by Max Henry
TWENTY-FIVE
Dog
Mel stretches out on the bike while I scroll through what feels like a million hits matching the type of store we’ve been given as a possible link to Hooch. Six days we’ve been riding around this fucking country, and inch-by-inch we’ve narrowed down where he might have gone.
“What area did the guy say the place was in?” I ask.
“Fulton.” She tosses an arm over her face to shield the midday sun from her eyes.
“Right.” I keep flicking the page until I find the listing I’m after.
All I need is the address of this liquor store and I’ll have a point of reference for Hooch. The last guy we spoke to remembered seeing the big idiot, but not the name of the shop he stopped off at. Lucky for us though, he’d struck up a conversation with the owner about his side business restoring car interiors, and he had a business card that at least narrowed it down to the small city just outside of Columbia.
I take a screen shot and pocket my phone as Mel swings her legs around and sits up in the seat.
“Far away?”
“Less than an hour.” I trap her against the bike, placing my legs on either side of hers. “You ready for this?”
She lifts her eyes to mine and sighs. “Yep.”
The past week since I gave Mel a shake-up in her room, she’s been so much more relaxed about everything. My constant check-ins and questions probably drive the woman nuts, but I can’t help but worry about how laid back she is. I expected her to be wrestling the keys off me in her haste to get to Hooch, but instead, I’m greeted with a calm indifference on how long it will take.
“What’s rattlin’ around in that head of yours?” I reach up and run my fingertips under her chin.
She turns her head to kiss my palm before she answers. “I was thinking how nice it’s been spending this time with you. The reason for us to be on the road? Not so great. But I’ve loved it just being the two of us, you know?”
Yeah—I do know. Because I’ve loved it too.
Stolen kisses in the morning, a cheeky slap on her ass before she gets on the bike, and the homely feel of her arms wrapped around my waist as we cut a path from clue to clue.
But I can’t deny the one thing that hangs between us—who Koen really is. Sure, I told her my real name, but she knows nothing about my family, nothing about my father, mother, or brother, and nothing about the reason I decided to reinvent myself away from their influence.
She knows only what she’s seen, and it makes me feel like a fraud.
“Tell you what, gorgeous.” She tips her head to the side, listening with a small smile tugging at her lips. “When this is over, when we have Hooch home safe and sound, how about we make a date for that hunt I promised you?”
“I’d love to …”
“But?” I tip my head the same way as hers to catch her eye.
“But, maybe it’s not the best timing. I mean, Hooch would only just be back, and what if he needs me? Maybe we should just let the idea hang for a while, yeah?”
My jaw grinds as I try to tamp down just how much that pisses me off. I get it, sure, but damn. When’s it going to be our turn? I’ve been waiting years for this woman to warm up to the idea that we’re suited for each other, and this slow burn is about ready to fuck me right up.
“Yeah, okay.” I lean down and take her lips with mine, relishing the minty taste of her gum. “Your brother better be in fine shape when we find him.”
She bumps her nose to mine. “Why’s that, Dog?”
“Because damn woman, if you make me wait to steal you away, I might just die of the worst case of blue balls Texas has ever seen.”
She giggles, hooking her heels around my calves. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
“You wanna bet?” I reach between us, taking her hand in mine, and set it on the firm rod trapped in my jeans.
Her eyes darken as she peeks out from under her lashes. “Dog …”
“Woman, it ain’t no lie. Your kisses do it to me every time.”
Her slender fingers curl under mine, cupping the bulge in her hold. Blood surges through me as I sigh heavily out my nose, trying my best to keep my shit in check.
“Dog,” she pants. “We better go.”
“What’s another ten minutes, babe?” I rock my hips into her hold, my eyes closed at the heavenly feel of her tender palm pressing against my cock.
“We’re out in the open,” she feebly protests.
As though to prove her point, a semi rumbles past on the road fifty yards to our left. With a groan, I reach down and slide both hands under her thighs so I can pick this little lady up. She giggles as I heft her high on my stomach, tingles erupting in my legs when the apex of her thighs catches the painfully sensitive tip of my cock through my jeans.
“Where to?” I muse out loud as I carry her further into the roadside clearing.
The area appears to be nothing more than a dumping ground for the road workers, with piles of shingle and dirt lumped down at the far end of the grassy clearing. A hedge breaks the area from the fields beyond, the space between one of the shingle mounds and the trees perfect for what I have in mind.
“What are you up to?” Mel teases as she angles her head to leave a soft kiss on the side of my neck.
I drag in a long, steadying breath and set her down on the side of the shingle. She’s heaven and hell, wrapped up in one short little package. Her ponytail fans out over the stones, and fuck me, when she arches that back to get a sharp stick out of the way … damn.
“Pity I’m not in your clothes again, huh?” She wiggles her eyebrows, a sly smile on her lips.
“Why’s that, babe?” I drop to my knees between her legs and check to make sure that from this position we’re invisible to anyone on the road.
“Otherwise then you might think I still look fuckable.”
“Jesus, Mel.” I drag a hand over my face, the pressure in my groin ridiculous. “If it were up to me, you’d still be on that bike out there, and we’d be halfway done already.”
She reaches out for me, wrapping her fingers in the front of my cut. “Ten minutes.”
“You’ll be lucky if I last two with the way you’re lookin’ at me.”
She gives me enough of a tug to put me off balance, and I shoot my hand out to save from falling on top of her. The warm gusts of her breath tickle the ends of my hair that have fallen into my face as I stare deep into her honest eyes and find everything I’ve always wanted.
It ends here.
The late nights, the nameless women, and the reckless antics all in the name of getting a laugh. None of that matters anymore. Not when I’ve got something so much better to spend my time on.
I tilt my head and lean down to taste those plump lips one more time. Her back arches, those goddamn tits pressed tight against my chest as she wraps her arms over my shoulders and pulls me closer. Our bodies lie flush on that pile of shingle, and to be honest, it could be a bed of nails for all I fucking care—I don’t think I’d feel it either way.
“Off,” she utters, wrestling with my cut.
I rear back and slide the leather off, laying it down gently beside us before yanking my T-shirt over my head and piling it on top. Her eyes are positively hungry as she bites that bottom lip of her and makes a content little hum.
“Damn, Dog.”
Hearing her use that name, sounding like one of the club sluts … I can’t stand it.
“Koen,” I say quietly.
She stills, a soft smile spreading over her lips. “Koen.” Her eyes light up, the corners crinkle as she reaches for me once again.
I lower myself over her and kiss a trail from the point of her jaw, down her throat, to where the neckline of her shirt sits over the line of her cleavage. I want nothing more than to peel the cotton off her and see what’s underneath, but I’ve also got a hell of a lot more respect for her than that. We’re outside, in a relatively public place. We get busted, a guy with no shirt on is nothin
g too unusual. But a woman getting around in her bra? Nope.
Her hands creep up the back of my neck to my head as I kiss my way back up, her fingers channeling through the lengths of my hair before she curls them and gets a good grip. A sigh slips from her lips as I take the bottom one between my teeth and give it a little tug.
“Gotta stay quiet, remember?” I whisper in her ear as my hand trails a path down her side.
She twists underneath me, her hips rolling and pressing up against my own as she gives me a small groan of acceptance.
I skim my fingers around the waist of her jeans, sliding them back and forth from her back to her front before finally slipping them inside. A guttural groan erupts from Mel as she throws her head back, the shingle making a scraping noise beneath her head as she pushes it back. I wriggle my hand to get beneath the edge of her panties and then relish the way she screws her eyes shut as I stop just shy of breaching the edge of her folds.
I’ve waited years to get to this point with her, one of those believing she was most likely dead and the chance was a lost one. Have to say the reality lives up to the dream. I’ve had some damn fine women in my time, but nothing rivals the beauty of a woman who is truly lost to her passion, drowning in her lust for the moment.
I could hold her here forever and never tire of the sight: Mel as she finally lets everything go.
“Come on,” she whines, those dark brown eyes snapping open on me. “Don’t tease me.”
“You ain’t the only one being teased, babe.” Pretty sure my pre-cum has left a wet patch on my zipper by now.
She tilts her hips toward me, greedy bitch making my fingers slip into the tempting wet mess that is her pussy. I curl my digits a little, stroking her heat and lean down to take her mouth with mine as I slide first one, and then two inside of her.
It’s fucking heaven condensed into one little wet pocket of fun.
She moans through our kiss, her hands tracking a path over my shoulders and back as I pump my fingers in and out of her, imagining how sweet she’d taste if I could strip those fucking jeans off and get my face down there too. Like honey, I bet.
“Pull your shirt down,” I grind out, twisting my wrist to get my thumb on her clit.
Her thighs clamp hard on my arm as she shudders. “Damn, Dog … fuck … I mean, Koen.”
“Say it again.”
She palms her tit, pushing the V-neck of her T-shirt under the plump swell. “Koen.”
“Now tell me how much you like it,” I demand, eyeing that tight little bud waiting to be sucked. “And don’t forget my name.”
She gasps, sucking air in hard as I suck her nipple equally so. I flick the tip with my tongue, fingers still making a right mess of her cunt as she finally finds her voice again.
“You make me wanna come, Koen.” Her words are breathy and forced, her eyes shut tight as she grips onto my upper arms with a death grip. “Oh my God, yeah, like that.”
I switch it up from slow, even strokes, to short, hard thrusts as I feel her pussy clamping down. Bitch hasn’t been fucked in over a year—no prizes for guessing how tight she is.
Fucking wish it was my dick she was choking, though.
“You have no idea how bad I want to fuck you until you scream, right now,” I grind out as she damn near pretzels herself trying to get my hand deeper. “Flip you over, grab that ass, and slam my cock home, baby.”
Her legs quiver, her response a garbled mess. Seems sweet little Mel likes the dirty talk …
“You want that?” I tease, licking her lobe. “My dick in your cunt, hittin’ you so hard your fuckin’ tits bounce with each stroke?”
“I … I can’t …” Her head comes off the ground, her teeth pinched tight in her bottom lip as she comes apart over my hand. “Fuck … Koen …”
Girl almost has me coming right along with her.
I curl my fingers inside of her as her walls tighten around them, pressing hard on her swollen clit with my thumb as her legs shake through her release. Only when she finally lays back and opens her eyes, the biggest smile on her face, do I pull my hand free and lick the evidence clean.
Fucking honey.
“Now, let’s go get your goddamn brother so we can wrap this up for real.”
TWENTY-SIX
Mel
The outcome was inevitable. He’s taunted me all week with his goddamn towel barely covering everything after his showers, sleeping in nothing but his skin-tight boxers, and leaving me breathless and wanting with his stolen kisses.
You can’t wake a dormant volcano and then expect it not to erupt.
I place a hand behind me on the seat and lean back as he cruises the street, looking for this damn liquor store some guy said he saw Hooch at. My little brother would probably have more chance of blending in if he was more mainstream, but when you’re over six foot of broad muscle, with distinctive tattoos and piercings, people tend not to forget.
He can ditch the bike, shirk the cut, and even put a freaking suit on, but he’ll always stand out from a mile away.
My left arm snakes high on Dog’s chest as I snuggle close again. I tuck my hand beneath his cut and toy with his hardened nipple through the fabric of his shirt. He sets a warning hand on my knee, squeezing tight.
I love that I get this reaction out of him. Ask me a few years ago when we first struck up conversation at a club meet if I thought we’d end up here, and I would have laughed in your face. Me? Settle for the young, immature prospect that seemed hell bent on the bachelor life? No way.
But people change. Time passes and we grow up. Maybe not mature quite as much, but our experiences definitely shape us, sanding back the raw edges to reveal the true grain beneath.
Fate dictates who we are. Our reactions to the obstacles placed in our path forms the basis for what we become.
You can either roll with the punches or fight the inevitable until the world wins out.
I choose to adapt.
The vibration through the seat grows as Dog slows to a stop outside a liquor store with beautiful vintage style script painted on its windows. He walks us back and kicks out the stand as I stretch my arms out over my head. I place a hand to his shoulder to steady myself when the bike tips onto its rest.
“Comin’ in, or waiting here?”
I set my foot on the peg, and then push to climb off the seat. “What do you think?”
Dog eyes me with a smile as he shakes out a smoke. The curl of his lips never fades, even as he puts the cigarette between them and lifts a flame to it.
“What are you smirking about?”
He wiggles the fingers of his right hand at me. “Still smells like you.”
“That’s fucking gross,” I snap. But hell, there’s no denying the throb that reminds me what that hand was doing to smell like me.
He chuckles and widens his legs to stretch out while he sucks back the smoke.
A pickup is parked to our left, a slightly rusted sedan to our right. I run my eye down the street, taking in the details I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to notice before. Most of the shop fronts bear worn and faded signs, yet the streets are clean, and people go about their lives without hesitation. The road is quaint, paved with bricks, and the buildings all show that this town was established a very long time ago.
What strikes me most, though, is how friendly it all seems. So calm. It’s a good place to be; I can see why Hooch stopped here.
“Right, babe.” Dog stamps his cigarette out and dismounts, pocketing the key. “Let’s see what we can find out.”
I swallow back the hope that this is the break we need. After all, we’ve followed a seemingly endless trail of breadcrumbs to date with no real sign of it ending.
The door-chime sounds as we enter, an older gentleman looking up from the bottles he restocks in the chiller.
“Can I help you, there?”
Dog’s movements soften, his body language taking on a whole other look from the swaggering biker I’m used to. It’s an interest
ing transition. Captivating.
I’d almost go as far as to say it’s as though I’m watching Koen, dressed as Dog, play the part. The line between the two blurred to the point it almost doesn’t exist anymore.
“Afternoon, sir. I was hopin’ to ask you about a friend of ours that was seen in here a few nights back?”
The old guy sets the bottle in his hands on the shelf and lets the chiller door swing shut. “We don’t get many through here, so I’m pretty sure I know who you mean.” He dusts his hands off on his slacks. “Tall guy, lots of ink. Had a beard, and those” —he winds his hand near his ear— “big circle earring things.”
“Sounds about right.” Dog smiles.
I grip onto my left arm, my fingers so tight that I leave white imprints around the tips. This could be it. This could be the break we’ve wanted.
“He wouldn’t have happened to say anything about where he was headed, asked for directions or the like?”
The old man waves us over to the counter. “None of that, nope. But I did gander a look at the key tag he had in his hand when he pulled his wallet out.”
“Yeah?” Dog steps up to the counter, hands braced on the edge.
“Logo of a motel down the way: Six Shooter Cabins.” He holds his hand up, indicating we should wait.
My toes tap inside my boot as I watch his weathered and wrinkled hands pull a directory out from under the counter. He flicks the pages, licking his finger as he does, and then twists the book around to point out a listing.
“There. That’s the address you’ll need.”
Dog leans over, seeming to read it several times before nodding.
“You just go back out here,” the old guy says, gesturing to the street we’re parked on. “And then back the way you probably came, take your second right, and then first left.” His hand flicks around as he describes the directions. “Tucked in behind the old Mason’s lodge.”
“Thank you very much.” Dog nods his thanks, gesturing for me to go as he turns for the door.
“Thank you.” I give the old guy a smile, touched there are still people around who don’t care what you look like; they’re just happy to help.