All the Sky (Signal Bend Series)

by Fanetti, Susan

  “Jesus. You are barely human, you know that?”

  He took two more steps toward her, leaving not much more than the spans of their arms between them. She leaned away but didn’t retreat.

  “You haven’t told me to leave.”

  Another step.

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  The last step. Now he was right in front of her. Her arms were still tight across her tits, and her breath was coming in deep, quick bursts that lifted her chest. He watched that for a couple of breaths, and then laid his hand on her chest, his fingers hooking over her shoulder, the blade of her collarbone pressing into his palm. She’d taken off her necklaces. He returned his gaze to her eyes. Her pupils were huge, almost like she was stoned, though he knew she wasn’t.

  “Tell me to leave, and I’ll go.” He was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

  But she didn’t. What she said was, “I’m not club pussy.” A whisper. Almost a plea.

  “I know, honey.” He put his hand to her face, his fingers pushing into her lush, thick hair, and kissed her.

  This time, for the first time, she kissed him back, opening her mouth to meet his tongue with hers. Then she sighed, and her arms relaxed out of their knot between them. She pushed her hands around his waist, and he felt her palms flat on his back, under his kutte, over his shirt. With his free arm, he circled her waist and brought her hard to his body. She relaxed totally against him, pulling herself even closer. The pressure on his straining cock was a kind of torture.

  It was all a revelation. He felt her everywhere, even where her body wasn’t touching his. He didn’t understand it. It was so fucking intense, he didn’t know what to feel first. And then she moaned into his mouth and lifted his shirt to put her hands directly on the skin of his back. His lower back.

  She might as well have hit him with a cattle prod. He felt the heat of her touch like a hot bolt up his spine, into his head, and down, into his balls. But he felt something else, too, the shame of memory. He broke the kiss and pushed her away from him, suddenly fighting to breathe.

  “Fuck!”

  She was gasping, too. “What? Are you okay?”

  He didn’t know. He couldn’t think. His head was roaring, crashing. He stepped backwards, and his legs hit the side of her bed, so he sat heavily down.

  “Hav, are you…” He looked up at her question and saw a light dawn in her eyes. “Oh, Jesus. When you said you didn’t kiss women, you meant…Jesus. You really are fucked up.”

  “This whole thing is fucked up. I need to get outta here.”

  “Wait. Wait.” She sat next to him on the bed and put her hand over his, and Havoc had the feeling that the tables had turned on him somehow. “Hav, when was the last time you let a woman touch you? Not your sister or your mom. Not that kind of touch.”

  That was a colossally stupid question, and he scoffed. “Last night. LaVonne sucked me off. And she’s damn good at it.” He looked at Cory, hoping to see hurt or disgust or something, but her face was smooth. Intent, but smooth.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “You think a bitch can give me head and not touch me?”

  “I think I’m starting to be a lot less confused by you.”

  Well, that made one of them.

  Then she stood and, without hesitation, she straddled him. Surprised, he didn’t think to push her away until she was already on his lap. Havoc didn’t like any of this. He didn’t like the way his heart was pounding, he didn’t like the way desire and need sat in his belly like lead, making his balls tighten and his cock throb.

  “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Shut up, Hav. Just shut up.”

  She lifted her hands, and he felt her fingers on his scalp. It was all he could do not to flinch. Her touch feather-light, she traced lines from his brow, over his head and down, then around his neck, until she could push her fingers through his beard.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” His hands wanted to hold her, his arms wanted to wrap her up, but he squeezed the edge of the bed. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn’t going to fall for it. She wouldn’t make him a fool. Not more than she already had.

  “I told you. Sweet is good. Sweet can be better. I don’t think you know that.”

  Her hands were around his face, and it made his chest tight. He didn’t understand that, either. Coming here had not eased his confusion; he was more confused now than ever. Maybe ever in his whole motherfucking life.

  “Fuck you.”

  She smiled. “Maybe. But sweet.”

  And then she kissed him, brushing her mouth lightly over his. Her tongue traced the seam between his lips, and he groaned, and his hands forgot not to touch her. His arms came up and circled her, pulling her close and holding her firmly. He tried to take the kiss over, take it deep, but she tipped her head back, away from him. Doing so exposed her throat, though, and, remembering the sweet smell of her, Havoc pressed his face into the crook of her neck.

  When she moaned, Havoc had had about enough.

  “Fuck sweet.”

  He stood, carrying Cory with him, and turned, putting her down in the middle of the bed, lying on top of her. And then he took her mouth the way he wanted to. The way he needed to.

  She’d cried out a little when they landed on the bed, but she didn’t resist, and when he pushed his tongue deep into her mouth, hers was there to dance with him.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a woman—other than Cory. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d taken one face-to-face. He used to, sometimes, but it had probably been years. It was just easier to turn a chick around and get busy. Or just push her to her knees and let her do the work. They were always trying to look into his eyes or some shit, and he wasn’t trying to have a relationship, he was just trying to get off.

  But fuck, kissing Cory made his throat tight. Feeling the sinewy writhe of her tongue against his, the slick silk of her lips. Hearing the sound of her breath, shaky and fast, feeling it on his cheek.

  He wanted to feel her. He wanted to be skin to skin with her. This was stupid. It was crazy. Havoc could see the disaster ahead of him; he could feel that he was getting invested in ways he never wanted. He didn’t want to care about a woman. The life he wanted had no room for extraneous conflict and drama. He was glad that they’d voted in this new gig from Becker, no matter how dangerous it might be, and he didn’t want to give a shit about what he was leaving at home if he didn’t come back.

  He wanted pussy—just pussy—and Cory was not pussy. He fucking cared. About her and her kid. He’d been going slowly loco since the day he’d kissed her in Bonnie’s RV. What they were doing right now? He could feel it—feel the way he was falling, like he was losing his grip on a rope. Dropping to ruin.

  Still kissing her, feeling like he couldn’t get enough of it, he pushed his hand under her sweater and up, dragging it over her tits. Releasing her mouth with a groan, he lifted up a couple of inches, and she brought her hands between them and pulled the sweater over her head. Her bra closed in the front, and she undid that, too, shrugging out of the straps.

  And there were her tits. Fucking beautiful. He normally didn’t bother much with tits. They were nice to look at, but for fucking, they were really the chick’s thing. Or so he’d believed. Seeing Cory, her chest heaving under his gaze—he needed to touch her. Looking wasn’t nearly enough. He put his hand over one; it was firm, and he could feel the skin of her nipple hardening under his palm. Knowing that the reaction of her body meant she liked his touch made his cock swell more.

  She breathed out a little sigh and shifted under his touch, pushing into his hand. Damn. She was beautiful and so goddamn hot, and all at once Havoc felt nearly senseless with sadness or disappointment or something. Like his whole life was just bullshit. It scared the hell out of him, and for a fleeting second, he nearly got up and left. He couldn’t deal.

  But at the same moment, Cory pushed on the shoulders of his kutte, t
rying to get it off him, and his focus returned to her and her half-nude body, lying under him, waiting for him. He did push away, onto his knees, to take off his leather. He laid it at the far end of the bed and then pulled off his long-sleeved, hooded t-shirt. Moving to lie with her again, on her, his heart raced at the thought of her bare chest pressed to his. And when it was, when they were skin to skin, he felt it like a stabbing pain in his chest.

  Nothing that was happening inside him made any kind of fucking sense. But her nipples were hard and her skin was soft, and he stopped trying to make sense. Fuck it. He wanted this. He knew he was on the express to ruin, and he no longer gave a shit.

  “Hav?”

  “Yeah?” He must have been staring, or something. He looked up, and she was flushed, her eyes bright in the light of the bedside lamps.

  “You okay? You went away.”

  He saw bashfulness in those pretty blues, and he didn’t want her to be bashful. “You want this.” He meant it as a question, but it came out a statement.

  Her hands were on his shoulders. She slid them to his neck and around, splaying her fingers over the back of his head, making his scalp tingle. “Yes.”

  “I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing here.” Even as he said it, he moved to her side and went for her jeans, opening the button, looking for the zipper and, like before, finding more buttons.

  Her fingers pressed down on his head, and he let her guide him back to her mouth. Kissing her again, surprised by his own ferocity and her acceptance of it, he finally got her jeans open, and pushed down everything that was in his way. She raised and shimmied her hips, helping him, then kicking her legs free until she was naked. She must have lost her boots before he’d come back; he hadn’t even noticed she was barefoot.

  Then she drew one long, bare leg up and hooked it over his hip. Grabbing her leg and hitching it up even higher, he slid his hand around and between her legs. She was hot and slick, the hair there soft and close-cropped, and she arched her back at his touch.

  That was enough. Without releasing her mouth, he reached between them and pulled open his belt and jeans, shifting to get into his other pocket for a condom. He shifted again, drawing up onto his knees, looming over her, pulling himself free of his underwear, preparing to wrap up.

  But she turned her head, out of the kiss. “Wait, Hav. Wait.”

  “Fuck! What?” He could barely get the words out, his throat was so tight.

  “Take the rest of your clothes off. Please.”

  That set him back some. He never got naked with a chick; it hadn’t even occurred to him to do it now. Hell, he hardly ever lay down with one. She got naked, not him.

  “Please. I want to feel you.”

  The husky whisper hit him low in his gut. Pushing himself off the bed, he stood and divested himself of his boots and the rest of his clothes. He never took his eyes from her, watched her squirm and stretch under his gaze. Her eyes traveled the length of his body and flared hungrily when they saw his cock.

  Jesus, she was sex on a plate, and banging club whores felt like a fucking stupid waste of time in comparison to all this. A voice in his head kept up the refrain that chicks ruined everything, but he gagged that motherfucker and locked him in the cellar.

  He rolled a condom on before he joined her in bed, lying on his side next to her and pulling her back into the position they’d been in, face to face, mouth to mouth, her leg hooked over his hip. Now that he was as naked as she was, her hot, wet pussy was pressed on his belly, just above the part of him that wanted it more than anything else in the world. He wrapped his hands around her back and over her shoulders, holding her firmly, and he shoved into her, one hard push, to the hilt. She threw her head back, away from him, taking in a deep, audible breath, like an inward scream.

  It was like pushing into steaming, wet velvet, thick and lush, so tight she was almost resisting him, and when he pulled out, the sensation was of being held in place. He put his forehead on her collarbone, his eyes closed, trying to hold his head together before it just spun apart. Nothing was ever anything like this. Ever.

  He thrust again, still struggling either to understand or to just stop trying, and she cried out and surged down, hard, bringing him so deep into her body he was sure he must be hurting her. It wasn’t hurting him, that was certain. Being so deep inside her, having her arms and legs all around him, her pretty tits on him—maybe there was a kind of pain in this pleasure, but it wasn’t pain of a physical sort.

  He pulled out and shoved in again, and she breathed in another wail. He felt like he should be doing more—sucking on her tits or something—but it was all too much, too intense, and all he could do was bring up a hand and knot it in her hair, holding her still so he could kiss her. His other hand he brought hard to her ass. He hadn’t meant to strike her, only to hold her so he could move, but he lacked control, and the movement of his arm had been brisk. He felt the slightest hot spasm in his palm when it connected with the sweet meat of her ass, and he drove harder and faster into her.

  He’d expected her to react badly, but she didn’t. She gasped and stilled for only a second; then, when he increased his pace in his own reaction, she came back to his mouth and met him, thrust for thrust.

  The next time she tore her mouth from his, her body spasmed from head to toe, and she ducked her head under his chin, pressing her mouth to his throat. He could hear her whining rhythmically, and then her nails curled into his shoulders, and her teeth bit into his throat, and she went still, her body taut, her skin slick with sweat, her juices wetting his thighs as well as hers.

  She was coming. He could feel her spasms around his cock; he could feel her—them—get suddenly so much wetter. Jesus, that was hot. She hadn’t made much noise, but he could feel her orgasm throughout her body, wrapped around him as it was.

  He kept going, pounding harder, feeling his climax mounting in his gut, coming so much more slowly than usual, but more powerfully, like it was drawing in from all points of his body. He rolled her to her back and caught her legs in his arms, freeing up his range of motion, chasing it, chasing it, the need so enormous he felt like his sanity rested on his release.

  And then she was climbing again, fast, her hips moving with him, then against him, and they were banging sloppily together, and it was the hottest goddamn thing Havoc had ever known.

  He wanted her to go again, but he didn’t think he could hold himself off—and then he couldn’t and he was coming, pushing himself into her as hard and far as the limits of their bodies would allow. As he froze, immobilized by the surge through his cock, she moved more frenetically, practically bouncing under him, using his orgasming cock to finish herself off this second time.

  Holy fuck. That was going to kill him.

  Then she came, and she froze, and they both, nearly simultaneously, collapsed into a sweaty heap.

  When he was again capable of acknowledging he had a brain, he heard that blasted voice, screaming now that chicks ruined everything. They ruined fucking everything.

  And now he was totally fucked. In more ways than one.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Havoc pulled out of Cory and rolled away, stopping to sit on the side of the bed, his back hunched. At first, she thought he was going to leave, just like that, bang and gone, as she’d feared. But he didn’t move except to pull the condom off. He dangled it from his fingers for a second, looking around near the bed, then just tossing it, open, into the corner.

  Okay, that was gross. But she was more concerned about the way he was sitting, hunched again, like he was curling into himself.

  “Hav?”

  He twitched slightly at her voice, but didn’t respond otherwise, just sat there, naked, with his back to her. That back was impressively broad, the muscles flaring out sharply from his waist, his shoulders bulging into his neck. In addition to the ink he had over both shoulders and upper arms, he had the word HORDE tattooed across his back in tall, ancient-looking letters, from shoulder to shoulder,
and the emblem from the back of his kutte, the head of an angry horse with a flaming mane, below that.

  She rolled to her knees and crawled over to him, laying her hands on those thick, wonderful shoulders. She could see the small, red half-moons her fingernails had left when she’d come. Smiling, she lightly ran her finger over the impressions and felt a hot throb between her legs, over the ache that lingered from their sex. It had been a long time, and she’d been wrong. What she could take care of on her own was a paltry substitute for what Havoc had just done to her. For her.

  “Hav?” She pressed her lips to the ‘R’ over his spine, and let one hand drift lazily down his back, taking in the hard sweep and cut of his muscles. When she got to his waist, and then just below, the texture under her hand changed. She looked. She hadn’t noticed before, but he was scarred there. Interested, about to ask, she traced one long, raised mark. There were three, no—four.

  Hav made a noise low in his throat and then turned, clamping his big, thick hand around her wrist.

  “Don’t.”

  The way he was looking at her scared her a little. “Sorry. Are you okay?”

  “Nosy bitch.” His voice was low, dark.

  “What? No—I was…I just wanted to touch you.”

  Without letting go of her wrist—and her hand was starting to go numb—Havoc stood. He was hard again, and though she was worried about this new, possibly dangerous change of mood, Cory saw that thick, fantastic shaft and felt her body prepare for it. She even moaned.

  Havoc heard, and his eyes, still dangerously dark, went sharp. He grabbed her and flipped her, and before she could make sense of things, she was face down across the bed and he was straddling her, on his knees over her.

  He brought the palm of his hand down on her ass, just above her thigh. He’d hit her earlier, too. She hadn’t been sure then whether he’d meant to or not, but he’d shocked her. In fact, she’d felt the impact like an actual shock between her legs, a sensation almost more powerful than the sting on her ass.