Badd Ass (Badd Brothers Book 2)

by Jasinda Wilder

  He pushed into me, once, gently. “Like that?”

  “More.”

  He moved faster, thrusting harder. “Like that?”

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  His hands gripped my hipbones and pulled me back into his thrusts, which were getting harder and harder with each successive slap of his hips against my ass.

  “More, Zane.”

  “More?”

  “More…everything.”

  He slowed, then, in seeming contradiction to what I’d just said. Withdrawing slowly, he hesitated at the apex and then slammed into me, forcing a cry of surprised bliss from my lips as he filled me so suddenly. Like that, then, slowly pulling back and fucking in hard, again and again, until the slow pull-outs grew faster and the thrusts in harder, until he was grunting, yanking me back into his thrusts, fucking me so hard I felt my ass jiggling, felt my tits swaying back and forth, and all I could do was whine and whimper and groan through it and slam back into his beautiful, powerful, uninhibited thrusts.

  “Don’t stop, Zane,” I begged. “Keep going. Come for me. Come inside me.”

  “Couldn’t stop now even if I wanted to, honey,” he murmured. “I’m close.”

  “Yeah?” I breathed. “How close?”

  “Fuck, fuck, Mara—so close.”

  “Are you gonna come hard?”

  “You have no fuckin’ idea.”

  “Show me, Zane. Come for me,” I groaned, slamming back into him.

  He groaned long and low in his chest, then, his thrusts faltering as he buried himself deep. “Now, ohhhh god, Mara—Mara.”

  “Yeah, Zane. I like it when you say my name while you come.”

  “Mara.”

  “Say my whole name, Zane. Amarantha. Shout it while you come inside me.”

  “Even your name is the most beautiful thing,” he growled. “Amarantha! Now, now, god, now, Amarantha!” Zane shouted, fucking me with raw abandon, driving into me with all the power he possessed.

  I felt it then, felt him pour into the condom.

  And I knew something, right then, as the force of his orgasm released one of my own—

  As amazing as it was to feel him come like that, so hard, so powerfully…I needed to feel him come inside me. Bare. Raw. Nothing between us. I needed it, no matter what. And I knew the next time we did this, there wouldn’t be anything between us.

  “Goddamn, Amarantha,” he gasped, when we were both spent.

  He pulled out of me and collapsed to his back, and this time I didn’t deny myself the comfort of nuzzling into the shelter of his arms.

  Claire was right: post-coital snuggles were the best.

  There was a knock at the door, then, the same light, tentative rap. “Miss Quinn?” Mrs. Kingsely called. “Dinner is in fifteen minutes, if you and, um…your guest…would like to join the others.”

  “We’ll be right out, Mrs. Kingsley.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  There wasn’t really a chance after that to get into the weird, roundabout conversation Zane and I had had, but it was running on repeat in my head the whole time we were having dinner with the other B&B guests.

  Mrs. Kingsley was small, frail, and sweet, but her gaze was sharp and knowing as Zane and I—each of us having showered as quickly as only former military personnel can—emerged, dressed and trying to act like we hadn’t just been banging each other’s brains out. Mrs. Kingsley knew, though, judging by the twinkle in her eye as we took our places at the table.

  She’d set out two places for us, between a young couple from Utah on their honeymoon and an upper-middle aged woman who claimed to be going through a mid-life crisis, which, according to her, involved traveling the world and imbibing copious amounts of red wine.

  Mr. Kingsley was tall, slender, silver-haired, and quiet, pouring wine and bringing out bowls of salad. There were four other people at the table, two more couples; a man and woman in their mid-thirties who seemed content to eat in silence and listen to the chatter, and another young couple from Sydney, Australia, who seemed determined to monopolize the conversation in between bouts of hurling playful insults at each other and making sex eyes at each other.

  As she and her husband served the entrees, Mrs. Kingsley shot a glance at me. “Miss Quinn, You’re from San Francisco, I believe?”

  I nodded as I took a bite of salad. “Yep. My friend was on a cruise that stopped here in Ketchikan and I was due to take some of my vacation days, so…” I shrugged, hoping it would stay there.

  But, judging by the looks Zane and I were getting, it wouldn’t happen like that. The walls were thin, and Zane and I hadn’t exactly been…discreet.

  Mrs. Kingsley glanced at Zane. “So how are you liking the cruise, then?”

  I decided to just bite the bullet and make the conversation interesting. Before Zane could answer, I did. “Oh, no, my friend’s boat already left. Just an hour or so ago, actually. She lives in Seattle.”

  Mrs. Kingsley reddened and busied herself removing empty salad bowls as the diners finished eating. “Oh, um, I see. So you and your boyfriend…”

  I winked at Zane, who hid a grin behind a bite of stew. “Zane and I just met, actually. We’ve known each other—what? Like forty-eight hours?”

  Zane shrugged. “Um, yeah, about that. Maybe a little more. The hours have sort of all…blurred together at this point, if you know what I mean.”

  Mrs. Kingsley coughed in scandalized shock. “Oh. Oh, I see.” She glanced at Zane, still trying to salvage the conversation. “And you’re from where?”

  He took a sip of wine with a delicacy that I wouldn’t have thought him capable of. “Oh, I’m from Ketchikan, actually. Born and raised.” He left a dramatic pause. “I’m Zane Badd.”

  Mr. Kingsley’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “I knew your father.” He took the stack of bowls from his wife and headed for the kitchen.

  Zane nodded. “I expect you did. Just about everyone knew Dad. He was a hard man to miss.”

  “I was sad to hear of his passing.”

  Zane nodded. “Yeah, so was I.”

  “Condolences,” Mr. Kingsley said, and then vanished into the kitchen, his contribution to the conversation apparently over.

  “I’ve heard all of you Badd boys have come back to Ketchikan,” Mrs. Kingsley said, and then frowned at her own unintentional turn of phrase. “I mean, you and your brothers.”

  Zane chuckled. “We’re the Badd brothers, Mrs. Kingsley. The name fits us, and none of us have ever pretended otherwise.”

  Mrs. Kingsley shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, possibly regretting opening the conversation. “Yes, well…your elder brother, Sebastian, he did a remarkable job keeping your father’s bar open.”

  “That he did,” Zane said, finishing his food. “And now we’re all back in good ol’ Ketchikan, all eight of us. All grown up now, too. Last time all eight of us were under one roof, half of my younger brothers were just kids.”

  “All eight of you,” Mrs. Kingsley said, as if the full force of what that meant was sinking in. “Oh my.”

  “Yeah, exactly.” Zane laughed. “I’d advise keeping your granddaughters indoors, next time they come visiting. They were shaping up to be real heartbreakers if I remember correctly, and Canaan and Corin would be right about their age.”

  “That’s about enough of that talk,” Mr. Kingsley bit out from the kitchen doorway.

  Zane just laughed again. “I was just kidding. Mostly.” He stood up and extended a hand to me. “You ready, hot stuff? Movie starts in thirty.”

  I stood up. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley. It was delicious.”

  “Our pleasure, dear. Have fun.” She turned to listen to whatever it was the Aussie couple was bickering about.

  We were outside in the golden evening light, then, the air cool but not cold, warm but not hot. Zane took my hand and we walked unhurriedly toward downtown.

  I glanced up at him. “What was all that about? With the Kingsleys?”<
br />
  “I was messing with them, that’s all.”

  I frowned at him. “What’s that mean?”

  He shrugged. “Well, our mom died going on eleven years ago. It was sudden, some kind of cancer that struck hard and fast, nothing anyone could do. Which left dad to raise eight boys by himself while running a bar. He’d been a hell-raiser himself, back in the day, until Mom got ahold of him and tamed him a bit, but we’ve all got a lot of Dad in us, which means they’d have had their hands full even if Mom had lived. But raising us alone? Dad didn’t stand a chance, and he was a mess over Mom’s death anyway.” He paused, and then continued. “We ran wild. No mom, Dad was busy and emotionally unavailable or whatever…so we all fought, drank, and fucked our way through this town. The name Badd is synonymous in with trouble in this town. We’re the Badd brothers. We always stuck together, looked out for each other. So, yeah, I knew the Kingsley’s would know my name.”

  “And the thing about their granddaughters?”

  Zane laughed. “Oh, that. Well, Rachel Kingsley, their daughter, she always had…pretensions of grandeur, I guess. Thought she was better than all of us in this stupid little town, that was the air she always put on. Married this hoity-toity investment banker over in New York City. They come visit every now and again, with their twin daughters, Aerie and Tate. Same age as Cane and Cor. And like I said, they’re heartbreakers, Aerie and Tate are.” He pronounced the first name AIR-ee. “Those girls are seriously stunning, and seem to have escaped inheriting their parents’ sticks-up-the-ass. The last thing Rachel Kingsley would ever allow, though, is for her daughters to be caught so much as looking at any member of the Badd family.”

  “I see. And you think this is funny?”

  He nodded. “Yep. I sure as hell do. We earned our reputation, and we’re proud of it. But we’re not bad people. We’ll help you, if you need help. We didn’t go around boinking underage girls or married women—although there was that one time Bax got caught with a guy’s wife, but she hadn’t told him she was married, so that was on her, not him. Point is, we were rough boys and didn’t follow anyone’s rules but our own—we’re still like that, come to think of it—but we weren’t cruel or mean. We weren’t bullies. And Bax, he never told anyone, but he volunteered sixth period through all of senior year in the special education room. He was really close with all those kids, good friends to them. Anyone picked on the special ed kids, Bax would pound ‘em. But still, a lot of the locals look down on us. Or at best, aren’t quite sure what to make of us. They were all thankful when Xavier left, because that meant all the Badd brothers except Bast had left Ketchikan….meaning their daughters were safe, as long as they stayed away from Badd’s Bar and Grill. And now? Here we are, all eight of us.”

  “And the virtue of all the single women is at risk, huh?” I teased.

  He shrugged, conceding the point. “Pretty much. Although Bast is married now, so that takes one of the biggest threats to Ketchikan’s female virtue out of the equation.”

  “And you’re mine,” I heard myself say, and then stumbled to cover the gaffe. “For this week, at least.”

  He didn’t miss anything. “Amarantha.” He halted as he said my name, pivoting to face me, hands on my arms.

  I stared up at him. “Yeah?”

  “We both know something happened back there, so there’s no point denying it.”

  “Okay?”

  “So, yeah, I’m yours.” He paused, as I had. “For this week, at least.”

  “And after this week?” I couldn’t help asking.

  He let silence build between us, not letting go of my arms. “Are we really gonna have this conversation right here, right now?”

  I shook my head, realizing how right he was. “No.” I pulled out of his grip and re-threaded my fingers through his. “No, we’re not.”

  We walked another half mile or so, reaching downtown and the movie theater. There were only two movies playing, as Zane had said there would be—an action movie, and a rom-com; Zane told me to pick, so I went with the rom-com. He paid for the tickets and led us into the movie theater…all the way up in the very back against the rear wall, in the corner farthest from the door.

  As we waited for the movie to start, he glanced at me. “You know, I’ve told you a bit about myself, and I’m realizing I don’t know dick about you.” He rubbed a thumb over my knuckles. “You don’t have to get into anything gnarly or super deep, but…I’d like to know a little about what makes Amarantha Quinn tick.”

  I sighed, long and slow. “Okay. Well, what do you want to know?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, that’s not how this works. You tell me what you want to share, and if I have questions, I’ll ask, but you’re not obligated to answer if you don’t want to.”

  I tapped a finger against the armrest. “I’m an only child, so there’s that. Which means I truly do not understand your family.” I hesitated, because that was about as much as I usually shared. “I grew up in a little podunk town in Indiana. My mother is a dental hygienist. I played varsity volleyball in high school. I had a horse, a Rocky Mountain mare named Ethel.”

  “The horse’s name was Ethel?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. We bought her from a breeder, and he named her that, not sure why though.”

  There was silence then, with Zane eyeing me expectantly. When I didn’t burst forth with any more intel, he frowned at me. “That’s it?”

  I shrugged. “What else is there?”

  He tugged on a lock of my hair. “Quite a bit. You didn’t mention your dad, for one thing.”

  “That’s a touchy subject.”

  Zane sighed. “Look, I’m really not trying to push. But I just feel like like maybe you don’t really trust me. Which I get, I guess. But I thought this was supposed to be us practicing opening up to each other. But so far, I’m the only one doing any trusting. I told you about Marco. Not even my brothers know Campy had a kid.”

  I groaned. “It’s not about trust, Zane. It’s just…I don’t talk about Dad. You want to know about my boyfriends in high school? I’ll tell you. I dated Brad Riley my freshman year. He was my first boyfriend, my first kiss, and the guy I went to second base with for the first time. He broke up with me after three months to date the captain of the cheerleader squad—who also happened to be the school slut. I guess I wasn’t moving fast enough for Brad? I don’t know. He just gave me a generic break up excuse and was tongue-fucking Cherry the cheerleader in the hallways the next day.” I lowered my voice as the lights dimmed and the previews started, although we were the only ones in the theater, so far. “I dated Dane Howell in tenth grade, to whom I gave my virginity on prom night, in the back of his shitty Ford Taurus. We dated most of tenth grade. Eleventh grade was Tom Wyland, Jeremy Ring, and Morris Morrison.”

  “Morris Morrison?”

  I snickered. “Yeah. He went by Morrie. Hated his name, hated his parents, and drove a brand new Mustang he’d bought himself dealing pot at the elementary school playground after school.” A teenaged couple entered the theater and sat a few rows down from us, giggling together. “Senior year was Joey Fustinelli, but I only dated him a few weeks as a ‘fuck you’ to my mom. He was a major douchebag, and I never even slept with him. Kyle Pruitt, who was nice, but a little slow. Greg Michaels, a Harvard-bound soccer star, and a stuck up prick who I only dated because he had a BMW and a credit card and used me as a fuck you to his parents, which worked out for me because I got cool points in school and a couple really nice Coach purses. And last, but not least, Isaac Horowitz. Sweet, poor as dirt and nearly illiterate, but good-looking in an unassuming way, and would legitimately give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. He was the epitome of wrong side of the tracks. His mom was black, and his dad was a non-practicing Orthodox Jew. Isaac was…amazing, actually. Really, really amazing. Probably the most genuinely kind person I’ve ever met.”

  Zane was quiet for a minute, and then he twisted that same lock of hair around his index finger. “C
an I ask what happened?”

  I had to breathe slowly for a moment or two before answering. “He was bullied his whole life. All through elementary school, junior high, high school. Beat up, made fun of, treated like shit. He never let it get to him, just kept on being himself despite it. We were assigned to be partners for an AP physics project. He was nearly illiterate because he was dyslexic, but he was a wizard with numbers and things, and physics wasn’t really my thing, but I was smart enough to make the AP class. I joined late, and Isaac had been left without a partner because nobody wanted to work with him. So I was stuck with him. That’s how I saw it at first, too. Like everyone else, I just sort of either pitied or looked down on him, because I didn’t understand him. Then we were partners on the project, and I got to know him. Discovered what kind of person he really was, you know? Saw past the crappy, dirty, third-hand clothes and the way he stuttered through English class, and how painfully shy and withdrawn he was.”

  “Not liking where this is going.”

  I shook my head. “Whatever you might be thinking, it’s worse.” I swallowed hard. “I stuck up for him. Became his friend, and then eventually we were spending all our time together. I lost all social standing at school, but Isaac had made me realize how stupid all that was. I…I don’t know. We never talked about being in love or anything, but Isaac was…special. Super, super important to me. The bullying got worse. They started targeting me. This is rural Indiana, remember. Lots of the kids were…um, let’s just say they were closed minded. Learned it from their parents. Not that everyone was like that; I’m not saying that. There were some really nice, sweet people. But there were others who were just…cruel. They spray-painted swastikas on his locker and then went to his house and burned crosses in his yard. Evil shit like that. I’m not talking just pushing him around and punching him a few times, this was hard core antagonization.” I had to swallow again. “Um. Like I said, when Isaac and I went open with our relationship, it got…ugly. Really, really ugly. The whole town got sort of…dragged into it. His dad got beat up so bad he was hospitalized and lost his job at the factory, his mom was fired by her racist boss, and they started egging my house, slashing my tires, all sorts of nasty stuff.”