Truly, Madly, Whiskey

by Melissa Foster

  She opened her eyes. “Please don’t stop. I need you.”

  Not half as much as I need you.

  He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with all the love he felt building up inside him. He moved swiftly down her body, wanting her as much as she needed him, and brought his mouth to her slick heat, taking her up and over the edge again.

  As she lay on the mattress trying to catch her breath, he lay beside her trying to ignore the pulsing heat inside him.

  She opened her eyes and rolled over him, pressing her lips to his chest.

  “I love when you touch me.” Her fingers trailed up his sides as she kissed from his sternum to just above the edge of his briefs. “I love how careful you are with me.” She pushed her fingers into the waistband of his briefs.

  “Babe,” he warned.

  “Don’t.” Her eyes narrowed, challenging his warning. “I’m a big girl. I can decide what I’m ready for. I want you to know how much you turn me on, not to weigh my answers or protect me from my own desires.”

  “I’m going to weigh your answers, because I’m falling so damn hard for you I can’t see straight.” The words fell forcefully from his lips. “I don’t want to mess that up by overlooking something or pushing too hard.”

  “You never push me,” she said so quietly he nearly missed it. Seduction sparked in her eyes. “I don’t want you to back off, or to make me back off.” She ran her finger along his lower lip, and he trapped it between his teeth. “I’m not ready for sex, but I’m ready for more. I want more with you.”

  He took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to the tips of her fingers. “I’m all for more.”

  “Good. Then lie there and let me…” She paused, and her cheeks flushed.

  “Babe. You don’t have to do anything.”

  “Shush up, biker boy. I just realized that I may not be very good at this. All of my experience with this has been in my head.” She wrinkled her nose, looking cute as hell. “Maybe I should go find someone to practice on.” She turned away with a teasing smile, and he hauled her down on top of him, both of them laughing.

  “Don’t even joke about that.”

  “Thought you weren’t possessive.”

  “Your mouth on some other guy? Fuck yeah, I’m possessive in that regard.”

  She giggled as she slithered down his body, kissing between laughs. “My biker boy has lots of jealous bones in his body.”

  “And you’re torturing every last one of them. Come here, babe.” He reached for her, and she pressed her finger over her lips, shushing him again.

  “How hard can it be?” She laughed and dropped her face to his stomach, laughing harder. “I mean, how difficult can it be?”

  He sat up, and she pressed her hand flat against his chest, pushing him back to the mattress. “Don’t you dare move. What’s that song? ‘Candy Shop’? I’ll just lick it like a lollipop.”

  “Christ,” he mumbled. He grabbed her under the arms, and in one swift move she was under him and he was kissing her until her laughter turned to sexy, needful pleas.

  She tugged at his briefs. “Off, Bear,” she said between kisses. “Take them off.”

  He pushed his briefs down and kicked them to the floor. Feeling her soft skin against him was almost too much to take. He knew what he had to do. To back off, to hand over the reins completely, but as he moved over her, her fingers grasping at his back, he was powerless to stop kissing her. He wanted to disappear into her.

  Love bubbled up from deep inside him. “Baby.” He kissed her again. “This is enough for me.” He kissed her shoulder. “You’re enough for me. Just like this.”

  CRYSTAL STRUGGLED TO contain her emotions as she lay beneath Bear. He was falling for her. She wanted to hear him say it again and again.

  “Then let me show you how hard I’m falling, too,” she finally said.

  She pushed him onto his back, drinking in his tempting physique. He was broad and hard-bodied, but the depth of emotions staring back at her softened all her biker boy’s rough edges. As her eyes drifted to his hard length, rooted among a nest of dark hair and reaching up to his belly button, her heart thundered to an erratic rhythm. She was nervous, but not because of what she wanted to do, or even because of her lack of experience. She was pretty sure there wasn’t any way her mouth would not feel good on him. Her nerves were born from the profound emotions she felt for him. The fact that she was sitting on his bed naked, wanting to love him with her mouth, was, in her mind, as intimate as intercourse.

  He reached for her hand. “Sugar,” he said softly, drawing her eyes to his.

  Lord. She could drown in his loving eyes.

  “No pressure, babe.” He patted the bed beside him. “Lie here, and let me hold you.”

  His unconditional affection gave her the courage she needed to allow herself to grasp the brass ring. “I will. Soon.”

  She pressed her lips to his stomach and kissed her way lower, wrapping her fingers around his thickness. She didn’t think about right or wrong, or the things she’d read about how to touch a man. She didn’t think at all. She let her heart lead as she slicked her tongue from base to tip, tasting his warmth, the salt of his skin, and reveling in the groans she elicited. She licked the broad head and around his swollen glans, feeling his restraint in the rigidity of his body, and slicked her tongue along the length of him again, getting him nice and wet so she could stroke him with her hand. When she took him in her mouth, he moaned, and his hips bucked off the mattress, but he stopped short, and she knew he caught himself for her benefit. She loved him with her hand and mouth, feeling him swell within her grasp. She was aware of everything: his potent male scent, the rigidity of his arousal, his quickening breaths.

  “Baby, baby, baby,” he pleaded.

  She sped up her efforts and felt his hand cup the back of her thigh. His fingers brushed over her sex, sending electric currents racing through her. She was lost in their rhythm, vaguely aware of his body shifting, his hands lifting her.

  “Straddle my face, baby,” he said, and she did.

  And then his mouth was on her and she was at the perfect angle to take him in even deeper. She explored, licking his shaft, around his sac, his inner thighs. He ate at her sex even more voraciously with every slick of her tongue.

  “Squeeze me tighter,” he said urgently. “Near the head.”

  She did, reaping the same benefits and loving that he told her what he liked. She squeezed and licked, sucked and stroked, writhing from the exquisite pleasure he was bringing her. Her legs tingled, and she worked him harder, faster, wanting more of him. Wanting him to come with her.

  He groaned, a loud torturous noise that caused her to rear up.

  “Did I hurt you?” Oh God, how embarrassing.

  “No,” he panted out. “You’re going to make me come. Just use your hand. You don’t have to…”

  She was not going to miss out on experiencing all of his passion.

  “Come with me,” she said, grinning as she took him in her mouth again, so deep she felt him hit the back of her throat.

  “Baby, baby—”

  He clutched her thighs and did something with his tongue that sent her over the edge, oblivious to all sense of time and space as he let out a wild groan and the first salty jet of his release shot down her throat. She nearly choked, but she swallowed it down, feeling the warmth coat her throat with each thrust of his hips as her own orgasm tore through her in a series of earth-shattering quakes.

  Her legs trembled as she shifted off of him. He gathered her close, easily turning her as if she were part of him, and wrapped his strong arms around her. He smelled like her, his beard still wet with her arousal. The taste of him lingered on her tongue, but nothing could stop the hypnotic pull between them. Their mouths fused together, their tastes mingled, salty, warm, and oddly satisfying. His thigh came over hers, and he took the kiss deeper, like he wanted to seal in the moment. To claim it and never let go.

  She wanted that, too. />
  When their lips finally parted—a minute, or twenty, later—she longed for his to return.

  “I was wrong.” Her words pushed urgently from her lungs. “You do own me.”

  “No, baby. We don’t own. We are one. We share, we love, we protect, but we don’t own.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE DARK KNIGHTS’ clubhouse was located behind Whiskey Bro’s in a similar building in need of updating. Bear sat at a table with Bullet and Bones Monday night at church as members discussed prospects, an upcoming charity ride slated for the fall, and the situation with Scooter, which seemed to have calmed down after they made their show of support. While Bear was glad to hear it, his mind wasn’t on the meeting. After the weekend he’d had with Crystal, he wanted more time with her, not less, which was what he’d have if he helped with the bar expansion. If that wasn’t enough of a distraction, he’d received a call earlier in the day from Jace Stone. He and his business partner, Maddox Silver, were ready to finalize their offer.

  Bear stuck around after the meeting, waiting for his father to come over and discuss the bar. While the guys shot pool and played darts, talking about their last ride, or their next, Bear wrestled with his future.

  Bones took a swig of his beer, eyeing him. His brother had come directly from doing rounds at the hospital. He’d changed into a Dark Knights shirt. His discarded dress shirt lay over the back of his chair. He was Dr. Wayne Whiskey by day, the epitome of the clean-cut professional, covering up his tats and careful with his language, and by night he became Bones, the die-hard biker Bear knew him to be.

  “Bullet said you’re having a hard time over something that went down with Crystal,” Bones said. “Want to talk about it?”

  Bullet leaned back in his chair, stroking his beard and giving Bear a look he knew too well. The one that said, Spill your guts. We’ve got your back.

  “I made her a promise,” Bear said, wishing he had been born with a better poker face. “I’m not breaking it to satisfy anyone’s curiosity.”

  Bones tipped his chin down, giving Bear a serious stare. “Is she still in danger?”

  That was the worst fucking part of this whole situation. The guy was still out there. Bear fisted his hands beneath the table. “Not imminent. Maybe not at all. But I still want to track down the motherfucker and kill him.” He pushed from the table, needing air.

  Bullet grabbed his arm. “Do not take vengeance, bro. You’ll end up in prison, and Tru can tell you how fucking fun that is. And that pretty little filly of yours won’t enjoy waiting for conjugal visits.” He pushed to his feet, sliding a dark look to Bones and tightening his grip on Bear. “And whatever you do, you don’t do it alone. You go down, we go down. Got it? You don’t take care of whatever this is alone.”

  Yeah, he got it all right. Now he was on Bullet’s trouble radar, which meant any move he made, his brother was keeping tabs. Gotta love the brotherhood.

  Bear wrenched from his grip and stalked outside. Inhaling a lungful of cool night air, he paced, trying to calm his roiling gut, and sent a quick text to Crystal.

  How’s my girl?

  Waking up with her in his arms had kept him going all day. He’d cooked her breakfast, which she’d reluctantly admitted she liked more than cold pizza. They’d had the hardest time saying goodbye when he’d dropped her off at her apartment this morning, but a text from Gemma reminding her to get to the shop early to discuss their schedule had pushed them along.

  Her response came quickly. Busy loving up Harley and working on the costumes.

  The door to the clubhouse opened and Bones stuck his head out. “Let’s go. The old man’s ready.”

  “I’ll be right there.” His phone vibrated again, and a picture of Crystal kissing Harley’s nose popped up. Damn he missed them both. He sent another text, wishing he didn’t need to hurry back inside. Still have time for your boyfriend Friday night?

  His phone vibrated with a response before he even reached the clubhouse door. Yes! Your fuzzy little girl misses you.

  He stepped into the clubhouse and made his way toward a table in the back, where his brothers and father were talking. The sounds of cue balls rolling, hearty laughter, and the dense plunk of darts hitting the dartboard were as comforting as a home-cooked meal. Or maybe a last meal, given the conversation they were about to have.

  He pulled out a chair, ignoring the inquisitive glare Bullet was giving him. Guess what, B. This one’s not under your thumb.

  “Pop was just telling me about his plans to expand Whiskey Bro’s,” Bones explained.

  “He’s in,” his father said in his slow drawl, as if there was anything Bones needed to be in with besides investing capital. Bones was the only one in the family who didn’t work at the bar or the shop, but as an equal partner—and a male—he was included in major decisions. He’d attended medical school after college, and after graduating, he’d gone right into practicing medicine. Bear had no doubt Bones would give up everything to help his family, if need be, which was why he’d never made a big deal out of being the one to take over the bar after their father’s stroke. There was no way he would have stolen either of his brothers’ dreams out from under them.

  His father sat back in his typical relaxed state, his cane hanging off of his chair. Bear wasn’t fooled. His old man was a thinker, a planner. Bear knew that even after his stroke, if push came to shove, he wouldn’t hesitate to throw his body in the middle of a fight to protect those he loved—or strangers who needed help.

  Like the rest of us.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Bear said. “The kitchen will need renovating, and we’ll have to hire staff. Offering food will make this place too big to be run as a family business. You’ve got to be cool with that before you do anything.”

  His father looked around the clubhouse. “Nothing’s too big for family. We’ve got a damn big family.”

  “These guys have jobs,” Bear reminded him. “And we’re all working our asses off. We’ll need a cook, a dishwasher, waitstaff…You can’t expect Dixie, Bullet, Red, or me to handle it all.” He’d called his mother Red since he was a little boy, when he’d heard her friends calling her Wren, her given name, and thought they’d said Red. The name had stuck.

  His dad’s mouth curved up in a crooked grin, the left side anchored low. “See? You know exactly what the bar needs. That’s why you’re going to manage it and make it a profitable endeavor.”

  Bear sat back, grinding his teeth together. “I’m running the shop and helping out at the bar a night or two a week. I’m maxed out. But Dixie can handle this. She’s at the bar most evenings anyway, and she handled the renovations at the shop when we added the playroom. She could—”

  “She’ll be off and married and having babies before we know it,” his father said. “Then what?”

  “So you’re just writing her off again?” Bear scoffed. He’d fought this battle before, and he knew damn well his father would win, because without his brothers’ support, after he said his piece, respect would win out, and Bear would back down. Every. Damn. Time.

  “She’s doing a hell of a job at the shop, and she’s a fine waitress,” their father said. “She doesn’t need to do more. She can help you out, like she did last time.”

  “Help me out? She came home weekends while she was away at college and worked just as hard as I did to turn Whiskey Bro’s around. And after she graduated, she dug her heels in at the shop, too,” Bear reminded him. “You pushed her in college to make sure she excelled. Wasn’t that in preparation for this? Don’t you think she’s earned the right to run a business on her own? I assume you’re going to have her buy in, like the rest of us.”

  Just once he’d like his brothers to open their mouths and stand up for Dixie. But while Bullet would give his own life to protect their sister, the same didn’t go for standing up to their father. And Bones? He knew a losing battle when he saw one, and chose his wars carefully. Maybe Bear was driven by the anger coursing through his
veins on the heels of learning about what happened to Crystal and not being able to do anything about it, or maybe it was just that he was sick of Dixie being denied what she deserved. Or maybe it’s that I have an offer for what I really want, and I can’t seem to find the balls to take it. For whatever reason, his patience for this bullshit was wearing thin.

  “Of course she’ll buy in.” His father leaned his forearms on the table, his eyes moving slowly around the table, coming to rest on Bear and putting a silent end to the battle that hadn’t really been fought. “The question is, how soon can you get a plan together?”

  “I’ll have to consult Dixie,” Bear answered, full of piss and vinegar. “She’s the one managing the budget.”

  His father grumbled something Bear couldn’t make out.

  They talked for another two hours about his ideas and what Biggs envisioned for the bar. Bear was itching to leave, but he was expected to stay, and even if his beliefs weren’t on par with his father’s, he stayed until Red texted their father shortly after midnight. Bear got up to follow his father out.

  Bullet growled, “Sit down.”

  Bear lowered his ass to the chair, knowing better than to go head-to-head with Bullet at the end of a long night. “What?”

  “Why are you giving him shit about Dix?” Bullet asked. “You know damn well he’s not going to budge.”

  “Because someone has to.”

  “He’s right, Bear,” Bones said. “You know I don’t agree with the old-school bullshit Dad pulls, but you’re trying to change generations of hard-core old-fashioned beliefs. You can’t teach that particular old man new tricks.”

  “Bullshit.” Bear crossed his arms and sank back against the chair. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might want to do something other than give all of my time to the bar and the shop? Dixie’s fully capable, and she deserves to manage the project—and get the kudos that goes along with it. From Dad. If the three of us stood together, he’d have to listen. He’s only got one-fifth of the vote when it comes to the businesses.”