Kinkaid (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 2) (11 page)

I slid a hand across her shapely ass and gently swatted it. “Woman, don’t you know where a man’s brain is?”

She chuckled. After a moment, I slid my eyes shut, so content even the hard floor beneath me felt like a fucking feather bed. There was peace and silence and stillness, until she wormed her way onto my back. Her body draped over mine, we connected everywhere. Her soft tits pillowed my back. Her tiny landing strip of hair pressed against the top of my ass. Her lean legs fell against mine.

“Comfy?” I grunted.

“You feel good. You’ve got an amazing body. I could stay here all night.” Her whisper tickled the back of my neck.

“Good. Not moving.”

Her fingers trailed up the muscled pads of my ribs to find the pale blond hairs under my arms. She started tickling me, and I squirmed beneath her.

“What was that about not moving?” she asked.

With another grunt, I hefted up onto my knees, and then onto my hands.

She hit my back. “What are you doing?”

“
Shhh
. You’ll wake the neighbor again.” Swiveling my head around, I stole a quick kiss from her lips. “Stay on. I’ll piggyback ya.”

Her arms and legs wound around me, and I got to my feet. I let her go on top of the bed. She bounced with a high-pitched squeak I’d never heard before.

“What was that?” I lay next to her.

“Well, you just manhandled me from lying flat on the ground without any effort at all after I fucked you senseless, mind you. I’m certainly not small, and I don’t weigh nothing. What else is a girl supposed to do but squeak?”

I rubbed a knuckle over her bottom lip. “I liked it.”

Her eyes flipped to mine, one slim eyebrow arched high. Her hand wandered low, into the heat of my groin. “Seems I didn’t use you all up after all. Round two?”

I pumped my hips. “Oh yeah. Round two then three at least. After you feed me. You got me starved.”

The next thing I knew a pillow was smashed over my face, and she darted away from my grasping hands.

Luckily, Sadie did feed me—leftovers of warmed-up pizza. The ambrosia of the college student. And cold beer. The nectar of biker babes and dudes.

Round two? Was so hot I was surprised we didn’t set the apartment on fire. Sadie’s sucking and fucking skills left me in a mindless heap in the middle of her bed. I remembered kissing her and murmuring something, slipping my hands down her back to her ass before sleep pulled me under.

When I woke, it was late. The hushed, still of night, intimate kind of late. The type I’d never shared with anyone. Sadie stood beside the window, framed in moonlight. I was glad the curtains were closed and the lights were off. No silhouette would appear; otherwise she’d be giving one hell of a peepshow.

I, on the other hand, took every advantage of the peepshow afforded me. The silver moonlight lined every curve of her achingly beautiful body like one of her paintings. With her back to me, the dove and tree tat only served to highlight her womanly shape. Her straight hair shined down her back all the way to the fullness of her apple-shaped ass. The curve of her hips, the length of her legs. The slope of one breast, tipped up and revealed in nightshades.

Leaning up on my elbow, I whispered, “God. I think you’re a mirage or something, Sadie.”

That long fall of hair swinging, she glanced at me. “You’re awake.”

“Come to bed. It’s cold without you.”

I listened to the quiet pad of her feet. When she curled up beside me, I stroked all that skin that had shone silver but I knew to be golden.

“You’re amazing. I can’t believe I’m with you like this.”

“Me either.” Her fingers traced the lines of my face and circled the width of my shoulders. “Finally.

“It always annoyed me, you know, crushing on you and not even
from afar
but up close and personal and—”

I clasped her hand to my chest. “My best friend. My best girl. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

Tugging her hand free, she huffed. “Because.”

“Because is not a good answer.”

“
Because
you’re a player, and you never looked at me like that anyway.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but she shook her head threateningly at me. I closed up shop instead of tempting disaster.

“And it aggravated the hell out of me. Why you? The guy who always acted like a big brother but casually fucked just about anything else out there with a big set of jugs and a wet hole to dip your pole in.”

“I’m not playing now. And I might’ve looked at you that way if you hadn’t always acted like my best bud but the woman you clearly are instead!”

“Ha!”

“Ha ha, yeah. Jesus, Sadie. The second you showed yourself to me,
all of you
, how could I not want you? ALL. OF. YOU? I never would’ve thought in a million years you were interested in me like that. Like this.” I pulled her to me, attempting to avoid any possible elbow jabs to my ribs or knee thrusts to my nuts. “God, Sadie,” I murmured against her hair. “You’ve always been everything to me. How can you not see that? And now everything is . . . endless with you.”

I heard her sniffle before I realized . . . was she crying? My tough girl, tomboy best friend, my woman, my lover . . . was crying because of me?

I lifted her chin even though she resisted. Tiny teardrops spiked on her lashes. Using a corner of the sheet, I dried her face. Then I looked real deep into her eyes.

“I am not playing with you. I think I’m the luckiest sumbitch in the world to be with you.”

She solemnly nodded. “Okay.”

“And don’t cry again. Breaks my fucking heart.”

“Okay. I don’t usually, you know.”

I kissed her slowly with all the passion still reined inside me. “I know. And I’m lying. Cry in front of me all you want so long as I’m the one who gets to make you feel better.”

“I already do.”

I wrapped my arms around her, moving my legs around her, too. I’d be her human shield, her protector, her lover, her best friend. All those things if she’d let me.

After a quiet lapse, I whispered,
“I think you were right, earlier. Maybe there’s a reason I never committed to anyone before, Sadie.”

“And what would that be?”

“Maybe I’m supposed to be with you?”

“And you were just too numbskull thick to realize it?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Truth.

“I’m staying all night.” No buts about it. I curved my hands along her sides, amazed once again how well she fit me.

“What about Grampa Dean?” she asked.

“Miss Curry is with him.”

“Oh. Okay. You’re too big for me to budge anyway.” A satisfied smile plumped her cheeks.

“You like it.” I flexed one hilled bicep.

She poked it with a fingernail. “Yes, I do.” Her hands roamed down my chest, onto my pelvic muscles, and around to my butt. “You’re like a mountain. Hard everywhere.”

“Got that right.” Rolling on top of her, I pushed her legs up beneath my arms. “Hard.” I surged inside her velvet heat. “Everywhere.”

“
BOM CHICKA WANG WANG!
”

Even Hiro grinning in my face with his maniacal porn flick riff couldn’t put me off my game tonight. I grinned back at the masked Japanese superhero stripper.

Jesus.

I was getting ready for my routine in the changing room. The guys, those not on stage for the opening blue-collar balls out act or out working the floor in order to get the honeys rip-roaring ready, were crowded against the clothes racks, lit mirrors, and the free weights station in the far corner of the room. Getting their muscles juiced up and contoured for a night of
dollar dollar bills, y’all
.

Mamie thrust her deep black face through the door. “Kinky-aid!” She hooked a finger at me.

“What up, Mamie?”

She waddled inside and plugged a steaming plate under my nose. “You eat ’dis. Beans ’n’ rice. Stick to yo’ ribs.
Mm hmm
. You gettin’ skinny. Need some meat on dem dere ribs, boyo.”

She wasn’t called Mamie for nothing. I accepted the plate with thanks, but I begged to differ about turning into skin and bones. Peering down my front, I was shredded with cut muscle all over my body. I leaned to the left then the right. All good as far as I could see. If I was a bit thinner than usual that was due to Sadie and me fucking like jackrabbits for the last week and a half.

I knocked Hiro’s grabby hands away, eating a huge mouthful of the tasty beans and rice.

Screwing like bunnies wasn’t all we’d done. We’d spent a lot of time hanging out as usual, with the added bonus of going on dates or heading out on rides. Knowing I could reach over and hold her hand or kiss her any damn time and any damn place I wanted put an entirely new spin on things I never once took for granted.

February had arrived in a burst of sunshine and springtime warmth, but it had nothing on the golden warmth of Sadie. What could I say? My girl made me poetic.

The only potential screw in the works—the other kind of screw, that is—might’ve been the fact she hadn’t mentioned the stripper thing again. Or maybe that was a good thing. I didn’t see a problem with it personally. It was a job, nothing more.

So I was in an awesome mood. I’d even whistled while I’d unpacked my gym bag earlier when I’d arrived at The GQ. Mamie had made me some southern soul food, which I wasn’t about to pass up. I had a sexy new routine to break out tonight. I’d gotten my girl. Everything was right in my world.

“Dude, you have a seriously goofy look on your face. Hope you plan on losing it before you step on stage. Way you’re looking right now? Reminds me of Glen the Noob.”

“
Huh
?” I glanced up to see Jack The Stripper giving me the
you done gone crazy
stare.

“Oh, shit. I know that look.” Hiro crouched in front of me. “Just thought I’d never see it on him.” He spoke to the room at large.

He made a big show of peeling back my eyelids to inspect my eyeballs, pulling down my mouth and looking inside all the way to my tonsils, and pressing his ear to my chest where my heartbeat thumped.

I was gonna thump him in a second.

He sat back on his heels, a serious look on his face. His dark brown cat’s eyes lowered. “I’m afraid it’s true. Kaid’s sick. He’s got a bad case of—”

The latest stripper dude named Duff ambled over. “What up? Is it contagious?”

“Don’t think so. Our man here is . . . lovesick.”

The other guys fell all over themselves laughing, Duff adopted the
y’all be crazy
expression, and I rolled my eyes while I pretended to stroke one out with my fist in front of my crotch.

“Git out of his face.” Jamal came up behind me and knocked Hiro on the side of the head. “He’s prepping for his new act.” Big brown hands massaged my shoulders like I was a true-blue boxer and Jamal my trainer.

He wasn’t wrong. Tonight was a new one. I’d already killed the businessman routine, and that was an old favorite I’d bring back for special occasions. Tonight though? I was a down and dirty boxer from the silk hooded robe to the soft leather boots, to the Everlast shorts, and of course, the sports-grade jockstrap.

When my turn came, I waited on the blacked-out stage. That was my signature, and it was the signal to all the regular women I was up. Micah didn’t even need to intro me. The chicks climbed the walls and raised the roof before he even opened his mouth.

No fear. No panic. Just the thrill of the dance and the reaction of the crowd. This was what I did and I was damn good at it.

Ever the showman, Micah waited for the roar to die down before starting in a real low voice. “Think you know what’s coming, ladies?”

“KINKY KAID!”

“Bring it ON!”

“We want to see him!”

“That’s right, it’s Kinky Kaid.” Micah doffed his old Stetson with a chuckle. “But not as you’ve ever seen him before. Tonight, you’ll be the first to see him, touch him, watch him,
want him
as
Theeee
KNOCKOUT! The Champion! The BOXER, KAID THE RAIDER!!!”

The lights blazed on in big bright white spotlights shining down on me. The noise of hundreds of horny women erupted with violent intensity. I stood inside the boxing ring Micah had had built, ropes and all. The hood of my short silk robe covered my face, leaving my features shadowed in darkness.

As the song started with one lone guitar and a gritty growly voice, I stalked around the stage, throwing punches from my taped fists, the deep silk hood still hiding my face. “Bad Company” by Five Finger Death Punch banged into a hardcore chorus. My hood dropping back, the robe parted down my middle as I jabbed at the air. Feinting left and right, I smashed my phantom enemy in the ribs, the kidneys, the jaw.

Tonight I was raw. On edge. The song became sexy because I was, and I had the moves to back that shit up and take it to the final bell.

“Bad Company” slowed through the verse, and I rolled my hips, pulling the robe from my shoulders. The black silk shooting red flames
floated down to my feet. I fucked the air, lifting the band of my boxing shorts and letting it snap lower on my groin.

My skin shined in the bright lights. I kept a sneer on my face, my eyes cast down and deadly.

Screams rent the air. My chest bared, the women took that as an open invitation to mob the stage. They only got as far as the red ropes cordoning off my boxing ring.

The beat picked up. Punch. Duck. Left hook.
Uppercut.
I danced on my toes and jumped through the air, landing on the other side of the ring. Hands roamed all over my body, but I slipped away, shaking my head at the flock of women flailing all over themselves.

Feinting away, I stepped under a spotlight. Gyrating around, I hooked the shorts with my thumbs, lowering them an inch over my ass. The top of the jockstrap peeked out along with the taut slopes of my butt cheeks, sinister black ink and all.

Screams deafened me, crashing against my ears.

Just then the song rocketed full on. Bashing around the ring, banging against the ropes, I loosened the knot in my shorts. Sweat flying, teeth gritting, I ditched the boots in a move I’d perfected in practice only after a hundred tries.

Bad Company.

That’s what I was.

When the lead singer started talking—a deep-voiced and dangerous monotone—I rounded the ring, sliding on the soles of my feet. The snake tat on my back drew tight. The muscles from my calves to my thighs to my Adonis belt and my pecs punched up, worthy of this boxing ring. I jumped onto the top rope above the cheering crowd. Balanced there, I raised my fists. Arching away, I backflipped to the mat and came up, grinning.

Savage yells of
Kinky Kaid
tore through the air. The clients hung off the ropes, desperate to touch me. Money flurried onto the stage, green and abundant.

The guitar riff rippling into the air, I went down on my knees. My legs spread wide, I ran my hands up my midriff, over my chest and into my hair. I wound my way to my feet slowly, undulating from side to side as I drew myself up—a lethal fighter who could kill with one blow.

As soon as the beat picked up, I shredded the shorts. The louder the song piped out, the faster I danced from the ropes to the center of the mat, from corner to corner. Parrying, pushing off my faux-opponent, blasting from my corner. Clothed in nothing more than a white jockstrap lazily laced up the front and in danger off falling off, I pounded and leaped, landing on my feet. I thrashed my opponent to the ground.

I flicked my knuckles, shaking off the blood.

The GQ exploded in applause, but I wasn’t done, the song wasn’t finished.

The vibe escalated. I raced to the corner turnbuckle and fucked against it like it was a tight wet pussy, ramming against the pole. I pushed my hand against my cock, bringing my shaft fully erect while the woman watched me pump in an erotic charge.

I no longer heard their screams. Pure adrenaline fed me now.

One last backflip across the floor, I landed on my knees, center stage. All the other spotlights shut off, leaving me heaving in the last shaft of beaming light. Bending forward, I laid my knuckles down on the mat. Sweat dripped from my face, liquid salt against my lips. I lifted my head, masking my face in a pitiless snarl.

Heaving one leg under me then the other, I stood arms out, face raised. With a final weave of my hips and a flick of my lowered hands, I started to drop my jockstrap.

There was no ignoring the banshee squeals then.

My pubes.

The base of my cock.

Shrieks rent the air.

The jockstrap started drifting to the floor just as the song abruptly ended and the lights went completely black-out.

And they’d seen nothing more than a white flash in front of their eyes.

I blindly found my way off stage to the reverb of wild applause.

The contact high from the screaming, whistling, fanning-themselves fans overloaded my brain cells. Grinning from ear to ear, I made my way back to the changing room after I grabbed a towel from Mamie to wrap around my hips. I bet Micah would give me another raise after tonight’s success. I could pay off the rest of Grampa’s last hospital bill and still have enough left over to do something special for Sadie.

The dudes high-fived me, slapped my ass, congratulated me as I passed by them to my locker. We were pretty tight-knit, but sometimes professional jealousy reared its ugly head—or cock, as it were. Not tonight though.

I was changing into a simpler G-string to work the floor for an hour or so when I heard Duff’s fake street gangsta voice, “Yo, yo, yo. You know that hot babe over at the Chrome and Steele shop?”

My ears instantly perked up. Chrome and Steele Auto Parts stood side by side with Retribution MC in the same compound and was owned by Boomer, Brodie, and Catarina Steele. The whole family was pure class, unlike Duff.

Duff was buff but not as buff as me. Besides, he had a big mouth to go with his white dude breakdancing routine. I’d wanted to punch that smug smile right off his face from day one. Bragging rights had to be earned, just like an MC patch. He wore his pants belted halfway down his ass and his baseball cap flipped around backward like that gave him some kind of street cred.

Jack tightened the laces on his black leather pants, pulling out his latex hood that buckled at the back of his neck. “Yeah, I know it. Seen the woman too. Name’s Catherine or—”

The Eminem wannabe readjusted his back-to-front baseball cap. The cap wasn’t the only thing back to front about him. There was also his head and his ass. “Yeah, homes. She be like real fine. The kind of bitch you wanna jack up, right?”

My skin heated and my ears were now tingling. My hands formed into clenched fists.

“That Cat Steele”—homeboy continued—“yo, she used to be a bonafide stripper! Heard she had some moves make a man need to crank his cock just watching her. I’d bang that bitch until she squealed then gag her with my cock ’til she choked on it.”

Before I knew it, I shot an arm out and grabbed Duff around his throat, lifting him off his feet and up to my face. “Show some fucking respect. That’s a married woman you’re talkin’ about. I’d say you’re the little bitch.”

I shoved the asshole away from me.

“I heard it’s true,” Hiro whispered beside me.

“Yo, man. S’all truth. The D-man don’t tell no lies.” Cracker Jack Duff just didn’t know when to cut his losses.

“I don’t care if it’s true or not. That’s no way to talk about a lady.” I snarled at the dickless wonder. “If you think what I’m about to do to you is bad, I know her big brothers and her
husband
. You’d have trouble finding your own gravemarker by the time they got through with you.”

I cocked my fist, pulled back, and let fly at Duff’s face. His skin broke with a satisfying crunch that shivered all the way up my arm. I didn’t follow up with any of my boxing ring moves. One punch was enough to shut him up.
The little bitch
had probably never been in a real fistfight in his entire life.