Iron & Bone (Lock & Key #3) (27 page)

I needed to step things up.

Comfortable and cozy was not
hot
or
amazing
or
addictive
. It was…comfortable and cozy. I was Boner’s old lady now, and I knew he genuinely liked me and wanted me. We certainly had a hefty dose of chemistry between us, but how long would that last now that we were actually together? Would the fascination, the zing between us fade, like it usually did in the other few relationships I’d had?

I didn’t want him to regret the decision to claim me as his old lady that he’d made in a blaze of testosterone. But I also didn’t want him to treat me like some girl on a pedestal and then sneak off with some biker groupie to let loose and feel free.

“Jill, should we lower the TV? You think it’s too loud, and Rae and Becs might wake up?”

Rae and Becca had fallen asleep together on a
Dora the Explorer
television marathon in Rae’s bedroom.

“I already lowered it. Stop worrying. They’re out for the rest of the night,” I said. “Anyway, I put the baby monitor in Rae’s room, just in case, so we’ll hear them if they wake up.”

He winked at me, a sly grin lighting his face. “Smart move, Firefly.” He drained his beer.

I let out a laugh. “God, I feel like we’re teenagers.”

He adjusted my legs over his. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the girl and her boyfriend are watching TV while the mom and dad are in the other room. And they’re holding hands—”

“The mom and the dad?”

“No, Bone, the boy and girl. They’re holding hands, or he has his arm around her shoulder, and they can’t help themselves. Slowly, slowly, they start touching, exploring body parts, kissing, sucking on each other’s tongues, sneaking hands into shirts and fingers down pants, holding in their groans and moans, desperately trying to stay quiet. You know…”

His eyes squinted. His forehead puckered. He needed a translation but didn’t know how to ask for one.

“You’ve never done that?” I asked.

“No. But right now, I’m kinda stuck on the way you said ‘sucking.’” He grinned as he fed me a couple of kernels of buttery popcorn.

Of course he hadn’t ever done that. From what little I knew of his past, he had always been on his own and out in the big, bad world. He’d probably never dated, never went to a girl’s house and got introduced to the mom and dad and dealt with that horrifying and mystical combination of sexual tension coated with a hard shell of parental disapproval and apprehension. No, he’d always gotten what he wanted, when he wanted, charged in and took it, or it landed into his lap with no doubts and no holds barred.

I licked the salt off my lips. “You never went out on dates in high school?”

“Never went on dates.” He kissed the side of my mouth. “Never finished high school.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Did something happen that you didn’t finish high school?”

He returned his attention to the TV and tossed more popcorn into his mouth. “I had a job.” He stared straight ahead, his teeth grinding on some small hard kernel of corn.

“Was it a good job then?” I asked.

“Pay was real good.”

“I don’t mean to force you into telling me about yourself.” I took a handful of popcorn from the bowl. “The past is the past. I know that better than most.”

“I don’t talk about it. Ever. With anyone. We’re together now though. You should be able to ask me what you want to ask me.”

“Okay. Well, I don’t know what your real name is, and I’d like to.”

He held my gaze, a pained look passing over his face, as if he were the President of the United States, about to deliver heavy news to the nation.

“Santiago.”

Light filtered through the cracks in my heart. A strain of guitar strings roused me.

“Santiago,” I said, enjoying the, exotic unexpected sounds tumbling from my lips. “That’s beautiful. Spanish?”

“My parents were from Argentina.”

“Argentina? Is Giddon your real last name?”

He shook his head. “Arana.”

“Santiago Arana,” I whispered.

“My parents had just gotten married, and my mom’s brother brought them to Denver where he lived, so they could chase their piece of the American dream.”

“Where did Boner come from? I’m assuming it’s because of your very generous—”

He let out a small grunt. “I was thin as a kid, and whenever I got a hard-on, which was pretty often, it would be way fucking obvious.” His tongue swiped at his lower lip, his eyes shifting away. “That’s what I tell people.” His voice was low, his eyes almost pleading with me.

Or were they testing the waters of my reaction?

I reached out past the pleading look and into the unsure sea of green, the choppy waters being held at bay.

“That’s the funny story, the easy one, right?” I asked, my voice just above a whisper. “But it’s not the real story?”

He only shook his head.

My throat stung. “Tell me the real story.”

A shadow passed over those eyes, his hair fell forward, covering half of his face.

“Does this tattoo have anything to do with it?” My fingers traced the snake twisted over his left forearm.

“Dig and I got these together. I got my snake on my arm. He got his around his waist. ‘Strike first, attack before you get attacked.’”

My fingers traced over the snake’s vicious face. “He has three bones in his mouth. It’s hard to tell with those huge fangs. You’ve got to look closely.”

My eyes caught on his. The green was startling, shining glass that took my breath away. He was ready to tell me something yet ready to choke it back down at the very same time.

I took the popcorn bowl away and entwined our fingers together, rubbing my other hand over the inked snake. “Tell me.”

“After my parents got to the States and I was born, my dad ditched my mom for some other woman and took off for California. Never saw him again. My mom worked hard, cleaning people’s houses or their shops after-hours, anything she could find. One morning, she didn’t wake up, died of a brain aneurysm in her sleep.”

“How old were you?”

“I was ten. I went to live with her brother—my uncle—and my cousin, Inès. My uncle got into gambling as we hit our teens, and we pretty much took care of ourselves. He owed money.” He took in a breath. “Big money.”

“Oh.”

“He had me working after school doing drop-offs for these Salvadoran drug dealers who were pals of his bookie’s. That’s when he took her, when I wasn’t home.”

“He took Inès?”

“Yeah. When they finally came home that night, she was like a different person. She stopped talking, just stared at the wall. Wouldn’t even look at me. Wasn’t too hard to figure out that he’d pimped her for his debt.”

“Oh my God.”

“She was fourteen.” Boner averted his blank gaze. “I freaked out. Really freaked out. I knew the only way out of it was to get away from him. So, one morning, instead of going to school, we took off. But he caught us. He punched me, slapped her, threw shit at us, threatened to send her back to the bookie. I knew I had to make it stop.” He held my gaze. “There was only one way to make it stop.”

My pulse pounded in my neck, and I squeezed his cold fingers with my own.

“He was talking shit to Inès, slapping her, and she was crying and shaking. That’s when I grabbed the crowbar he always kept by the back door. I hit him with it. I hit him across his back. I hit his knees, his legs, his arms, his head. I kept smashing, smashing, blood flying everywhere, his bones cracking.” He sucked in a breath. “And I fucking enjoyed it.”

“I bet you did.”

“I grabbed Inès and the crowbar, and we took off. I had just turned sixteen. I started running odd jobs—collecting payments, threatening and killing with that crowbar for this gang I knew through the drug dealer I’d worked for. I kept us alive—on the street but alive. It was hard for Inès, but she hung on. I promised her things would get better, and she kept believing they would. She kept believing in me.”

“Of course she believed in you.”

He rubbed our hands together. “I didn’t even think about it when I was bashing my uncle. I just hit and hit and hit him. I’d hit him to stop him from hurting her anymore and to start a better life for us. There was no good versus evil, wrong or right. There was only that iron in my hands. My hate, my love, my fear, my wishing—it all went into that crowbar. But we got shit-all anyway.” His hands slid from mine. “Smashing bones turned into a high-paying job though. It became my trademark. I was real popular in certain circles.”

From boy to vicious killer in one night.

My stomach hardened. “So, Boner comes from breaking bones?”

“It earned me a nickname.
El Hueso
. The Bone.” He studied my face. “That scare you?”

“No, it doesn’t.” I took his hands back in mine. “I’m glad you broke his bones. Thank you for being honest with me, for trusting me.”

A shiver razored around my neck as he studied me. “I do trust you.”

I kissed his hands. The hands that had broken so many bodies. The very same hands that had protected me, adored me.

He cleared his throat. “I wanna do the teenager thing with you.”

“Oh. We can do that. We kind of are already.”

“How should I sit or whatever?” he asked, pulling himself up.

I couldn’t contain my grin. “Just sit back against the sofa.”

We adjusted ourselves.

“I’ll shut off all the lights.” I leaned over and switched off the lamp on the end table at my side.

We were engulfed in darkness, save for the glow from the television screen.

“Put your arm over my shoulder.”

He did.

“Good. Now, I’ll sit back, and we’ll keep pressing closer together while we watch TV. Then, you can start going for a little bit more.”

“Like, go for a titty instead of dipping into the popcorn bowl?”

I shoved him with my shoulder. “Yeah, something like that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” I settled back against his outstretched arm. His hand hung low over my shoulder, and his other hand slid over my thigh. I squirmed appropriately and let out a dramatic sigh, my attention glued to Jason Momoa on the television, but my stomach fluttered and flipped over what Boner might be planning.

His lips hovered over the side of my face. His hand came up and brushed my hair away, a fingertip trailing down my neck. He leaned in, his warm breath fanning over my skin as he took my hand in his.

Every cell in my body braced for his whisper, his words. Something sexy, something hot, something—

He shoved my hand between his legs. “You gonna suck my cock?”

“Boner!”

“What?” He laughed.

“Not like that!”

He laughed harder, his chest shaking. “A teenage guy would so say that.”

“Really?”

“He would
think
it.”

“Forget it.”

“I was kidding,” he said. “Let’s do it again.”

Shaking my head, I leaned forward and grabbed some popcorn from the bowl on the table.

“I can do this,” he said, pulling on the back of my dress. “I want to do this. Come on, work with me.”

I leaned into him once more and crossed my arms in front of my chest. His thigh pressed against mine as his nose trailed along the underside of my jaw.

“You smell good. I like your perfume,” he said.

“Thanks.” My eyes remained glued on the television.

He turned toward me, his one hand running slowly through the back of my hair and down my neck, leaving delicious shivers in its wake. Featherlight kisses whispered across my neck, my jaw, my cheek. My pulse pounded in my veins, but I still didn’t budge.

His fingers slid underneath the edge of my cotton sundress, lighting a trail of fire over my bare thigh. I held my breath as he got closer and closer until those long fingers touched my pulsating center ever so gently, ever so delicately. A veil of pleasure had me in its delicate net.

His fingers finally sank over the right place and stroked. “There you are,” he breathed.

A low moan escaped my throat.

“Shh. Mommy might hear us.”

He bit on my lower lip just as his fingertip edged under my panty and dipped inside me. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted. Our mouths were only degrees apart.

“Jillee.”

My breath shortened, and I angled my hips as more of his hand sank between my legs.

He nuzzled my ear. “I need your tits, baby.”

Fire zipped through my blood at the demand, at the raw ache in his voice. I leaned back against him and pushed the spaghetti straps off my shoulders, tugging the tube top of the dress down. My aching breasts spilled over the edge of the material.

“Play with ’em.”

I squeezed my breasts, kneading them, as his gaze burned over me in the harsh white glow of the TV.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous, Firefly. Gorgeous.”

His fingers curled inside me, stroking my inner wall, and I gasped.

“Fuck my fingers, baby.”

I moved my hips against his hand, moaning as we both found the precise fantastic angle and rhythm together.

He kissed a breast, licking and nuzzling, his hair sweeping over the sensitive skin. “Fuck. I liked waking up with you when you spent the night with me at the club, those tits pressed into my back, waiting for me to suck on whenever I wanted.”

“Me, too.”

“You need to stay here though, huh?”

“I do.”

“I can’t stay here though,” he said.

“No.”

“Maybe I could stay and then sneak out the window?”

“That does fit right in with the—
ah!
—angst-teen theme we’ve got going on.”

“Shit…”

I rocked harder against him. “Could be fun.”

“Just watching you…I’m gonna fucking explode,” he said on a grunt. Bending his head, he licked the underside of a breast like a wildcat.

“I’d rather have you exploding inside me.”

“Want to do that, yeah, but I want to make you explode on my fingers first.” His fingers slowly dragged out and then dived back in, thrusting faster.

“Oh shit.” I gasped.

“So tight, baby.”

Every muscle in my body tensed and vibrated. My hips ground against his hand as his two fingers urged me toward higher ground, toward infinity. His thumb stroked over my clit, and wings fluttered inside me, creatures taking flight to a place I never knew existed and plunging me deep into an abyss. All of me hovered on the edge with them, with him, as they soared, lifting me higher.