GATOR: Wolves MC (Riding With Wolves Book 2) (14 page)

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

“
Now
I’ll take that beer,” J.T. said, walking into the kitchen, “if you’re still offering.”

“Sure am,” I said, getting up from my chair and walking over to the fridge.

“How’d it go?” I asked, as I pulled out two cold ones.

J.T. had just been in my living room, talking to her chief. I’d heard some of what she said, but I wasn’t gonna let on that I’d been eavesdropping. And from what I could tell, it sounded like the conversation went well (or as well as could be expected), even though some of the things J.T. told her boss weren’t a hundred percent true.

“It went okay,” J.T. answered, taking the beer I held out to her. She turned and walked back into the living room as she continued speaking.

“I made it quick and told him what I needed to tell him,” she went on. “I know there’ll be repercussions later. But right now, I think I’m okay for a while. He
really
wants this solved now that Barnes is dead, and he seems willing to put up with whatever I have to do to get the job done.”

While J.T. talked, I lingered in the kitchen for a bit. The kitchen was my usual hangout spot in my house, and I wasn’t really used to kicking back with other people in my living room. So the thought of joining her in there was a little strange to me—but at the same time, it was awfully exciting.

I made it into the living room just as J.T. was finishing her statement. She was sitting on my couch—right smack in the middle—and I paused for a moment, trying to decide which side to sit on.

I hate to admit it, but I gotta… I was nervous. I wasn’t the awkward oaf I used to be anymore, and I’d learned a thing or two about talkin’ to the ladies over the years. But having
J.T.
there, alone, in my living room with me was overwhelming.

This wasn’t just any woman. This was
J.T.

This was the first girl I ever slept with—the first girl I ever danced with, the first one who ever talked to me as if I was a person. This was the girl I traveled across the country to find, the girl I tried to “improve” myself for. This was the girl who made a life for herself that I wouldn’t interfere with. She was the one who got away, the golden apple—the carrot—I could never reach…

And now she was here. In my living room. Sitting on my couch… right smack in the middle.

“Fair enough,” I said, sitting down beside J.T. I chose to sit on her right and sat mighty close to her. (Although it still didn’t feel close enough.)

J.T. took a couple sips from her bottle, then set it down on my coffee table, on top of a very outdated issue of
Rolling Stone
magazine that was already pocked with a few watermarks.

I figured it was my turn to say something else. But for the life of me, not a word came to mind.

And not a word came from J.T. either. She leaned back on the couch and tossed her head against the back of the sofa, then rolled it—and as she did, her long hair danced along my arm and shoulder. It sent a tingling feeling all over my body, and I instinctively crossed my legs to hide the inevitable reaction that tingle would bring.

“This has probably been one of the strangest, most fucked-up days of my life,” J.T. finally said with a sigh that made me chuckle.

“Actually,” she went on, with a schoolgirl-like smile, “it’s been one of the
two
strangest, most fucked-up days of my life. It’s right up there with that night out at Lady Tanya’s.”

“Sorry,” I said, still chuckling.

J.T.’s eyes widened in an inquiring way.

“Seems that both of the most fucked-up days in your life happened with
me
,” I went on. “So I’m sorry for causin’ you so much trouble. Guess I’m bad luck for ya.”

I was being both sincere
and
playful, and J.T. could tell.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she said, staring straight at me. “But you sure do keep things interesting.”

My chuckle faded into a faint echo of a laugh, and I felt compelled to take action. I reached my arm behind J.T. to set it on the back of the couch—and at the same time, she leaned forward, so that my arm went around her, rather than on the sofa. She leaned into me and her body melted into mine with her head pressed against my chest and her arm draped across my torso.

“Crete told us to rest,” she reminded me in a whisper. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. But I’d like to just sit here—or lay here—with you for a while, if that’s okay.”

Damn right it was okay, though part of me was still reluctant. I didn’t just feel nervous. I also felt guilty. I was having thoughts—and feelings—I probably shouldn’t have been having at the moment, but out of respect and decency I knew I had to control them.

“Whatever you want, J.T.,” I said, encircling J.T. with my arm and squeezing her closer to me. Without even realizing it, I buried my head into her sweet-smelling hair, wafted it, and kissed her crown.

“Thank you,” she purred. She ran her hand up and down the side of my body, stroking me in a show of thankfulness and compassion. I bit my lip and closed my eyes and tried my best to ignore the awesomeness of the sensation.

The next thing I knew, I felt J.T.’s tiny fingers tugging at my T-shirt. She pulled at it until it was untucked from my jeans, then she slid her hand beneath it. She trailed her hand along my side again, then proceeded to lightly caress me with her fingers. The tips of them barely touched me, which teased and taunted me and excited me to my core.

I wanted more than anything to make a move, but still, I held back. I didn’t want to misread any signs or take advantage of the situation.

But when J.T. moved her hand from my side to my stomach, I nearly lost all control. She ran her fingers over my belly—and belly button—the same way she ran them over my side, and her wrist rested on my belt buckle, dangerously close to the huge hard-on that was bulging beneath.

There was no way she couldn’t see and feel how hard I was—and no way she didn’t know what she was doing. But still, even though she had me panting like a dog, I held back and wouldn’t make a move, which made what she was doing all the more stimulating and erotic.

September 15, 2015–Los Angeles, California

I don’t know what came over me, but
something
sure as hell did. And once it did, I couldn’t get out from under it… and didn’t wanna.

What can I say? How can I explain it? Should I even try? In just the past few hours, I’d felt nearly every human emotion that a person can feel, and my entire world had been turned upside down.

My partner—the partner
I
personally selected for this interrogation and trip—had been murdered, and my own life was in danger. My father’s lies had come undone, after more than a decade, and I’d learned a truth I should’ve known all along. My boss—the chief—wasn’t happy with me, and my career probably depended on the outcome of this case.

And on top of all that… My cell phone was broken. My body was tired. I had a headache. I was hungry. And I needed something non-alcoholic to drink.

The man who saved me from a gator was trying to save me from something else now, even though his own life and reputation were on the line, and I’d just discovered some of the other sacrifices he’d made for me over the years. He looked better, smelled better, and talked better because of
me
. He was in California because of
me
.

He was the first man I’d ever been with—the first man I “let in” in so many ways. He broke my heart, but now he was pulling at its heartstrings again.

I was sad. I was mad. I was embarrassed and ashamed. I felt powerful, yet weak; strong, yet insecure. I was confused about so much, although I’d learned a great deal. I was frustrated, and I wanted to feel good.

When Gator sat down on the couch next to me on the sofa, I immediately wanted to crumble into his arms and have him hold me. The good feeling I wanted was the warmth and tenderness of his touch, the feeling of knowing that someone who cared about me was there with me, tending to me, protecting me, and giving me his attention and affection.

But when I finally allowed myself to crumble into Gator’s arms, I found myself wanting more. The warmth and firmness of his body, the smell of his clothes, and the sound of his breath stirred something inside of me, and what was meant to be a loving touch on my part, soon evolved into something else.

As I laid there with my head on Gator’s chest and my arm around his body, I ran my hand over his side, and as I did, I could hear his heartbeat quicken and feel it pounding harder against me, which made my own heart respond in the same way.

Gator didn’t do anything about the way I touched him. From our one experience twelve years ago, I remembered that he was quite the gentleman, and I knew that if I wanted this to happen, the ball was pretty much in my court. However, I decided to walk it down…rather than run.

I gently caressed Gator’s side for a bit and found myself getting more and more turned on by the sound and feel of his heartbeat. They, combined with his rapid breath, were indication enough that he was enjoying my touch—and if
they
hadn’t been, the rise in his jeans surely would have tipped me off.

I moved my hand from Gator’s side, to his stomach, and caressed him there as well. I felt his rippled abdomen and chiseled hipbones, along with his belly button and “treasure trail,” simply begging to be played with, and who was
I
to resist?

Gator’s heartbeat went from double-speed to triple-speed when I fondled his front, and his cock bobbed and swelled within his pants. I made sure to press my arm on it as I caressed him, and I relished the sound of him panting as I did.

He knew what I was doing. He knew what I wanted. And he wanted it, too. But he was going to be a gentleman about it. He was going to be reserved… which drove me absolutely fucking insane and made me want him even more.

I trailed my hand down from Gator’s belly to the big bump in his pants and massaged it just a bit. Gator moaned as I touched him, and I felt his hold on me grow tighter. I cupped his manhood and squeezed it gently, then pressed on it just enough to give me the leverage I needed to raise my face to his. I batted my eyelashes at him, slowly leaned my mouth towards him, and ever so softly, ever so sweetly, kissed him on the lips.

“Don’t be shy, Gator,” I said, pulling away and squeezing his cock again. I batted my eyelashes once more and smiled a Joker-like smile.

Gator’s mouth came at me… like a gator zeroing in for the attack. However, this attack was one I wanted, and I was glad to see that Gator took my advice. He pressed his lips hard against mine and parted them with his tongue, just as his other hand reached over and grabbed my ass, much like a caveman would grab a loin of meat.

His hand went up my skirt, and it sent shivers down my spine. I pressed my chest against Gator’s, still kneading his cock, and tilted my head sideways to accommodate his fervent kisses. Our tongues rubbed against each other, and our lips fluttered together in the most magical way. It made my heart—and my pussy—throb.

Gator shifted his body just a bit, which made mine shift as well. My back was against the back of the couch again, and he was leaning in front of me now—and the hand that was pawing at my ass had worked its way around to my inner thigh… and it wasn’t stopping there.

As Gator slid his hand closer to my aching mound, I spread my legs just a bit to give him a little more ease of access. But I guess I didn’t give him
enough
. Before he reached my core, he pulled my legs open even wider, until I was sprawled and my skirt was up around my hips.

Gator ran his hand up to my panties and seamlessly pulled them to the side. Then he ran his middle finger over my moist slit, which made me gasp. We were still kissing when I gasped, and the sudden break of it made Gator groan.

He pulled his head away from mine, looked me in the eyes, and smiled, then he directed his gaze at my pussy and watched wantonly as he parted my lips and brought his fingers to my most sensitive spot.

I looked at Gator’s face, watching him as he watched himself finger my clit. He had the most tortured, most pleased look on his face, and it made me twitch. His fingers tended to that twitch quite well though, and he had me writhing at his touch. I, too, looked down to watch what he was doing. And the sight of him flicking me was more than I could bear.

I felt that inexplicable feeling churning inside of me—that beautiful agony building up to a beautiful release. I tossed my head back against Gator’s plaid sofa, arched my bag, and pushed myself, hard, against Gator’s hand as he brought me close to the edge.

But just as I was at the edge, just as I was about to go over—when I was but one or two flicks away—Gator stopped. He pulled his hand away from my pussy and groaned.

I lifted my head and looked at him. I was breathing very heavily and was heavily flushed. I was so close… so close. I wanted to demand that he go on. I wanted to grab his hand and shove it back between my legs—or reach down there and take care of matters myself. I’d never wanted to come
so
bad in my entire life.

Gator was the one who sported a Joker-like smile now, and he taunted me with it as he leaned forward and lowered himself to the floor. He got down on his knees and scooted over toward me, until his body was positioned between my legs.

He reached both hands up to my waist, grabbed the band of my panties, and started pulling them down. I lifted up my legs to help him—and no sooner had he peeled my panties off while my legs were still up in the air than he lowered his face to my womanhood and started lapping at me with his tongue.

My legs fell over Gator’s shoulders and he buried his face in me as deep as he could. He licked and sucked at my wetness for a moment, then went straight for my clit, taking it into his mouth and rolling it between his lips while tapping it with his tongue.

I came almost instantly. And I’m sure everyone from L.A. to San Francisco heard me when I did. Gator had me whimpering, squirming, and gushing. I thought my pussy would explode.

Gator licked slowly as I came down from the crest of my orgasm. He kissed and sucked me gently. And just as I was beginning to breathe normal again—just as the “afterglow” was starting to set in—he went straight for my clit again. He lapped at it with his tongue and slurped at it, grunting and making those “mmm” noises as he did.

He was working me up again, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I came for a second time. His mouth felt amazing on me. And think of me what you will, but the sloppy wet sounds he made with my pussy—along with his own pleasured moans—drove me wild.

I threw my head back again, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the various sensations. Gator’s tongue was twirling around on my clit at just the right speed, in just the right motion. And those sounds—those sloppy wet sounds…the sound of wetness slapping against wetness. It sounded
so
good.

But then, I heard something that sounded out of place. It wasn’t flesh on flesh, but metal and metal, and it caused me to jerk my head forward and open my eyes.

I was flushed, and my vision was still blurred. But as soon as I opened my eyes, I clearly saw a gun pointed at me.

“Now I
really
could go for a piece of pie,” the tattooed man holding it said. “Tell me, Gator—does it taste as good as it looks?”