Breaking Bad: 14 Tales of Lawless Love

by Koko Brown

  Just as she was about to turn around for another refill, the brothel’s double glass doors opened. Dusty from the trail, a gringo ambled inside followed by two, equally filthy companions. All aflutter by their turn in fortunes, four girls jumped up to greet them.

  Margarita’s eyes narrowed. She recognized one of them. Yardley Wayne. She’d serviced the bounty hunter eighteen months ago when he’d passed through town hunting the Rio Grande Posse. She remembered him because it took two weeks for his hand print to fade from her throat. The man was no less a beast than the outlaws he hunted.

  Hit by a sudden rash impulse, born of hate, Margarita sought him out.

  Isolated on his ranch, Lonnie lived in a dream world. She adopted Chāo’s routine of rising early regardless that in the past, when not doing a job, she’d often greeted the day no later than noon. While he rode the range seeing to his cattle, she fed and watered his livestock and even tried her hand at weeding his garden. Far from domesticated, she even struggled in the kitchen. Didn’t take too long for him to tire of her beans and fried eggs and shooed her away from the stove which she was all too happy to abandon.

  While she was an abysmal cook, Chāo surprised her with his considerable skills. With herbs and vegetables procured from his garden, and a less common staple, rice, he’d whip up fabulous dishes she never knew existed and were a delight to one’s palate. She particularly liked a thing he called pork dumplings.

  Every evening after dinner, they would sit on the porch and watch the moon rise. Often his vaqueros would join them and bring their guitars. Other nights, just the two of them would sit in the darkness and talk in hushed tones, their rapport transcendent as if they’d known each other for a lifetime. Once the hour grew late, they’d walk hand in hand into the house and make love.

  They frequently took walks through the sea of tall grass from which the name of the ranch was derived. From these walks, she learned the true meaning of a romp in the hay.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Hand in hers, he’d glanced over his shoulder. His plain white collarless shirt complimented his tanned skin. Heart racing, her gaze dropped to his sensual lips, triggering a knowing smile.

  She lifted her eyes to meet his. “We don’t have to go in just yet,” she suggested, need already pooling between her thighs.

  Fingers laced with hers, he turned to face her.

  “What do you suggest we do?” he drawled, his timbre dangerously low.

  She swept her skirts aside, dropped to her knees, and pulled him with her.

  Lonnie intended to take her time kissing him. But the moment she touched his lips, subtlety was thrown out the window with the baby. With a restless impatience, she ate at his mouth, craving the taste of him.

  She pressed her body against his strapping frame, her hips moving seemingly of their own accord against his swelling hardness. Her hand slipped between them, desperate to set them both of free of the demanding desire sweeping over them.

  Her fingers plucked at the brass buttons lining the placket of his trousers and he groaned. Smiling, she both felt and heard the intoxicating sound. She absorbed it, took it deep inside herself. His evident pleasure striking her like a hammer blow.

  Hands trembling, she tugged his pants open, her fingers searching.

  “You found me,” he hissed.

  “On your back,” she ordered, pushing his shoulders, sending him sprawling on his back.

  Slowly, she crawled over him. She moved her skirts out the way then thanked the stars she never had much use for feminine undergarments. Impatient, she grasped his shaft, fitting it against her wet cleft. How wonderfully large and rock hard he was, Lonnie marveled as she pressed down.

  Her senses inflamed, a tantalizing excitement possessing her body, she took him inside. Delicately impaled, quivering between pleasure and heaven, she rotated her hips forward. Without hesitation, she alternated her direction, hitting a sweet spot. Sighing in bliss, she moved forward then back in a deliberate flux and flow, molding her body to his delicious length.

  A cool breeze ruffled through her hair, shifting the grass, causing it to sway like a green curtain around them. She couldn’t speak with the lush heat melting through her body. Hips moving in a primal dance, she bent forward and licked his lips. He smelled so good, like clouds and sunshine. She would remember this scent for the rest of her life.

  “Kiss me,” she breathed, not wishing to think of the future, the one they could never have.

  He captured her mouth and a young-girl tremor raced through her body as if he individually caressed every cell.

  She moved against him, faster and faster into a heart-stopping rhythm. The pressure of his tongue and cock, so intense and riveting, her entire focus shifted. Overwhelmed by sizzling desire, her breathing changed. And she began to climax.

  Sometime later when he eyes opened, he was leaning over her.

  “Tired yourself out?” he asked.

  “Your cock is hard work.”

  “I should hate the things that come out of your mouth,” he drawled, his voice scratchy from sex. “But I love it…like I love you. Will you marry me, Lonnie?”

  When she didn’t answer, he sat up.

  “Usually when someone says I love you, you reciprocate or…or at least tell him to go to hell.”

  “I can’t do either,” she murmured. The day she’d dreaded in terror had finally arrived.

  “Why not?”

  “Can’t we just leave things be?” she asked, struggling to her feet. “We enjoy each other’s company. Can’t that be enough?”

  He exhaled in a long slow breath. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  Little did he know, he’d done just that. She was content to let things remain open ended between them. Feelings opened one up to hurt and she’d had her fair share of it, enough to live two lifetimes.

  “I guess a wedding ring would cramp your style.”

  She lifted her chin. “Can’t rob a bank then run home and cook a stew,” she coldly replied.

  His gaze flicked over her, and then with a curt nod he strode back to the house.

  Numb, Lonnie watched him go, not wanting to move, not wanting to run after him to reclaim her words, and beg him to understand that she was a coward.

  Once she got tired of the wind blowing and the sun’s glaring heat, Lonnie headed back to the ranch house. Thinking nothing of the three men mounted out front, she pressed forward. The sooner she could light out of there the better.

  Chāo stood on the porch talking to them. Passing the garden, pieces of their conversation carried on the wind.

  “We’re here to collect the bounty on a Lonnie Red Injun.”

  Lonnie’s blood froze. Her eyes darted to Chāo and her heart plummeted. Seized by fear, his skin had turned ashen. He looked like death warmed over.

  “Sorry, Mr.…”

  “Names, Yardley Wayne.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Wayne,” Chāo said. “But you’ve come to the wrong place.”

  “Is that so?” Not the least bit dissuaded, the man pulled out a slip of paper from his duster. “We think this is the right place. In fact, we have an eyewitness who’s seen the girl.”

  Lonnie’s pulse quickened. She was out in the open. All they had to do was turn around.

  “I am not going to jail,” she muttered under her breath.

  Perfecting a plan of escape, she edged forward. Blood pumping in her ears, she grabbed the rifle off one of the men’s saddles. She squeezed off a shot, then turned before his body hit the ground. Despite a month off, her aim remained sharp, the second shot hitting the second man, in the temple. Cognizant of the third threat, she spun around. A bullet pierced her throat, knocking her several feet.

  Her life seeping through her fingers, she crumpled to her knees.

  “Lonnie!” Chāo shouted. Before she hit the ground, he caught her.

  His hands covered hers in a hopeless attempt to stem the flow of blood. “Don’t die on me, Lonnie. Baby, please don’t die.�
��

  “I’m so sorry,” she choked out, the taste of blood searing her tongue. “I should have chosen you.”

  She squeezed his hand. “S’okay….”

  “Don’t go,” he cooed in her ear. Arms tightening, he willed her spirit to stay.

  “Dumb injun. I wanted to take you alive.”

  Feral impulse prompted Chāo to reach for the rifle next to Lonnie’s lifeless body. In the split second it took him to pull the trigger, he’d given the bounty hunter too much

  PLAYTIME

  TWENTY-THREE

  BEIRUT, LEBANON PRESENT DAY

  “SabāH lЌér, Sayyid Fahed.”

  Chand Fahed acknowledged the security guard’s greeting with a nod. A cell phone pressed to his ear, his assistant scurrying behind him, he headed into his family's headquarters. Nestled in the heart of Beirut's Central business District, Jouons Toys' home offices occupied three mid-century buildings overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean Sea. About an hour inland, the manufacturing side of the company occupied a twenty thousand square-feet factory which cranked out three hundred and five types of toys and board games some dating back to the early thirties.

  When he hung up his phone, his personal assistant, Majid, pounced. The recent graduate of Lebanese American University was rather eager. So much so, the millennial always met him in the lobby to get a head start on the day. Chand entertained him. He’d worked hard to obtain a college degree. He was the first in his family with an advanced degree and he wasn’t done. At night, he took classes toward a MBA.

  “Your first appointment’s at eleven with Senhor Wagner of Grupo Distribuição.”

  Chand looked at him blankly.

  Smiling, Majid looked down at his tablet. “Grupo Distribuição wants South American distribution rights. Remember, you turned his company down, I believe six months back.”

  Chand's blank expression remained intact. As the of the Middle East's largest toy manufacturer, he turned down dozens of people every day, especially international companies desiring product rights. His father tested those waters thirty years ago and the result had been disastrous.

  “Move him after lunch. I hate being a bastard so early in the day.”

  Chuckling, Majid made the correction in his tablet.

  During the short elevator ride, Majid detailed the minutiae of Chand’s day. For a Monday, his schedule was remarkably light with only nine appointments filling his agenda.

  After alighting from the elevator, Chand immediately felt a surge of energy. Jounon’s lobby, like their non-public areas, had been designed with their young customers’ in mind. The colors were so bright they seemed to bounce off each other. Cotton candy, pumped in from hidden vents, fragranced the air. A sea of bubble gum pink drew one’s eyes to the floors. The walls remained stark white so as not to clash with the furniture representing every color of the rainbow.

  “Anything else?” Chand asked before entering his office located behind frosted glass double doors.

  Majid glanced at his tablet again. “You need to get out of here no later than six. You'll need the time to get home and prepare for tonight’s gala at the Sursock Museum.”

  Chand grimaced. He only dressed up for special occasions. Even then, he tried to wiggle his way out of wearing a tie. More of a jeans and t-shirt kind of CEO, he lived in casual attire and Chuck Taylors.

  “Tie optional?”

  Majid snorted. “You won’t even get through the door.”

  Grumbling, Chand placed his palm against the security pad. Before his assistant retreated around the corner, he had a last request, “Send someone in to dictate a letter.”

  Majid was a whiz at keeping his agenda, handling sensitive information, and running personal errands. He could never be mistaken for a secretary. He didn’t know his way around an office and short hand might as well be chemistry.

  “I’ll have someone sent up.”

  Chand walked into his office. Sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Mediterranean. A sizeable play space monopolized a third of the space. The area was used for their focus groups to try out new toys right before they hit the market. His high-top sneakers squeaked on the high-gloss floors as he took his seat behind a white kidney-shaped Farook Muhammed original.

  Per his usual routine, Chand powered up his fifty-five inch, large touch monitor. At nine o’clock, he had a standing appointment with Aalia Ḥamdān, his director of product development. As a heads up before the meeting, Aalia always sent him any forthcoming designs or speculative work.

  “You need a letter dictated, Monsieur Fahed?”

  Without looking up, Chand nodded his head. “I’ll be right with you. I need to pull up these specs.”

  Once done, he sat back. His gaze settled on the young woman across from him and he braced himself.

  He noted the way her eyes widened with interest then lowered to half-mast as if aroused. A soft sigh even escaped her lips before she chopped down on the bottom one.

  “Your eyes are so blue and intense,” she breathed.

  Young or old, the reaction didn’t change. Chand leaned back in his chair and propped his chin in his hands, waiting for the girl to get a hold of herself. She was simply fighting human nature and reacting the same way thousands of women, and even quite a few men, had acted countless times before her.

  “I had no idea you were so hot—”

  “Are you ready?” he asked, cutting her off.

  “Su-u-ure,” she stammered, gripping her pencil.

  “Sayeed Bilal,” he began. “I would like to extend my sincerest condolences regarding your wife’s passing. I know this—”

  “Are you married, Monsieur Fahed?”

  Chand shook his head.

  “I'm single as well,” she supplied, despite his not asking.

  “The dictation...” he prompted, reminding her why she was in his office.

  She jumped from her seat and rounded his desk so fast, Chand had no time to react. Stunned, he found a pair of double Ds crammed into his face.

  “Chand, I dreamed of this moment. Can I call you, Chand?”

  Chand couldn’t answer her. She’d wrapped her arms around his neck so tightly, she’d cut off his oxygen.

  Enough was enough. Chand anchored his feet and leapt up, bringing her with him.

  “I've had a crush on you for some time,” she continued.

  Chand frowned. He’d never seen her before today. “How long have you been with us?”

  “Three weeks.” Her hands settled on his shoulders. “There are so many things I want to do to you.”

  “Really?” Chand edged to the right. “Like what?”

  “I want to take you in my mouth.”

  “And,” he prompted, leaning over her.

  “And suck—”

  A loud beep then Majid's voice filled his office, “Eh…yes, Sayyed Fahed?”

  “Call HR and request a replacement in our secretarial pool.”

  He glanced at his former employee.

  “Gabrielle.”

  “Gabrielle will no longer be needed.”

  Chand didn’t retake his seat until the double doors closed behind her. Too bad her perfume lingered. On the cheap side, the fragrance made his stomach gurgle.

  Hers would be the second re-hire this year. Far from a eunuch, Chand had his share of lovers, and juggled a couple at the moment but he never mixed business with pleasure. If compromised, he always nipped it in the bud. He couldn't afford a sexual harassment suit to taint his business.

  Ruffled, Chand tackled the multiple pile of folders on his desk. He was neck deep in a branding proposal for the launch of the Bébé Love doll when the intercom on the phone beeped.

  “Aalia Ḥamdān is here to see you,” Majid announced.

  A moment later, Aalia swept in his office. She wore her trademark painter’s smock and Mister Peabody glasses—today in yellow to match her hot pants. Chand looked forward to his monthly meetings with Jouons' toy designer. Wit
h the company for more than twenty years, he respected her eccentric nature and ingenious designs.

  Chand’s gaze flickered over the two people she had in tow, a red-headed fellow of European origin and a woman. It was to the female Chand's eyes went and held even when he came around his desk to greet them.

  Dipped in dark chocolate, she was attired in a cream, above-the-knee sheath which made her skin luminescent. She smiled and for some odd reason he imagined what her lips would taste like and that she liked giving butterfly kisses. Odd.

  With only half an ear, Chand absorbed the introductions. On automatic, he exchanged handshakes with the other man. Moving slowly, heart pounding, he stepped forward.

  “Lesere,” she said, holding out her hand. He clasped it and he suddenly forgot how to move. Forgot how to breathe. The air between them became charged and it grew with each passing second.

  Refusing to let go of her, he asked, “Have we met before?”

  THE END

  Until the next lifetime…

  Coming soon… a complete, expanded version of Star-Crossed.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Koko Brown is an USA TODAY Bestselling author and romance junkie. Her writing career began at the tender age of nine when she self-published and distributed a newspaper for her fellow classmates. Unfortunately, her grade-school principal didn’t appreciate the competition and put her out of business after one best-selling issue.

  Undaunted, Koko continued to write and read everything she could get her hands on. One day, while daydreaming in bed, she came up with the idea for her first erotic manuscript. She fleshed out the story in two short weeks. A month later, Ellora’s Cave bought the rights.

  Koko calls the east coast of Florida home.

  Contact the Author:

  kokobrown.net

  cocobuttr72@yahoo.com

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