Ridin' Dirty: An Outlaw Author Anthology (OAMC Book 1) (11 page)

“What happened to him?” Something had, that was clear. Even with her holding it back, the sorrow in her voice was strong, that grief fresh.

“Old business caught up to him.” She kissed his chest again, gently tonguing the flat, pebbled surface of his nipple and he gave up a groan to her softly giggling amusement, glad she could set aside her heartache momentarily.
Tease
. “About six months ago.”

“What kind of business?” Old business didn’t sound physical or accidental, which left only intentional for his death.
Intentional ain’t good. A health hazard for those left behind, in some cases. Wonder if she’d know about any blowback her direction, since she worked with him and was apparently favored?

“He was an officer in a motorcycle club until a couple years ago. Gracefully backed down because his health was bad.” She drew an uneven breath. “Bad. Cancer. He stayed a member, of course. Stayed in, just couldn’t give as much time anymore. But something had happened in Baton Rouge years ago. A man came hunting him, and someone in his old club gave him up.” Gaze to her face, he watched as she blew the breath out from pursed lips, trying to control the shaking in her voice, her wobbling chin. Angry, she bit out, “He was going to die anyway, there wasn’t any reason for them to come along and take their pound of flesh.”

“Do you know what his club name was? What club he was in?” His questions skirted the edge of too much knowledge, but she didn’t notice, thankfully.

Voice soft, she cooed the name. “Bagger.” The smile that curved her mouth with the word fell away, a resigned look taking its place. “That was his road name. He was in the Caddo Hobos. In there for years, the vice-principal.” She shook her head, hair rustling against his beard as she corrected herself. “No, that’s not right. Vice-president.”

Shit
. Who had he stumbled into tonight? “Baton Rouge, is that home?” He had intimate knowledge that Louisiana clubs ran fiercely loyal, her statement that someone gave up her uncle didn’t make sense, especially if he’d served until health forced him to step down. He wondered if she had it right.

“Yeah. Red Stick.” She gave the English translation that locals used for the town’s name. “I’m Cajun born and raised.” Her voice back to soft, something about those words triggered a memory for her, safe and sheltered. Floating light on the air, giggling laughter shook her frame, settling into his gut, warm. Sweet. “Creole through and through.”

“No accent,” he observed and she giggled again, the sound changing to a gasp when he curled his hand around her hip, fingertips tapping her mound right above her clit.
Mmmm, quick to rouse
. Stiffening his middle finger, he swiped once across her hooded nub. Her instinctive push against his hip, the restless movement of her legs, these things told of her eager desire. Hunger. Swipe, gasp, then he retrieved his hand, retreating to draw small circles on her hip again. He’d instigate another sneak attack in a moment, was just giving her time to recover. “You don’t have an accent,” he restated, making the unspoken ‘why’ a question.

A shiver moved through her, and he relished the knowledge that he drove her to that feeling. “Hmm. Yeah. No. Daddy pushed me to be better than my raising. Started with a demand that I speak proper English. Movies weren’t fun days, they were linguistic lessons where he analyzed everything the actors said, how they said it, and then bent those things into something that I could fit around me.” She rolled her tongue across his flat nipple, her thigh lifting onto his legs tangling there. Teasing herself as much as him. She shrugged, the motion moving her tits against him. “It stuck.”

Palm to her thigh, he cupped and pulled, sliding her leg up his until her knee was nearly in his crotch. Fingers trailing back down her leg, tender skin under his touch, arrowing directly to his destination he skimmed against her pussy once…twice…middle and ring finger met, creating a single shaft that pushed into her slowly. Her sweet accompaniment of sighs and moans was glorious to hear. Working gently, in, then out, he finger fucked her shallowly. Deliberately taking his time, going slowly, waiting. After only a minute or two of these careful caresses, she arched back against his hand, which retreated with her movement, denying her the desired depth. She hissed, “Bell.”

“Yeah, Penny?” Pushing in hard, he buried his fingers, then crooked them inside her before pulling halfway out, dipping his thumb to find her wetness. A moment later that thumb was poised at her pucker, fingers back into place inside her, working in and out deep, in and out shallow. Her ass retreated from the probing pressure, much as his hand had moments before, but he twisted his neck, pressing his face into her hair. Wanting this, his voice was guttural when he whispered, “Let me try, Penny. If it hurts, or you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

She stilled for a moment before nodding consent, and he ran with it, teasing, on a crusade to rouse her this way, too. Touching, circling, pressing; keeping a steady thrusting rhythm inside her with his fingers. Frowning when nothing pulled a reaction from her. Stiff and still, she rested at his side, but was no longer cuddling, not playing. All the fascinating charm was gone, her breathing tightly controlled. Not even indifferent, ass play was a turn off for her. She had switched off, enjoyment chased away.

Abandoning his efforts, he focused on her pussy, in and out, out and sliding up to finger her clit, then back inside. Within seconds, she was no longer locked in place, not yet animated in her movements, but at least not frozen. Provoked to rage, fighting the urge to howl in anger, he asked the question kicking at a tottering wall in his head. “Did someone hurt you that way, Penny?”

Her nod wasn’t a surprise, but his bitterness was. It surged and he withdrew, hand back to her hip, urging her closer to his side, wanting that cuddle puppy back that he’d had for such a short time, stolen away by his own eagerness to introduce her to…everything. So inexperienced; to have had that done in a way that left ugly, lasting pain was inexcusable. He wasn’t successful in tamping his temper down and knew it filled his voice when he spoke. “Never let someone do something you don’t like.” A squeeze of her ass cheek, squeeze and lift, then a soft hand caressing her curves. “Never. Not even me.”

“I liked the rest of what you were doing.” Honeyed tones of pleasure told him he hadn’t broken the spell woven by their play from earlier. Not completely, thank God. She moved, hand flattening on his chest, palm over his heart.
Can she feel how it sped up at her touch?
His hand on her ass moved again, squeezing and lifting, coaxing, then once she was persuaded to slide at his urging, pulling her into place on top of him.

More contact than before, breasts flattened against his chest, she snuggled into him. “I like your beard,” she whispered, thinking she told him a secret. Quick fingers running through it, lifting from underneath, then smoothing it down again. “It’s so…” Her voice dropped to a softer version of her already tender whisper, this one barely a breath, “…rough.” This word came out as ‘rruuuffff,’ sound drawn into letters not used in its construction, but better conveying her emotions. His hand stroking her face felt her lips move, and without that he would never have heard the last word. “Everywhere.”

“Hungry, Penny.” Stroking down her back, palms settling on each cheek, pushing her up…up…her head lifting in surprise, crystal blues staring down at him. Eyes bright as the summer sky. “Feed me, baby.” As she moved up, he shifted down until things were lined up exactly right, and then he fed.

Afterward, he handed her the second condom and she inexpertly applied the raincoat. Her fumbling attempts causing his head to rear back into the pillow and she forgot what she was doing at the sight, licking and nuzzling his neck underneath his beard. Hand to his cock, he adjusted things, rolling the rubber into place and pulling her down while he thrust up with his hips. Catch, slip, a slight adjustment, thrust…
homerun
. Her teeth bit into the side of his neck and he groaned, lifting his hips again. Bent knees gave him the leverage needed for a gentle rocking motion he could maintain for a long time. Hands lifting and pulling, her weight taking care of the return trip that settled him back inside her.

She sat up slightly, and leaning far forward, rested her forehead against his. In territory so far from fucking, he didn’t know what to call it.
Yes, I do
. Eyes open, breath mingling, her hands were cupping his head, fingers winding into the hair at the back of his head on either side, elbows brushing across his chest as her upper arms pressed her tits together. Her hair wasn’t long enough to fall around them, but strands of it tickled his face and those blues were staring at him. Looking deep and long, he watched her eyes haze and lose focus, knew she was chasing those stealthy sensations he stirred in her. When she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth he knew she was close, picking up the pace until her eyelids fluttered, lashes playing touch-me with her cheeks as she came.

Not giving her time to recover, he rolled, positioning her under him and chased his own orgasm. Finding it deep inside her, where it seemed it had been hiding forever. He heard himself grunting, flesh slapping loudly in the enclosed space. Hair streaming down on either side of their faces, curtained and shuttered from the world. Safe. Sheltered. Sheet twisted in their legs, he watched as she came back to herself, staring up at him in wonder and then—
fuck him
—she threaded her hands under the pillow, giving him her submission again. Wordlessly he affirmed her instincts, raining rough kisses on her face, down her neck and back up, shouting her name when he came.

“Rest,” he murmured, curling in behind her, arms crossed over her chest, holding her close. “Get some shuteye and dream, darlin’.” Cleanup had gone quicker this time, his knowledge of her living space expanding with every exploration, he found the wipes and made swift work of taking care of the messy evidence of their lovemaking—
fucking
, his mind corrected. In minutes, her relaxed, calm breathing told him she’d found sleep, circled about with his care of her. Safe. Held in the bloody hands of a man much like the ones who killed her beloved uncle.

He knew he should go, should leave while she was lost in sleep. Leave her with the fantasy of a sweet man who loved on her until, sated and exhausted, she’d forgotten who she was with. A real life charade to follow the storyline of her books. Pretense and playacting. Make-believe. Gaze flicking around the cabin, it snagged on the lone wrapper, a folded corner catching the light, giving a glinting reflection.
I should go, but I’m a greedy bastard
, he told himself, lip curling in a sneer. “Yeah,” his muttered agreement was audible, as he settled behind her and closed his eyes.

A stretch of time later, a truck parked next to hers in the line started, the rumbling roll of the engine startling him awake. Still dark out, the hour was early. Listening carefully, he heard footsteps moving between the trucks, the hollow thump of a tire knocker doing an old school pressure check. Thud, thud, thud, thud. Two axles, four wheels, moving on to the next set.

Penny was still sleeping, the only change in position was her hands had lifted, cupping around his wrists where he held her captive. So much skin in front of him, so much heat, so much to explore. Mouth to her neck, he worked up to her ear, running his teeth along the curve of the shell, nipping gently at her earlobe, thinking to himself he wanted to ask about the barbell on her face, but then got distracted when her breathing changed, signaling she was rising from sleep.

“Penny.” He called her name quietly, not wanting to frighten her but he shouldn’t have worried because the first sound from her was his name in return. Palm to her chest, he captured one mound, fingers plumping and caressing as he nibbled on her ear again. He hadn’t been gentle earlier, had taken her hard, now finding the idea of hurting her as distasteful as it had been earlier, asked, “Are you too sore, baby?”

Her head moved, shaking back and forth. “Sure, sweetheart?” Different movement, up and down, this interrupted by a gasp as he pinched her nipple lightly, rolling it between his fingers. “Okay,” he breathed, “okay.” His cock, already thick and hard, thudded against her ass. Releasing her breast, he moved one hand to her throat, sliding the other down her belly, cupping her pussy, he gave a squeeze with both, feeling her body move as she blew out a careful breath, skin gone to goose bumps under his lips.

Easing into it, he stroked slowly along her folds, finger to either side of her clit, then across the top of it, then either side. Up and down, faster and faster, positioning and angling his hand. Biting down on her ear, without warning he thrummed across her clit hard and fast. Her open-mouthed cries of shock as much a reward as her body jumping, shoulders bowing back into him, hips thrusting forwards, seeking.

Rolling her stomach-first onto the mattress, he knelt behind her, pulling her up with him. “Knees wide, sweetheart.” Hand to her jaw, he turned her head and—“
God
,” she cried—captured her mouth, silencing her scream. That was followed by a moan he ate down, lips locked to hers. Breaking the kiss, her head fell to his shoulder, her body curving back. Staring down her body, he watched as his hair swept across her breasts, curling around well memorized curves. Looked farther to see his hand working frantically between her legs, fingers moving fast side-to-side as they slipped back and forth along the length of her pussy, doubling the sensation for her.

With another cry, calling his name, she came, a teeth-grinding, rolling motion evidence of the powerful feelings storming through her. Clenched fists flying wide as her palms lifted, releasing into outstretched fingers, hands rising as if to fend off a dangerous animal stirred to life.