“No shit, Sherlock. Think it has something to do with you making a fool of me in front of the guys?”
He shakes his head at me. “Nu-uh, this has nothing to do with the guys. It's all to do with Robyn. What was between her and me ended months ago, before I became involved with you. You don't have to feel threatened at all.”
“Hah!” My loud snort draws the attention of the few people passing by. Aware of their curious stares, I lower my voice. “You are so fucking full of yourself, Whitman. You think this is all about you? I just don't like her, okay? And I can't believe you were even stupid enough to sleep with that egotistical bimbo. Boy, you were definitely thinking with the wrong head on that one. And if you're dumb enough to believe it's over on her end, then you're a bigger fool than I thought. She is nowhere near over you.”
Instead of denying my accusation, the jerk-off shoots me a stupid grin. “Really? You think she's still got the hots for me?”
“Oh, my God. You fucking cockalorum. You think that's funny?”
His grin is replaced by puzzlement. “What the hell is a cocka-lorrie...what?”
“A cockalorum. A self-important, little jerk. That's you.” I poke him hard in the chest to emphasize my point, not even realizing my voice has risen again until I notice the two girls that had passed by earlier, lounging at the end of the hallway and watching us intently but pretending not to. Luke must take notice of the curious onlookers as well, since his fingers dig tighter into my arm and he starts dragging me in the opposite direction.
“What are you doing?” I try to jerk away in protest, but his grip is like a vise.
“We need to clear the air on this, and we don't need an audience.”
We round the corner, away from the prying eyes, and he yanks open the door to the supply closet. Shoving me inside the darkness, he flicks on the lone bulb and locks the door before turning my way.
“Seriously?” I fume at him. “You locked us in a supply closet. You think that's going to help, how?”
He shrugs. “It's privacy at least. Now, you wanna tell me what the hell is eating at you? These past few weeks, you've been a bitch. Wait. Let me rephrase that. Bitchier than usual. You've no sense of humor, snapping at the guys and me for no reason. And now Robyn. We're going to be all together on the road, and I need your full concentration. Your mind needs to be clear of all distractions or else you will just be a liability on this mission. So whatever is annoying you, get it out. Why is she bothering you all of a sudden?”
I stare at him, the denial on the tip of my tongue. Instead, I let loose a deep-gutted sigh of exasperation.
“Gah! I don't know.” I run a hand over my shaved head. “She just does. Maybe it's because we've been stuck inside for the past four weeks and everything is getting on my nerves, including her. I don't usually get to see this much of her since our groups have opposite schedules. When we're here, she's not. But with us being on R&R, she seems to be underfoot. She's everywhere. Watching us. Stalking us. Like she's waiting for us to fuck up or something. Don't you feel that way?”
He crosses his arms and winks at me. “To be honest, I haven't noticed. Believe it or not, I only have eyes for one woman. And since Cookie doesn't even know I'm alive, you're a close second.”
I narrow my eyes at him, hoping he doesn't notice the grin threatening to break through my anger. How does he always manage to talk me off that ledge? “Have I ever told you what a dick you are at times?” I ask, trying hard to hold on to my annoyance.
“Once or twice.” He closes the small gap between us and taps me on the nose. “Have I ever told you how cute you are when you're jealous?” His words are filled with amusement.
I punch him non-too-gently in the arm. “Fuck off. I'm not jealous. And you're really starting to irritate me with that shit.”
“No worries, darlin'. I've been known to irritate you before, and I'm not going to stop now. Just remember, this cocka-lorrie-thingy is all yours.”
I can't keep it in any longer and the grin escapes. “Sometimes I really don't know what I like about you.”
In one fluid motion, he pushes me firmly against the wall. His hands grab both of mine, pinning them above my head. His hot breath fans my face as his velvety brown eyes stare into mine. “Ditto. So maybe we need to remind each other,” he whispers against my ear before his lips slide across my cheek and onto mine, demanding entry. His tongue delves past my lips in a bold stroke, tasting me. Claiming me. The possessiveness of it should fuel my anger, but instead his tongue dancing with mine causes tingles to shoot over my body, awakening every nerve ending with desire. A slight moan sounds in the back of my throat, and I know he realizes the moment I give in since he releases my hands and grips the back of my neck.
“I thought you wanted to talk,” I whisper against his lips. Even though there's nothing I want more than for him to continue what he's doing, I can't help but play devil's advocate.
“We are talking,” he growls back. “Just not with our mouths. Now shut up and talk some more.”
“I like this conversation then.”
“I thought you would, you little perv.”
My hands move of their own violation, sliding up the rock hard chest and gripping his shirt tight, trying to draw him closer. His lips taste sweet like the cake, and I suddenly find my sweet tooth craving exploding and going into overdrive. I feel bereft as he pulls away, whimpering in protest as his lips break the exquisite contact.
“You want me to stop, just say so,” he whispers against my mouth. “As badly as I want you right now, this isn't exactly a room at the Ritz.”
Stop? Oh, hell no.
“Come on, Whitman,” I whisper back. “Isn't it every girls dream to get shagged in a dirty supply closet?”
He grins as he pulls back, his eyes sparkling with excitement and desire. “Not any girl I've ever known.”
“Then obviously you've been hanging out with the wrong kind of girls.”
“Obviously,” he agrees.
“Just shut up and kiss me again,” I growl, this time claiming his lips with my own. He doesn't need any more encouragement. His hips grind against mine, making no apologies for his arousal in the least. I reciprocate back, every inch of me lit up with a burning, urgent need to possess him.
His grinding connects with a sensitive spot, and I moan in delight as I arch my back. His hands slip to my waist, fumbling with my belt. He tugs and pulls a couple of times, but the damn thing refuses to let go. Muttering in impatience against his hot lips, I push his hands away and do it myself. In one swift movement the belt and button are disengaged, and he yanks the jeans down over my hips. His calloused palm glides along the inside of my thigh and heat jolts my abdomen, fanning out and down my legs. I whimper in excitement as I feel him toying with the worn cotton of my underwear. He answers my wordless request by tearing away my undergarments with a loud rippppp.
“Dammit, Luke,” I break contact long enough to complain. “Do you know how hard it is to find decent underwear....OH!”
My complaint is quickly forgotten as his searching fingers find their intended mark and I gasp in delight.
A breathy, “Fuck, yes,” escapes me as I close my eyes and rest my head back against the wall, letting him work his magic and not giving a shit about my destroyed panties anymore. Who the hell needs underwear anyway?
My moans of pleasure as I writhe against his hand are swallowed up by his mouth as he claims my lips once again. His fingers increase in their intensity and as much as I want to reach that finish line, I prolong it, wrapping my fingers around his wrist and stopping him.
“Not like this,” I whisper, and he knows what I want. Impatient now, I attempt to remove the jeans puddled around my feet with frantic hands, holding onto him for support.
I tug at the pants, trying to get them over my boots. They don't want to cooperate and I grunt in frustration, hopping on one foot trying to get them off and nearly tripping over the broom leaning against the wall. Finally, they come
loose and I kick them out of the way, along with the broom. They both land on the opposite side of the small room with a loud clatter.
“As you were,” I order, and he grins at my impatience. But he does as I say. His mouth goes to my earlobe, biting playfully, before skimming his teeth down over the pulse in my neck. I shiver in anticipation and close my eyes as the rustling of his own jeans tells me his intent.
I gasp as I feel his hard heat between my thighs, begging for entrance. I position myself just right, giving him his answer.
His strong hands grab my bottom, lifting me up, and I wrap my legs around him. With one single thrust he enters me, and my cry is visceral.
“Shhhhh,” he scolds me in amusement, but at this point in time, I don't give a rats-ass who's outside the door listening.
If they want to be that pervy, then let’s give them something to talk about. I don't care about anything other than the man in front of me and how he makes me feel so alive and complete. And the fact that he is all mine.
Crap. Where the hell did that thought surface from again? My eyes pop open and study Luke’s face, wondering if I said anything out loud, but he’s oblivious to my mental admission of possessiveness. His eyes are closed as he moves inside of me, his face a canvas of carnal pleasure. It excites me beyond measure and forces those appalling thoughts to the back of my head. Locking them away behind the pleasure zone. The sex takes priority at the moment.
My fingers trace the lines of his lips and his chin as he withdraws and enters me again.
“Look at me,” I whisper, and his eyes flicker back open. His gaze is almost black, and my breath catches at the naked emotion evident in his face. I arch against the wall, meeting his next thrust and wanting the intense delight to last forever. His breathing becomes more erratic as I keep moving against him. Meeting his thrusts and holding his gaze, pinning him with our intimacy.
“Bix,” he groans, digging his fingers into my hips as he burrows hard and fast inside of me. Hearing him say my name sends my emotions spiraling out of control. I can feel the wave of ecstasy mounting, threatening to explode.
I cry his name on my release, ripples of pleasure wiping out any other coherent thought as we both fall over that precipice into oblivion.
CHAPTER FIVE
The collection of mismatched, rainbow-colored bicycles lined up in the Grand's tiny courtyard makes it look more like some elementary school playground than a fortified bunker. I almost expect the people clustering there to break into a game of hopscotch or haul out their jump ropes at any given moment. But the grave faces that watch our approach denote the seriousness of the situation. They know we aren't leaving on some school field trip. This is a trip some of us may not return from.
Two of the larger bikes already have the supply wagons attached. Luke is to ride one, Mike the other. To hell with equal rights and all that shit. Those two are the biggest galoots; they get to do the heavy work. The rest of us will carry our own supplies in backpacks attached to the bikes. The council members have everything taken care of. If anything, they are efficient.
Most of our goodbyes had been said the night before, so I'm surprised at the amount of people up and about this early in the morning. Coop, Liv, Mrs. D, all the council members and hunters not out on patrol crowd the small space. The docs from St. Joseph’s wait there as well, including Jess. She smiles at me as I pass by, and I return the gesture. I'd gotten to know the lady doc fairly well over the past few weeks since we rescued her from the hospital. Enough to realize she's not the useless blonde I'd originally thought her to be. We'll never be BFF's, but I consider her a friend. That's a real milestone for me.
I'm surprised to see even Jonesy had pulled his mucus hacking butt out of bed to see us off. We must have made a real impression with our request for our bad-ass Avengers tattoos. Either that or he was taking mental notes on who was leaving today, in case some of us didn't come back. Then he would know what rooms he could safely loot. That made a hell of a lot more sense.
But out of everyone here, one face is curiously absent. Gordon is nowhere to be found, and not only does it surprise me, it hurts me deeply. He must still harbor a lot of resentment to not even see us off, considering his brother is leaving with us.
Liv is deep in conversation with Coop but breaks off and saunters toward me at our arrival. She looks older in the morning sun. Tired and washed out. We probably all do. Good thing I don't have to look at myself in a mirror.
She stops in front of me, studying me with sad eyes. Her hand reaches out and runs down the side of my face, along the ridge of my scar. It was something she’s always done prior to my leaving, and I've learned not to flinch over the years at the touch since the scar seemed to bother me a hell of a lot more than it bothered her.
“And off you go again.” Her smile is subdued. “No matter how many times I say goodbye to you, it never seems to get any easier.”
I smile back as I grab her hand in my own. “Now why you so worried? You know I'm like the proverbial bad penny. I always turn back up.”
“Yes, but I'm afraid one day that penny will stay lost for good.” She pulls her hand from mine and her laugh is shaky. “Sorry kid. I don't mean to be so fucking morbid this morning. It must be from lack of sleep since Amy had me up all night due to someone bringing her more cake.”
“Now what kind of douche-bag would do such a thing?” I question innocently.
“One that I love,” she whispers in my ear as she pulls me into her arms and gives me a quick hug. “Stay safe, okay? I don't want to have to come looking for you just to kick your ass for something stupid.”
“Will do,” I promise, biting my lip to keep my own emotions in check. I don't need to be blubbering like a baby in front of my crew. I cough and clear my throat. “And thanks for not bringing Amy this morning. Don't think I'm up to facing that.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn't have brought her even if I wanted to. She was sound asleep when I left, and you know how dangerous she is when you try to wake her against her will.”
I snicker. “Hell, yeah. I think she's the reason behind the saying 'let sleeping dogs lie.' Waking her up before she's ready is just asking for trouble.”
Liv snorts, wiping at her wet eyes with her sleeve.
Mrs. D thankfully steps in, stopping the emotional exchange. “Bix, dear. I've brought you all a little going away present. Yours are the purple, since I know that’s your favorite color.”
She hands me a knitted something from her bag of tricks, and at first I think it's socks. But on closer inspection I realize what it is.
“Awesome-sauce. Half gloves. Thanks, Mrs. D.” She smiles at my excited reaction.
“No problem, dear. The weather is getting colder, and I know your hands will probably be freezing on those bike handles. I have some for you all, but could you possibly give that Dom fellow his? He scares me.”
I snicker, finding it hard to believe she would be scared of anyone. This is just her way of saying she doesn't like the dick.
“I'll see to it that he gets his.” I stuff them into my pocket along with my own.
“Thank you, child. Now come here...give me a hug.” She hangs her bag on the crook of her arm like old ladies do with their purses and motions with her hands. I step into her embrace, her old lady smell encasing me with its comfort.
“Be safe, be vigilant, and come back in one piece.” With one arm still around me, she reaches into the bag again with the other and pulls something else out. Pushing it into my gut, she whispers, “Here, I filled this up for you. It worked as a good luck charm before. Maybe it will again.”
It's her whiskey flask. I hold in my laughter as I tuck her secret discreetly into the top left corner pocket of my coat.
“Thanks. I promise to take good care of it,” I say with reverence, and she smiles as she pulls me in for another quick hug.
“Bix, your weapon.” Alex, the council member in charge of the armory, interrupts my moment with Mrs. D. “Extra magazines
are packed in everyone’s supplies but use them sparingly. They won't last long if you shoot at every little thing that moves. Got it?”
I nod as I take the semi-automatic rifle he hands me with a look of disdain. I'm not sure what it's called—AR15 or some shit, I think. Luke did tell me when we were practicing, but I can't quite remember what he called it. All I know is that I pretty much suck with it. It's a weapon way more powerful than I'm used to. I know it’s a necessary evil since we require weapons of this calibre to even stand a chance against the new mutations, and if push comes to shove I can use it effectively, but still I feel uneasy as I strap it to my back. The knives hanging at my thighs give me far more comfort.
I catch Coop’s eye and he starts walking my way. “You look like some bad-ass female Rambo with that monster strapped to your back.” He laughs at me.
I raise a brow in confusion. “Female what?”
He shakes his head as he exchanges a look with Liv and sighs. “Never mind. I forget how young you are.”
“Or how old you are, Grandpa,” I tease as I punch him in the shoulder. He gives me an offended look and rubs his arm. “Oh sorry, Gramps. Did I bruise you?”
“I blame Olivia for your bad attitude,” He scowls at me. But I know he’s not serious.
“Hey, I fucking take offense to that,” Liv mutters at him, making us both laugh. Our laughter slowly tapers off as we regard each other in silence for a minute. I know he wants to say more, but right now I’m just one of his soldiers. He can’t be showing too much favouritism or Dom will have a fucking field day.
“Promise to take care of yourself out there, kid,” he says.
“Don’t you worry about me.” I tilt up a corner of my mouth. “I learned from the best. No leech is gonna take me out, I promise, or my name ain’t Emma Kimberly Bixby.”
He chuckles at my paraphrasing of his words of promise on the day he saved my life. “You’re never going to let me live that line down, are you?”
Strain of Defiance (Bixby Series Book 2) Page 5
