by Eden Bradley
Bat put his mouth back down on hers and worked her clit with his thumb faster now, pinning her against the wall and letting her know he wasn’t letting her go until she came. And when she did, it was hard and fast, and her grip on him no doubt left marks on his arms. But he wasn’t complaining, and neither was she, as she let the delicious feeling travel down to her toes.
Bat broke their kiss slowly, reluctantly, and when he pulled away he stared at her for a second. She licked her bottom lip and stared up at him, feeling wild and wanton and completely desirable.
“I’ll be right there,” he called over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off her. “Work before play, Catie. I’ve got to deal with the staff and you’ve got to make this place comfortable for both of us. For later.”
Yes, for later. She touched her fingers to her lips and tried to hide her smile beneath them.
His low chuckle vibrated through her the same way his hands and her orgasms had, and she had no doubt she’d made the right decision asking him to stay on.
CHAPTER
Four
Bat could almost hear Big Red’s voice in his ear all day long, as he cleaned up the bar and signed for the liquor deliveries and tried his best to keep his mind off of Catie and the way she’d tasted, like woman and richly sugared tea and promises, the way she whimpered when she came against his hand less than an hour ago.
So kid, you’re finally sticking around.
“Only until the job’s done,” he muttered under his breath as he hauled the boxes off the truck in exchange for the driver waiting until the end of the week to get paid.
“Easy to pick up and go. Much harder to stick around,” Big Red used to comment as he’d watch Bat do the same kind of heavy work in order to get the bar out of the red quickly.
“Not my fault if they let things get messy after I leave.”
Big Red laughed. “That’s not what I’m talking about, boy. All life is messy.”
“You leave all the time,” Bat pointed out.
“I go home to my wife,” Big Red told him.
Bat hadn’t had a permanent home since he was sixteen. Repo work kept him busy for a while until he joined the military at eighteen.
His mom and dad had had permanent, they’d stayed married until his father died. His mother died six months later. Bat had always seen them as going nowhere fast—they’d always been nothing but miserable together. But for his sister’s sake—his only family—he’d have to start settling down.
Tonight it was all about settling into the new job. It was after two in the morning, the fog was still thick and there was a ring around the bayou moon he watched through the front window of the Bon Temps.
Trouble, he could hear Big Red whisper in his ear.
“Trouble,” Jase said from behind him. Jase and his older brother, Keith, were friends from his early post-military days. The brothers had grown up like drifters, pulled around the country by a father who’d worked repo and bounty anywhere and everywhere, and now neither brother could sit still for longer than six months at a time. These days, the brothers worked repo and bounty, as well as bouncing in bars up and down the coast, and they were always happy to respond to Bat’s calls to come work with him.
Bat looked toward the door, to where Jase motioned, and recognized the guy the minute he walked in the door. Last night, in the alley, he’d worn a mask, but he’d had a distinctive tattoo on the back of his hand. “That’s the old manager.”
“I’ll handle it,” Jase said, but Bat held out a hand.
“I’ve got this one.” He walked toward Darren slowly, and the crowd stopped to watch the show.
Up until that point, the night had been brutal—just about every asshole had come out to prove they could challenge the big bad cooler and win. None of them had, of course, but none of them had his training either.
Except for Darren.
Bat could recognize height and weight and walking patterns, but the Eagle/Globe/Anchor tattoo on the man’s hand—the Marine symbol—was the dead giveaway, and it was on the same hand that had been across Catie’s throat. Bat had known Darren would be back.
He was also glad he’d convinced Catie that her time working the bar at night was over until he could get things under control. He hadn’t seen much of her for the rest of the day—she’d been cleaning the large loftlike apartment above the bar, and he’d been busy meeting with the staff, firing a few leftovers from Darren’s posse and, yeah, he’d known there would be trouble tonight.
He’d put a heavy-duty lock on the door leading to the loft, told Catie to stay upstairs and not come down unless he called for her. And now, as he approached Darren, an emotion suspiciously close to anger stirred deep within him. Anger was never good in these situations, and still he felt it, hot and deep.
“Hey. Bat, is it?” Darren extended a hand, which Bat ignored. “I thought maybe you and I could talk.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Yeah, well, see, I’ve worked at this bar for a long time. That new owner bitch doesn’t realize how much her uncle needed me.”
“Her uncle was probably too nice and too sick to realize you were pushing drugs out of here and stealing his profits. Catie’s a little sharper than that. And firing you was her decision. I’m just here to enforce it.”
“I’ve heard all about you, Bat Kelly.”
“Then you know that you should leave right now, before you get hurt,” Bat drawled.
“You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? She’ll do that—sleep with you and then fire you. She’s a real bitch, that one.”
Bat tamped it down hard and tried to push Catie from his mind, the way she’d clung to him last night when he’d pulled Darren off her…the way she’d clung to him today. Two different feelings entirely—there was no way Catie had been involved with this guy. She’d been too honest about everything else to hold that bit of information back.
“You touch her again, ever, and that will be your last day on this earth. Are you hearing what I’m laying down, brother?” He stared at Darren’s tattoo as he spoke.
“Yeah, I’m hearing it, brother. I’m just not real good at listening anymore. That’s why I left the service. I suspect you felt the same way…I thought maybe you and I could come to some sort of arrangement.”
“The only arrangement we’re going to make is, you’re leaving this bar and I’m staying.”
“I want my job back—and I’m going to make sure that happens.”
“Why don’t we step outside and finish this discussion?” Bat brushed past Darren and pushed the door open. He knew Darren followed him, didn’t bother to turn around until they were fully on the red dirt that covered the side area of the building.
Darren’s fist came at him fast. Bat blocked it and Darren slugged him in the gut before Bat got in a crack at Darren’s nose. Blood spurted everywhere, and within seconds Bat drop-kicked the big man to the ground and held him there, hand on Darren’s throat.
“Big guy hasn’t been practicing his moves. Too much time building muscle, not enough time actually using it,” Bat whispered in Darren’s ear. “Touch Catie again and you’ll be one sorry motherfucker.”
He pushed off Darren roughly, left him lying on the ground and walked back into the bar, past the crowds who’d come outside to watch.
“Show’s over, people,” Jase called. “Come on back in for last call!”
Bat was done. He gave Keith a wave and knew the brothers would take care of closing up the place for the night—cleaning it too. And so he walked up the long, narrow flight of stairs and down the hallway and used the key to let himself inside.
Catie was waiting for him, had been sitting in the center of the bed in the loft she’d cleaned today. The space needed some work, just like everything else around this place, but it was nice—open and airy, and it would let in plenty of light during the day.
The bar came with enough property to build a house on. Why he thought about that now, with Catie sitting ther
e in just a tank top and light pink underwear, was anyone’s guess.
She’d put the sheets he’d bought earlier that afternoon on the bed. He’d taken the mattress outside earlier in the day and beat the dust out of it, and now it smelled like fresh air and sunshine. It was dark now, the fog still thick around the bayou moon.
The knuckles on one of his hands were raw, his shirt was ripped at the collar, his cheek bruised and throbbing. All in all, not a bad night pain-wise, but Catie was staring at him.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t call this fine—you’re bleeding.”
He glanced at his shoulder and the rip in his shirt, which showed fresh blood from when one of the patrons decided that a broken bottle was a good weapon. “Flesh wound. Won’t need stitches, just a Band-Aid.” He strolled over to the large, stand-up mirror in the corner as he peeled off his shirt and discarded it on the floor.
But Catie was already off the bed and headed to the bathroom. He watched her cute ass shake in the reflection when she walked, and he waited for her to return.
She did—with cotton and peroxide and bandages.
“Let me,” she told him. He remained in front of the mirror, watched her stand on tiptoes to reach his shoulder. When she was finished, she took each of his hands in hers and dabbed the ointment on the raw spots, rubbing it in gently.
“That’s enough,” he said, and pulled her against him so she was directly in front of him, both of them facing the mirror.
“Did you draw tonight?” he asked as he began to skim her tank top off her body, losing the contact between them for only a second before the soft skin of her bare back was pressed to his bare chest.
She was flushed and her nipples were already taut as he cupped a hand under each breast. “Yes. And don’t forget that you promised I could draw you.”
“Why people? Why not sunsets and bowls of fruit?” he asked, let his thumbs move to her nipples, his tanned fingers a contrast to her creamy skin. She leaned her head against his chest and smiled as she watched.
“I like drawing the body, the human form,” she explained, her tone breathy as he played. He loved the way she jumped at each caress and then pushed her breasts into his palms, searching for more contact. “It’s more fluid. There’s always movement—flesh and blood and beating heart, all showing on the skin and the face…It’s exciting. Always changing.”
He dipped his head to kiss along her neck. “So why did you stop? You said you didn’t draw for a long time.”
“I don’t know. It just became hard, almost rote.” She ran a hand down one of his arms. “I was probably lonely. Needing contact.”
He didn’t say anything more, merely drew her in tighter as his fingers continued to play on the taut nipples. Contact.
Yes, this was what she needed. He was sure of it. “I want to see you naked, totally naked, Catie chere.”
She complied, slid out of the thong, and he murmured, “So pretty,” against her ear. And she was, from the swell of her breasts to the smooth, taut stomach and the curve of hips he pictured himself grabbing as he drove into her later.
“Now you.” She tugged at him so he was the one standing in front of her, and she slowly unzipped his jeans, pulled them and his boxer briefs down at the same time, to reveal his arousal jutting out toward the mirror.
“I didn’t have the chance to do this last night—just look at you,” she breathed. “I could study you all night. With my hands, my mouth…”
“Nothing stopping you.”
Her hands moved across his abs, down toward his cock, her mouth pressed to his biceps. When her hands encircled him, he groaned.
At first, her touch was tentative, an exploration, and he let her know that she was doing everything right, by the way his body jerked with every caress. She grew bolder, stroked his shaft slowly up and down, watched his reactions reflected in the glass, and what a picture it was, her naked body pressed to his side.
He wondered for a brief second if Catie would mimic one of the other pictures he’d seen in her sketchbook. He’d paged through it that morning, while she slept, his cock growing impossibly hard at the sketch of her on her knees in front of a man, the man’s head thrown back in complete pleasure.
She smiled at him, as if she knew what he was thinking, and within seconds, she was on her knees, facing him. She still held him in one hand, the other moved to cup his balls, while her tongue brushed the tip of his cock. He didn’t know where to look, at her face or the sight of her between his legs in the mirror. Instead, he closed his eyes and let the sensation take him over for just a second.
She took his cock inside her mouth, studying him with her lips and tongue, and fuck, she might be new at this, but he loved it. He ran his fingers through her hair, along her shoulders, all the while repeating her name and struggling to stay on his feet.
When her tongue began to dance on the sensitive strip of flesh behind his balls, he barely stopped himself from coming. He steeled himself, because he wanted to come inside of her—he’d waited for nearly twenty-four excruciating hours—he could wait a little longer.
“Catie, please.” He urged her to her feet, and then he carried her over to the bed, and even the thought of her spread out beneath him was almost too much to handle.
He wanted her fast and furious, wanted to leave himself no time to think about anything but sinking inside her and getting his rocks off. But something about Catie chere begged for a long, leisurely fuck.
He lowered her to the bed, covered her body with his even as she wrapped herself around him—arms around his neck and legs around his waist. His cock brushed her wet pussy and sent a jolt through his body, as if hers was made of pure electricity.
He dropped his head and took a nipple in his mouth, fondled it between his teeth and tongue until it was taut and hot.
She jerked upward as he sucked hard and began to enter her at the same time.
She was tight—so tight. Even as her body welcomed his first intrusion, her nails dug into his back and she arched against him to pull him more deeply inside of her. “Bat—oh, Bat—yes!”
Using small strokes, he opened her until she relaxed. He pulled his cock out of her almost completely, leaned back slightly on his haunches to watch his cock begin to fill her again.
Her hips had been rocking with his until this full entrance inside her hot, slick sex. She paused, her mouth a soft O as he took her fully—a long, low moan that sounded like a combination of his name and oh, my god escaped from her throat. He forced himself to remain still, kissed her as he reached between her legs to caress her clit, his finger sliding along the tight bundle of nerve endings until she started to squirm underneath him in an almost uncontrollable rhythm.
“You like this, chere?”
“Oh, Bat—yes…”
“Tell me you like it,” he told her, even as he drove deeper.
“Like it…like everything,” she managed, but he was fucking her hard, so hard, even as the needy sounds escaped her throat and her words were incoherent.
He tried to ground himself by holding onto the sides of the mattress, and in minutes it was oh and Bat and don’t stop now as her ankles pressed the small of his back in time with the rock of his hips.
The bed moved and creaked in protest and he ignored it, found a rhythm to drive them both wild. She was slick, hot—so fucking hot—and he wanted to take her over and over again, to watch her back arch and her eyes close in complete abandon.
He didn’t want it to end, wanted to stay locked into her, but the way she clenched around him like a wet vise forced the orgasm to rock through him, shutting down coherent thought for a few amazing minutes. The way she held him when he came, with such a hunger and need and want, like she was holding him as if both their lives depended on it, made the aftershocks shoot through him with a vengeance. And when he collapsed on her, she still didn’t let go.
The fan whirred lazily above them, the flutter of air coolin
g their damp skin, and gradually his breathing returned to normal. Catie’s eyes were closed, her mouth curved in a small smile, and there was no mistaking the peace on her face.
There was a time for control, and that would be later, when the insistent desire spilled from them and he could take his time going over every inch of her body. Normally, he’d be out of there long before that, unwilling to wake up next to a stranger who expected more.
Catie already expected more from him, and that was something he wasn’t sure he was ready to deal with. But she was tracing his tattoo with her finger and he had hours left until morning light. He wasn’t going to waste it on thinking.
CHAPTER
Five
Hours later, Catie was lying spread out along Bat, her head on his chest, an arm and a leg flung over his body. She caressed the ridges of his abs and the sharply contrasted hip bones that led down to the large, still partially firm cock, a column of veined dusky skin and steel that she hadn’t known could be so beautiful and masculine at once.
There was a long scar that ran across one hip. Her fingers trailed that lightly, her own body still humming from the rough tips of Bat’s fingers on her. Now they played with her hair.
Finger at the bottom of the scar, she said, “It sounded bad down there tonight. Was it?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” he said, and then he paused, as if weighing something heavily in his mind. When he spoke again, his tone was guarded, as though bracing for her reaction. “Darren came around looking for you tonight.”
She shivered as she recalled Darren’s hard, cold eyes, the almost violent bearing that seemed to be his norm. He’d been so angry when she’d fired him, so much so that she’d been sure he was going to hit her. But he’d clenched his fists and walked out of the office and the bar instead, and she’d breathed a shaky sigh of relief. She’d thought that was the end of it, but she now knew she couldn’t have been more wrong.
If Bat was right and that had been Darren in the alley, that meant he’d taken the time to plan his revenge. What would she have done if Bat hadn’t come along?