quarter mile drive with the bride comfortably ensconced in the matching sidecar. He stopped in front of the wedding party and leaned over to kiss his goddaughters cheek when Jed stepped forward to assist her out of the sidecar.
Gasps of shock and cheers of approval came from the crowd as the bike moved out of the way and they got a look at the bride. Easy was wearing a white leather wedding gown that had been custom made by her brother. The top was a bustier and the skirt was split up to mid-thigh in front with a chapel train lined in red satin
It had become a family tradition for Jed to play the role of the father of the bride and he couldn’t have been happier with his son’s choice as he led the beaming bride to her groom. Jed kissed her cheek, placed her hand in Luke’s and joined his wife and infant daughter to watch the highly unorthodox service.
Pastor Gator Barnes looked as bemused as the residents of Lakeside as he presided over the simple ceremony. Within a matter of minutes, the couple was wed and Luke had Easy in his arms, his mouth devouring hers. The bride had one long leg wrapped around her groom's and it looked as if she might climb up him any second.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gator began in a choked tone as he fought to hold back laughter. “I give you Mr. and Mrs. Luke ‘Wild Man’ Baker.”
Whistles and cat calls came from the rowdier guests and drew the couple’s attention away from each other. The groom lifted his head and flashed that bad boy smile at his family and friends. “Listen up,” he barked in a tone that commanded attention and got it. “No bikes on the grass, stay out of the pool, and keep the party in the backyard. Let’s roll.”
