Rough Hand (Rock Bridge Ruffians, Book One)

by Olivia Chase

Something about realizing that Alexa is probably having dirty thoughts about me too drives all other things from my mind. I need to touch her. I have to touch her. I crave it more than I do my next intake of air.

  “You just put it all out there, don’t you,” she says, and the breathiness in her voice is unmistakable. She swallows and presses her hands to her thighs, which draws my attention down to her lovely legs. “I…I’m not used to that.”

  She’s so pure that I can almost see the glow of white around her. I’m too wicked, too dirty to touch her. But fuck me if I don’t want to taste her, spread those thighs open and lick her slit.

  Alexa clears her throat. “I…” Her cheeks give that sexy, delicate flush again. “I thought you didn’t like me. You made that pretty clear when I came by today.”

  “No, I made it clear that you wouldn’t like working at the shop,” I correct her. “I didn’t say anything about not liking you.”

  Or wanting you.

  Her brow furrows and she seems to be chewing on what I’ve said.

  Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I slide off the stool and stand in front of her. She parts her legs in what looks like an instinctive move, and then I’m there, between the warmth of her thighs, our mouths so close I could reach out and touch her lower lip with my tongue. “Stop thinking so hard,” I whisper.

  And then I close the gap between us, taking her mouth in a hard slant. She parts her lips with a small sigh…and I feel the moment she softens and gives in to the kiss. Her whole body melts and my blood is screaming in my veins. Her mouth tastes like beer and warmth and innocence, kicking my arousal into high gear.

  I grip her hips to tug her closer. Fuck. I want to caress her everywhere. But not here, not in the middle of the fucking bar. It takes everything I have in me to tear my mouth away from hers. My brain is addled, running like a hamster in a wheel, scrambling to find somewhere I can steal this woman away and take her mouth again.

  Touch her.

  Taste her.

  Please her.

  When I look into her hazy, wide eyes, her lips are parted and she’s staring at me, silent. I just grab her hand and slide her off the stool. Toss a couple of twenties on the bar to cover our bills and lead her outside the doors.

  The air outside is dark and warm. Once we turn the corner to the dark side of the bar, I press her back to the brick and let my hands roam her. She groans, arches to my touch.

  “Fuck,” I whisper in her ear. “You are so sexy, Alexa.” Her purr of delight just about makes me want to rip her pants off and fuck her right here. It’s taking all my willpower to keep from doing so.

  But I do allow myself to drop to my knees, my mouth right by her apex. I hear her gasp when I mouth the mound through her jeans.

  “Oh, God,” she whispers, digging her fingers into my hair. “I… That…”

  I dig my hands into her ass and kiss her, caress her. I can smell her heat, her wetness, through the fabric. And if I don’t taste her, I may die. “Let me lick you,” I growl. “I need your wetness coating my tongue.”

  She stiffens slightly. “But…someone might see…”

  “No one’s going to see,” I promise her. There are people milling around the front of the building; hearing their voices just spurs my arousal even higher. I reach up to stroke the heated strip between her thighs, and she jerks from my touch, then melts against me. “I can make you feel good, sweetheart.”

  Her nod is all I need. I unfasten and nudge her jeans down to her knees, leaving her panties on. My first hot kiss pressed to her pussy makes her groan. Fuck, I can smell her wetness; stroking my fingers along her panties confirms how aroused she is. The fabric is drenched.

  My dick is so hard I could hammer it through the brick wall.

  Restraint, I warn myself. This isn’t the place to drill her sweet pussy the way I want to. I nudge her panties to one side of her cunt and pause to breathe her scent in. That rich, warm pungent smell of woman. I can’t stop myself from slicking a finger across her soaked lower lips.

  I follow the gesture with my tongue, and her shudder almost breaks me. Her fingers are digging hard into my hair, nudging my mouth closer, so I oblige.

  Licking, sucking, swirling, stroking that little clit into a hard, throbbing pulse I can taste.

  Her hips buck from the gesture. “Oh God,” she breathes. “That…feels so good.”

  “You’re going to come for me,” I order her. I push two fingers inside her channel, and when her inner muscles squeeze me, my arousal reaches a tipping point. Stay in control, I mentally chant. I never would have guessed Alexa to be so responsive, so sexual. It’s hypnotic. Unexpected.

  Her body starts to shudder, and I increase my pace, fucking her with my fingers, licking her slit, her labia, her clit.

  Then her hands clench my hair and she stills, releases a throaty moan as her come gushes out of her cunt. I lap up every drop. I can hear my blood pulsing in my ears, and my body is on fire for her. Fuck.

  She finally comes down from her high, her legs a little wobbly. I press a kiss to her mound, then tug up her panties and jeans. Her fingers fumble as she zips and buttons her pants. Her breathing is ragged, matching mine.

  I can taste her in my mouth. Her rich creaminess, that musky tang that makes me want more.

  “Wow,” she says with a small laugh as she sags against the brick wall. “That was…unexpected.” Her eyes glow in the dim light.

  I can’t help myself. I lean over and kiss her lips. Her low sigh as she wraps her arms around me draws me closer to her. My heart gives an unsteady thump when our tongues tangle and our breaths mingle in our mouths. Her breasts press against my chest, and she’s so small and delicate and lovely against me.

  Something about the intimacy of this kiss, the way I can feel her emotions pouring from her like she’s a broken dam spilling over, makes my chest tight. My lungs squeeze

  . I’ve kissed women before. Lots of women.

  None of them have ever made me feel this way. Like she could slide under my skin and see all of me with her own innocent vulnerability. Like I could be in real danger of losing my self-control, my walls that have protected me well for a while now.

  What is it about Alexa that chips away at me?

  I pull away and step back, giving the most casual smile I can muster. “That was hot as fuck.” If I can keep this purely sexual, if I don’t let myself feel emotions about it, about her, I’ll be fine. Because I’m not ready for anything else. I can’t handle anything else.

  She bites her lip and pushes away from the wall, smoothing her hair.

  “You look perfect,” I say.

  Alexa laughs. “I know I’m a total mess.”

  She isn’t a mess. She’s a woman who came all over my face. She’s a mix of contradictions, wantonness and purity.

  My heartrate steadies bit by bit; we’re in safer territory now. She’s not looking at me anymore like a vulnerable flower. Her backbone has returned.

  I can still taste her in my mouth.

  Alexa clears her throat. “Um, I’d better take off.”

  “Sure. ‘Night,” I say with a smooth nod.

  She walks away from me, and I try not to admire the curve of her ass as she rounds the corner. Then she’s gone, and I release the air locked in my lungs.

  Alexa is dangerous.

  I need to avoid her. I can’t let her break me apart, not when I’ve worked so hard, so long, to keep myself glued together. The kind of life I’ve had, I’m just not cut out for an intense relationship with a woman like Alexa.

  She would have needs. Emotional needs that need meeting—and I know there’s no way on earth I could be that person.

  Some things, I just don’t have in me. I made my peace with that long ago.

  No, I’ll just keep my distance from Alexa after this. Surely that won’t be a problem. Even if she does live right across the fucking street from my shop. Yeah, when she left, I watched her go…and could see her place clear as day.r />
  I scrub my hand through my hair and head back inside the bar. I need a beer or twelve to wash the sexy taste of her pussy out of my mouth. No time like the present.

  Alexa

  “Girls, lunch is ready!” I call out as I pour chips onto the plates beside their sandwiches. Not the most artistically creative of lunches, but beggars can’t be choosers. Besides, PB&J is always a hit in our family. Cheap and tasty for the win.

  Morgan, our middle sister, comes flying into the kitchen and flops down into a seat at the table, phone in hand as usual, thumbs flying across the screen. The ends of her brown hair are tipped in blue—her newest color of the week; last week it was pink—and pulled back in a messy bun. She starts chowing on her sandwich without looking up from her phone, her long legs in tiny jean shorts stretched out under the table.

  I clear my throat, brow raised.

  Morgan glances up and nods. “Um, thanks, sis,” she mumbles around a mouthful of food.

  “Jenna?” I holler. “Lunch!”

  Jenna, my fifteen-year-old sister and the baby of the family, comes into the kitchen, wearing a loose T-shirt and baggy gray shorts. She settles into a free seat and gives me a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks,” she says, nibbling on her bread. The weight she’s lost since our parents died is apparent in the way her shirt hangs on her.

  My heart gives a sick lurch as I settle into a seat between my sisters. I keep a big smile pasted on my face. Fake it ‘til we make it. Someday the tension lurking around us like a black cloud will fade away. “So, how’s school going?” It’s the weekend after their first full week of school—I tried to time our move to the start of the new school year, hoping it might help the transition. I was anxious about sending them off so soon after moving here, but we need to establish a regular routine, and I didn’t want them to start the year behind on classwork and learning.

  Jenna shrugs. “It’s fine. My classes are decent, I guess.”

  “You making any friends?” I ask her.

  She rolls her eyes. “In the first week? Not quite.”

  “Maybe if you looked up from your books during lunch, you might make some,” Morgan says flatly. “I see you sitting by yourself every day, nose buried in a book. You need to make friends so you’re not that creepy loner new girl.” Her phone vibrates, and a big smile spreads across her mouth. “I haven’t had any problem meeting people.”

  Well, at least Morgan seems to be making the adjustment to a new school.

  But I’m growing increasingly concerned over Jenna being so quiet and withdrawn. It’s not like her, not to this degree—she never was super outgoing in our old place, but she at least had a couple of friends she hung out with regularly. Now, she just goes to school, comes home, and goes right into the bedroom she shares with Morgan to study.

  We each had our own bedrooms back in our old house. Back when our parents were taking care of the finances, and the biggest challenges we faced were keeping our grades up and finishing our chores in time.

  This house was the best I could afford—at least it’s a home, and furnished at that. But it’s definitely small, with worn carpet and outdated furniture, though at least it’s tidy. Maybe once I find a good job, I can move us somewhere else. Somewhere with big windows and no faint musty smell. I’ll buy new furniture, maybe even get us a cat or a dog.

  Morgan wolfs down her chips and moves to jump out of her chair.

  “Hang on,” I say, resting a hand on her arm. Just as much as Jenna’s been hiding, Morgan’s been away too—rarely home until later in the evening, hanging out with new friends I haven’t met yet. “How are your classes going?”

  She rolls her eyes. “They’re fine. Easy as hell.”

  I bite back a sigh. I know I can’t replace Mom and Dad. I’m not trying to. But I also know how it is to be a teen girl, how easy it can be to get distracted and off track. Morgan believes she has everything under control, but she’s only seventeen. She still needs guidance.

  “Your friends are welcome to come hang here if you want,” I offer. It might be nice to meet them, put faces to names. To see the people she’s surrounding herself with.

  She cringes and looks around. “This place isn’t exactly stellar for having company over.”

  Her words are a stab in my heart. I know this house isn’t the best, a far cry from the home we used to live in, but I’m doing everything I can. I swallow hard and stand, grabbing her plate and mine and turning toward the sink.

  “That was rude, Morgan,” Jenna says in a quiet tone. “It’s not like any of this is Alexa’s fault. She’s trying to help us.”

  “Hey, sorry,” Morgan says to me in a rush, her voice tinged with shame. “That came out wrong. You know what I mean though. We’re just… It just needs a little more polish, I guess. But it’s cool—I’ll ask them over here sometime.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I tell her without looking back. I focus on washing the dishes and putting them in the strainer to dry. I try to keep my spine straight, my voice even. But tears are stinging my eyes, and I’m blinking them back.

  Footsteps leave the kitchen, and then Jenna says softly, “You okay?”

  I take a moment to compose myself and turn around. “Yup. Everything’s good.”

  “Um.” She tucks a limp strand of hair behind her ear. “I need some school supplies. Do we… Can we afford it?”

  “Yeah, we’ll make it work,” I say with false bravado. “Don’t you worry about money—let me handle that. Text me your list, okay? I’ll run out later to pick stuff up for you.”

  “Thanks.” Jenna nibbles on a chip, then pushes the plate away. “I’m not really hungry. I’ll save this for later.”

  “It’s a sandwich,” I say dryly. “You don’t have to save it. We’re not destitute.” Not yet. But no way am I going to let them know how serious it is.

  And if the insurance money I’ve been counting on doesn’t come through soon, it’s going to get much, much worse than it already is.

  Jenna leaves the kitchen after clearing her plate, and I’m alone with all my thoughts.

  Dad used to know exactly what to say to make the girls listen.

  At the thought of him, my heart squeezes so tight that I can’t breathe. I press a shaky hand to my chest and force myself to draw in deep breaths. God, I miss him so much sometimes. Every day. Every hour. He was so good to us, so funny and silly and warm, and now he’s gone. Forever.

  Dad would sing along with the radio when he did chores, pretending to mess up the lyrics to drive me and my sisters batty. We used to have Pizza Friday, when we’d order delivery and pick a cheesy horror movie to watch. When it was his turn, he always chose the same movie—Children of the Corn. He threatened to drop us off in a corn field to live with the crazy kids from the movie whenever we were bad.

  Deep down I miss Mom, too, but it’s hard to let myself feel that emotion when I’m still burning with anger over what happened. Even thinking about her makes my stomach turn. Makes me shake again with rage. Fear. Shock. My skin begins to burn and my hands tremble.

  Two months haven’t diminished in the least the depths of my anguish over their murder-suicide. Maybe after two years, I might start to understand the mental pain that caused my mom to take their lives. I might start to release this fury and sorrow living beneath my skin. Maybe after two decades, I can even think about my mom and remember the good times we had.

  Not be haunted by the fact that if my sisters and I had been home, we possibly would be dead right now too.

  I take slow breaths until the panic and sorrow and anger begin to subside. Think about something else, I will myself. Something not damaging. Something better and happier.

  My mind flies right to reminiscing about Levi and our encounter a couple of nights ago. About my back slammed against a brick wall, sweat beading on my skin in the hot summer air, while he made me come with his mouth and fingers.

  In public, with people not fifty feet away from us.


  Hands down, the raciest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

  Now my face and chest are burning, but for an altogether different reason. I’m remembering the way he kissed me after going down on me, and his mouth tasted like my come. The erotic slide of his teeth against my clit. His fingers pumping into my channel, pushing me right to the edge until I fell over, wanting to scream and scream and let go of everything that’s held me down, just so I can live in that one perfect moment for the rest of my life.

  Then he pulled away, and I saw the moment things changed between us. The moment that intimacy was gone, and in its place was a distance I hadn’t seen coming. So I put on my own mask, so to speak, and faked like it wasn’t a big deal.

  Like he hadn’t just shaken me to the core with his masterful skills. Like he hadn’t pushed my boundaries in the most delicious way. Like he hadn’t made me crave more of whatever he could give me.

  I don’t know what to think about Levi. He’s a bag of mixed signals. I can’t read him at all. But we parted ways that night without exchanging numbers or anything. I guess that’s clear enough. He isn’t interested in pursuing more with me.

  I try not to let myself feel disappointed about that and focus instead on straightening up around the house. But now I’m seeing everything in here through Morgan’s point of view, the carpet that’s worn and faded and dirty no matter how many times I try to clean it, the furniture that’s at least two decades old, and I feel a little embarrassed that I was proud of what I managed to get for us. No wonder she doesn’t want anyone to come here.

  If only that life insurance policy would come through…but I can’t let myself depend on that money. Not with it in limbo. It’s possible it may never come to us. A hot flush of frustration fills me at how I’m stuck.

  My dad’s sister, Aunt Marianne, hired an attorney to call into question the right for me and my sisters to get our parents’ life insurance money. Because Dad was murdered, there’s a possibility it might not come to us. Which means we’re left without any cushion or help outside of what I can do for us.

  Things have to get better for me and my sisters. I had a promising interview yesterday with the local hospital. It isn’t exactly my dream job, and the pay isn’t much more than minimum wage, but I can’t be picky at this point.