Driving Whiskey Wild

by Melissa Foster

  His lips curved up as he took her in his arms. “Thought you were afraid of motorcycles,” he said, pressing an enticing kiss on her cheek, his beard tickling her skin.

  “I am.” She wound her arms around his neck as he drove her crazy with his insistent lips all over her neck and jaw. “Penny gave it to me,” she managed. “It reminds me of you.”

  “Christ, Fins,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  Crushing her to him, he claimed her with his lips, rousing a burning need, an aching desire within her. His hand moved roughly down her hip, meeting her bare thigh, pulling a greedy moan from both of them. He intensified his efforts, kissing her so deeply, pleasure radiated all the way to her fingertips. A hungry groan rumbled through them, a heady invitation to a world she so desperately wanted to explore. His large hand splayed across her butt, and more greedy noises erupted between them.

  “Lace,” he ground out against her lips.

  With his hand covering her whole bottom, he lifted her easily while burying his other hand in her hair, making her scalp burn. He stepped into the house and pushed the door closed with his back.

  “I can’t get you out of my head,” he said between rough kisses. “And I don’t want to.”

  His words pounded through her, hot and explosive. She took in the anguish and seductive emotions warring in his dark eyes, and in the next breath, his mouth was on hers, taking and exploring. The hardness of his body, the fierce possession of his kisses, electrified her. Desire flooded her veins as she clung to him, rocking against his body, loving the feel of his hands all over her, as if he couldn’t get enough.

  “Bedroom,” she panted out.

  His boots sounded on the hardwood, every step bringing another throb of anticipation. Their kisses turned wilder, and their hungry noises echoed in her head, obliterating the rest of the world. She pushed her hands into his hair, holding on as she arched against him, urging him to take more of her. He lowered her to the bed and followed her down, one hand still clutching her ass as he devoured her mouth. His broad chest pinned her to the mattress. Every swipe of their tongues sent titillating sensations skittering through her, heightening her arousal to epic proportions. She tugged at his shirt, and he broke their connection only long enough to pull it over his head and toss it to the floor. He fiercely reclaimed her mouth, and she reached for his thick leather belt, but his body was too heavy, trapping her hands between them.

  “I need you naked,” she said, surprising herself with her eagerness. But no part of her wanted to deny her desires.

  There were no more words, only swiftness, as he withdrew his wallet from his back pocket and tossed it on the bed, then removed his heavy boots and socks. He pushed to his feet as he unfastened his belt, and his jeans puddled at his ankles. He stepped from them, revealing powerful thighs and muscular calves covered in colorful ink and marred with scars. Forty-eight hours ago, she might have been shocked, but now she was enthralled, wanting to study each and every tattoo and scar, to hear the stories she knew he might never tell, to understand the quiet storm that was Bullet Whiskey.

  They focused on each other as the silence wound around them, and she went to the edge of the bed so she could watch her beautiful man. And he was beautiful. Finlay no longer saw only his size and once-intimidating appearance. His harnessed power and commanding presence would always remain, but now she also saw the soft-hearted man who used the pain of his past to help those around him.

  Her gaze traveled to the juncture of his massive thighs and his thick arousal straining against dark cotton. Rivers of heat flowed through her as he came down on his knees before her, wedged his broad body between her thighs, and took her face between both hands. An inferno raged in his eyes as he visibly struggled with the emotions burning between them.

  “I need you, Fins,” he said in a husky voice. “I can’t fucking breathe without you in my arms.”

  She gathered the hem of her shirt in her hands and drew it over her head, wanting to jump into his fire with both feet. She knew he’d never let her get burned. “Then let me fill you up so you never run out of air.”

  His lips descended slowly and powerfully upon hers, hypnotizing her with his demanding mastery. She felt transported to a higher plane. The needy pulses inside her beat faster, throbbed harder, and at the same time, she felt lighter, lost in him. He shifted them to the center of the bed. His hips rocked between her thighs, spreading them wider, and pressed his girth against her center, hard and persistent. Her insides tightened and pulled, wanting all of him. When his hands moved to the swell of her hips, she lifted for him, and he held her firmly as his cock, sheathed in his briefs, teased and rubbed against her damp panties. His mouth left hers, claiming her neck with savage intensity.

  “Bullet, I can’t—” Wait—

  She gasped, pushing at the back of his briefs as he sucked and licked, his beard and teeth sending need careening through her.

  He blazed a path down her body, rougher than before, biting and sucking like nothing would ever be enough. Every sharp bite, every lick and stroke, made her writhe and beg for more. She never imagined roughness could be so hot, but her body was on fire, shaking with desire. She didn’t want to be taken and lavished. She wanted to give—everything she had. A fleeting worry zipped through her with the newness and shock of her loss of inhibitions, but everything about Bullet, from his intensity to the caring man beneath the armor, made her want to climb into his world and explore the carnal side of herself that was vibrating beneath her skin.

  Feeling breathless and bold, she pushed at his shoulders as he tasted every inch of her skin. “Bullet,” she pleaded, but he just moaned and continued driving her out of her mind. “Bullet,” she said harsher, and he lifted his head, brows pulled together. God, she loved his intensity. “I want to…” She pushed at his chest again, and he rolled to his side, clutching the swell of her hip.

  She brazenly moved down his body, kissing and touching, trembling with the newness of taking control. She kissed his stomach, his body hair tickling her cheeks. His manly scent amped up her arousal. She slicked her tongue along the hot flesh just above his briefs, earning another gratuitous groan. She lifted the waistband of his briefs, her heart thundering against her ribs, as his shaft came into focus. She slicked her tongue over the broad head, slow and determined, causing his entire body to flex.

  He uttered a curse and grabbed her by the hair, tilting her head up so she had no choice but to look into his eyes. She knew she wasn’t as experienced as him, but the need, and undeniable deeper emotions, she saw swimming in his eyes told her none of that mattered.

  She quickly tugged down his briefs, freeing his eager erection, and he made quick work of kicking them off. Still lying on his side, he fisted his hand in her hair. The heat of his gaze burned through her as she dragged her tongue along the length of his shaft. He let out a hiss that slithered beneath her skin.

  Spurred on by his reaction, she did it again, earning a darker, sexier noise.

  Those sounds were like a drug, and she needed her next hit. She wrapped her fingers around him and teased over the crown again, then dragged her tongue from base to tip, getting him nice and wet. When she fisted his cock, his hips bucked, and his thick arousal pushed through her hand with such power her sex clenched in anticipation. She lowered her mouth around him, earning a long, appreciative growl. Her heart pounded out an erratic rhythm as she surrendered to her desires, consuming every inch of him and sucking for all she was worth. His cock swelled in her hand, and she worked him faster, took him in deeper, until his every muscle was corded so tight she knew he was on the verge of exploding. A mild panic bloomed inside her. She wanted this—to drive him wild, to taste the very essence of him—but more than that, she longed to be in his arms, to feel him inside her, as close as two people could be.

  She gazed up at him, and his hands slid from her hair to her cheeks, the warmth in his eyes melting her from the inside out. He carefully brought her up beside him so they were fa
ce-to-face and kissed her once, twice, three times. Her feelings intensified with every single touch of his lips.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and he whispered, “I need you.”

  The way he said it, emphatic and impassioned, made his meaning unclear. But it didn’t matter if he meant sexually or emotionally, because as he carefully lowered her to her back and took off her panties, she knew in her heart the two were tightly intertwined.

  He went up on his knees, a glorious, solid man, so thick and powerful all over, his body a map of fears, tragedies, and hope. Her pulse quickened as he reached for his wallet and withdrew a condom. His gaze never left hers as he tore it open and rolled it on. A sensuous wave passed between them as he came down over her and gazed deeply into her eyes. He felt different without clothes on. Heavier, warmer, closer.

  “Say you’re mine,” he whispered before lowering his mouth to hers.

  He was so demanding and confident, he hadn’t given her time to respond. She smiled into their kiss. Their connection was too solid, too real, for him not to know that she would have said, I’m yours, Bullet. Truly yours.

  Their bodies came together slowly, his girth spreading her wider, his arms holding her tighter as he filled her so completely she could barely breathe. She pressed her hands on the back of his hips, not wanting him to move until she’d had a chance to know the feel of him by heart. But the pressure of him inside her, the feel of his fingers curling around her shoulders and their tongues dancing to an urgent, exploratory beat, was too much, and she had to move. Trapped beneath his weight, it was all she could do to press deeper into the mattress, then rock upward. They quickly fell into sync, every thrust striking that magical chord. Bullet pushed his hands beneath her bottom, angling her up so he could love her deeper—and Lord Almighty, the man was a sexual master. He thrust and pumped, ground and pulsed, until she was clawing at his back. Her legs lifted and shifted, trying to wrap around his waist, but he was too big, the angle too severe. In one fell swoop he rose and trapped her knees beneath his torso, driving into her hard and fast. She cried out with the intensity of the pleasures, the visceral greed coursing through her. His chest came down over hers, her knees pushed out to the sides of his hips, and he grabbed hold of her bottom again, spreading her cheeks to a painful distance apart. She whimpered with the shock of what felt like her skin tearing, but then he pistoned his hips, sending turbulent tides of passion crashing over her. She gasped, and he did it again, until pain and pleasure shattered like glass inside her, and she lost all control, bucking and crying out, thrashing as her sex convulsed.

  “Don’tstop­don’tstop­don’t­stop,” she begged, but she needn’t have worried.

  He was so lost in the moment, he buried his face in her neck and sank his teeth into her skin, sending her careening once again. Indiscernible sounds flew from her lungs, as unstoppable as their emotions. Their flesh was slick and heated, their breathing choppy and hindered. Bullet intensified his efforts, and suddenly he released her bottom and his arms pushed beneath her back, cradling her so tightly against him that she felt his heart thundering against hers. Her skin was on fire. Her body tingled from head to toe, like a thousand needles prickling at once, as another orgasm built up inside her. Bullet sealed his mouth over hers, their bodies moving in exquisite harmony. The heat of his desire seared down the length of her as his entire body tensed up, and he thrust deeper, grinding out her name as they found their mutual release.

  As Bullet took care of the condom, Finlay got her first look at his bare back, and a sinking feeling moved through her stomach. While the front of his torso was covered with multiple images and scenes, his back was one giant mask of darkness. The face she’d seen tattooed on the hulking figure standing guard at the cave on his sternum looked back at her. Dark voids—sunglasses—covered both shoulder blades, sightlessly staring back at her below coiled and pointed brows. A skeletal nose and jaw and a mouth full of jagged fangs were surrounded by the kind of decorative swirls she’d seen on iron rails. Crosses, Jewish stars, and other religious symbols covered the backs of his arms and elbows.

  When he climbed back into bed, gathering Finlay in his arms, the world came back into focus. His body was as tightly wound as a mattress coil, and her full heart chipped away. She didn’t want to bring up the image that was more terrifying than the others, but she couldn’t help herself, even though she knew it would take a lifetime to fully understand the man beneath the ink.

  “Your back?” she whispered. “It scares me.”

  He kissed her forehead, holding her tighter. “Don’t let it. It’s the Dark Knights emblem. It’s such a big part of me…When I was young, it was my strength and my undoing. Now it’s only strength, baby.”

  She breathed a little easier. “And your elbows and arms?”

  An unexpected smile lifted his lips. “There’s so much baseless hate in the world. I wear all the symbols proudly and will protect the people who follow them equally. It’s just a way for me to honor the human race. It’s like getting in haters’ faces and saying, ‘Go ahead, try to fuck with someone around me.’”

  “You’re amazing,” she whispered, curling into his warmth, wishing they could stay like that until morning, though she knew he would eventually have to leave.

  “No. Just doing the right thing.”

  He seemed to always do the right thing, which made her wonder more about his teenage years, when he’d been so confused about toeing the line with his family and the motorcycle club. But he seemed at peace with that line now, and she was glad for it.

  “I hate that I can’t stay the night,” he said, and kissed her forehead. She closed her eyes, knowing he was just as unhappy about his having to leave as she was.

  “Do you think Tink would be okay for just one night?” she asked, and immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean that. I don’t want you to leave her alone. I know how much you two need each other.”

  “That’s only part of it, babe.” He crushed her to him and put his thigh over her hip, cocooning her against his solid frame.

  “Nightmares?” she asked softly.

  He didn’t respond, which made her want to be with him even more. But how could she ever ask him to leave Tinkerbell for a night? To some people a dog was simply a pet, but it was clear that Tinkerbell was as integral a part of Bullet’s healing as the scars were daily reminders.

  They lay together for a long while, each lost in their own thoughts in the silence of her bedroom. When they finally, reluctantly, gave in to the end of their evening, Bullet stood on her front porch with her face in his hands and a tortured look in his eyes and said, “You deserve more than a broken soldier, but I can’t give you up. I know that’s selfish, but I can’t, Fins. Not even after only a few days.”

  “My mother used to say that the best parts of cobbler weren’t the big pieces that everyone gobbled down, but the broken ones left behind. Those were drenched in sweetness, but only some people were lucky enough to realize it. I realize it, Bullet. I want only you.”

  He pressed his lips to hers with a disbelieving expression and said, “Lock up tight tonight, lollipop.”

  Finlay watched the taillights of his truck disappear in the darkness, wishing things could be different. And as she locked the door and followed the scent he’d left in his wake back to her bedroom, she wondered if it was possible for her heart to feel full and torn at the same time.

  She’d been broken, too. She hadn’t thought she was capable of feeling anything toward a man after losing Aaron. But as she crawled back into bed, resting her head on the pillow where Bullet had just lain, she realized she hadn’t been broken after all. She simply hadn’t been with the right person until now. She closed her eyes, images of Bullet swimming in her mind, and wondered if he wasn’t quite as broken as he thought, either.

  Chapter Twelve

  AFTER A QUICK call to Penny, Finlay packed up the doggy treats she’d made at the crack of dawn Sunday morning and followed the directions on t
he GPS down a long, windy rural road not far from Whiskey Bro’s to a narrow driveway. Long, unkempt grass gave the property an abandoned feel. An old, dilapidated red barn came into focus, and the overgrown meadows disappeared, as if swallowed up by gorgeous rock gardens interspersed with trees and lush bushes, fall flowers, and greenery. The gardens, though beautiful, contrasted with the disrepair of the chipped and weathered red barn. A peaked metal roof hung over the edge of the building, as if it belonged to a larger structure and had been mistakenly put on this one. A newish double window was centered above two rustic garage doors, framed with unpainted wood. The garage doors were the old type, like she’d seen in Western movies, comprised of vertical weathered wood planks. Two planks formed an X on each door, giving them an off-limits aura. Beside the right garage door was what appeared to be a scuffed and marred front door, above which was a lower-pitched roof that slanted toward the ground, ending at the same height as the door. A single lightbulb hung from a black iron fixture beside the door.

  Finlay put her Suburban in park and looked down at the GPS, wondering if Penny had given her the wrong address. The deep woof of a dog sent her heart into her throat. She gasped, and the phone tumbled to the floor. Clinging to the steering wheel, she peered out her windows. This is definitely the right house. Thank goodness she sat up high in the van. She did not want to be eye-to-eye with the rottweiler pacing beside the driver’s door. Finlay had forgotten how big Bullet’s dog was, though Dixie had since told her Tinkerbell was only a puppy. Liar. Cujo had a head the size of a watermelon and beady dark eyes.

  She fished around at her feet for her phone as she reprimanded herself. “It’s just a dog. Bullet’s dog.” She felt the phone between her fingertips. “He sleeps with her, for goodness’ sakes. How vicious can she be?”