by Leigh Tudor
There was still a slight sting between her legs, but there was also an intense longing. Where moments ago she wanted nothing more than to fling him from her body and take a lavender salt bath, she now wanted nothing more than for him to be back inside her, rutting away like a feral animal.
As he kissed down her neck, she noticed a few areas of her body without the sinuous swirls of blue paint. Her wrists and lower arms were covered, the paint on her breasts nearly indiscernible from being bent over the table. Her back and butt cheeks, she imagined, were decorated with various sets of handprints.
All of the markings giving her the sense of being branded and owned. But in a good way.
A very good way.
“Please,” she said between intermittent kissing between her mouth and neck.
“Tell me what you want, Buttercup.”
She communicated by pushing up on her legs on either side of his, and he accommodated her mute request by using her glutes as his own personal navigation device, lifting her up and easing her down on his hard length.
He held her, refraining from lowering all the way to give her a moment to acclimate to his size as he resurrected his ransacking of her neck with his lips, teeth, and tongue.
Appreciative but impatient of his polite restraint, she tapped him on the shoulder.
“Down,” she instructed in a single breath.
He ignored her. Holding back his teeth nipping relentlessly at her collarbone.
“To clarify, when we’re doing this, I call the shots.”
She writhed and squirmed, but he only squeezed her cheeks harder, refusing to give her another inch.
“More,” she insisted, the need to being fully impaled her main objective. A need that originated from the deepest part of her brain stem, sitting right next to food and water for survival.
“You’re not ready.”
If she were any more ready, she’d be leaking like a colander over his dick.
“I’m ready. Just do it,” she huffed, almost tearing up with frustration.
“Beg,” he said, panting, just as eager as she was.
“What?”
“I want you to beg for it. Beg for something that only I can give you.”
His arms weren’t even trembling from the weight, and she was deathly afraid her impatience wouldn’t outlast his upper body strength.
Ah, eff it.
“Please,” she said between pants. “Please fuck me hard . . .”
He dropped her, and she gasped at the unforgiving feel of sitting on his lap with his dick touching her womb and his balls cradled beneath her.
“You feel so good,” he murmured. His eyes squeezed shut as he appeared just as gutted. “I can feel your inside rippling around me. Squeezing me hard.”
Oh, how she loved dirty-talking Trevor.
Again, he banded an arm around her waist and began to pump inside her.
Speechless, for the first she could remember, she was physically unable to connect the twenty-six letters in the alphabet into a single coherent word due to the blissful perfection of him plowing into her.
Low moans wrenched free of her throat were overscored by his own grunts each time he tapped the inner tip of her walls.
Her heart palpitated, and she could feel something inexplicable building inside her as each breath became harder and harder to reach.
“That’s it, Buttercup. Come all over my dick.”
And as instructed, to her utter frustration and sexual bliss, she did what she was told once again. He followed suit, bursting inside her hot and thick.
She realized as she took in the handprints all over her body and the warmth of him coating her insides that he had branded her, inside and out
Chapter Eighteen
“Sister is probably the most competitive relationship within the family, but once the sisters are grown, it becomes the strongest relationship.”
—Louise Bourgeois
Loneliness was fast becoming Loren’s new normal.
She stood at the sink, washing the few dishes she used that day. Her heart pounded dull and listless in her chest as she thought of all the times she shared the task with Mercy.
Funny how such a mindless task was the one thing to encourage such open conversation between herself and her ever-private sister.
And now, the last thing she wanted was to face Mercy and explain herself.
Oh, how the tides have changed.
The doorbell rang, and she wondered who it could be as she dried her hands and made her way to the front door. She peered out the window, making sure the person on the other side wasn’t a mountain of a man wearing a heart-wrenching expression and yelling her name.
Or one of her sisters demanding an explanation.
Loren was so happy to see Becky Waterman standing on her front porch she nearly lost her balance as she flung the door open and hugged her dear friend.
“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced,” Becky said, stepping inside. “But I just found out you moved to Newberry. Things at home have been . . . hectic, and today seemed as good as any to pay you a visit.
“That’s fine. Come on in. I’m so glad you came.” Loren said with a glad heart, so happy to see someone from Wilder who didn’t come with a pile of expectations, hurt feelings, or huge demands.
Loren gave Becky a quick tour of the house that consisted of three bedrooms, two baths, and a small living room. They ended up at the screened-in back porch that overlooked a lake where she spent her mornings reading or catching up on the news she missed over the past few months.
“Let me fix us a piece of pie, and we’ll eat on the back porch,” Loren said, figuring she might as well share the food M2M had delivered to her house on a weekly basis. She certainly couldn’t eat it all.
At first, she thought it was some sort of mistake. But she called Director Birch, and he confirmed that it was all part of the pre-trial services program his company provided to state’s witnesses.
Fair enough. She could see some of the more vulnerable witnesses benefiting from having groceries delivered to their door rather than dealing with the stress of leaving the safety of their homes.
She tried to convince Birch that she was perfectly capable of going to the grocery. But he’d insisted that the paperwork to stop the deliveries was a bureaucratic nightmare. And asked, if she didn’t mind if she could keep the groceries as a favor to him?
Deciding food delivered to her door a fair compensation for the subpar meals she was served while under endless interrogation, she capitulated.
They sat in the screened-in porch enjoying the view and one another’s company. Loren felt almost normal, sharing dessert with her friend and catching up on Wilder gossip.
Loren trod lightly with her next question. “So, who told you I moved to Newberry?”
“Samantha,” Becky said, taking a bite. “Cara told her in home room, which was odd, as I had just seen Mercy the night before at self-defense class.”
“Mercy took over the class?” Loren asked, with about a hundred other questions swarming her brain.
“She did. As soon as she got back from your ‘family situation,’” she said with air quotes, “she stepped in and re-instated the class schedule. What was all that family business about anyway?”
Loren took a healthy bite, and she contemplated her response.
“Nothing too dramatic.” Just a crisis of epic proportions involving the takedown of a cartel boss, some gnarly legal implications, and a mysterious brain infection that almost killed her sister. “We had to address some family issues back in Utah. You know how ugly families can be when money’s involved.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Have you spent any time with Mercy?”
“Nah, she’s too blissfully happy and busy with her fiancé and his three kids.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Have they set a date?”
Becky hesitated before taking a sip of her iced tea, tilting her head. “Wouldn’t you know if they had
set a date or not?”
“Oh sure, it’s just been a while since we talked. Thought maybe some progress had been made on the wedding front, that’s all.”
“Just how long has it been since you two have spoken to one another?”
The doorbell rang. Loren jumped up, setting her pie plate to the side, eager to distance herself from a conversation she wasn’t prepared to have.
Not if she wanted to protect everyone she loved.
Mercy and Cara would never understand. How could she ever convince them that they were better off without her in their lives? That her unforeseeable future revolved around waiting to be called as state’s witness against a cartel boss with deadly connections all over the world?
And even though her self-imposed isolation was deemed more rock solid than any of the witness protection programs currently in place, she couldn’t take any chances with the people she loved the most.
And that didn’t even begin to address Ally and Alec.
She looked through the peephole and quickly opened the door.
“Jimbo!”
“Hey there, half-pint.”
She hugged him tight, surprised at how much she missed her old friend. And equally surprised to find that he’d recently taken a shower and smelled Irish Spring fresh. “What on earth are you doing all the way in Newberry?”
“Oh, well, a friend dropped me off,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
Loren looked in the direction he had pointed but didn’t see a vehicle. “Okay, well, come on in,” she said, opening the door and taking his jacket.
“Thank you, darlin’. You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Ah, I missed you too, Jimbo. Is there a reason you came all this way other than a visit?”
“Well, I guess there is. See, I was wondering, what with the weather being so unpredictable . . .”
Interesting, Becky had just mentioned how the weather had been unusually warm this time of year.
“If you might be open to having a roommate.”
“Roommate?” she asked, her eyes going wide. “You mean, you live here?”
He shrugged as if unsure. “I thought you could use the company. I have a job. I could pay you rent.”
“You have a job?” She had never known Jimbo to work. He had always claimed it didn’t align with his Bedouin lifestyle. “Where?”
“Wilder’s Hardware.”
“Henry gave you a job?”
“No, ma’am. Henry and Lenore sold the store. Retired to Florida.”
“Who bought it?” she asked, thinking about how much she missed working there, and if things had been different, she might have been interested in purchasing the small local business herself.
“Alec Wilder,” he said. “Ain’t that funny that a Wilder bought Wilder’s Hardware?”
Her stomach fell. “Unbelievable.”
“I thought you might have known. He partnered with your sister’s beau, Mr. Forrest. They open in a week, and I’m their first employee. Ain’t that something?”
“Sure is.”
“So I’ll be able to pay rent. Oh, and you won’t have to worry about carting me around. Alec was good enough to pay me an advance so I could buy a truck. She ain’t new, but she runs just fine.”
Loren felt a number of conflicting emotions. The world was moving at breakneck speeds while she felt stymied and disconnected. She reminded herself that was what she wanted. This new life was all by design. To live far enough away to avoid Alec and Ally and to allow them to enjoy a peaceful life without her jacked-up situation. And to distance herself from her sisters and Madame Garmond until her legal situation changed.
The last thing everyone needed was more drama.
Jimbo added, “I don’t want to impose. But I thought it might be nice to look out for one another.” He leaned toward her. “You might be surprised to hear that I was quite the cook once upon a time.”
“Oh, yeah?” Now that had Loren’s attention. She could burn a toasted cheese sandwich.
“Not a lot of people know this, but I was a sous chef for a restaurant in Dallas back in the day.”
Oh, how she was tempted. Not just for a decent meal, but for some company. How nice would it be to come home to someone? Someone who genuinely cared for her.
But was it good for Jimbo?
How she loved the grandfatherly man who possessed a pure heart and uplifting attitude toward life. And at this time in hers, she needed a positive influence more than anything.
But what could she offer him?
It appeared he was making some remarkable changes, and it didn’t escape her notice that Alec was a big part, if not responsible, for that. Helping their mutual friend in such a big way. Maybe she could help him as well.
He continued his pitch. “Now, don’t you worry. I’d be sure to shower every day and to pitch in on household chores. We could look at it as a new start for both of us.”
“Jimbo, stop,” she said. “Of course I would love for you to move in. But I don’t want rent money. Cooking would be more than enough compensation to live here. When can you move in?”
“Today if that works for you.” He stepped outside and pulled a suspiciously brand new rolling suitcase through the front door. “I hate to spring this on you. Are you sure you don’t want to think about it?”
“What’s there to think about?” she said, her heart warming and starting to feel some of that loneliness evaporate.
His smile was a mile wide, causing a number of wrinkles to emerge on his grizzled face. “Well then, I’ll just call the dealership and tell them to drop my truck off here instead of at the hardware store.”
“I didn’t even know you had a driver’s license.”
“Until this morning, I didn’t,” he said with a grin.
Loren’s jaw dropped as he pulled out a mobile phone.
Noticing her expression, he explained, “Alec said the job required the ability to communicate at all hours, so he bought me this highfalutin phone.”
Becky walked in just as Jimbo was punching in some numbers, holding the device several inches in front of him and squinting.
Loren made herself a personal reminder to schedule an eye appointment for him.
“Hey there, Jimbo,” Becky said with a surprised smile. “What brings you to Newberry?”
“Half-pint,” he said.
Loren grabbed him by the waist with a side hug. “Becky, you’re looking at my very own personal chef and roommate.”
“Omigosh, that’s . . . a great idea,” she said with hesitant enthusiasm and then turned toward Loren with one eyebrow raised, clearly just as confused at this strange turn of events.
Jimbo, ever the gentleman, asked, “How have you been, Miss Becky?” His expression turned serious, and he added, “That husband of yours treating you right?”
Becky self-consciously pulled the sleeves of her sweater down but not before Loren caught the purple bruising around one of her wrists. “He’s doing just fine,” she said, skirting the question and avoiding eye contact. “Thanks for asking.”
Protective instincts ignited in Loren as she wondered if Jimbo knew something she didn’t about her friend and her current home situation.
She never was a fan of Becky’s husband, who worked late most nights and then gamed until the early hours, eating his dinner in his office and basically ignoring his family. On occasion, she did see them out together, but she’d always got the impression that it was as if he were doing his wife a favor. As if that one night out was to hold him over to pretty much do whatever he wanted until Becky finally pushed and cajoled otherwise.
Maybe there were other, more darker reasons for Becky asking to learn how to spar those many months ago? For reaching out to Mercy and Loren, two women she clearly didn’t care for at the time, and asking them to teach her to fight.
Loren showed Jimbo his room, thankful the house came furnished, and gave him some privacy to unpack and settle in surroundings that didn’t of
fer a skylight view of the stars that he was used to seeing every night from the back alley of Lucky’s.
She found Becky sitting on the back porch and staring at the lake as if something weighed heavily on her mind.
Loren sat next to her, sharing the view of the rippling water and the waning sun. “You going to tell me about the bruises?”
“One of my partners in self-defense class got a little rough,” Becky said with a monotone voice, as if knowing Loren wouldn’t believe a word of it.
Loren thought for a moment, treading carefully. She didn’t want to lose her friend and one of her last few connections to the town of Wilder.
“The next time someone grabs you by the wrist with both hands, execute a wrist-release.” She stood to demonstrate. “Come on. Get up,” she said as Becky stood with lackluster exuberance. “After they grab you, make sure to turn your hand so your thumb is pointing upward, and then step back on the opposite foot from whichever wrist is being secured. This will allow you to twist your hips easier and pull back with a lot more power.”
Becky watched Loren execute the move and then tried it herself.
“Remember, if the other person is bigger and stronger than you, you have to leverage your entire body to pull free.”
Becky nodded. “Like this?” She attempted the move again and executed it with a much better flow.
“And then, before your assailant has time to grab your other arm, pull that wrist back, and with extreme force, strike your palm upward and into his nasal cavity until he cries like a little bitch.” She demonstrated the position with her own hand, stopping short of Becky’s nose.
Becky nodded again, replicating the move using Loren as her foe.
“Then what do I do?” Becky asked, still avoiding Loren’s worried expression.
“Then you run like hell.”
Becky nodded with a hard swallow.
“You’ve got it,” Loren said with a lot less enthusiasm than she would normally express during one of her high-energy self-defense classes.
Silence ebbed as the two women stood awkwardly facing one another.
“Just so you know, I don’t think it’s going to happen again,” Becky said.