“Fuck!” I shouted when I looked past Lexi and saw the mess. “I’m so sorry.”
“Shit,” Lexi said, turning around to take it in as well. She hopped up off of me and ran to the kitchen.
“Damn it,” she hollered. “I’m out of paper towels.” I saw her rush past me in a blur, heading towards the bathroom. Then, I looked at the mess again. The wine was pooled on the table, and it was starting to run. A stream of it was approaching the end of the coffee table and was about to leak down onto her blue rug.
I needed to do something before the wine hit the floor so that it wouldn’t stain. Her apartment was so clean and organized, after all, and I didn’t want to leave a blemish on it.
I looked around for something—anything—to sop up the mess. But there was nothing to be found. Then, all of a sudden, I remembered that stupid newspaper article Hammer had showed me, and I recalled folding it and placing it in my jacket pocket.
I grabbed my jacket from beside me, reached into the pocket, pulled out the newspaper, and used it to soak up the wine. I was still wiping it around when Lexi came back out with a towel.
“Let me get that,” she said, stepping in front of me and crouching down to the ground. She pushed the drenched newspaper aside and started using the towel.
“You used the L.A. Crier to clean this up?” she asked with a snort-like laugh. I hadn’t even remembered the name of the paper and was surprised she even knew it at all.
“Yeah, it’s garbage anyway,” I replied. “There was some piece-of-shit article in it that mentioned last night’s show.”
“You thought the article was a piece of shit?” Lexi asked. The tone of her voice abruptly changed, and her face turned as red as the wine I’d just spilled.
“What? You read it?” I asked, raising my eyebrow.
“Yeah, I read it,” Lexi fired back, looking away from me and cleaning the coffee table with more zeal, “after I wrote it.”
Chapter 8
~ Butcher ~
“You what?” I asked. I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.
“I wrote it,” Lexi repeated in a huff.
“You’re A. Windsor?” I inquired, just to make sure I had things straight.
“Yes,” Lexi replied, shaking her head.
“But you told me your name was Lexi,” I asserted. My blood pressure was starting to rise, and I felt like my brain was going to explode.
“My full name is Alexis Windsor, but I go by ‘A. Windsor’ for work, to maintain a gender-neutral public profile,” Lexi explained.
I stared back at Lexi and didn’t know what else to say.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she said in a bitchy voice. “I told you my name yesterday when I came over to you at The Boneyard. I introduced myself as Alexis Windsor and told you I worked for the Crier.”
Son of a bitch, I thought to myself. I hadn’t heard everything Lexi said when she first approached me, and now I was cursing myself for that fact. All I’d cared about were her tits and her offer to buy me a drink, when, lo and behold, she’d had much, much more to say.
“I didn’t realize,” I said, trying to calm myself down.
“Obviously not,” Lexi replied. She stood up and took the dirty towel, along with the drenched paper, to the kitchen.
“But, it’s nice to know you think my writing is shit,” she shouted back from the sink.
I spread my legs, put my elbows on my knees, buried my face in my hands, and tried to collect my thoughts. This realization was a big one, and it really caught me off guard. I was in no way prepared to find out that the woman I was about to bed was the reporter who’d been pissing me off for months.
“Your writing isn’t shit,” I responded trying to save face. “I just don’t like the media coverage—that’s all.”
“Why not?” Lexi inquired. “The L.A. Crier isn’t good enough for you?” I’d clearly struck a nerve, and Lexi wasn’t hiding that she was hurt.
“I don’t want the coverage from any reporter with any paper,” I clarified. “I don’t like seeing Broken Brother’s name—or mine—anywhere ‘cept for where we choose to put it.”
“Well, that’s crazy,” Lexi said angrily, as she stormed back into the room. She was carrying a moist dish sponge, and she came over to the coffee table to wipe it down. “What kind of band doesn’t want media attention?” she asked, scrubbing furiously. “I guess you’re not looking for fame or fortune, huh? Not even a pat on the back? Why do you even play at bars then? What’s the point?”
Lexi kept scrubbing, harder and harder, and she kept bombarding me with question after question.
“Do you know how many bands would kill to get the coverage I’ve given you? Do you even care what your fans think?”
Yada, yada, yada. She just went on and on… and I sat there and let her do it.
I was still in shock from finding out who she was. However, I’d said something that offended her, and there was obviously a lot she wanted to get off her smokin’ hot chest. So I decided to let her do it—and wait for my turn.
“I just don’t get people like you,” Lexi said, finally shifting from questions to statements, as she stood up and headed off to the kitchen with the now tattered sponge. She used it so relentlessly that the thing was useless now. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else,” she continued from the kitchen. “But to me, it just sounds like you’re a fake, a fraud.”
Hmm. I didn’t like the sound of that. Nor did I like the feel. I’d struck a nerve with Lexi earlier, and now she’d struck one with me.
“I guess that’s why you’ve resorted to only doing covers,” she added with a snide grunt. “You have nothing genuine to offer anymore.”
Alright. That was it. That was the final straw. I was trying to be a nice guy, but nice guys can—and should—only take so much. If Lexi was allowed to fly off the handle, so was I.
“Listen, Alexis,” I said. “You know absolutely nothing about me, so please, don’t pretend to… You came out to our shows and decided to write stories on us, but all you wrote about is what you heard. You have no idea who we are, why we play, or why we play what we play. You don’t know about our real lives, about what happens off of the stage, in our homes, at our jobs, and during our daily business.
“Maybe if you knew these things you’d understand how some things are more important than fame and fortune, and you’d see why Broken Brother does not want—or need—media attention. And maybe if you knew these things, you’d step down from your high horse because if there’s anyone going around acting like they are better than everyone else, acting like a fraud, and pretending to be something they’re not, it’s you, baby, not me.”
Lexi stepped back into the living room and shot me a stare that could’ve stopped a raging bull dead in its tracks.
“I never lied to you about anything, if that’s what you’re saying,” she snickered at me.
“Call it what you will,” I retorted. “But last night, when you came up to me, you may have introduced yourself like you did—but, come on now? Couldn’t you tell I couldn’t hear you? Weren’t you a little suspicious that I never said anything—good or bad—about your stories, or about you being a reporter?
“Really, Lexi. You should have said something else. You should have told me again and made sure I knew who you were. But you didn’t. And you didn’t because you didn’t want to be who you were. The moment you offered to buy me a drink, your journalism hat fell off and you started playing a different part. You turned into a fan, a groupie. And you liked playing that part. You liked it so much that you couldn’t do the right thing, act like a grown-up, and tell me the truth.”
There were no words that could accurately describe the expression on Lexi’s face at that moment. She looked pissed-off, aggravated, agitated, and full of vengeance, as well as heartbroken, ashamed, embarrassed, and upset.
She ran her hands along the side of her dress, shook her head, and regarded me with complete dissatisfaction.
“I think you should leave now,” she said.
“I think I should, too,” I answered.
Chapter 9
~ Lexi ~
Whew… what a ride!
And, I’m not talking about the motorcycle ride from Pinky’s to my place. (Though, trust me, that, in itself, is worthy of comment. Suffice it to say, it, too, was amazing, but in a much more pleasant way than the “ride” to which I am referring).
The “ride” I’m talking about is the rollercoaster ride Butcher and I went on after our ride from Pinky’s to my place. When we first got back to my apartment, things were going great. We were making out like crazy, and things were headed in the right direction. But, then Butcher knocked over the Merlot, and things took a sour turn and got really, really fucking ugly.
First of all, after I left to get a towel to clean up the mess, I walked back into the living room to find Butcher sopping it up with a copy of the L.A. Crier. Sure, whatever, he needed something to absorb the wine, and it was better to ruin the Crier than ruin my carpet. However, he went on to call the paper “garbage” and referred to my article as a “piece of shit.”
It became clear to me at that moment that Butcher actually had no idea who I was, even though I’d introduced myself to him properly. Granted, The Boneyard had been busy and loud when we met, but I thought he’d heard me. After all, he took me up on my offer to buy him a drink.
Whatever I’d thought, obviously, I’d been mistaken. Butcher’s jaw nearly dropped off of his face when I told him that I not only read, but wrote, the article in the Crier. I’m surprised he didn’t pass out or piss his pants from the shock.
I guess I’d been a fool to assume he’d heard me at The Boneyard, and maybe it was foolish—or selfish—for me not to bring it up again, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t just assume he’d heard me…I believed it—or rather, I wanted to believe it.
Butcher was aloof, remote, distant and detached, and standoffish, remember? He treated people as if they didn’t matter, so surely, he also treated things that way, right? I wanted to believe that he heard my introduction, knew who I was, and simply didn’t care. I wanted to believe that my status as a reporter didn’t matter; that he didn’t hate me for it, or love me for it; and that he wanted to bang me for me, not for what I’d written.
Those things I wanted to believe weren’t real, it turned out. They were my fantasy, my dream, and now, I was caught up in a nightmare. After using the Crier to mop up the Merlot, calling it “garbage,” calling my article a “piece of shit,” and blowing a gasket when he found out who I was, Butcher next went on to criticize—or basically scold—me for writing about his band and giving them media attention.
Ridiculous! What kind of band doesn’t want media attention? I even asked Butcher as much at one point, but he didn’t answer. He just sat back and watched me rant while I cleaned up the wine that he spilt.
Everything was kind of a blur at that moment. I was pretty furious, I have to admit, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I went off on Butcher and asked him a million questions, then I took things to the next level and personally attacked him. I called him a fake and a fraud, and I mocked his band for doing covers.
I didn’t really mean the cruel things I said; I said them mostly out of anger. However, Butcher really took them to heart, and he snapped back at me with his own diatribe. He said I didn’t know him, or his band, and accused me of being a fraud for not being more upfront about my name and identity.
There was no way in hell I was going to just stand around and let Butcher (or anyone) talk to me like that, so I did what any respectable woman would do and asked him to leave.
“I think you should leave now,” I said.
“I think I should, too,” he replied.
Butcher stood up, put on his coat, and headed for the door. Then the rollercoaster we were on took another turn, and it threw me for a complete loop.
“Nice meeting you, Lexi,” Butcher said sarcastically. “It was fun while it lasted.”
“Yeah,” I said, just as sarcastically. “It was a hoot. I really enjoyed being another one of your groupie conquests.”
“Well,” Butcher chortled, “technically, you weren’t—or aren’t. We didn’t really do anything after all.”
“We did enough,” I said defensively.
I walked over to the door to see Butcher out, and just as I was reaching out for the doorknob, Butcher reached out as well. He put his hand on my arm and stopped me, then glanced down at me with a crooked grin.
“How about one more kiss for the road?” he asked in a sexy, yet still sarcastic, tone.
“Really?” I replied. “You’ve gotta be kidding me, right?”
“Just one more kiss,” Butcher requested, crinkling his nose.
I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, and I knew where “just one more kiss” could very well lead, but despite my better judgment, I shook my head from side to side, rolled my eyes, and agreed.
“Fine,” I said, stepping forward toward Butcher. “Whatever. You can give me one more kiss.”
Butcher cocked his head to the side and slowly batted his eyelashes at me. He pulled me closer to him, then spun me around and playfully pushed me back, until my back was against the door.
“It’ll be a good one,” he said, pressing up against me and lowering his face. “I promise.”
What happened next caught me completely off guard, and the way things “went down,” so to speak, took our rollercoaster ride to all new heights.
Chapter 10
~ Butcher ~
“What are you doing?” Lexi asked, as I dropped down to my knees in front of her.
I looked up at her with a hungry, eager smile and ran my hands up under her skirt.
“You said I could give you one more kiss,” I answered, hiking up Lexi’s dress and bringing my face closer to the sacred spot between her legs. “But you didn’t say where.”
“What?” Lexi asked, relaxing her rigid posture and loosening her body to accommodate my touch.
My face was no more than an inch from Lexi’s womanhood, and I gazed up at her as I made my final advance. Her pissed-off, upset expression was gone and had been placed with something I recognized, something I’d seen countless times. She, too, was hungry and eager. She, too, desperately wanted what was about to occur.
I reached my hands up to Lexi’s core and carefully peeled down her black lace panties, until they were at her knees. She looked down at me wantonly, bit her lip, and nodded her head. And I closed in to give her a “kiss.”
I kissed Lexi’s pussy gently—though where I kissed her wasn’t her “pussy” per se. It was the area right above her pussy, the area right above where her body parted into two lips. I kissed here there again—and again—and then slowly slid my tongue out and down, licking the beginning, or end, of her fleshly slit.
Lexi grunted in delight and tossed back her head. I heard it thump against the door as I slowly licked her one, two, three more times. She tasted so good—so sweet, so raw, and so pure. I needed more… much, much more.
My slow, drawn-out licks were too much for us to bear, so I turned from them to heavier, harder licking—then to lapping, sucking, and generally going wild on her with my lips and tongue. I tried my best to give every part of her sweetness my attention, but try as I might, I couldn’t keep myself away from her precious little clit for too long. I couldn’t get enough of her tender, juicy bud.
“Fuck.” I heard Lexi moan, and I knew I was doing everything right.
“You’re gonna make me come,” she added in a grunt, grabbing onto my head. She pressed my face harder against her, mashing my mouth against her wet mound and forcing my tongue deeper inside her.
My cock started twitching in my pants. I never expected Lexi would be such an expressive, aggressive lover. But, fuck, now that I knew she was, it drove me insane. The way she worked her hands through my hair, thrust herself against me, moaned, and purred made me want to
explode. I could feel the pre-cum seeping from the tip of my mega-hard dick.
I took Lexi’s swollen button into my mouth and kneaded it between my lips while flicking it with my tongue. Lexi whimpered and whinnied, and her legs started shaking, bucking in jolts.
“Oh Butcher,” she cried out. I felt her spasm, and her wetness got even wetter. She panted and ground against me.
I looked up to watch her as she came; my eyes were fixed on her beautiful face, which contorted and curled in the most delicious, most decadent ways, as her amazing titties heaved and fell to the rhythm of my tongue. There’s nothing as wonderful as the way a woman looks when she comes. And Lexi looked amazing, absolutely amazing, from my point of view, on the ground, between her thighs.
I watched—and licked, sucked, and slurped—as Lexi climbed to the height of her orgasm and started finding her way back down. Once she seemed grounded, I kept my mouth attached to her, licking her more carefully, cleaning up the sloppy mess I’d made.
Lexi’s body was still throbbing, but its pulse had slowed down and so had her breathing. She was no longer moaning, groaning, or grunting, but instead, she was making those satisfied “mmm” humming sounds.
I didn’t want to take my mouth off of her, but reluctantly I did, and I leaned back to take her in—in all her post-climax glory. Her skin was flushed a little and had a very warm glow, and her pussy still glistened from her nectar mixed with my saliva.
That little black dress she was wearing looked even littler now. It was up around her waist, wrinkled from the way it’d been gathered in lustful haste. And her panties? We’d never even gotten those completely off. They were still dangling from one of her ankles, caught around her black, high-heeled shoe.
Lexi stared down at me with wide eyes. I’d just satisfied one primal need in her, and it was obvious that she had another that needed to be fulfilled. And trust me, I was more than willing to fill it.
BUTCHER: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 3) Page 4
