“Sit on your face?”
He smirked. “Yes ma’am. Just hold on to the headboard and ride my face until you can’t stay upright no more.”
Slowly, hesitantly, feeling supremely awkward, I grabbed the headboard for balance and climbed up his body, straddling his chest, and then centered my core over his mouth. His thumbs brushed over my seam, sending heat sizzling through me, and then he gently pulled my lips apart and flicked his tongue over my clit—I whimpered.
“One…” he muttered.
Another lick, and I gasped.
“Two…”
A slow fluttering, a swiping, a circle, a patternless, rhythmless assault, and I lost myself in screams. “Three,” he said, rolling his R, making me realize with a laugh that he was referencing the Tootsie Pop commercial with Mr. Owl.
“Don’t—oh, oh god, oh god—you can’t make me laugh while you’re doing that,” I protested.
“No?” He only pulled away to murmur the word.
“No, it’s not fair.”
“I don’t play fair, Kitten. Never have, never will.”
No fingers, just his tongue, and I was screaming in seconds, coming in under two minutes. Writhing, grinding shamelessly against him, doing exactly what he told me to do—riding his face.
The second I was finished with my orgasm, he picked me up, flipped me forward onto my back, and levered himself over me. Impossibly, he was hard again. I reached for him, brought him to me, and thought of nothing except the anticipation of the ache of him inside me, the beautiful burn of stretching around him.
He was nudged against my opening, and I was writhing against him, still shuddering from my climax, and I knew nothing except my need for him, and a sudden, blinding wildness.
At that moment, a fist pounded on the door. “Mr. Badd—it’s Captain Martin, sir. I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, but I’ve been hailed by the Coast Guard. You’re needed in Ketchikan, Mr. Badd. It’s an emergency.”
Ducking his head and snarling, he spoke with his lips against my breastbone. “What’s the emergency?”
“It’s your father, Mr. Badd. There’s been an accident.”
“Fuck.” He rolled off me, flopping onto his back. “Fuck! Do you have any other information?”
“I was not told anything beyond that you are needed back in Ketchikan, and that there’d been an accident involving your father.” A pause. “I’m very sorry to have had to intrude upon your privacy.”
“So we’re heading back?”
“Actually, I believe your cousin, a Mr. Brock Badd, is coming to get you in a seaplane.”
“Fine. Thank you.” He had his arm over his eyes, shielding me from seeing his reaction. “Do you have an ETA?”
“About fifteen minutes, sir.”
Silence, then. What was I supposed to say? I reached for him, touched his arm. “Roman, how can I help?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment. “Fuck if I know.” Silence. “Fucker probably relapsed.”
“I’m sorry this is happening.” I wanted to stop it, to stop the pain I saw him hiding. “It’ll be okay, Roman. It’s okay.”
“You don’t know that. Nobody knows that.” He rolled forward and off the bed, jerking open the bedroom door and vanishing through it, still naked, his massive cock swaying between his thighs.
He left the door partly open, and I watched him stalk around the saloon and rear deck, shoving his legs into his underwear and suit pants, then the undershirt, fingers nimbly doing the buttons of his button-down. Leaning against the railing, he made quick work of his socks and shoes. I went out after him, stepping into my dress. The tape wouldn’t stick right anymore, but it mostly kept me in place. Without a word, I found my shoes, and my purse. I heard an engine in the distance, swiftly approaching, the loud roar of twin propellers—Brock’s air taxi. I dug a hair tie out of my purse and tied my hair back, wiggling my feet into the sandals.
Roman eyed me. “What’re you doin’?” His accent was back, and thick.
I blinked at him. “Getting ready to go.”
“Boat won’t be back to Ketchikan for a while yet.”
I stared back. “I’m coming with you.”
Another silence, except for the sound of Brock’s plane getting closer. “No.”
I sucked in a breath; a sharp hurt slicing into me at his rejection. “Why not?”
“Don’t know what I’m walking into. This is messy-ass family shit.”
“I’m not afraid of messy family stuff, Roman. I want to go with you.”
“No, you don’t.” He glanced over to watch as Brock landed the plane and coasted up behind the yacht, which was now at anchor. “This shit with us is so new there ain’t even paint on it—shit, there ain’t even drywall. Just studs and subfloor. You don’t need any of this.”
“Roman, come on. I know things are new between us, but I can still be there for you.”
Roman shook his head. “Nah. I appreciate the thought. I’ll call you and let you know what’s up. But right now I want you to call up to Captain Martin and let him know what you want to do. You can get some rest and he’ll take you back to Ketchikan in the morning, or you can go now. Whatever you want. He’ll arrange for Tony to meet you at the dock and run you home.” He didn’t look at me. “I’ll call you, promise.”
Brock had positioned the floatplane so it was perpendicular to the yacht, the wingtip facing the stern. With an agility belied by his size and bulk, Roman hopped down onto the swim platform at the rear of the yacht, balanced, and then leapt out, caught the strut, and threw himself onto the float, hauling himself aboard. The entire maneuver took less than ten seconds, and he’d made it seem easy, effortless, even though the initial leap had been several feet from boat to plane.
“Roman!” I called, eyes stinging.
He waved. “I’ll call you!”
And then, with a slam of the door and a roar of the propellers, he was gone.
“Dammit,” I said, slapping my hand on the stern. “Dammit, Roman.”
14
Roman
* * *
I knew I was brooding, beyond even the stress and worry of not knowing what had happened with Dad. Brock had, so far, seemed okay giving me the silence to deal with my own thoughts as we flew back to Ketchikan. About ten minutes into the flight I realized we weren’t heading to Ketchikan.
“The fuck are we going, Brock?” I growled through the headset.
“Seattle. Northwest Hospital.”
“Why?”
“That’s where your dad is, I guess.”
“What about Rem and Ram?”
“Already on their way.” He glanced at me. “Your phone is off, and nobody could get hold of you. Took an act of Congress to get in touch with Captain Martin, and make him understand it was a life-and-death emergency, and to get your position.”
“Thanks for coming to get me.”
Silence. “Kitty didn’t seem happy to be left behind.”
I stewed, only answering after a long tense pause. “Didn’t make sense to bring her along. Not even sure myself what’s happening.”
“Sure that’s your call to make?”
“We’re still—it’s not…” I groaned, rubbing my face. “It’s complicated.”
“That’s a puss-out if I’ve ever heard one.” He took one hand off the yoke and adjusted something.
“The fuck do you know about it?” I snapped.
“Not a damn thing. But I know a puss-out answer when I hear one.” He eyed me, not wary, just…watchful.
“I don’t know what it is, Brock. We were still figuring it out when Captain Martin came to our room.”
“So you’re not just hooking up?”
I shrugged. “I…I guess I thought that’s what it would be. But it’s not turning out that way.” I shook my head, scrubbing my hands through my hair. “Fuck.”
“’Sup?”
I shifted in my seat, growling. “Everything. Dad. Kitty…the timing is just shitty.”
“You were a dick just then, weren’t you?”
“We may be family, but we ain’t that close, Brock.”
“Just asking.”
“Mind your own fuckin’ business.”
“You’re on my plane, bro. Means I get to make your shit my shit.” He grinned at me, elbowing me. “So…you were a dick to her, weren’t you?”
“She wanted to come and I said no. Then I left.” I thought about it, and groaned. “Fuck.”
“You were a dick?”
“I was a dick.” I sighed. “I just—we talked about it being a thing, but…” I shrugged.
“A thing?” He quirked an eyebrow at me, looking so much like my brothers and me that it was disorienting.
“Yeah, it’s definitely a thing…” I rubbed a piece of plastic facing on the plane’s dashboard. “…With me and Kitty.”
Brock shook his head. “And then you literally leapt off the ship to get away?”
“It wasn’t that, it was…” I tried to formulate a way to put it that didn’t leave me looking like a douchebag. “My dad is hurt, man. I don’t know how bad, or if he’s even alive. I don’t fuckin’ know. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know shit. And I didn’t want to bring her into that. It’s messy, man. My dad is a fuckin’ disaster. I thought he was doin’ better, which was why we moved up here to do this whole stupid fuckin’ bar bullshit, but now he gets into an accident? He was drinkin’ again—I’m fuckin’ sure of it.”
“I got a million questions about your family, but I’ll save ’em.”
“Since we’re stuck on a plane for another hour—you might as well ask.”
“First, you don’t know he was drinking—just pointing out the facts as we know them right now. And, if she wants to jump into your messy family bullshit headfirst, that’s her choice, not yours, right? I mean, god knows my brothers and I know all about messy family business, and we learned quick that when a woman wants in, she’ll get in, man. If you don’t want that, you gotta tell her. But if you want it to be a ‘thing’ you can’t shut her out.”
“Sounds like you’re lecturing, not asking.”
He grinned, shrugging. “Yeah, well…” Brock glanced at me. “On another topic, you seem pissy about that bar you are opening.”
“We’re not talking about that.”
He chuckled. “Not going well, I take it?”
“I said we’re not talking about it. For real, man.” I poked a switch on the dashboard. “Leave it alone. I can’t handle that on top of everything else right now.”
“Don’t touch that,” Brock said, smacking my hand away. “You know, you do have family that’s sort of in the biz, if you know what I mean.”
I punched his shoulder, and not gently. “I jump out of airplanes for a living, asshat, you think I don’t know not to flip switches? I ain’t stupid, bro.” I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “And for the last time, I’m not talking about the bar right now. Let me get through this shit with Dad first.”
“Fair enough.”
We didn’t talk much the rest of the way to Seattle—I was stewing about Dad, mostly. Well, that and Kitty. It was dawning on me now just how shitty I’d left things.
Fuck, I’d messed up.
Dad, though—he fucked with my head. I just knew he’d relapsed. I’d really hoped the changes we’d made would push him into a better place…and for a while, it seemed like it had. He had called us a few times over the last few months, given us updates on his travels, and he’d always seemed great. We’d ask him if he’d been drinking, and he’d just say no, he was done with that shit. Not defensive, not shutting it down, just matter of fact. I’d hoped he was getting better. Not fixed, I knew that wasn’t a thing, would never be a thing. But maybe he wouldn’t need us to babysit him just to keep him alive.
An accident? That smacked of a relapse. Made me sick to my stomach, honestly. How bad would it be? Would he be paralyzed? In ICU for months? Was he in trouble with the law?
No way to know until I got there, but I just had a gut feeling it wasn’t some random accident.
Which, somehow, led me to thinking about Kitty. I kept seeing her at the stern of the yacht, calling after me, looking so hurt. Like I’d stabbed her in the heart. Which, I suppose, I kind of had. We’d just had this amazing evening and a heart-to-heart talk about wanting it to be a thing with us, and then I’d bolted and left her in the lurch.
What a puss-out.
We had talked about starting a relationship. Which was fucking scary as hell for me.
A relationship? Me? Crazy talk.
But it wasn’t.
It was, but it wasn’t. I mean, it was totally nuts, because I barely knew the girl, had only met her a few weeks ago. But it wasn’t crazy, because some drive, some instinct deep inside told me this made sense. I wanted this. I wanted this girl.
So why the hell had I been such a dick?
Letting her into my actual life when it really counted, letting her support me during a hard, shitty, scary situation? That was different than admitting I liked her and was falling for her and wanted a relationship with her.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice that we’d landed in Seattle. Brock elbowed me. “You better go, man.”
I started, glancing around. “Shit, we’re here.”
“Yeah. I told your brothers our ETA and they have a cab waiting up at the curb.” He flicked a few switches, shutting down the engines. “I have some business here, so I’ll be around. You’ve got my number?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I don’t have anyone’s number.”
“Gimme your phone, I’ll program my number into it.”
I powered my phone on, unlocked it, and gave it to him and as he was typing, it started blowing up, notification after notification bleeping and dinging. When he finished, Brock handed it back to me, laughing.
“I couldn’t help noticing the amount of notifications you have.”
“Yeah, well I had it turned off.”
“Got a message from Kitty.” He eyed me. “Call her, man.”
“Yeah, I will. Thanks again.”
He hesitated. “Hope your dad is okay.”
“You wanna come?”
He shrugged. “I…nah. Not right now. You need to figure your shit out with him. If you need help, I’m here. We’re all here.”
“He’s your uncle, Brock.”
He tapped the yoke with his fists, not looking at me. “It’d be weird. I’ve never met him, and he’s my dad’s twin. That’d be…hard.”
“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that.” I held out my fist, and he bumped it with his. “I’ll get hold of you.”
I left the plane and jogged up to the curb, where a cab was waiting to take me to the hospital. My cell phone was burning a hole in my pocket—more specifically, the message from Kitty, but I ignored it. I couldn’t think about her right now. I just couldn’t. The closer to the hospital I got, the more my nerves started to jangle.
I entered the hospital, signed in, got directions to the room. Jogged up, heart pounding. My shoes squeaked on the floor tiles, and the only other sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead; the antiseptic smell assaulted my nostrils, and I forced myself to shake my fisted hands loose. I found my dad’s room—heard Rem and Ram, and Dad’s deep voice rasping angrily.
I hesitated outside the door, knowing I needed to go in, but not wanting to. I didn’t want to deal with Dad. I didn’t want to know what had happened.
I wanted to be back on the boat with Kitty.
I sucked in a breath, clenched my hands into fists and shook them out, and then entered the room. Remington was on the window side of the bed, Ramsey on the door side, and they and Dad all looked at me as I entered.
“Look who finally shows up,” Dad rasped. “And all dressed up, too. You shouldn’t have bothered, son.”
He was beat up, bad. Broken left arm, the cast up to his shoulder and down to his fingertips, a broken right
leg, bandage on his head, a black eye.
I didn’t say anything as I stalked in, seeing my dad in a hospital yet again—the last time, after his heart attack, I’d sworn I’d never set foot in another fucking hospital. Yet, there I was.
I leaned against the wall near the foot of the bed, arms crossed over my chest. “What happened, Dad?”
He plucked at the blanket next to his thigh. “Right into it, huh?”
“Yeah, right into it. I got called away from something important, and didn’t know whether you were alive or dead, or what. So yeah, I’m gonna skip the goddamn pleasantries.”
“Well, obviously I’m not dead. And if you were coming to a hospital, obviously I wasn’t dead.”
“No shit. Point is, I had no information about what happened or how bad off you were.”
“Something important, huh?” Ram said, grinning at me. “Meaning Kitty. Your new girlfriend.”
“What happened, Dad?” I asked, ignoring Ram.
“Car accident. Wrecked the trailer.” He gestured at his arm and leg. “And myself, obviously.”
“I notice you’re not denying what I said,” Ramsey pressed.
“I’ll throw you through the fuckin’ window if you don’t shut the fuck up, Ramsey,” I snarled. Turning back to Dad, then. “You were drinking.”
He didn’t answer, didn’t look at me. For a long, long time, he remained silent. “Yes. I was drinking.”
“So, you are dating her?” Ramsey said, smirking.
I stomped over to him, fisted his shirt and lifted him up, my face in his. “Shut—the fuck—up.”
He raised his eyebrows, unafraid. “Whoa, touching buttons, huh?” He knocked my hands away, shoving me hard. “Shit is serious, then.”
I was suddenly sapped of all energy. I sank down to sit on the edge of Dad’s bed. “What happened, Dad?” I rubbed my face with both hands and then met his bloodshot eyes.
He rested his head backward on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. “I ain’t been this far north since I left Alaska forty-some years ago.” He rolled his head side to side. “It fucked me up.”
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