by Rie Warren
He kissed her hand from wrist to fingertips.
“Rascal,” Leelee sighed.
“That’s more like it.”
Sliding her fingers through his, she turned to me. “Witches?”
“Done. How’s Ride It Hard coming along?”
“Editing and finalizing the cover.” Leelee’s green eyes looked even brighter against her flushed skin.
“Bring it on, L. I’m waiting.”
After a hug—Leelee—and a knuckle bump—Josh, I worked the crowd. Stopping next to Javier and his man Tate, I exchanged grins with them.
I took in their Batman and Robin costumes. “Nice tights.” Talk about caped crusaders.
Javier’s smile was a white slash across his face. “Nice sword. You swing left or right?”
Like that shit wasn’t getting old already.
Tate wrapped an arm around Javier’s hips. “Maybe he’s ac/dc.”
“Maybe you should take your sidekick back to the Bat Cave,” I said to Tate as his eyes twinkled behind the black mask.
We shook hands, and I said, “Nice to see you again, man. Are you keeping Javier in line?”
Javier’s brilliant green chest-plate puffed up. “Mierda. I don’t need nobody to keep me in line. I’m my own man.”
“Really?” Tate tugged him close. He angled his head and searched out the lips parting in a gasp.
Hooking his fingers into . . . the fancy superhero belt around Tate’s waist, Javier moaned into the deep kiss his lover gave him.
Good thing Jackée wasn’t here. That searing kiss would Twitter-trend in t-minus two minutes. As I backed away, Javier groaned, “You’re right, mi amor. Soy tuyo.”
Shit. That was sweet.
If this was what it was like on Halloween, I was going to be miserable by the time Valentine’s rolled around unless I’d managed to convince Cat to come around.
I found Viper the Scooby Doo dog cuddled against Gerald’s legs. He fed her scraps of pulled pork and worked her ears until her hind leg paddled the cement floor.
“Thanks for looking after her.”
“No prob.” His voice vibrated in a deep deadly tone.
“What are you dressed as?”
“The Sandman.” His face widened for a scary grin.
Right. Not the big screen Batman bullshit but the original horror flick. “Nice.”
“Go on. Say Sandman three times.”
Like fuck I was going to do that. I didn’t need more nightmares competing with my night terrors. “I’ll pass, dude. You’re creepy enough as it is. Thanks for not eating my dog.”
“I don’t do pets. The zombies do.” He jerked his head aside.
Sure enough, the undead contingent circled behind me performing a disjointed dance. Their body parts falling off, faces smashed in, intestines dripping out of slashed stomachs, they did the zombie mash.
The second half of Viper’s costume barreled into my legs. JJ—Scrappy—wrapped his arms around my thighs. “Hi, Uncle Wicky!”
He dropped to the floor for wet laps from Viper. Over the course of a couple weeks, Leelee, JJ, and I had broken Josh down so he let my dog and his son come as a pair.
“No super hero this year?”
“Nuh huh. Me ’n’ Viper are the Wonder Twins!”
Or somethin’ like that.
Seeking out more tricks and more treats, JJ rode Viper off into the sunset . . . or whatever. “Yeehaw, Viper-Scoobie!”
It was a monster, superhero, southern mash-up. And there was still no sign of Cat.
At the buffet, I ran into Jules. She was in a flapper dress. “Recycling?” I asked.
Her red lips parted. Her white feather boa snapped me on the nose. “I do not recycle. Everything is all original, all the time, just like LitLuv.” She turned on her heel, shooting me a final glare.
Josh’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Bobbing for mini-bottles in bay two in five minutes, y’all!”
Pure class, I had to hand it to him.
“PS. Motherfuckers. I am collecting all designated-driver keys. You don’t pass a breath test, you ain’t leavin’ the premises unless you’re in a taxi. Fuck with me and I call the MPPD.”
And big protective badass.
Popeye-Ray roamed up to me. His wife Bev made Olive Oil look good, and I told her so to her cheek-to-hairline blush. Their baby Emma Jane was Sweet Pea down to her soft cotton pj’s. I just hoped she didn’t decide to drop another diaper-load because I was not on shit-duty tonight.
“Hey, you seen Cat around at all?” I asked Ray.
He pulled the corncob pipe from his mouth, squinting with one whole side of his face. “Lookin’ for your ladylove?”
“She isn’t my ladylove. I ain’t even had her in my—”
Yanking my arm, he hissed, “Holy Christ. You got a death wish?”
“I was just gonna say Cat hasn’t—”
“Shut the fuck up, Boomer’s in the house.’
“Boomer?”
“Boomer Steele. Other big brother.”
I glanced to the left. When he said big, he wasn’t kidding. Big, like a house or maybe an entire subdivision. His muscles rippled. Chicks giggled. He ignored them all. Boomer Steele had the same dark gypsy looks as his sister, making Brodie the odd man out. He had close-cropped black hair, with two silver scars highlighting his forbidding scowl and tight black goatee. One drew a jagged line above his left eyebrow and the other cut into his square jaw. Since he was head-to-toe in leather, I figured Boomer was just too badass to wear a costume.
While I watched, the man nodded at Ray and started in our direction. When they met up, manly back slaps ensued. Ray managed to stay on his feet, which was mighty impressive.
“Yo, Boomer, this is Nicky Love, the writer. Nicky, Boomer Steele, the big brother.”
“Oh yeah. I’ve heard of you. My sis loves your books.” He didn’t seem to think it was some big bad secret.
Ray murmured, “Not the only thing she loves about him.”
Thanks for stabbing me in the back, braw.
“Somethin’ I should know about?” Boomer crossed his arms over his chest, and they looked like huge sides of beef.
“She’s not my biggest fan.” I rubbed my jaw, almost wishing it still ached from the other day. “Got one helluva a left hook though.”
“Sounds about right.” When he grinned, his face became slightly more boyish apart from the scars that said I’d be happy to fuck you up, too.
Another round of “nice to meet yous” later and he ambled away, swinging a brew between two fingers. Brodie cut across the floor to him. Brodiewas dressed either as Jax Teller—or himself. His black leathercut signified the SC MC Presidents of Retribution—a bony white skull unbalanced the scales of justice. Bearing blocky silver rings on his fingers and thick leather cuffs around his wrists, his inked art was on show beneath his T-shirt.
Suddenly, the soles of my boots vibrated from the roar of an iron horse throttling into the parking lot. The growling sound was sheer animal velocity gunning from wide-open pipes. It sent shivers down my spine to my balls.
The reverb from that engine was a magnet to my soul. I pushed through the crowd until I hit the forecourt. My feet stopped, my heart sped, my blood settled way down low in my groin.
Holy motherfuckin’ hell.
Make that a chrome horse, with Wildcat Steele astride it.
A beauty, her Harley was sleek lines, shining pipes, and sick angel-wing emblems on either side of the gas tank. But what took my breath away was the babe-badass-boss of that machine. Cat. Fucking. Steele. Dressed in goddamn black leather.
Walking to her, I held out my hand. Her palm, covered in a fingerless leather glove, hit mine. She slid her lean leg over the seat. After working off her helmet, she shook her hair free and almost shook my balls loose. On this night of the jack-o’-lantern, Josh’s jackasses were not to be outshone. They whooped and hollered around us, and I knew just how Josh felt when he wanted to blind each and every one of them
.
Wildcat unzipped her padded leather jacket, revealing a thin black tank beneath, baring cleavage that made it apparent she’d gone for the braless look. It could’ve looked trashy, but on the lady who always dressed to the nines, it just looked like yes and more. The bonfire behind her highlighted her hair in coal-black-blue. Thigh-suctioning leather pants lay low on her hips, and the scuffed, silver buckled, low-heeled boots on her feet were ten thousand times more about riding it hard than any other woman’s stilettoes.
I took her helmet and hooked it over the handlebar of her chopper. I trailed a finger down the jagged teeth of her jacket zipper, my knuckles brushing warmth beneath. “What are you dressed up as, darl’?”
Her sapphire blue eyes snapped to mine. “Just me. Wildcat for one night only.”
“Are your claws out tonight?”
She inched toward me and whispered, “I should apologize. I shouldn’t have gone off on you like that at your house.”
“Are going to go off on me tonight?”
“Maybe. But only in a way I think you’ll like.”
I had to kiss her. In front of her brothers, the boneheads, and everybody else, I cradled her face and dipped down to her waiting lips. All was not forgiven so much as forgotten with the warm slide of her lips against mine and the wet press of her tongue into my mouth. I gripped her waist, hauling her to me. Her moan collided with my groan, and her hands twisted through my hair. When her tongue circled mine in a sleek hot dance, I grabbed her ass and ground against her.
“About damn time!” Some fool shouted.
“Get a room.”
“Get a porn set!”
I’ll settle for a bed.
Cat pulled away. “Is that your sword poking me? Or are you just happy to see me?”
“Not you, too,” I groaned.
I moved her into the shadows and away from all the shit-stirrers. I rubbed my lips against hers. A shiver rippled up her body as I tugged her earlobe between my teeth. And it was so damn tempting to go for her tits, her nipples, the amazing chandelier jewelry apparent beneath her thin top and only one piece of fabric away.
“I like your ride.”
“I bet you do, hon.” Her glorious smile gave life to that deep dimple in her cheek. Sexy vixen with an impish side.
Out of nowhere, two bulky masses closed ranks around her, too close for my comfort. All that muscle—Brodie and Boomer—like Cat needed protecting from anyone.
“Knock it off, guys.” Her lips flattened.
“Maybe we should knock his block off, sis.”
She pivoted around. “Really? How old am I?”
Brodie tugged on his hair and muttered to the ground. “Twenty-six.”
“But that doesn’t mean you know what’s good for—” Boomer was cut off with an oh no you din’t glare from Cat.
She threaded her fingers through mine and swept past the surly Steele bros. “Stay out of my way tonight. I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
As we crossed the parking lot to get to the party, Gigi was putting one tuckered out and possibly sugar-coma’d JJ into her car. For one night only—right—she was kitted out and wigged-out as Queen Elizabeth II. There was no mistaking her voluminous outfit that would take up the entire front seat of her Mercedes convertible.
“Queen Elly the Second?” I asked, buckling JJ into all his carseat straps.
“I do love me a court, Nicky.”
“Did you have a good night?” I helped Gigi inside with a lot finagling and hung over the door.
“Oh yes. Isn’t this the bomb? But I gotta get Scrappy here back to my place. He sure does like him some trick or treatin’.” She pressed her lips to my cheek.
Once back inside the garage, I offered Cat a drink. She declined. I asked her to dance.
“I don’t dance.” She declined.
“You don’t do a lot of things. Humor me.”
“When have I been known to do that?”
Good point.
Towing her to The Pit, I leaned close to be heard. My lips touched her ear, and she arched her neck to the side for more. “In my kitchen for one.”
The Pit was alive with people dancing, grinding, kissing. The lights were low and the music loud. I pulled Cat into my arms. “Know what I had to do after you left?”
She shook her head and satiny black strands stroked my chin.
I dipped low; my knees so my pelvis hit hers, and my head so my mouth heated her lips. “I took off my clothes and lay down in bed. I teased my balls the way I think about your lips doing, Cat.”
The music moved us together, making a mockery of her faint refusals to dance.
“They were full and heavy. I couldn’t play with ’em long or I’d have come. The second I touched my cock, I almost shot.”
Her hands ran behind my back and clasped my shoulders. Her head tilted as her eyes closed.
Spiraling my tongue along her neck, I groaned. “I stroked my cock in a loose fist as long as I could. I didn’t hold out long. Slow strokes, in and out of my hand.” My hips swiveled against hers, my dick so hard it hurt. “Then I just played with my cockhead, imagining your lips. Tasting me, sucking me. And I came so fucking hard, so fucking loud, so fucking long I thought I’d pass out from it.”
“Nick . . .”
I squeezed her ass. My erection was trapped between us. “Dance with me.”
“You want more than a dance.” Her gaze lifted.
“Fuck yeah I do.” My fingers flexed, dragging her infinitesimally closer.
“I shouldn’t have hit you.”
“Listen. I slept with Pandora. Once, in May, in Atlanta. It wasn’t even a fling.”
“Am I a fling?”
“You think I usually work this hard for a simple fuck?”
Cat started to struggle away.
No way was she going anywhere but back to my house, my room, my bed—fuck me—straight into my heart. “There’s nothing simple about you. I like it that way.”
“So I’m difficult.” Her eyes narrowed.
I had to laugh. “Are you disputing that fact?”
“Closer” by NIN blasted out above our heads. Bass-throb-sex-beat. And yeah, I wanted to get closer to her. “C’mon, dance with me.”
She relented. And by relented I meant she twisted her arms above her head and counterpointed that hot move with a reverse gyration of her hips. Smoking hot sex in my arms. She slid from her leather and tossed it aside, and goddamn if her nipple piercings didn’t glint beneath her tank top.
A sneer-grin worked over Cat’s lips when she turned around. Her ass undulated against my cock. Then she went lower. And lower. All the way to the floor between my legs. Fuck . . . me. I grabbed her hair and hauled her around. All I got in return was a lip lick and a slow wink.
Cat’s inked sleeves shimmered in the flashing lights. Her husky laugh sparked adrenaline through my veins. When she shimmied up my legs, she twined her arms behind my neck. We pumped into each other to the dirty rhythm of the song. Her hips hit my cock with every note. Her lips slid against mine, driving me insane.
I held her leg over my thigh, running my cock up and down the juncture of her thighs. Sweat clung to her hair at the temples, and it dripped down the middle of my back. I gave in. I gave up, pushing my hands inside her shirt, over her back, down to her swiveling ass.
The techno beat almost made me combust. The lights flashed and we were one second away from dance floor fucking. I mashed my hands into her hair. She moaned and cupped my cock. Groaning against the side of her neck, I wished we were someplace quiet, private . . . and naked.
Someone whistled, off-tune. Then a shoulder bumped mine. I blinked my eyes open.
Ray. Fuck if he’s gettin’ a piece of this action.
“What’d I say about big brother earlier?” He nodded across the room.
The brothers were on the move toward us. I wasn’t ready to be the star of Halloween 2013, slaughtered by Steele and Co. Hustling Cat all the way to bay five, I whipp
ed out my keys. The key stuck, the lock groaned, the boys were getting close.
Cat kept watch beside me. “They’re—”
“What? Hit men? Assassins?”
The door finally opened. I tugged her inside and pressed her against it.
Plunged into darkness, she laughed. “I was going to say not that bad.”
I made my way from her chin to her mouth, my hands moving to gather her hair. A distinct thumping noise stilled me. Then a long guttural groan.
Josh’s Camaro was in here. He’d brought it in for a tune-up that morning. That’s why he’d locked up this bay. He couldn’t have common riffraff fucking with his baby.
Aaand it sounded like he was fucking his baby, Leelee. On top of the car. Behind us.
Turning my back to the wall, I slid down it with Cat. My finger pressed against her lips, but she whispered around it, “Is that—”
“How the hell do I get you out of this get-up?” Josh grunted. Several seconds later, fabric tore.
Leelee squealed, “Mah dress! You dirty rapscallion.”
Funny, she didn’t sound all that pissed off, even when she continued, “Josh! There are still people out there.”
Cat gripped my hand. “Get us out of here.”
I fumbled for the door. It stuck from the inside this time. “It won’t budge.”
Josh murmured, “Frankly, Leelee, I don’t give a fuck.”
Well, at least he was keeping in character. Sort of.
From where we hid, we couldn’t see them, but we sure as hell heard them. The sound of wetness and sucking was an audible turn on. Leelee’s wails grew louder, bouncing off the garage walls. Squeezed against me, Cat’s breath blew hot and fast against my throat. Her hand drifted down my stomach to the tight crotch of my leathers. I screwed my eyes shut, beating my head against the wall when she coaxed my hard-on into a straight-up position.
“Fuck.” Laying my hand on top of hers, I pushed my hips into her grasp. The heel of her palm rode down the stiff ridge. Her fingertips explored my balls crushed within the pants.
Josh’s gruff tone overrode my groan. “You like the ’stache, babe?”
“Yes, yes . . . mmm.”
“Don’t know what the hell Rhett Butler got up to with his, but I’m thinkin’ it’s time for a little French tickler action.”