by Warren, Rie
Patsy pounced. “Got that out of your system, Bri? Leave the kids alone, they’re happy.”
“Yes’m.” Just like that, she brought him to heel.
* * *
A few weeks later, we were completely settled at home in Mt. Pleasant. We’d pushed it on the return trip, eager to get back to the kid and start our life together. The Stone family is everyone’s family. And now I had my own.
As well as a motherfucking cat. I’d had to listen to Mews mewl all the way across four states. Now the calico furball was being tortured by the kid as he ran off his sugar buzz from the strawberry shortcake Leelee had made for dessert.
She and I sat on the back porch watching JJ playing in the grass below. Evening dipped down, painting the sky in colors that reminded me of her dresses. She wore one of them tonight. A sundress with little straps, and she was barefoot, which I really liked since it meant she couldn’t run away. Yeah, I was a barbarian where she was concerned. She hadn’t complained yet.
“Why’s it called Mews, Weewee?” The kid asked, the furry bundle squished in his arms.
I snorted. Weewee still cracked me up.
“It was a little joke; Mews, because that’s the sound a cat makes, for Muse, m-u-s-e, like a writing muse.” Leelee stroked her fingers through his hair.
“I don’t get it.” His brows knitted together.
“No worries, kid. Me either, Leelee’s got the brains of the family.” I heard her sharp intake of breath and looked over. I hadn’t even realized what I’d said. It just came naturally—her being part of the family. I put my hand on the nape of her neck, playing my fingers up and down, smiling at her reaction.
JJ scampered away, holding the cat over his shoulder before placing it on the grass to cajole it toward him with promises of dog biscuits and ice cream. He acted like Mews was a trainable canine—maybe I should’ve bought a leash from The Gee Spot after all.
“Hey, kid! Remember what I told you about letting animals lick your face, right?”
He flapped his hands in my direction, the only indication he might’ve heard my warning. With him occupied with cat-agility lessons or whatever he was attempting with the hula-hoop, I turned to Leelee.
“Got somethin’ to show you.”
She cut her eyes to me. “I just bet you do. I think you showed it to me this morning.”
Arousal, swift and immediate, pounded through me. “Not my cock, babe, not this time.” I pulled on her hand until she left her chair and slid onto my lap. “I’ll give you a hint, it rhymes with cat.”
I laid my lips against her neck with firm, moist kisses up to the corner of her mouth. “Gonna guess?”
“You didn’t, Josh.” Her fingertips hovered over my shirt.
I winked at her, a grin forming. Taking the hem in both hands, I peeled the shirt over my head. My biceps, pecs, shoulders flexed for her, showing off the new design I’d had finalized earlier on my original tattoo, extending it even further.
Her eyes enormous, she gasped. “You did, you’re gettin’ . . .”
“You can touch it.” Oh yeah, she can.
Cautiously, she slipped her fingertips across the tat, stroking first around Joshua James December 13 2009 before following the circumference of the heart to the stenciled addition of her name. Beautiful calligraphy sat inside the top chrome pipe: Leelee Songchild. From there her fingers skimmed to my shoulder where a dense, sometimes delicate design of vines and chrome as well as a few songbirds intertwined as I’d imagined for Songchild.
When she stayed silent, I said, “It’s not done yet. I want a sleeve down to my elbow at least, eventually. But I needed to get your name on me. Whaddya think? Wanna come to the studio with me tomorrow and watch them fill it in?”
“Yes.” Lips—soft and slow—replaced her fingers. Gentle, worshipping, she moved to my mouth. Her tongue coiling inside, seeking and finding mine, she moaned when I grabbed her hips to twist her to me.
Breaking away, she whispered, “It’ll be breathtaking, Josh. I love you so much. So much. I feel like I can never get enough of you.” So close our lips still touched when she spoke, the heat in her eyes changed.
“Turns you on, huh?”
When she breathed against my lips—“Yeah”—and dipped in again, I decided it was JJ’s bedtime.
We got him sorted out, read to, sung to, and snuggled with together. I kissed him and stepped back to let Leelee do the same. We moved toward the door and I switched on his nightlight.
He watched us with eyes growing heavy. “Weewee?”
“Yeah, JJ?”
“I wuv you and your pwincess hair.”
She squeezed my hand and I squeezed back. I figured she had a lump in her throat similar to mine when it took her a moment to reply. “I love you too, sweet boy. Goodnight.”
“’Night, Weewee, ’night, Daddy.”
She acted like she wanted to linger a while longer, but I tugged her away. “Don’t even think about it. If you make eye contact with him, you’ll never get out of here. I know how he operates. And you’re all mine after dark.”
Leelee giggled, allowing herself to be led back outside. I brought a glass of wine out for her, a beer for me, and beckoned her to sit in front of me on the lounger, between my spread legs, her back to my chest.
“I know why you wear the wigs, Leelee.”
She turned, and I framed her face in one hand. “You figured it out. My shield, huh? Pretty lame, I guess.”
“You never put up a front with me.”
“I tried to . . . I should have . . .” Her voice faltered. “I’m so glad I didn’t, Josh.”
Wrapping my arms around her, I rocked her a bit. “I’ll be your shield, babe, you know that.” Her head rested back and I smoothed her hair, the gorgeous, unforgettable hair down her back. “Why though? Why hide all of this?”
“Being a redhead was horrible. Before you, I used to wear it up all the time. I was teased a lot when I was a teenager—freckled, gangly, ginger hair—the girls weren’t nice.”
I burst out laughing and she turned to take a swipe at me. “What?”
“Hate to break it you, babe. But those girls, teenage bitches makin’ fun of your hair? It’s because they were shit-jealous of you.” And I was jealous of all those teen boys who probably choked on their tongues every time they saw her.
Her face brightened when she saw things my way. “So you like my hair?” Leelee lifted the whole mass of curls and red in both hands before letting it tumble down.
“Fucking love your hair.” I buried my nose in that fine, red-gold sheaf. “And don’t think your ma didn’t break out the high school yearbooks when I was there. Goddamn gorgeous then, even more so now.”
She put her wineglass down and straddled my lap. “And I know what you really think about my wigs, Stone.”
“Do you?”
“Secretary, starlet, or naughty nurse?” With her lips close to my ear, her husky words sent a shot of thick arousal straight to my groin.
What about a triple header? My cock about exploded in my jeans but despite my one-track mind, I declined. “Not tonight. I’ve got something else in mind.”
Surprise widened her eyes as she leaned away from me.
“But I’ll definitely take a rain check. Here, lift up a sec? I got somethin’ else to show you.”
“Didn’t you just say not tonight?” She gave a teasing laugh, rising off my hips so I could dig a hand into my pocket.
Pulling out a box, I presented it to her. It was small, square, and gold leather, its meaning unmistakable. My heart thudded to a faster beat as I watched a world of emotions cross her face: shock, bashfulness that heated her cheeks to the prettiest pink, and hope when she lifted her eyes to mine and tears shined there.
Fingers trembling, she lifted the lid, revealing the ring. I plucked it from its white velvet bed, and the tears on the edges of her lashes glistened as they traced down her cheeks.
I tried to find my voice but it was rusty because hope
and want and love threatened to consume me. “I know it’s early days, Leelee, but I’m old-fashioned when it comes to you. You don’t have to say anything right away, or even wear it, but I need you to know how much I love you.” I caressed her face, taking the tears away on my fingertips. “I would be the happiest man, the most honored if you’d be my wife.”
My face turned hard with emotion I tried to contain. The ring shook between my fingers—nothing too fancy or flashy but a nice-sized diamond set within a circlet of emeralds.
With her hands on my cheeks, Leelee pulled me into her kiss. A kiss so intense and deep, it felt as though she poured her entire heart into my soul. “Yes. I want it, I want you. I love you,” she whispered.
I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched her hard.
“Gonna put it on me, sug?” She rubbed her face, so soft and smooth, against my shadowy cheek, playing with the hair at the back of my neck.
My fingers still shaking, I slid the engagement ring home. I kissed her fingertips until her hand curled around my jaw. When our kisses changed from joy and happiness to intense and hot, I slid from the chair, taking her with me.
Upstairs in our bedroom, I turned down the lights and closed the door. I crooked a finger at her. “C’mere, babe.”
Kissing her insistently—her mouth, her neck, the tops of her breasts—I touched every part of her body I slowly uncovered. I lingered on the sexy curve of her waist and suckled at her nipples until they became puffy and deep pink. Closing my lips around the swollen pearl of her clit, I licked and sucked, groaning at her taste.
Her hands in my hair urged me to my feet. Leelee shed my clothing with just as much care, murmuring when her lips brushed my tat, making my muscles tense and tighten. Her fingers whispered down to my ass and over my ribs while she settled on driving me insane with her mouth. She licked my chest and scraped her teeth across my abs. With my cock in her mouth, she found my eyes and watched every flicker of emotion, sucking me off, making me slick until I was delirious and panting.
We moved to the bed. Leelee settled below me, her body open to take me. Our mouths met, lingering when I pushed inside. Only a gasp and a moan escaped our lips. I hooked my arms beneath her shoulders as her legs slid to my waist, and we were so close nothing could part us, nothing ever would.
I rocked into her, and it was quiet except for our breaths and the sound of skin against skin. Slowly grinding inside of Leelee and pulling out, I waited until she arched against me and did it again, and again. The blankets fell from the bed, followed by the pillows. Leelee’s foot slid up and down the back of my leg, and I twisted her hair between my fingers. Slow and easy, long and deep, gliding in and grunting when I withdrew, we had all the time in the world.
Our lovemaking was aching flesh. It was long and intense. It was wet, and tight, and so very fucking right, I couldn’t stop touching Leelee, fucking her, feeling her move against me.
She came suddenly, striving up to gasp into my mouth, a silent scream I swallowed. Heat fisted my cock, slick, tight suction drawing me after her. My muscles froze and my body unraveled. Her name tore from my lips when my final thrusts soared into her and I flooded her pussy with come.
“Oh God, Josh!” Another orgasm took her with me one more time.
Released from the vise grip that had locked me into climax, I lowered over her, letting her feel all my weight, all my body. Her hands slid up and down my back while I kissed her neck, her face, her lips.
Complete, that’s what this feeling was. Finally complete and whole. I smiled, moving onto my side, sliding my legs between hers. I leaned across her to grab a blanket from the floor. With her head resting on my biceps, I went back to kissing her. Her eyes remained closed but her lips curved into a sleepy, satisfied smile.
And like that, she drifted asleep. My woman. As close to me as possible from heart to soul to body. Damn. Hallmark card again. I laughed quietly. I filtered her hair through my fingers, teasing out the snarls from my rough treatment. I didn’t want to wake her, I wanted to keep breathing her in, feeling her.
Her hand rested on my chest over the new tattoo design. The ring on her finger sparkled, with emeralds to match her eyes.
And I was no longer alone.
Did you love Stone?
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Stone
Love
Steele
Chrome
Rush
Tail
Carolina Bad Boys for Life
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Hunter
The Bad Boys Of Retribution MC
Hunter
Bad Boys of Retribution MC
Book I
RIE WARREN
Author’s Note
Hey, y’all!
Welcome to the Bad Boys of Retribution MC. This is a Carolina Bad Boys series spinoff, directly following Steele: Into Your Heart. But don’t worry, each book can be read as standalone, with or without the CBBs, and I promise to take you on one wild, hot, sexy ride each time.
One
“YO, HUNTER.” COLE SLID me a fresh cold beer across the steel-topped bar in the Retribution clubhouse.
I savored the first swig, watching the man who was the biker on MC probationary status. In fact, most of the guys here called him Probie instead of his given name. I knew he wasn’t wet behind the ears or too stupid to have a clue. Unfortunately for him, everyone had to start out on the ground floor when pledging an MC, and he’d gotten the shit end of the stick. But he’d proved himself during our search for Detective Ashe Kingston. Brodie Steele, the VP of this club, was going to make things right with Cole the Probie tonight.
Just then, the old lady of the hour and her wildman entered Retribution. Whistles erupted only eclipsed by loud shouts and fists pounding on the tables.
Ashe accepted her welcome with the usual smile and sass, Brodie beaming by her side. The pair was well matched. Both blond: he the tall rangy biker dude, she the curvy babe on his arm. Ashe wasn’t new to the MC ’hood—she’d ridden a cop chopper in her time on duty as a Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina, Police Department officer before ranking as Vice detective. But word had it there’d been so much bad blood between Brodie and her in years past he’d just as likely have flipped her off as flipped out over her.
The times, they were a’changin’.
Ashe had been through the wringer. Solving her first case after her promotion to Vice, she’d been kidnapped while making the arrest. That night in September I’d come clean with Brodie about my undercover status. I worked off the record, in the dark, and usually solo. Lucky for him I’d been brought in on the sly, and we’d doled out a little vigilante justice.
In my eyes, the detective was Comeback Ashe. Now it was November. She’d recovered from the trauma and sat through endless hours of counseling. She’d just completed her first full week back on the force. She was back in the saddle, and for a change, Brodie didn’t look like he wanted to go full bodily harm on anyone who crossed his path.
I couldn’t imagine the hell he’d gone through, which was why I tended to keep my relationship status firmly in the one-night-only column and women at arm’s length unless they were deemed content to let me fuck them then leave them. My work was dangerous enough. I didn’t need to drag a honey into it—or into my heart.
Glancing across the room as the celebratory furor died down, I performed my usual calm cool appraisal of the action. Who might be a threat, who was working an angle, who was to be trusted. Along with Cole and Brodie, Boomer Steele—Brodie’s older bro—was in the solid corner. He was the founder and president of this club. The Steele family was tight and included Catarina, the youngest sibling of the trio who owned and operated the auto parts dynasty next door—Chrome and Steele.
Where Brodie was blond and leanly muscled, usually with a wicked gleam in his icy pale blue eyes, Boomer was a brick shithouse on legs, broad enough to take up an entire doorway, and h
is eyes either danced in laughter or held a dark sadness. I’d looked into the background of each Retribution member. Unfortunately, due to the Steele family tragedy, theirs was the most captivating.
The most sad.
I took another drink and turned to face the back of the barroom. The pool tables drew a crowd. So did the dartboards. The wood was polished. The tables shined. The floors didn’t stick to the soles of my boots. In fact, despite the usual loud rock tunes, many drinks imbibed, and the ladies in waiting to get laid, this was one of the cleanest clubs I’d ever investigated. All thanks to Cole aka Probie.
Brodie waded through the crowded room toward me as his woman made a show of banking balls at insane angles before pocketing them at one of the pool tables. He looked like he was ready to sink a couple balls of his own into Ashe.
Cole fetched a beer for Brodie, setting it at the ready before he even took the stool beside me.
I clinked his bottle. “Chief’s happy with Ashe’s progress.”
“Yeah. I know. Sipowicz and I are like this.” He knitted two fingers together.
I chuckled. Sipowicz was Brodie’s very appropriate nickname for Chief Tilden, head of the Mt. Pleasant Police Department. His face was haggard and lined and he was most notable for wearing wrinkled suits over a larger-than-life belly, but there was more intelligence going on behind that workaday exterior than anyone could ever fathom. Tight ship? He ran it out of the side of his mouth without ever letting a smile show. Good man.
“You still on MPPD’s payroll?” Brodie asked.
I considered the question. No one besides Ashe and her partner Davies—both of whom I’d worked with on the Retribution case—Cole, Boomer, and Brodie knew the real solid deal about me. And even then . . . they don’t have a fucking clue who I really am. Brodie had once mentioned I was a ghost. He wasn’t wrong.