Free

by Kristen Ashley

  He pulled away. “You look better than the girl who did that look for Hole.”

  She started giggling.

  He smiled down at her, cupped her face and this time ran his thumb through a big black smudge of melting mascara.

  “Go. Clean up. I’ll make hamburgers,” he murmured.

  Something new moved through her face, it didn’t freak him, what it made him feel was good, but he still braced.

  “I don’t think my dad’s ever been to the grocery store,” she declared.

  Right.

  He was fucking ecstatic she was being open and talkative again.

  But it’d be good she started to make sense.

  “Baby, I’m not gettin’ you,” he said gently.

  “He never bought my mom potato chips.”

  Ah.

  Right.

  “Not four bags.”

  He didn’t share that he didn’t expect her to eat them all.

  But he did buy all four for her because he didn’t know what she liked.

  “Or hamburger meat,” she went on.

  “I’m not your dad, honey,” he reminded her.

  “Yeah,” she whispered, rolled up on the toes of her boots and touched her mouth to his. “Be back,” she said before pulling out of his arms, strutting to her tote, grabbing it, and moseying to the hall where she disappeared.

  Rush nabbed her phone and purse from the floor and went back to the kitchen.

  He had four huge hamburger patties formed and the skillet on the stove heating up when she returned with her eyes a little bloodshot and her makeup a little less heavy, but she was back together.

  Something in him missed the raccoon look.

  “Still beautiful,” he murmured.

  “You’re just trying to save a night where you end it getting laid,” she teased, sliding her ass on one of his stools and reclaiming her beer.

  There it was.

  Now she was really back.

  “And she sees right through me,” he muttered, grinning and seasoning the patties.

  “Those look boss,” she declared.

  “My mom cooked because she had to, and her food tasted like it. My dad cooks because he loves food, and his food tastes like it. I cook like my dad,” he shared.

  “I’m hoping I’ll get to meet this dad of yours,” she said softly, hesitant and almost shy.

  Yeah.

  He had not read her wrong.

  Rebel Stapleton had promise.

  Which meant she was going to meet his dad.

  He put the hamburgers in the skillet, saying, “Talk through the shit that’s weighing on you, sweetheart.”

  He heard her take in a breath before she said, “I’ll preface this by saying I saw Amy and Paul today.”

  He turned from the stove to fully face her. “That explains a lot.”

  “They have no idea what I’m doing,” she informed him.

  “How would they feel about it?” he asked.

  “They’d be super, extra, double, mega pissed.”

  “Right,” he muttered and moved to the drawer to get his spatula.

  “I’m mad at myself,” she said softly.

  Spatula in hand, Rush turned back to her.

  “Why, baby?”

  “Because I think I’m Superwoman. Because I think I could have saved Diane. Because I think I can make it all right for Amy and Paul by catching Diane’s killer, when nothing can make it all right ever again. And I think I could have done something to cushion the blow for my brother, and I’ll admit, maybe also my mom when she called Diesel to ask him and Molly, and expressly not Maddox, to Thanksgiving dinner, necessitating him coming out to her that he was bi. Because I called him to warn him she was going to call about Thanksgiving, and I should have told him she wasn’t there, wasn’t ready to hear that. But I heard he was struggling with knowing, after years of being with Mad and Molly, that the time had come to officially commit, and it was freaking him. And I thought I had the power to make it all better for him. For everyone.”

  That explained Thanksgiving.

  “Because after that went way south,” she carried on, “and Dad and Mom and Gunner couldn’t call and land their shit on Diesel because he’d cut them out, they landed it on me. And it was heavy. And I didn’t want Diesel to know they kept at me after it was all over, and how ugly it got, and how much it was, and how I started to hate them. I mean really hate them, Rush. They were shoving their hate at me and I just absorbed it, and it grew, and I started shoveling it back. Hate is a burden. And it’s so fucking heavy.”

  He moved to the counter opposite her, keeping hold on her eyes, and when she stopped talking, he agreed quietly, “Yeah it is.”

  “So I cut them out and it hurt. I’ve totally blocked all of them. And I didn’t have . . .” She shook her head. “I have friends. I have Essence. I could have unloaded. But back in the day, I’d unload on Diane. Or if I needed a mom unit, Amy. And I didn’t have them to unload on with this shit.”

  You have a beautiful voice.

  Christ, she’d been all alone.

  “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

  “I’m directing porn. I don’t want to direct porn. I didn’t come to the realization that I wanted to make films and my first thought was, ‘Great! I’ll do porn!’”

  He chuckled, and she shot him an amused look, but she kept talking.

  “And Valenzuela is creepy. And Harrietta is even more filled with hate than my brother Gunner is. To the point she kinda scares me. Even more than Benito does. And I’d gone down to Phoenix to be with Diesel because I was worried about his frame of mind and they were all tight. Tighter than ever. And I’d lie in bed in my hotel room down there, knowing they were all piled together in their big bed. And, Rush, there is absolutely nothing conventional about what Diesel has with his man and his woman. But it’s so beautiful. They just fit. From the start. D does the yardwork. And Mad fixes shit around the house. And Molly does the laundry. And they all tangle up together to watch TV.” She grinned. “And they fuck like bunnies.”

  He grinned back.

  Her grin died.

  So his did too.

  “It should have made me happy that my big brother, who’s so awesome and so loving and so protective, had that back and he was out and real and himself and happy, and at least the weight he’d been carrying for years had been lifted. But it just made me feel lonely.”

  “You felt that way because you were going through some big shit,” he explained.

  “I was feeling that way because I was going through some big shit and I thought I was Superwoman. I could do it all. I could do it all by myself. Take care of everybody. Get justice for Diane and Paul and Amy and bring down the bad guys. Take D’s back and give him support while he decided to keep the family that was good for him and scrape off the one that made him feel like dirt. I meet you, and you have your brothers with you. You talk about your dad and your sister. You’ve worked through not having your mom.”

  “I still miss her,” he admitted.

  “But you have people.”

  “You have people too, honey.”

  “I do.” She shrugged. “I just didn’t let them have me.”

  He leaned into his elbows on the counter toward her. “You learn your lesson about that?”

  “Not to let it all overwhelm me and then melt down in front of you again, and thus eventually make you get shot of me because you think I’m a psycho?” she asked back.

  He just smiled at her.

  “Yeah, I learned my lesson.”

  His smile faded before he said, “Valenzuela.”

  She waved her hand in front of her face like she was shooing a fly, and he started to get ticked at that casual response.

  Then she spoke.

  “I was having a moment of temporary insanity. After dinner, if you have a computer, we can type out my resignation letter together.”

  This gave him great relief.

  But after dinner, he was going to have
his hand up the skirt of that dress and his tongue down her throat, so maybe after he tired her out and she was unconscious, he’d get up and type it out for her himself.

  He didn’t share that.

  “Don’t think I’m crazy, but I’m gonna miss the cast and crew. They’re good people. It’s not as skeevy as you might think,” she told him.

  “I don’t think that’s crazy.” He reached his hand out and caught hers. “Sweetheart, you live with a screaming hippie who shares Woodstock orgy stories within two minutes of meeting someone. Your brother has committed his life to a man and a woman and you went balls to the wall so he could have it, at least emotionally, free and clear. And you’re dating a biker. I’m not sure you have it in you to judge, unless a person is an asshole.”

  Something beautiful—gratitude, relief, and something else that was deeper and even more meaningful, shone from her eyes before she said, “True that.”

  He squeezed her hand. “And you don’t have to lose them. Get numbers. Throw parties. They’ll be welcome at Chaos hog roasts.”

  “Chaos hog roasts?”

  “Chaos is not immune to get-togethers. And if someone has it in them to think ahead, we roast a hog.”

  “Sweet,” she whispered.

  He was glad she thought that.

  “And they’d be welcome?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  She squeezed his hand back. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  More relief, gratitude and that something more beautiful came at him before he pulled her hand to his lips, touched them to her fingers, and let her go.

  He went back to the stove to flip the burgers.

  “Can I do something to help?” she asked.

  So she wasn’t one of those women who sat around thinking a man had to earn his hand up her skirt and wait on her to earn a place in her heart.

  Which meant the man he was would go all out to earn his hand up her skirt and a place in her heart.

  “I got you,” he muttered.

  “I can slice tomatoes or something.”

  Shit.

  He turned his head to her. “I didn’t buy tomatoes.”

  “Good, ’cause I hate tomatoes. But if you liked them, I’d slice them for you,” she declared before sucking back more beer.

  And more promise.

  “I have pickle slices,” he told her.

  “Awesome,” she said, hopping off her stool. “I’ll get them out. Condiments?”

  “Fridge, babe.”

  She got the shit from the fridge, including the potato salad, and wandered around him, opening drawers until she found a spoon she could shove into the salad after she busted off the top.

  She also tore open two bags of the chips, got down the plates and opened the bag of sesame buns.

  “Do you toast?” she asked, standing in his kitchen close to him in that killer, sexy-as-all-fuck outfit with all that hair, holding two big hamburger buns up and out to her sides.

  Rush took her in.

  No.

  He was wrong.

  Not promise.

  Not keeping her for a while.

  Hell no.

  She just might be a keeper.

  Full stop.

  “Am I making dinner, or are you?” he asked.

  She shot him a playful smile and asked back, “Am I cramping your style, stud?”

  He dropped his eyes before he lifted them again. “Is my hand gonna be up that skirt later?”

  “If you let me toast buns.”

  He started laughing, saying, “Toast away, baby. No way I’m gonna stop you.”

  She smiled to herself as she headed toward the stove.

  He caught her on her way, pulled her into his arms, and took her mouth.

  He made it wet and deep and long, and when he ended it, she followed his mouth for an inch, showing she didn’t want it to end.

  He was there with her.

  But first, she’d mentioned she was hungry.

  And he bought potato chips for her.

  So he had to feed his girl.

  “More later,” he murmured, staring into her soft, gorgeous face.

  “Tease.”

  “Toast, woman.”

  Her lips curved up, she pressed into him for a beat then she pulled out of his arms.

  “Before hanky-panky, I want a tour of your sweet crib,” she declared as she hiked a dial on his oven.

  Yeah.

  His Superwoman.

  He had a feeling she was gonna be a keeper.

  Cock Blocker

  Rush

  “And we’re back in the living room.”

  Dinner was over.

  He’d given Rebel a tour of his place.

  And it was proved she had shit jacking with her head when she arrived, because she was far from disinterested and hid just how interested she was by giving him shit about his interior decorating abilities from practically the beginning.

  “That couch is very queer eye,” she declared, standing in front of it and staring at it.

  “Babe, you do know you don’t have to like ass to pick a decent couch,” he retorted.

  She gave him dancing eyes. “You don’t like ass?”

  “Rephrase.”

  She busted out laughing.

  Rush caught her waist, sat his own ass in his couch with its soft, supple black leather seats, so wide they were almost beds, and cushions so yielding, he barely had to stretch out on it before he was taking a nap.

  A phone rang somewhere, not his, but he ignored it because he was pulling her into his lap as he went down.

  It was Rebel who adjusted while he was doing that so she was straddling it.

  Sweet.

  “Someone’s ready to get busy,” he teased, gliding his hands inside the cardigan and up the silky material of her dress at her sides, his head tipping back to catch her eyes.

  She put her hands light on either side of his neck and dipped her chin to look into his.

  “Thanks for not freaking out about my meltdown, baby,” she whispered.

  “Not a problem,” he whispered back, rubbing his thumbs across her ribs.

  “I don’t make that a habit.”

  Right.

  Instinct was shouting at him that he needed to nip this shit in the bud right away.

  So he set about doing that.

  “Sweetheart, this is important, so listen. I want you to just be you with me. The part I didn’t like was when you held it inside. Truth. I didn’t mind at all when it came out.”

  She tipped her head to the side, watching as she rubbed her knuckles along his jaw.

  Her touch was a different kind of sweet.

  “Are you for real?” she asked like she wasn’t talking to him.

  And that was a different, even better kind of sweet.

  He dug his fingers into her flesh gently. “Do I feel real?”

  Her gaze came back to his. “Physically, yes. Other ways, it’s like I made you up.”

  Jesus, that just plain felt good.

  Christ, it felt good.

  Fuck, it felt even better than having all the beauty that was her straddling his lap with it being her that put it there.

  He slid his hands back and pulled her closer. “You didn’t make me up.”

  “Did Essence’s fairy magic do it?”

  He smiled at her as his hands made her shoulder blades. “Maybe.”

  “I hope it lasts awhile,” she whispered, her focus on his lips.

  She was being cute.

  But he was done with this.

  And the cock she was sitting on was so done with this.

  To share that, he slid one hand up to her neck, the other around her and muttered, “Babe.”

  He hadn’t noticed the phone stop ringing until it started again.

  She turned her head toward the kitchen.

  Shit.

  “Rebel,” he called.

  She turned her head back.

  He slid his ha
nd up into her hair.

  She took the hint and dropped her mouth to his.

  He angled his head.

  She tipped hers the other way.

  He was going to go gentle.

  But she rolled her hips on his dick.

  Oh yeah.

  She was ready to get busy.

  So he went in fast and deep.

  Her fingers slid up into his hair.

  His fingers slid back to shove the cardigan off her shoulders.

  He lost her hands in his hair when she pushed her arms back for him to pull the cardigan down them.

  He did and tossed it away.

  She tangled her tongue with his, pressing her hips into his, her chest to his, her hand cupping his jaw, her other back in his hair.

  He wound an arm around her hips, the fingers of his other hand he drove into her hair.

  Rush held her to him and took her mouth and she gave it, fuck. All that sweet was phenomenal.

  She liked to kiss. She liked contact. She liked claiming touch, giving and taking. She liked tongue. And if those sounds she was making were any indication while she rubbed against his now-hard cock, she fucking loved what she was doing to him.

  And it went without saying, he loved it too.

  He’d find he was right when he whipped her to her back on the couch, covered her and she breathed, “Yes.”

  Fuck yes.

  He took her mouth and she wrapped a leg around his thigh.

  Her leg free to do that, serious as fuck, he liked this dress.

  His hand went to the hem, in and up.

  Silky skin. Smooth. Warm.

  He wanted more.

  She lifted her hips into his crotch.

  Rebel wanted more too.

  He growled into her mouth and guided his hand toward her tit.

  Her phone rang again.

  He tore his lips from hers and scowled toward the kitchen.

  “Baby,” she whispered.

  He looked down at her.

  Christ, her face.

  His dick twitched.

  She was right there with him and she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

  “Your phone ring this much?” he asked.

  “Rush—”

  “Does it?”

  She shook her head, coming out of her haze and studying him.

  He said what he very much did not want to say when his hand was finally up her dress and two inches from her tit.

  “I think you need to get that.”

  Before he could change his mind, Rush extracted his hand, knifed off her and moved to her phone.