LUST: A Bad Boy and Amish Girl Romance (The Brody Bunch Book 2) (35 page)

“I do. I believe you,” I said and dropped a kiss on her lips. She returned it hungrily, pulling my face down to meet hers.

After a few minutes of tender kissing, Laurel realized her phone was still recording, dangling in her left hand behind my neck, and she laughed and brought it forward. “I should probably not include the making out in the write-up.”

“I don’t know, it might be just what
Slipstream
is lacking,” I said with a wink. “Sex sells, right?”

She turned the recording off and looked up at me. “I’m going to have to go back to New York, at least for a bit, and finish this up.”

“And then what?”

Laurel smiled shyly. “And then… then I’m coming right back here. For a long while.”

“I think I might know someone who can show you around,” I said.

She kissed me again and didn’t stop until her phone was chiming, the call of an incoming message. Laurel pulled away from my mouth and looked at her phone with an annoyed grunt.

“Just one sec, it’s my partner from the magazine.” A few finger swipes later, she pulled up his message and let out a laugh with a shake of her head.

She held up the phone to me, and displayed a photo of a fit dude with short-cropped hair sitting in a cozy dark blue first class airline seat. In each hand, he held a full mimosa, and grinned at the camera behind sunglasses like he had won the lottery.

“I guess I missed my flight,” she said, stuffing the phone in her pocket. She looked up at me with lustful, curious eyes.

As I ran my hands up her thighs, I said, “Well, what’s to be done about that?”

“
S
eriously
, man, it’s still not centered!” I laughed, waving my hands from side to side. The workers on the scaffolding above the doorway to the Graveyard Club followed my directions with only a little frustration, until I hollered and put up the okay sign with both hands. “Perfect, there! Perfect. I’ll have beers waiting for you boys when you’re done.”

The workers made their notes about the location, and then carefully lowered the brand-new, but old school-looking, neon sign for the club that had just been delivered. I wiggled around the scaffolding with care and went back inside.

Things had moved fast after the story hit the presses. It became the best-selling issue of
Slipstream
in the past fifteen years, and generated a ton of new revenue for the magazine. Noah’s reputation had recovered—and then some. Shows and reporters had lined up the first few weeks, trying to get some face time with him, but he turned them all down. He had said everything he wanted to say in my story, and he only wanted to focus on the future.

Domino was upset, but she understood when I stepped down from the magazine. She called it going out on a high note, but the truth was just that I didn’t want to sneak around my scene anymore, trying to uncover its dirt—I wanted to get back to helping it thrive, supporting the local acts, and writing culture pieces. Deathshead, one of Seattle’s oldest underground magazines, was all too happy to hire me, and I intended to take over as editor one day.

I found a house in Thornwood only a short drive from Noah’s, which I only bought after I insisted it was the right thing to do for a lifelong commitment-phobe. He understood my need for freedom; it wasn’t like we were apart for long periods, anyway. Noah was spending his time on low-key things after the stress of the festival, and most of his days, he was working the Graveyard Club with Kevin, slowly edging him into the present one upgrade at a time.

Behind the bar, Kevin was drying glasses. “Get it all okay?”

“Yeah, it’s going to look fucking amazing,” I told him. “They should have it finished in an hour or so.”

“Don’t forget to ask them to hang up some of the bug zappers we got, too. That neon light is gonna pull all the skeeters to the smokers at night,” he said, gesturing to the lamps gathered under one of the tables.

“Will do,” I promised and took a drink of water from the glass on the bar.

“Babe,” came Noah’s muffled voice from the stage. “Are you busy? Can you help me out here?”

I hurried over to find him trying to hold up one of the overhead PA speakers while he simultaneously tried to maneuver a dolly that had tipped onto its side.

“Geez, tough guy, what gives!” I teased, picking up the dolly and rolling it right underneath him. Noah lowered the speaker carefully onto the platform and stood up with an exhale. He straightened his shirt and pulled me close for a kiss.

“Thanks for helping out today,” he said. “Are you sure the mag didn’t mind?”

“Nah,” I said. “This new place is way more low-key than
Slipstream
. Besides, that was the point, remember? That I
don’t
work my ass off all the time anymore?”

“So what do you call helping fix up the Graveyard Club—a vacation?” he laughed, slapping my ass playfully.

“Ooh,” I said. “We should probably take a real one of those soon. I’m getting a little travel thirsty.”

Noah’s eyes lit up. “You too, huh? I bitched about every tour, but man… it always gave me something to look forward to.”

“Well… maybe we should plan one,” I said.

“Maybe we should!” he said, hands on his hips.

“Why are you saying that all defiantly? I’m agreeing with you,” I laughed, poking him in the ribs.

“I don’t know. You get my blood all boiled up.” He pulled me close by the waist and kissed me deeply until Kevin began cat-calling us from behind the bar.

“Back to work, you fuckin’ horn dogs!” Kevin laughed. “If I don’t get any, neither do you!”

Noah and I laughed as we parted, and I hopped off the stage to go check on the sign workers. They were still on track, and the sign already improved the curb appeal of the club. I gave them a thumbs up and returned inside, but the room was empty.

“Hey, Noah, I had this idea,” I said as I came around the corner to the back room.

I found Noah and Kevin huddled up near the sink, looking down at something Noah was holding in his hand. Something small, and something glittery. It was only a split second before they realized I was in the room, and Noah scrambled to shove his hands in his pockets while Kevin made a surprised noise and waved his towel around.

They stared at me like deer caught in headlights, not even bothering to try and explain their strange behavior. I looked to one, and then the other, my smile growing as I waited and waited for one of them to try and cover.

“You guys are…
really
bad at this,” I laughed.

Noah’s face twisted in a playful glare. Kevin started huffing and walked past me, slapping me a few times with the towel. “Hey, why don’t you mind your own business?”

Noah followed him, walking up close to me. He leaned down and in heated whisper said, “Yeah, why don’t you mind your own business, babe?”

“Why don’t you make me?”

Noah smiled and gave an evil little laugh before he dropped a kiss on my forehead and moved past me into the bar.

As I watched him go with a smile, I wondered if he realized it didn’t take an investigative journalist to figure out what a ring box in the pocket of a pair of jeans looks like.

T
he second bonus
book is one of my Jarvis boys,
Kellan
.
The Jarvis Boys
can be purchased together on Amazon as a set, but each book stands individually and so you might enjoy reading Kellan’s story even if you haven’t read Slade’s first.

I
’d just gotten
the shit kicked out of me in the ring, and all I had to show for it was a pair of nice tits.

But don’t worry about me. You should’ve seen the other guy.

This was what winners got, what we were entitled to: a hot chick to wipe the blood off our lips and wrap her own around our cocks. Sometimes they were groupies from the crowd, or sloppy drunks our managers could convince to hang out in the winner’s room for the ride of their life with a big, bad, dangerous guy like myself.
Killer Kellan.
That was what they called me. But when I was in this room with some horny babe with a tight, ripe pussy, they only called me one thing.

God.

This chick wasn’t from the crowd. She was one of ours—a ring girl, one of the scantily clad sirens who’d strut around the mat, holding up those big cards that let you know which round it was. I’d seen her before with some of the other guys, stumbling out of the winner’s room with her eyes glazed and her hair a fucking mess. She was a regular, the kind of girl who couldn’t get enough of some mean dick filling her every hole. By the way her thighs were quivering, I could tell she was jonesin’.

“Hey there, Killer,” she purred, sprawled out across the bed that had seen more ass than a toilet seat. Crooking her finger, she beckoned to me, sliding her tongue across her full, glossy lips. “Come claim your prize.”

“She’s all yours,” Vic, my manager, muttered beside me—an unwanted reminder that he was in the room. “Enjoy the spoils of war, kid.”

Please. I’d seen war and its spoils. They were nothing like this.

He closed the door behind me and the flavor of the week sat up in bed, coyly holding the sheets over her tits. She shook down her long, dark hair and giggled, biting her fingernail at me. “You heard the man, Killer. Come get me. I’m all yours.”

There was no reason to deny her. I was rock hard—had been for about a week now. Fuckin’ before a fight was bad luck. You were supposed to hold in all your frustration, all your anger, and take it out on the other guy in the ring. Sticking your dick in something would take the edge off, and in my world, you needed all the edge you could get.

Fuckin’
after
a fight, though? That was pretty much mandatory. Girls would practically line up at the door to sprawl across your bed like it was a silver platter. Provided you won, of course.

And I always won.

“What’s the matter, Killer?” the hunny in my bed asked, cocking her head. She leaned forward and grabbed at the waistband of my shorts, pulling me toward her. “You had a rough day, huh? You look exhausted. Don’t worry—Jasmine will take care of you…”

I cupped the back of Jasmine’s skull, then wound my fingers so tightly through her hair she gasped out loud. When I jerked her head back, her big, brown eyes were wide with not just surprise and intrigue, but
fear.

I’d seen that look in people’s eyes before. Too many of them. Whether I was fucking or fighting, it was always the same. People were afraid of me—of Killer Kellan. The chicks seemed to get off on it. They liked the danger.

But for me, this whole song and dance was getting old, fast. None of these ring girls could give me what I needed. None of them even had the first clue.

What I wanted was an escape, to feel like something other than the weapon that the military, and then this glorified fight club, had made me. I wanted to look into a woman’s eyes and not see uncertainty, for once—no matter how wet the thrill made them. I wanted a woman who, when she looked at me, would hold nothing but admiration, desire, and
trust
in her gaze. Maybe even love.

Jasmine was not that woman. She couldn’t give me what I needed. But I could take from her a few moments of bliss, just enough to make the cuts and bruises and muscle aches not seem so bad.

That should’ve been enough for me. Why wasn’t it?

“This isn’t how this works,” I told Jasmine, staring down at her slack face, her slightly parted lips. “You’re not fuckin’ me, baby. I’m fuckin’
you.
”

The little smile that caught the edges of her mouth made her eyes sparkle. This was what she came here for—a rough fuck and a walk of shame she’d take on wobbly legs afterward.

I yanked down my shorts and let my cock spring free, hard and heavy as it thumped against her chest. Jasmine let the sheets drop and I pressed my shaft between her tits, pivoting my hips so that the rosy crown of my dick pulsed just beneath her jaw. When she took hold of my balls, a thin bead of precum and a low growl escaped me, and when she flashed me a mischievous grin and descended on my manhood like a cock-hungry vulture, I shoved all the way in to the back of her throat and held her there, savoring the wet tightness of her mouth.

Jasmine’s eyes fluttered closed and she laved the underside of my dick with her tongue, one hand fondling my big balls with the other pumped at my base, jerking off the few inches of me that weren’t buried deep in her throat. She never even gagged—she must’ve been used to this kind of treatment by now.

I pistoned back and forth between her jaws, my balls tightening with each of the wet, sucking sounds my thrusts made. Jasmine sucked so hard her cheeks hollowed and I groaned, tilting my head back as she made circles around my tip with her tongue. It was like she was coaxing the cum right out of me, tickling my taint with her nails, looking right up into my eyes as she used the point of her tongue to make a come-hither motion against the bottom of my swelling dickhead. I grit my teeth as I began to swell, spreading her lips wide as she tried to contain me. I could’ve blown my load right there and then—the pressure building up inside me was so fucking tempting.

But that wasn’t where I wanted to cum.

I pulled my dick, hot and sticky, from Jasmine’s mouth, and she let out the sweetest sigh, like she already missed the damn thing. I smeared her own spit across her lips and gave myself a few short strokes. “Get those legs back for me.”

She bit her lip. “Aren’t you gonna get me wet?”

I smirked and pushed her down by her shoulder so her back was flat on the bed. Parting her folds with my cock, I ran my tip from her hole all the way up to her clit, feeling the gush of wetness that was already there.

“I just did,” I told her, then stripped my shorts off all the way.

Jasmine was panting, cheeks flushed as I grabbed a condom from the nearby dresser and opened it with my teeth. I pulled out the latex sheath within and rolled it down my length, grunting as it strained around me. Vic usually put Magnums in here for me; they felt nice on my thick, oversized cock. Well, as nice as having a barrier between you and the sweet, succulent walls of a good pussy could feel. Damn, I would’ve loved to drive into Jasmine bareback, but she didn’t know me from Adam, and I didn’t know her from Eve. It was better this way.

She was playing with her pussy by the time I’d gotten the condom on all the way. I watched her French-tipped nails move in a flurry over her clit, peeling back the hood to reveal that little button that drove all women wild. Her legs were spread wide, feet on the edge of the bed, but she hadn’t obeyed my order completely.

“Legs
back,
” I snarled, giving her a sharp slap on her ass. Jasmine yelped, then cooed, looking up into my eyes through half-lowered lids. “Now.”

“Like this?” she asked me, pulling her legs up a little and exposing that perfect, pink pussy of hers to my eyes.

“No,” I said, grabbing her calves and shoving them back until her knees touched her shoulders. Jasmine whimpered when I dug my fingers into her flesh and her pussy slickened even more. “Like this. I’m gonna get nice and deep in that eager cunt of yours, Jasmine. Deeper than any of those other fuckers have ever got before. Are you ready for that?” I sawed my cock between her smooth pussy lips, and she moaned and shuddered. Her nipples were rock hard.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I’m ready, Killer. Give it to me.”

I positioned myself at the sweltering entrance to her depths and muttered, “Damn right you are,” as I plunged forward, letting her moist, throbbing muscles cling to me all the way down.

“Jesus!” Jasmine cried, face twisting in both pleasure and pain, hands clasping her own breasts. “Oh, fuck, Kellan! You’re so big…!”

I was, and I could tell by the way her pussy stretched around my dick that she’d never had one this size before. She wasn’t just paying me lip service; she was in awe.

“You love it,” I accused her, rocking back and forth to force more of her cunt to acquiesce to me. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? So one of these big, bad fighters can make you feel like a slut?”

Jasmine squealed and squirmed when I bottomed out inside her. I still had an inch or so that wouldn’t fit, but that was okay—I hadn’t found a girl who could take me all the way in yet, and she at least was doing an admirable job of trying.

“Those other fighters,” I said, beginning to thrust in earnest now. “Did they ever make you squirt, Jasmine?”

Breathily, she whispered, “No.” Then she tweaked her nipples for me, making her tits even rounder and fuller than they were before. I grunted and sped up, kneeling on either side of her so that my face was right in front of hers when I slammed my hips into her ass. The way her flesh bounced with the impact made me even harder; there was something so primal and intoxicating about that wet slapping sound.

“I’m gonna,” I assured her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her onto my dick with every one of my powerful plunges. “I’m gonna make you squirt all over me, Jasmine. Because that’s what you really need—someone who can make you into a good girl. Someone who can make you obey.” I grunted as my cock swelled even more inside her. Shit, I was close. “So when I count to three, you’re gonna let go and squirt all over my dick, and you’re gonna make a big, sloppy mess while I dump my load into your pussy.”

“I… I don’t know if I can,” Jasmine admitted, whimpering as she writhed on my dick. “Oh, it’s so good…”

“You can, and you will.” She looked like she might argue again and I snarled. “On the count of three, you’re gonna do exactly as I say. No matter how hard you fight, it’s gonna happen, because you aren’t in control here, baby. I am.” With one hand, I pressed down on her mound, and used the other to embed my thumb firmly against her clit. With my thighs, I elevated her ass up off the bed so that my dick pounded straight into her G-spot. Jasmine’s eyes flew open wide.

“One,” I said, rubbing her little clit as fast as I could.

Jasmine wailed. She kneaded those heavy tits of hers, the fluttering motions of her fingertips on her nipples mimicking my frantic strokes on her clit. I felt another rush of wet warmth from inside her as it embraced my dick.

“Two,” I said, pumping up hard and fast into her spot, relentlessly pummeling that bundle of nerves I knew would make it impossible for her to stop herself.

Jasmine tried, though—when the sensation overwhelmed her, she pushed at my hands and squirmed like never before, saying in a high, breathy voice: “N-no! It’s too good! Ooh, fuck, Kellan, it’s too much. I can’t take it. Stop…!”

She didn’t want me to stop. She just needed to release all that pressure that had welled up inside her sweet spot. Cruelly, I pressed down on her mound at the same time I quickened my pace on both her clit and her cunt, ramming so hard into her the headboard struck the wall with every thrust.

Jasmine wailed and kicked my shoulders. Her eyes rolled back. Her pussy tightened suddenly.

“Three,” I said.

With a low, guttural groan that soon turned into a scream, Jasmine let loose a torrent of sweet pussy juice all over my hips and waist. She spasmed and convulsed, fingers curling, body a live wire snapping and crackling under me. I could feel her dripping off my balls and that was all I needed to tip over the edge of my own ecstasy, letting out a roar of bliss as my dick spat out a thick, creamy load into her tortured cunt.

The way she screamed my name, over and over, sounded like the chanting of the crowd whenever I strode out into the ring. It should’ve made me feel the same way, too—admired, special,
alive.

Instead, I felt a little void inside me, a place that wasn’t quite filled by the woman I’d brought to rapture and tears, or the pent-up aggression I’d taken out on her. Even my satisfied cock seemed like it was missing something, some level of intensity that usually kept these shitty feelings at bay for a couple of days.

I pulled out of Jasmine as she was still recovering from her massive orgasm and pulled the condom off, throwing it away. I was just about to clean up with a towel when she crawled to the edge of her bed on her belly and looked up at me, face glowing with joy and sweat.

“Let me clean you off, baby,” she said, voice sweet and husky. “C’mon. It’s the least I can do after you fucked me so right.”

Would that really make it better, though? Would letting Jasmine lick the leftover spunk on my cock make me feel whole again? Or was putting my fist through some guy’s face in the ring the closest I was ever gonna get to that?

Whatever—it didn’t matter. Feelings were bullshit, anyway. They’d just fuck you up and slow you down. The only thing that mattered was action. You sure as hell couldn’t trust a man’s feelings, or his words, but you
could
trust what he did, and for me, that was fucking and fighting. I could put my faith in that.

But even with Jasmine’s plump, swollen lips wrapped around my twitching shaft, her eyes fixed on mine as she lapped at my tip like a kitty with a saucer of cream, I wondered how long it’d be until all this came crashing down around me, too. I was a weapon; I was only of use if someone found use for me. What would happen when everyone around me gave up?

I closed my eyes and let Jasmine’s sinful tongue drown out those thoughts for now. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Hell, like all the others I’d come to in my life, I’d probably burn it to the ground.