Root (Band Nerd Book 2)

by Danica Avet

  Drawing circles on his back, I work on my courage. I really, really want more of him. “You did promise you’d… You know, lick me dry,” I finish in a whisper, my face on fire from saying it out loud.

  His groan and the renewed hardening of his penis against my leg tells me he likes the idea. “I love it when you try to talk dirty,” he mutters as he shifts his weight off of me. “Get out of those clothes, babe. We’re nowhere near finished for the night. That just took the edge off.”

  My heart leaps at his words and yes, there’s a lot of fluttering going on down below. We slide off opposite sides of the bed, shucking our clothes as though we’re racing, diving back onto the mattress to meet in the middle. It doesn’t seem possible, but I’m hungrier for him now than I was before, the brush of his chest hair on my well-loved nipples making me moan, a sound he swallows with his kiss.

  He’s thick and hard against my belly, the skin so soft and hot, I feel as though he’s branding me. Well, he’s already branded me. I’m his. Completely. No question about it. But the press of his penis to the swell of my stomach is reaffirmation of his claim. Hands roam, memorizing each other, stoking the fire higher and higher until we’re both panting for air.

  His fingers find my center just as I wrap mine around his length. We both groan as he immediately thrusts two inside me, his thumb pressing on my swollen clit.

  “Fuck, Lena.” He sounds almost pained, but it becomes a moan when I instinctively rock myself on him, gasping at the friction. “Need to taste you before I lose control,” he says in a hoarse voice.

  I don’t want to let go of him, but he doesn’t give me much choice when he pulls my hand away from his penis and kisses me with so much passion I temporarily forget about jacking him off. But it wasn’t just the kiss that made me compliant. Oh no, he thrust his fingers deeper inside, curling them just a bit and finding that spot that makes my legs weak. I sort of wilt to the mattress, bucking into his hand for more of that sensation, not even caring that I probably look completely wanton with my legs spread wide, feet flat on the mattress, and his fingers thrusting into me.

  I don’t care. I can’t care about anything but what he does for me, to me, with me.

  “Anders,” I call out, practically humping his fingers.

  Then they’re gone. The bed dips and rolls as he slides down my body, wedging his broad shoulders between my legs, spreading them so wide, they ache. But I’m not going to complain. No way. The minute he has me where he wants me, his mouth is there. As in there. And I go wild.

  I’m not sure exactly at what point he became an expert in cunnilingus. Shut up, I know I probably sound like a Victorian heroine, but I just can’t call it anything else. Anyway, I’m not sure if he’s been watching a lot of porn, Google searched how to go down on a girl, or if he hired a coach. However he learned this skill, I’ll be forever thankful for it because his tongue does things I didn’t even know were possible.

  Spearing my fingers through his hair, I hold on for dear life as his tongue flicks over my sensitive clit, the soft rasp almost more than I can bear. In fact, I try to close my thighs, but Anders’ hands hook around them, holding them open for him to torment me in the most delicious ways. Over and over, he lashes that tiny bundle of nerves, dipping down occasionally to thrust his tongue into my entrance, making hungry growling sounds as though he’s feasting on me.

  And he must be starving since he doesn’t stop. Not the first time I orgasm, or even the second. It isn’t until I’m crying from the overload of pleasure, my entire body shuddering and shivering, that he finally lifts his head, eyes glittering in the dim light, the sheen of my arousal visible on his lips and chin. To be honest, I’m shocked I even see that much because I’m pretty sure I’m in Heaven. Or as close as I can be while being alive. Or maybe I died? Who cares?

  Safely ensconced in la-la-land, I’m barely cognizant of him moving back up my body. There’s the soft thud of something closing near my head, then the crinkle of a condom wrapper being opened. Seconds later, the warmth of Anders’ body covers me completely, rousing me from my orgasm-induced daze.

  Blinking open my eyes, I see his shadowed face above me. His arms are braced on either side of my shoulders, his hips between my splayed legs, and his heavy length rests on my thigh.

  “Hi,” I whisper stupidly, caressing the hollow of his cheek.

  I feel his smile against my fingers, hear it in his voice. “Hey, baby. Are you with me now?”

  “Mm-hm.” I stretch my arms above my head, hands flat against the headboard. Stretching out my muscles feels fantastic, but not as much as the feel of Anders’ heavy weight pinning me to the mattress.

  “Good,” he says, that smile still evident in his voice.

  It isn’t as though I was unaware of his need. I mean hello, he’s not packing lightly. Anders is loaded for bear, so it isn’t like I could miss it. Still, when he reaches between our bodies to guide the head of his penis to my thoroughly saturated channel, I suck in a sharp breath that becomes a strangled whimper when he presses inside.

  My arms automatically go around his shoulders. My legs lift of their own accord to circle his hips, anchoring and opening myself to him. The burn is nothing new. Loaded for bear, remember? But I love it. Adore the way my body stretches to accommodate him. The way he takes his time to make sure I’ve adjusted to his size despite the trembling in his muscles, the effort it takes to hold back his need to climax. It’s love. It’s care. It’s Anders and it’s beautiful. He’s beautiful.

  The instant he’s buried to the hilt, his hips pressed tightly to mine, my channel surrounding his length even as his body surrounds mine, his forehead drops to mine. Our breath mingles in the small space between us. The air around us smells like sex, like me and him mingled together.

  “Anders.”

  His lips brush mine. Once. Twice. “My beautiful girl.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but never get the chance, Anders stealing the air from my lungs by flexing his hips, the long, thick length of his erection rubbing all sorts of delightfully sensitive areas. No, what comes out is more like a prolonged, “ooh” of pleasure that’s abruptly cut off when he slams home again.

  Anders takes me slowly, thoroughly, making sure I feel every inch of him gliding along my channel. The room is completely silent except for our breathing, the solid slap of our bodies meeting, and the whisper of skin against the sheets. It’s pure torture. Delicious, mind-blown torture that I never want to end even while at the same time I want him to move faster, to make the wave of pleasure washing through me crest.

  “Lena.” The rasp of my name on his lips has me writhing against him, my legs working to pull him deeper into me. On the inward stroke, he grinds his hips, making my eyes flutter with pleasure and a gasp of pure need escape me. “Lena.” He swells inside me, his thrusts harder, faster.

  My name falls from his lips with every pump of his hips, tightening the strings holding me in place. His hands slide beneath my shoulders, curling over the tops to keep me from moving as he slams into me, his patience at an end. Harder. Faster. Using every inch of his body, every muscle he’s honed to a fine edge, to bring me so much pleasure I scream with it when the string finally snaps.

  “Anders!” His name is a plea.

  My insides clench around him hard and fast, over and over again, my legs wrapped around his flexing hips as he bucks into me. He swells even more, then I feel it. His big body goes rigid against me as the hard pulses of his climax jet into the condom, his love for me a shouted bark of sound that only solidifies my own pleasure.

  We remain locked together, trembling, skin slick with sweat, chests heaving for air as he slowly softens inside me, as his body sinks into mine, our mouths meeting in a kiss that’s full of promise, love, and commitment. This man is my everything and always will be.

  Anders

  Friday

  I let myself into the cottage after dropping Lena at work. I don’t like having her out of my sight, but there’s no
way I can be with her twenty-four seven. Well, I could, but I’m trying not to be that boyfriend.

  But the waiting… I shake my head, trying to ignore the churning in my gut. I don’t trust Terrible, but he’s our only hope of getting out of this mess without paying the ultimate price. It doesn’t mean I have to like it though. The same way I don’t have to like her going to work tonight.

  I’d tried to get her to call in sick, but she’s so stubborn sometimes, it makes me want to tear my hair out. She knows I have a big exam on Monday. I’m not worried about Math 483, it’s been one of my best classes this semester, but my girl wants me to study tonight since we have the game tomorrow night. Yeah, the game. The one Nathan wants me to throw. I’m not going to be good for jack shit tomorrow, so the compromise was I’d study at home and she’d call her friends to hang out at the restaurant bar until she got off of work.

  Not sure Nessie and Jolene would be able to do anything if something went wrong, but I have faith in Becca’s craziness. I still don’t like it, but I can live with it, so I agreed to come home until it’s time to pick her up again.

  Besides, studying calms my nerves and I can already see the formulas in my head, my fingers almost itching with the urge to crack open my text and dive into third order of linear differential equations.

  Except, as I start digging through my backpack for my book, I realize I don’t hear the television blaring whatever video game Savage normally plays and the house is dark. His truck’s parked out front, so I know he came back to the cottage. Figuring he must’ve gone up to his parents’ house, and walked for some reason, I shrug and flip on the light.

  “Fuck.”

  “Hey, lillebror,” Rien says casually, kicked back in a dining room chair, balanced on the back legs as he sips a beer. “How’s it goin’?”

  But Rien isn’t what holds my attention. It’s Savage, who’s tied to another chair, a gag in his mouth, and his furious blue eyes narrowed on my brother.

  “What the fuck, Rien?” I demand as I drop my backpack, forgetting all about my book and plans to study.

  “He wasn’t happy about me stopping in for a visit.”

  Crossing the room, I pull the gag out of Savage’s mouth. “You broke into my house, motherfucker,” my friend growls at my brother, ignoring me as I start untying him. “You know this asshole?” he demands.

  I sigh heavily. “Yeah, this is my brother Rien. Rien, this is Beau ‘Savage’ Sauvage, my friend, roommate, and the grandson of a motherfucking federal judge.”

  Rien, naturally, doesn’t look impressed.

  “This is your brother? He looks like a reject from Sons of Anarchy while all you’re missing is a horn of mead and a fucking longship. Fucking weird, man.” Savage mutters, but he doesn’t sound as pissed as he did before. Although he does tell my brother, “When I get out of this, I’m gonna kick your ass back to wherever the fuck you’re from.”

  Rien snorts. “Love to see you try, boy.”

  “Shut up,” I order, my fingers working on the knots. I do not want to know how my brother knows so much about tying people up, but he did a damn good job. I pause on the final loop. “Please don’t fight. I’d hate to kick both your asses.”

  Savage scoffs as the rope falls to the floor. Instead of launching himself at my brother, who’s still smirking like a son of a bitch, Savage leans back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, to study Rien.

  “So this is the big bruh, huh?” he asks casually, as though he hadn’t just threatened to kick Rien’s ass. “You’re lucky you’re related to my man here.”

  My brother arches an eyebrow, his gaze skeptical. “And why’s that, rich boy?”

  “’Cause if you weren’t, I’d have to introduce you to Pain and Suffering,” he says, lifting his left and right fist, giving each a kiss.

  I can’t help it. I snort. Savage is the least aggressive guy I know, unless he’s on the football field, but even then he doesn’t strike out at opposing players, doesn’t respond to their taunts and insults. He just does his thing, playing hard and fast. As far as I know, the guy doesn’t even know how to throw a proper punch. Which makes his statement even funnier.

  Rien rolls his eyes and takes a sip of beer. “Yeah, yeah, rich boy,” he drawls with a quirk of his lips before looking at me. “Got your…girl off to work all right?”

  I frown at him. “Thought we talked about this shit,” I growl, my own hands curling into fists. If he’s going to start on Lena again…

  He shrugs.

  Now Savage scowls. “Talked about what shit?” He looks between us, pausing on me. “This bastard has a problem with Lena?” He doesn’t wait for my response, turning back to Rien. “You fuck with Lena-Bena and we’re really gonna have a fucking problem. The kind that’ll hurt.”

  Rien kicks back in his chair with a shrug that’s neither affirmation or denial.

  Forcing myself to cool down, I approach the table and throw myself into one of the chairs, which creaks under my weight. “What are you doin’ here anyway? I thought you were gonna be visiting…” I stop and glance at Savage who’s watching us with unabashed curiosity. Shit. “Uh.”

  Rien draws my attention back to him by standing. “I’m here because you were supposed to leave that shit to me,” he says flatly. “You fucked up, kid.”

  I forget all about Savage. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  He folds his arms over his chest, his gaze glittering with anger. “Let me see your hands.”

  Frustrated with him for a number of reasons, I hold them out for him to see. “Happy?”

  He studies my knuckles for several long moments, his frown deepening. “Fuck. Someone else got to Nathan. I thought for sure it was you goin’ off half-cocked,” he mutters.

  I drop my hands. “What?”

  “Yeah, went to pay him a friendly visit last night—had to use that Lobotomy kid to find him—”

  “Limbo,” I correct automatically.

  “Limbo, Lobotomy, what-the-fuck-ever. Had to get that guy to track him for me, but by the time I found him, someone had already beat him to shit. I woke him up and gave him a friendly suggestion about those videos, but I doubt he even heard me.” His jaw bunches, giving proof to just how much he’d wanted to be the one to put the hurt on him. “He couldn’t even tell me who did it, so I thought it was you.”

  I shake my head. “No, I was here with Lena all night.”

  Rien grunts. “Well, I don’t think he’s in any shape to do shit and when I spoke with the hacker kid, he was almost finished doing whatever the fuck it is he does, so I think you’re free and clear.”

  “He didn’t text me,” I say, my brain trying to wrap around what my brother’s telling me.

  Someone had already handled Nathan? It doesn’t make sense, unless they beat his ass for something completely different. Which I suppose is possible. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who makes friends with his sparkling personality. He’s a user, and the list of people he’s burned is probably a mile long. I should be relieved that he’s incapacitated. I should be glad someone beat the shit out of him, but it makes me uneasy.

  And while Rien claims Terrible is almost finished with the job we gave him, he hasn’t contacted me, which means it’s not over. As far as I’m concerned, it won’t be over until after the game tomorrow night and Nathan’s neutralized completely. Not dead. But powerless.

  Rien shrugs and saunters to the kitchen, throwing over his shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll be hearing from him soon. The kid might have a stupid name, but he came highly recommended by the Dogs.”

  “Y’all talkin’ about Terrible?”

  The question, asked by not Rien, but Savage, reminds me that we aren’t alone. I glance over at my friend to see he’s followed us to the kitchen, his expression curious, yet solemn. I grimace. I haven’t told him much of anything other than Lena needed to move out of her apartment immediately. It isn’t that I don’t trust him; I wouldn’t have brought my girl here if I didn�
�t. I just don’t know how he’d handle the information that I’m not taking care of the situation through legal channels. I mean, the guy’s golden. Despite the partying and drinking, he’s never been in trouble, been arrested, or had any dealings with the police as far as I know. I hadn’t lied to Rien. Savage’s grandfather’s a federal judge, his dad’s a doctor, but several of his uncles are lawyers who’re hoping to become judges.

  But it wasn’t right to keep him in the dark. Not when he opened his home to me and my girl without question. If Rien hadn’t decided to break in and tie Savage up, I probably wouldn’t have told my friend much more than the bare bones of the situation. Now that option isn’t available. Not when someone else put the hurting on Nathan and Rien brought this to Savage’s dining room.

  “Throw me a couple of those,” I tell my brother as he goes for another beer. His eyebrows go up, but he does as I ask and tosses me one after the other. I catch both, passing one to Savage who takes it silently. “Let’s go out back. I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

  The only sound is the crackle of the wood burning in the fire pit. It took a good forty-five minutes to explain everything to Savage, who hadn’t interrupted me once. To be honest, telling him has taken a load off my chest. I hadn’t realized how much it bothered me not to let him or Tight know about what’s been going on. Tight’ll find out soon enough, because we’re supposed to hang out before tomorrow’s game, but living with Savage and not telling him felt very wrong. And I’m almost glad my hand was forced.

  “So we don’t know who put the beating on this guy?”

  “No,” Rien grunts from his spot across the room. “Found him at some garage apartment last night and he was beat to shit.”

  Must’ve been Lena’s old apartment.

  Savage nods and sits back, his beer resting on his knee. “So what do we do now?”

  “We don’t do anything,” Rien says harshly. He sits forward. “You two are going to keep your football-playin’ asses out of this. I already have people lookin’ into this. If there’s anyone else we need to worry about, I’ll know—”