Owner of a Lonely Heart (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Karen Mercury

  When he slid his hand from her arm to her breast and cupped it, that’s when she began thrashing wildly. Whether it was his diddling skill or her breast being touched, Crispin wasn’t sure, so he boldly swept his hand under the spandex neckline and grabbed one tit, pinching the nipple as she’d done to him.

  That did it. She went off like a firecracker. Crispin could tell. His wife may have been faking it, as she claimed in anger toward the end of their marriage, but he could at least tell a fake orgasm. And this was one doozy.

  Her spine undulated as though an earthquake rolled through her. She stopped cawing and held her breath. Her fingers dug into his shoulders and her open mouth formed a perfect oval. And she actually squirted.

  Juice flowed over Crispin’s hand and down his wrist. As he fingered her clit, juice seemed to gush from it. He was fascinated and encouraged to keep doing exactly what he was doing. It didn’t get any better than this. He had one full, bouncy tit in his hand and he was bringing her off with the other. Multitasking at its finest.

  When she finally gulped in air again, it sounded as though she were crying. She gripped his shirt collar and rattled him, and she looked about to slap him. Crispin slowed his fingering and removed his hand from her shirt, and her frantic look softened. Now she hiccupped in air every ten seconds or so while he softly stroked her slit.

  “There,” he said, as though to a baby. “There. How’s that? Good. Good.”

  Her eyes sleepy with exhaustion, Bettina straddled Crispin and collapsed. Her wet pussy was plastered to his throbbing dick, but Crispin was satisfied in more ways than one. Just seeing Bettina’s sweet girlish face shining with sweat and fulfillment was worth it.

  It was hard to imagine, seeing her like this, that in her daily life she was a hardass, a flinty spitfire who had probably shot at more men than he had.

  “Are you okay?” he asked coyly.

  “Okay?” She scoffed. “Crispin, you wazzock. I have no idea what that means but it suits you.” She rattled him by the collar again and smiled crookedly. The smell of Taos no longer overwhelmed him. It was strictly Bettina’s own powdery scent that coated Crispin’s hand and permeated his face and hair. “Your wife didn’t give you credit for much, did she?”

  “Oh?” Crispin asked mildly. “You mean you weren’t faking that?”

  Bettina threw her head back and laughed loudly and fully. Crispin gripped her by the waist, enjoying the sight of her full tits jiggling in their underwire casing. He couldn’t resist diving in and slathering a big, fat lick between her tits. Grabbing his head, she held his face up to hers.

  She whispered, “You are one fantastic son of a bitch,” and kissed him.

  They half laughed, half kissed for many long minutes. The headlights of a passing car cast the shadow of his truck’s cab against a nearby boulder, bringing them back to their senses. Bettina slithered from Crispin’s lap, still chuckling, buttoning her jeans.

  “Where’s your badge?” he asked, starting up his truck. His fingers stuck to the key, tacky with her juices, and he had to smile, too.

  “Oh.” She lifted her hips off the seat and slid it from her back pocket. She dangled it near his face. “Did you want to play cops and robbers? I wasn’t kidding about wanting to be captured. Play captured, of course. You’re a big he-man. You could carry me off to your bandit’s lair.”

  “Later,” Crispin said. He needed to process everything that had been happening, so he drove off. Taos, Bettina, it was all such a sudden rush of emotion in his life. Crispin was used to being insulated from the world. He was a cop who had to throw drunks in the back of his truck and drive them to the hoosegow where his deputy would keep an eye on them. Crispin didn’t like being in the office. He much preferred the field, the wide open sky.

  Relationships even scared him, and he guessed he was having one now. He would save Bettina’s fantasy for another day, when he felt bolder. Right now it was damned satisfying to know that he’d gotten her off like a rocket.

  He said timidly, “You come. A lot.”

  “I know,” she said matter-of-factly. “I squirt. Yes, it’s a thing. Only when I’m having one of my maxi-sized orgasms, like the one you just gave me. Man, you’re good. What was your ex-wife thinking, kicking you to the curb?”

  “She hated my job,” he admitted. “She wanted me to take all the bribes I was constantly being offered. I’m sure you looked into my background and saw what happened to me when I was in the LVPD vice unit.”

  “Not until yesterday, actually. It made me respect you even more, Crispin. I knew then my lust wasn’t misguided. You are a straight shooter. You’re a banging-hot cowboy sheriff and I’ll just bet you shoot straight.”

  Crispin chuckled, full of himself, but he really wanted to get one thing in the open. “Taos. If you want me to kidnap you and put you over my knee, that means no more hanky panky with that biker.”

  Bettina made a lip fart. “Hanky panky? What hanky panky?”

  Crispin didn’t fall for her efforts to lighten the mood. “You know what I mean, young missy.” Bettina was four years older than him, but it behooved him to give her that submissive nickname. “No more makeout sessions, indoors or outdoors. You’re mine and mine alone. I don’t want that scummy lowlife getting handsy with you.”

  “Oh, now he’s a lowlife? I thought you were his friend. That’s no way to talk.”

  She hadn’t answered his question. “We are friends. Men can call men friends lowlife scums. Now are you going to obey me?”

  Just the brief pause, the silence that hung in the air as his truck chugged along, gave Crispin his answer. God damnit! He’d just given her a crashing good orgasm and she wasn’t willing to give up that bad boy biker?

  He put a death grip on the steering wheel and plotted the various ways he could get revenge on Taos. He could stick a Rabid Raiders patch onto his jacket. He could tattoo him with his old club colors while he slept. Easiest, he could arrest Taos for having choked that cowboy, and give his old name to the TV reporters.

  “I…”

  “That’s enough of an answer for me,” he snapped.

  She laid a hand on his arm. “No. I mean I…”

  “That’s not any more helpful, Bettina. You’re obviously unable to commit to me and me alone, so I want nothing more to do with you.”

  “No, let me explain, Crispin. I do want you, obviously. But I just suspect that my feelings for Taos might continue to get in our way. I need to play it out with him. I need to find out what’s beneath the surface of our attraction to each other. Don’t you want that, too? Otherwise I might keep wondering, when I’m with you?”

  Crispin sped the truck faster than he should have over the bump in the curb. He braked harder to a stop than he should have, too, in the Toolbox’s parking lot near her Charger.

  “Well you can keep wondering about me, Inspector Crenshaw. I’m not sharing you with anyone, much less that turkey.”

  She was nearly pleading. “We can come to some agreement. Haven’t you ever dated more than one woman at a time?”

  He didn’t regret his curt tone until much later. “Didn’t your mother tell you, missy? You can’t have your cake and eat it, too.”

  “I understand.” Bettina looked thoroughly crushed. “You’re old school. One at a time. I’m going to miss you.”

  Crispin had to squeeze his eyes shut because the sight of her just melted his heart. “Good day.”

  “Good day.”

  He didn’t look once at her. He practically did a donut in the gravel lot just to get out of there.

  His bouts in the ring with Taos would get a lot more interesting from here on in.

  Chapter Eight

  Delano Pruitt was a sharp cookie.

  Taos knew that Del would easily figure out he was in Rescue, Nevada. There was a Rescue, California, and a Lake Rescue in Vermont, but Taos was pretty certain those didn’t have Surf ‘n’ Turf Trailer Parks. Just to make sure, after Delano had messaged that he’d rewatch that
episode of Rescue Me, Taos had messaged back,

  The fireman gambles a few hundred thousand at the casino.

  He knew Del would see the DelHart Casino before he got to the turnoff for the Surf ‘n’ Turf. The fancy new neon sign was already up. It was just a matter of time now for Del to get his shit together and come on down.

  Taos was breaking about a thousand WITSEC rules, but he knew it was all in the best interest of everyone concerned.

  So he’d gone on a few runs with his new club brothers after getting a sidecar for Friendly. Friendly was the best-behaved dog in the world for some reason. It certainly wasn’t good training, as he’d been raised in the Rabid Raider’s clubhouse and ate off their table. But he loved riding in sidecars and he was definitely a chick magnet.

  Not that Taos wanted another chick. Two days after his encounter with Bettina alongside the Toolbox, he was still rattled with confusion. The other night after Crispin had barged in on him and Bettina getting hot and heavy, Taos had gone on a little angry rampage. He’d taken his bike—and Friendly—on an overnight run to nearby Mesquite, not quite over state lines. There he’d quickly found the closest biker bar and had proceeded to get trashed with other pool players who he’d never see again. Then he got a room at the motel next door, remembering very little, except that he’d woken up thankfully alone, although naked.

  Just that one overnight sojourn had given him the confidence, the power to test his boundaries with Bettina. No alarms had gone off, even though he hadn’t gone home that night and he’d shown up to work at the surf shop the next day. Protected witnesses on the verge of trial weren’t supposed to be able to disappear, and he had.

  Full of victory and himself, Taos had texted Bettina.

  I need to see you. Come to my house.

  It had taken Bettina two whole days to show up. For all she knew, he was being cornered by Rabid Raiders who had followed Del to Rescue! Taos was pacing the floor with agitation, wearing a runner in the cheap-ass linoleum, by the time she bothered coming to his door.

  “What the fuck, Bettina?” he hissed as he pulled her into his double-wide.

  “Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t ‘what the fuck’ me, mister. I ‘what the fuck’ you.”

  He crossed his arms angrily and tapped a Morse code with his boot toe. “You know what I mean. Why’d it take you so long to get here?” Jealousy got the better of him and he seethed, “Were you too busy romancing the lone sheriff?”

  “What? What are you talking about? Oh, the other night? If you recall correctly, you were busy romancing me. As for why I was late just now, I do have other witnesses to protect. And I do thank you for saving the day with that gold-toothed wonder. I was about to have to have to give him the ol’ knee to the groin.”

  Taos relaxed. There had been nothing nefarious in her absence. “As far as I could see, you did plenty fine without me. He was already doubled over in pain by the time I stepped in. But seriously, Bettina. I could have had cement shoes on by the time you fucking got here. For all you knew, I was being hung out to dry at the bottom of the ocean by Sirius and his gang.”

  “Whores and metaphors don’t mix,” quipped Bettina. “And you’re no Meyer Lansky, Taos. You’ll sleep with the fishes on someone else’s time, not mine. Don’t forget our urgent text codes, too. You didn’t use them. Besides, Sirius seems more like a ‘douse them with lighter fluid’ sort of guy, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You’re not,” Taos admitted, moving to his fridge to get a beer. “Or a ‘blow them up with an IED full of nails’ type. Beer?”

  “No thanks, I’m on the job.”

  “Aren’t you always on the job?” Taos screwed off the top of the beer and flicked it into the sink. He had some bad habits left over from his bike club days. A group of men together were always going to be slobs. He’d been shaping up his act as owner of DelHart Casino. He’d even worn a suit to a few business meetings.

  “Pretty much.” She had such a pretty smile. “What did you need, Taos?”

  He set the beer on the room divider and took confident steps toward her. He stood with feet spread, his hand lifted to the hem of his loose white T-shirt. “I wanted to show you something.”

  His effort was repaid in full when Bettina’s eyes widened and dilated as he raised the edge of the shirt to reveal his abs. Sure, he didn’t need to go that slowly. He was showing her something important, not doing a striptease.

  Still, it came across more of a slow, burning strip the more he watched her face. Her pupils were as big and dark as mint cookies as he turned and lifted, turned and lifted. He knew he was ripped. He knew he was carved like a turkey. He’d worked hard at it—it was part of the biker life—and he wanted payback for it once in a while.

  The fact that Bettina didn’t utter a word as he stretched and posed to lift the shirt over his head told him how stunned she was. She wasn’t giving him any cynical shit, trying to hurry him along, or asking what in the fuck he thought he was doing.

  He was beating that good-looking asshole Sheriff Marwick at his own game.

  Taos didn’t even speak as he dropped the shirt to the floor and flexed his back muscles. He laced his fingers together behind his neck, knowing the low ride of the Bens over his hips did a fine job showing off his lumbar muscles. “What do you think?” he asked ambiguously.

  “Impressive,” she answered, equally ambiguously.

  Man, she was wily. She was forcing him to turn around to see her face, to try and read her. Taos just swiveled his torso without removing his fingers from the back of his neck.

  Her features had gone fuzzy, her lips slightly parted. One hip was cocked, her hands dangled at her sides, and Taos swore he could see her heart beat in the pit of her throat.

  “Don’t you think he did a good job?” Taos prodded.

  Bettina wrinkled her nose. “Huh? Who did a good job? God on your torso?”

  Taos had to laugh. Spinning to face her, he lowered his hands. He’d achieved his goal. She had been so impressed with his body she’d forgotten that he used to have an enormous club tattoo across his back. He knew it was still visible in a ghostly rendition of the original. Her man hadn’t finished the job yet. “I’ve got a few more sessions to go to remove that ink.” Taking her hands, he set them palm down on his bare shoulders.

  She didn’t resist. She looked at her hands as though envious of them. “Miles should be paying me for the privilege of removing that ink from your stunning body.”

  “I’m glad you think that way. I’d like to think you’re as attracted to me as I am to you.” Taos’s arrogance was one of his shining qualities. He was confident sexually and that always came across to women. He wasn’t some cowering, inexperienced square like his rival Sheriff Marwick.

  “Of course I am. But then, you’re used to that, aren’t you?”

  He was, actually. He was accustomed to women flinging themselves at him. He got the women who thought they were slumming it, fighting a fatal attraction to a bad boy, even if Taos had never really been very bad. He had a bad enough image that back in Refugio he’d been a chick magnet. It was one of the reasons Sirius had started stabbing him in the back. That, and Taos didn’t want to take the club in an illegal direction.

  He took her chin between his fingers and studied her clear, open face. Marwick may have torn her from his side the other night, but he’d win her back now. And he would not answer her rhetorical question. “You’re a feisty spitfire, Bettina. I can’t explain why I want you so badly, but I do. I know we’re breaking rules being together. But I don’t think I’m wrong in thinking you want me, too.”

  “I do,” she admitted simply. “I want you, Taos. I want you so badly I’m in a constant state of arousal. It’s like my brain is sending a flood of dopamine straight to my cunt, and I just want to mount you—or have you mount me, not sure which.”

  Good. “Good. Then I think you know what’s best for you, Bettina. Get down on your knees.”

  She pulled
back slightly, looking confused. “What?”

  Maybe he wasn’t being clear enough. Sometimes vanilla women were surprised at first by his domination games. All eventually submitted. “You want to please me, don’t you?”

  “Well, sure, but—”

  “Then on your knees. You may be a bossy tyrant in your day job, Inspector. But when you’re off the clock, I’m the boss. I’m the one in control. Do you hear me?”

  Bettina flushed and became instantly more girlish when he spoke like this. She fidgeted on her feet and batted her eyelashes, her cop-like version of being coquettish. “Why, how did you figure that out? I do sometimes get tired of being in control. It’s nice to have a man to take control from me.”

  Taos nodded. “Good. Then you understand. On your knees, little one.”

  Bettina smiled coyly, but there was some hesitation lurking beneath her excitement. “I’d love to, Taos. But there’s something I feel I have to tell you.”

  Here it comes. Taos looked at the ceiling with frustration. “Don’t tell me. Has to do with Sheriff Marwick.”

  “Well, yes. I told him I’m attracted to you as well as to him. No, hear me out!”

  Already fed up, Taos had thrown up his hands and wandered into the kitchenette. “Typical, just typical!” he muttered, although it wasn’t, really. He didn’t often enter into a liaison with a federal marshal who also wanted to bang the local sheriff. It just didn’t come up that often.

  “No, hear me out, Taos. I told him I couldn’t commit to him because I’m attracted to you and I want to see this thing through, you and me. Well, Crispin got all mad and practically kicked me out of his truck, so—”

  “So kick him to the curb then! Who needs a narrow-minded mamby-pamby vanilla loser like him anyway?”

  Bettina narrowed her eyes at Taos, and her girlish demeanor evaporated. She was turning back into Inspector Crenshaw of the US Marshals Service, and Taos didn’t like that. He’d come so far. “I like him, Taos. He’s a God-given straight shooter and you don’t find many of them. I honestly can’t choose between the two of you, so I think it’s best if I just walk away from both of you.”