Her cheeks warmed for a different reason. Heck, her whole body sparked to life at the contact.
“Jesus, Huntley.”
He knew it, too, that even though he infuriated her, everything about him resonated deep within her. Within her awakened sexual appetite. Within her heart. The raw intense heat between them never dulled but seemed to grow stronger with even the smallest of touches.
“You are so goddamned beautiful, Huntley. He’s going to pay for this. And if a single picture shows up...”
“Shhh.” She mimicked his gesture, putting a finger over his lips. “I can and will deal with Robert without dragging you or my family into this mess. Besides, what are you going to do, hog-tie him to your bike and take him for a ride?”
“Something along those lines,” he muttered. “Did he hurt you?”
“My pride. Trust. Sense of justice. What Robert did was the final straw. I had to leave him and Savannah behind. My overprotective brothers, too. You know, sometimes when life throws you a left hook, it’s a sign you’ve been standing in place too long. Besides, my life has been full of enough Harding-related drama.”
“How so?” he said quietly.
“Harding Sr. always seemed to be around while I was growing up. Once he showed up to a Wittaker Fine Smokes summer picnic, uninvited. Another time, Mama ushered me out of church because Mr. Wittaker had taken a pew a few back from our own. He wasn’t even Catholic.”
“How well does your family know the Hardings?”
“For generations. His grandfather and then his dad always coveted whatever we Wittakers had. Our home, which dates back to the late 1700s. Our business, which they’ve been slowly trying to take over. Something happened between the families when I was a kid. My father never discussed it with us, but I’ve always gotten the feeling that they held something over our heads. Dug up a family skeleton, or some such idea.”
“Everyone’s got skeletons. Some picked clean to the bone. Some fleshed out and riddled with secrets. But you’re not responsible for your family’s troubles. You were just a kid. Fuck, do you really think a child is equipped to handle fucked-up adults?” He practically snarled the last part. Huntley wondered about his words, about his skeletons. Whatever his were, they still affected him deeply. He had to have closets full of them.
His arm flexed against her, and Huntley let herself be pulled in, offering him comfort as much as seeking it for herself. She snuggled closer, wanting the feel of him to wash over her, to wash away all these painful memories. A cleansing of sorts. But maybe confiding in someone was the best remedy for a troubled past?
For a moment they sat quietly, deep within their own heads, until she broke the silence. “I should have never gotten involved with Robert, however brief our so-called relationship was. He presented himself so differently from his father. A guy on the up and up. Stellar reputation. Outstanding member of society. Old money from an old family. Every time I turned around, he seemed to be standing there. So mild mannered. Proper. So unlike the rugged tough-as-nails men in my family—physically strong, anyway.” She winced, thinking about how they’d slowly unraveled, each in his own troubled way.
“So he followed you to Reno and broke into your apartment to retrieve photographs that he may or may not already have copies of?” Bracken interrupted, stating what he already knew. “It doesn’t add up.”
Those damned pictures. She needed water. Air. A place to hide.
He was having none of that.
Tugging her in tight, Bracken rolled, forcing them both to sprawl across the sofa. Her struggling and him intent. With his big body, he pushed her backward until her back was up against the cushions, anchoring her in place, as he cursed a blue streak.
It was too much to bear. She fought back, going on the defensive. “Who the hell do you think you are rifling through my stuff? Stealing my possessions. Butting into my business?” His face was an inch away from her own. Close enough to feel his breath on her cheek.
“He’s not going to get away with this.”
“I told you, I can handle Robert.”
“Fuck. I’m trying to help you.”
“Why? Don’t you have your own problems to contend with?”
She caught the tightening of his jaw. He shuttered his eyes briefly, then snapped them back open.
“Why?” she demanded, her voice raw. Hoarse.
“Don’t.”
She struggled to sit up but only succeeded in making him thrust his hips forward, cementing her firmly with his pelvis to the back of the sofa.
He was hard. Her heart picked up in tempo at the feel of him, his intensity.
“Why?” she whispered.
He let out another long, sharp exhale, like he’d come to a conclusion he’d rather not have made. “Because I fuckin’ care,” he snarled, his tone so contrary to his words.
A haymaker. He’d just nailed her with the haymaker of all haymakers. A sneaky punch—or was it? Had he been winding up for it for a while, and she’d missed the cues?
“Shit, forget it.” He attempted to roll away from her but this time, she prevented him from moving by winding a leg around his and snaking an arm around his back, tugging him closer. So close all it would take was a slight shift forward to claim his lips.
“Bad idea,” he murmured, and she wondered if the comment was aimed at her actions or his own. Or both? “It’s been a long night. We both need sleep.” He shifted his head back, his expression hardening. “This can’t happen. Not now. Not ever.”
She snorted. “Not ever. Like that’s an option.” She licked her lower lip and heard his low groan. “But given how you invaded my privacy and took something that didn’t belong to you ...maybe not ever is a possibility. Maybe you don’t deserve me.”
“I don’t.”
Wow. McBadass needed reassurance? The ache in his voice bowled her over. She blinked, suddenly feeling the need to wrap herself more tightly around him. His body. His heart.
“You said you cared.”
“Huntley.” Her name was a warning, like he was trying to warn her away with his harsh tone. Except the full length of his hardness so intimately pressed against her said otherwise. The man was so damn frustrating yet so hot he’d melt cinderblocks.
“Bracken,” she said softly, reaching beneath her shirt. Wiggling her hips in within the tight space and bending and stretching her leg, she worked her panties off. Her lips twitching as his eyes flashed.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you how much I care.”
“Jesus.”
For a second, she thought he was going roll away, this time with more force, more success.
Instead, he wove his fingers in her hair, winding the long strands around his fist, reeling her in and capturing her in his hold. He tugged, forcing her head back while rubbing his hardened length against her bare mound. Heat pooled between her legs and her breath hitched.
“You are so goddamn beautiful, you make me I forget who I am.”His fingers flexed within her hair, and he forced her closer. Yeah, like she needed any help. She bent her leg across the top of his hip, opening further as she rubbed up against his thick cock. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hand sliding to her ass, cupping her cheek and bringing her in closer. “This shouldn’t happen. I don’t—can’t...”
“Shhh,” she whispered, feeling the conflicting emotions playing out inside him though not understanding the reason behind them. “I won’t tell anyone. Scout’s honor. Just. Let. Go.” She touched his jaw, running her fingers along his baby-soft skin. Relishing the smoothness. Learning the fresh-faced feel of him.
A low noise escaped his throat. A growl. A moan. A red flag of defeat. Sex conquering all, because in the next second, he pulled her to him.
His lips covered hers, his tongue dipping inside, possessing her in a
primitive, toe-curling kiss. This wasn’t the kiss of a man in control. A hardened man in body, spirit, attitude. Breaking down her barriers. Claiming her. A no-holds-barred kiss where nothing is left, everything is laid out. He destroyed her with that kiss, and she loved every second of it. Wanting, needing more...more.
She reached for the buttons on his jeans, stopping twice to stroke his hardness through the material.
Bracken pushed himself off her and up to a standing position. In one smooth tug, he removed his pants and boxers, his cock springing free. Her throat went dry as she wrapped her fingers around his girth. A McBadass, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes, and everywhere—everywhere—in between. She leaned in and licked the moisture from his thick tip.
He groaned, and she slid her lips over the length of him, running her tongue along the vein at the base of his cock, taking him fully inside her mouth. She felt his hand slide beneath her hair, the pads of his fingertips caressing the nape of her neck as she worked her mouth over him.
She opened her eyes and dragged her gaze upward, shocked then oh-so-turned-on to find him watching her every movement. Withdrawing, she gave his tip a twirling lick before taking his heavy hot mass back into her mouth, working her way along the length of him until she couldn’t take any more.
His eyelids fluttered shut, his jaw tensed and then she heard it, a noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan.
The sound pleased her. He seemed to be on the verge of losing it.
“Enough,” he commanded, the gravel in his tone sending tiny sparks of awareness throughout her body. With a hand wound full of hair, he gently guided her head back and away. “You make me want things I’ve no business wanting,” he murmured, breaking free to retrieve a condom out of his pant pocket. He quickly suited up then stalked toward her. In a smooth movement, he reached down and lifted her off the couch. Instantly, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He bent and angled their bodies sideways, carefully settling them onto the couch, with her back and bare bottom pressed back against the cushion, his big chest pinning her in place and his hot erection pushing oh-so aggressively between her legs, like he belong there as much as tucked up against her on the couch. With a hand cupping behind her knee, he readjusted her leg to rest higher on his hip, the entirety of him sliding against her wetness as he moved.
She moaned, her eyes widening at the sound yet her internal lust-o-rator sending hot liquid mercury throughout her body. Her hips arched forward, and the tip of him nudged into her, like one hot whisper of what was to come.
His palm slid along her waist, up her side, then cupped her breast. His fingers captured her nipple in a light pinch.
She moved into him, only to feel him sink an inch deeper inside of her. Sweet Mary.
“That good, huh?”
Damn, she’d said it out loud. Her eyes widened as she caught his smug grin.
She wiggled her hips, slightly but enough to work him in deeper. Enough to wipe the grin from his face and ignite the fire in his eyes.
“Ready?” He pinched her breast once more, causing a warm path of moisture to coat his way.
“Nothing to it except to do it,” she said with a laugh.
“Game on, then.” He smiled, transforming a dangerous man into one ten times more so. Without the beard, without the fierceness that bled out of his pores, his jaw-dropping handsomeness shone through. A hot-bodied looker. And he was hers.
She wound her fingers in his long hair and directed his mouth over hers. She worked her tongue inside him, licking his lips then ensnaring his tongue.
He thrust forward, easing himself inside of her. He was big, no surprise there, but at this angle, with one leg high on his thigh and his hips pinning her in place, she felt every molten inch of him as he slid deeper.
He broke the kiss, his breath caressing her ear. “Okay?”
She arched against the sofa, her hips thrust forward, taking him fully inside her. “Yep. Like you said, game on.”
His hand cupped the cheek of her ass, bringing her forward as he flexed his hips. Starting out slowly, giving her time to adjust to his girth, he rocked into her until she was moaning and he was grunting with pleasure. She saw specks of liquid fireballs combust, over and over until she was breathless.
McBadass earned his nickname in earnest. He picked up the tempo, pumping into her, with the tight springs of the cushion fighting with his quick, flexing hips. Back and forth the battle ensued, her wedged between two competitors, him drilling into her, the springs thrusting her back, those combusting fireballs she’d been seeing melting into one spectacular, toe-curling blast.
Holy blazing O’s.
She moaned, then shuddered. And shattered again.
“Hang on,” he growled. Chemistry in motion, sparked by his steady, unforgiving movements. “That’s it, Creampuff. One more.” He nipped her earlobe, then licked the tender flesh. But all Huntley could feel was wave after wave of sensation as his words amazingly caused her to let go.
In one long thrust, he pinned her against the cushion, this time winning the battle by not letting her move, working himself so fully inside her, her orgasm lengthened. Maybe it was the way he swelled hot against her slick walls or the way his hand on her hip held her steady. Or maybe it was the way he groaned, music she’d treasure long after this incredible moment passed. In that second, she felt strong, complete. Herself, tried and true.
He moaned, and stiffened, releasing into her.
For a long while, they lay there, joined and well satisfied.
Bracken was the one to break the silence. Kissing her forehead, he rolled and brought her fully on top of him, her legs straddling his body and his semi-erect penis nestled inside her.
“First we’ll shower, then I’m going to take you up against the stall. Let’s see what a little Creampuff like you is made of.”
“Game on,” she shot back, looking down at him. She was rewarded with a devilish grin.
Nope. Having sex with a biker wasn’t like taking a walk in Subtleville. She got exactly what she expected. And then some. Biker or no biker, there was nothing subtle about Bracken, including how he made love.
Subtle was overrated, anyway.
Chapter Seventeen
The line of spectators outside the Warehouse wove through the parking lot and around the building. With each passing Friday night, the crowd had grown, like an unbridled weed, one sharp to the touch and likely to choke a man if he wasn’t careful.
And Bracken? Tonight, he was the motherfucker of weeds. On edge, ready to fight and more than likely to send a shipload of shithead Russians home like wilting dandelions.
Starting with the man lurking at the bar, harassing Huntley.
He barreled his way through the tight space, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled tight overhead in an effort to go unnoticed. He was early, preferring to get a feel for what was going down tonight before what was really going down, hard—Sergei.
Fuck. He stopped short, feet away from the bar. His gaze was immediately drawn to the one woman in the place—the one woman in fuckin’ Nevada even—that made him feel like the wind had been knocked out of him. Huntley. Whatever Hank’s girlfriend Hillary had just said caused a huge smile to spread across Huntley’s face.
Man, she was gorgeous. How he’d like to see her smile like that some more, with him buried inside of her and her completely sated. His gaze fell on the Russian at the bar, also smiling, the polyester-sporting bastard’s full attention fixed on Huntley. An irrational flash of anger momentarily sidelined him. How he itched to wipe that smirk off Moy Droog’s face.
Instead, Bracken clenched his fists and forced himself to walk away. She didn’t know he was here. And, if all went down as anticipated, she wouldn’t learn until that tonight, after he’d fed Sergei the Octagon mat. His sole focus had to b
e on the fight, not so full of Huntley he didn’t know his ass from his head.
Lord knew, he’d done enough damage. After the way she’d felt, her sweet pussy clenched around his cock, the way she’d cried out his name, the way he couldn’t seem to get deep enough inside her, he was fighting more than one battle. And losing—or rather, fucking losing it, the control he’d always held himself back with.
Sergei was going to kill him if he didn’t get his head on straight and fast.
He turned his attention back to the Russian, who was now sizing him up across the room. The fucker was six feet six or taller. Enormous. Muscled and fit.
Good decision, coming in early and hanging low for a while. Breathe in exactly what he was getting himself into.
He turned his back on the asshole and his gaze fell on Stefan, pacing back and forth and talking animatedly with another Russian. Bracken stepped forward, hell-bent on reminding Numbnuts to keep a close eye on Huntley. But something made him hesitate.
Stefan looked furious, much like Bracken had felt when he’d discovered Numbnuts screw up. Probably figuring out what a freaking mess this case was and panicking over them having less than a week to fix it.
Yet in all the time he’d worked with Stefan, never once had he looked like this. Bracken knew how to yank his goddamned tail.
The Russian he was talking to took out a roll of cash and smacked Stefan in the chest with it. With a sharp shove, Stefan pushed the man into the wall, holding him in place with one hand, while he anxiously looked around the Warehouse.
Money? Instinctively, Bracken stepped behind a group of fighters and out of sight. How fucking well did Stefan know this guy?
Before he could contemplate the question, someone pulled the bell chain from behind the bar.
Huntley.
Out for the Count Page 24