FOLLOW THE HONEY (Sweet & Dirty BBW Romance Book 4)

by Cathryn Cade

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  She was going to come soon, Pete could tell by the way his milaya’s breath was hitching with excitement, and the way her pussy was starting to squeeze his cock.

  And God knew he was ready, had been ready since the moment she mounted him, a little shyly.

  Hell, he’d been ready since they finished breakfast. It had taken him a bit to coax her back up here, but now … now she was riding him like his favorite kind of cowgirl, astride him in his big bed, naked except for all her curls spilling around her face and shoulders in wanton disarray. No wonder, after he’d had his hands in it while she took him in her pretty, peachy mouth a few moments ago.

  He’d intended to come that way, but then she started squirming on him, and fuck, he had to be inside her, had to feel her pussy squeeze him just like it was beginning to now. God, the way her full, round tits bounced as she moved, rising and falling, her hands braced on his chest, her eyes closed, her teeth sunk in her lower lip.

  With a deep growl of sheer lust, he grasped her hips, sinking his fingers into her soft, sleek curves and hanging on as he surged up into her, driving as deep as he could go in that molten, slick heat.

  She whimpered, and he let go of her hip to get his thumb in her soaked curls, and found her clit. There it was, that swollen, slick little trigger. He rubbed it once, twice, three times and she went off like a firework, letting out a high, breathy moan as she clenched around him, over and over.

  There it was, fuck yeah. He tipped his head back and let his orgasm rip through him, clear from the soles of his feet.

  Afterward, he collapsed, panting. When she made to move, he pulled her down on top of him, and wrapped an arm over her back. She was strong, yet delicate, lithe and round at the same time. Made as a sexy armful for a man like him.

  He didn’t mind fucking a real slender woman, but there wasn’t much to grab onto. Lesa was one cuddly armful, with her breasts pillowed on his chest. Also, her hipbones didn’t bang on his when she lay on him like this, another bonus.

  He stroked her back idly, enjoying the silky texture of her skin, her warm weight blanketing him, and the way her curls tickled his chin and chest. He could just stay here with her over him and around him until the snow melted.

  He woke when cold air replaced the warm weight of woman, and his sweat-damp skin broke out in goosebumps. He opened his eyes to her on her hands and knees over him, her face shadowed by her tousled hair.

  “Not now, baby,” he muttered. “Later, 'kay?”

  She let out a huff of disgust and scrambled off him, making the bed bounce. “Conceited ass. I was trying to get off of you, not on you.”

  “No, really, just give me ten minutes,” he protested, admiring her bare ass as she crawled away.

  She made that empty beer tap noise, and he chuckled, then stretched mightily before levering himself off the bed. Lesa was in the bathroom, the smell of his body wash drifting out on warm, damp air. He smiled to himself—the stuff smelled even better on her.

  Outside, the day was still clear, the sun low in the southwest, slanting over the drifts and hummocks of snow blocking his drive. He could just see the tailgate of his truck over a drift.

  His phone read three pm, and he had four missed messages.

  One was a voicemail from his neighbor. ‘Listen Pete, sorry but I’m not gonna get in on your road till tomorrow late. Got to plow out around my haystacks so the damn cows don’t just walk right up on the hay and eat it all. Stay warm.’

  The second voicemail was from Ivan. ‘Hey, brat. Sara wanted me to call and check on you and Lesa, make sure you got power and heat out there. Call me if you need anything. This is a wide-spread storm.’

  Rocker had sent a text. ‘Bro. Snowed in with yr brunette? Make the most of it, man. Later.’

  The other call was from an unknown number, so he ignored it.

  His phone in his pocket, he pulled on his tee and flannel shirt, shoved his feet into sheepskin slippers and went downstairs to let Dima out, and find something to eat, because breakfast had been great, but he was hungry again.

  He poured himself an amber from his kegerator. The brew was a little flat, but still tasted good. He sipped it while he grabbed some taquitos from the freezer and tossed them on an oven tray.

  Lesa came downstairs with an armload of laundry. “Mind if I use your washer and dryer?” she asked.

  “Depends,” he drawled. “On whether I can talk you into doing my shit too.”

  She shook her head, but she was smiling at him. “Should’ve seen that one coming. Fine, I can do that.”

  He showed her the laundry room, which was on the other side of the mudroom, and unfortunately had a big pile of his clothing on the floor in front of the washer.

  “Euww,” she complained. “It smells like a bar room floor in here. You need some air freshener, and some laundry baskets.”

  “Well, I come home with beer spilled on me four nights out of five, so yeah, it’s a little ripe,” he agreed. “Laundry baskets are in the cupboard there. I just never use ‘em.”

  “You do need a house-keeper,” she grumbled, trying to kick aside his clothing so she could get to the washer.

  “Used to have one—Marta. Then she took over the books at the Hangar, and I didn’t want her here and there both,” he said sourly. And a damn good thing he’d changed his security codes out here every week, or she probably would’ve had her damn brothers in here pilfering shit, too.

  Lesa gave him a challenging stare over her shoulder. “Sure you want me here and there? You can do your own laundry if it makes you feel safer, boss man.”

  He held up his hands, palms out and backed out of the small room. “No, you’re fine. Just don’t toss it out the window again, da? I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  He left her grumbling while she tossed things into the washer, and went back to the kitchen, his steps light. He liked having her here, taking care of his stuff … and of his sexual cravings too. And if that made him the biker cave man she liked to call him, so be it. He called it being smart like a Russian wolf.

  They ate taquitos, guacamole, fresh veggies and ranch dip and drank beer at the big oak table, while Dima devoured a bowl of dog chow in her corner of the kitchen and then prowled politely past them, letting them know she was available if anything needed to be cleaned up off the floor.

  When Lesa looked at the dog, Pete pointed a finger at her. “Do not feed her, or we’ll never eat another meal here in peace.”

  She looked guilty. “I know. She’s just so cute when she gives that look.” She cocked her head to one side and widened her eyes, pursing her lips in a pout.

  Pete chuckled, and held out his bite of taquito to her. “Yeah, you work that look pretty well yourself.”

  She leaned over and made a sexy ‘o’ with her lips around the small taco, then licked her lips when he put it in her mouth. Her eyes closed as she chewed and swallowed. “Mm-mm, so good.”

  He groaned. “You want me to fuck you here on this table, is that it?”

  She swallowed, and sat up straight. “Um, no?” But she didn’t sound altogether sure, and he slotted that one in for the near future. He should give her a little time to recover from their last round.

  “So tell me what I should do with the website,” he offered, leaning back in his chair.

  Her eyes lit up. “Right. So what about a carousel for the site’s home page?”

  “What the hell’s a carousel?” Only one he knew of was the ride at the riverfront park in downtown Spokane.

  “It’s a sliding group of photos on a website. You get someone to take some fabulous pictures of the bar, some close-ups of beer, style a burger and fries so they look just perfect, things like that—then load it into an app. Each picture is a clickable link.”

  She went on, waving her hands, sometimes leaning in as she outlined several ideas to update the website, her pretty face alight. He sat back, taking in what she said, and basking in her enthusiasm for his pub.


  When she was finished, he nodded. “Sounds good. We’ll do it. Of course, if you stick around, you’ll get to see it all happen.”

  Her look turned uncertain. She eyed him over her beer, then shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see. Now, you wanna play outside in the snow, or watch a movie?”

  She looked out the window beside them at the cold wind swirling snow off the drifts, and shivered. “Duh, movie.”

  “Good choice. Help me clean up, and I’ll let you choose the first one.”

  She gave him a look. “How about you clean up, while I do another load of your laundry?”

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  When Lesa walked into Pete’s living room and saw him in the big recliner, the only piece of furniture in the room besides the entertainment center, she put her hands on her hips. “And where am I supposed to sit?”

  He patted the space beside him. “With me. Plenty of room for two.”

  She eyed the narrow space dubiously. “Maybe if one is a child.”

  “Oh, c’mon. It’s called snuggling. Bitches love that, right?”

  Then he snickered at the deadly glare she aimed his way. “Fine, choose a movie, and I’ll scoot over. That make you happy?”

  “Yes, zhopa, that will work for me,” she said primly, and walked over to his stack of DVDs.

  He roared with laughter behind her. “That’s it, moye, give as good as you get.”

  Sounded like good advice on how to handle him, straight from his own mouth. She was smiling to herself as she leafed through the stack. Then she frowned. “You have nothing but action movies and crass comedies.”

  “Uh, yeah. I’m a guy, aren’t I?”

  She held up a cartoon movie. “I guess we could watch Trucks.”

  He growled. “You put that one in and I will spank your ass. My nephews want to watch it every fuckin’ time they come out here.”

  She selected the latest Jason Bourne, which she hadn’t seen yet, put it in and walked back to him, handing him the remote. “I saw the twins at the store once, with Sara. I didn’t know who they were then, but they’re so cute.”

  He opened his arm and she slid into the big chair beside him, her insides squeezing with pleasure. Snuggling, yay.

  “Yeah, you think so,” he grumbled. “But after they’ve puked on you, ruined your favorite Sturgis tee spilling red kiddy drinks on it, and broken two windows and your favorite beer mug, you get over that shit."

  She tipped her head back on his shoulder to find him grinning. “Bet they love hanging with their uncle.”

  “We have fun. I take ‘em to the stock car races and shit. Mostly they like to race around and get into everything, but they’re good kids.” He clicked the remote, and his huge TV lit up.

  “Where do they live?”

  “Few miles from here. Stick owns a big chunk of land, includes the club house and what’s left of a farm. He and Sara and the boys live in the remodeled farm house.”

  Lesa nodded. “The club house? You mean the Flyers’ head-quarters?”

  “Yeah. Used to be a flooring showroom and warehouse. We’ve converted it, so we have work and storage areas, some bedrooms for the brothers, meeting room, and a big area to hang out, bring the families in and party together.”

  That sounded nice. “What kind of work do you do there?”

  He clicked the remote, his gaze on the screen. “That’s club business, baby. Now, let’s watch the movie.”

  Lesa frowned, twirling a strand of hair around her fingers as she watched the movie begin. Club business sounded to her like a euphemism for shady business.

  “One more question. Is that club business going to get you arrested, and cause you to lose the Hangar?”

  She felt him sigh. He paused the movie, freezing the character in mid-move.

  “No, I’m not gonna get arrested, and neither is anyone else. Don’t worry, the feds aren’t gonna show up and raid the Hangar. Now can we watch the fuckin’ movie?”

  Wrinkling her nose, she nodded.

  He gave her a squeeze, and clicked the remote. “Y’know, it’s a good thing you’re so hot, ‘cause you’re a pain in my ass.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “Same goes, biker man.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  They watched that movie, then Pete chose a comedy, which he chuckled at but Lesa predictably thought was crass, so she wriggled around so her breasts were pressed to his side and slipped her hand under his shirts, petting his four-pack and then his chest.

  He played with her hair as she did so, then, because he’d seen the movie twice, he pulled her up astride him and pulled her shirt up and her bra down. "'Cause turnabout’s fair play.”

  With his wet, silky tongue on her sensitive nipples, and his hands on her bottom under her tights, his cock hardening underneath her, she couldn’t have agreed more.

  But when he wanted to take her tights off, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m kind of sore. You’re, um, big.”

  He groaned, and she bit her lip. “I could, you know—suck you off.”

  “Not turning down an offer for that,” he told her. “But you gotta take your top off.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  He smirked. “’Cause, since the first time you walked into my pub, I've wanted to cum on your gorgeous tits.”

  She pulled her top over her head, and let him unfasten her bra, her nipples already peaking for him. “I don’t get why guys think that’s so hot.”

  He lifted her breasts in his hands, and leaned in to give each one a kiss, then nuzzled her cleavage. “’Cause it just is. Now get on your knees for me, milaya moye, and I’ll give you a big taco—'cause this ain't no taquito.”

  “Euww.” But she was snickering as she slid to her knees on the floor, and reached to unfasten his jeans.

  “I’ll get mine,” he told her. “You take off your tights. I wanna watch you play with yourself while you suck me off.”

  Part of her wanted to bury her face on his leg and hide. But instead, she rose, and slowly pushed her tights and panties down, then stepped out of them. She dropped to her knees again—on her tights, because the wood floor was not warm—and he spread his legs so she could move between them, his cock bobbing before her face in a demand for attention.

  Pete speared his fingers into her hair and tugged her forward, reaching to cup one of her breasts with his other hand. “Now touch yourself, baby.”

  She leaned over him, and rubbed her face along his velvety, hot length, inhaling his musky scent, pure male mixed with the faint scent of body wash. Then she took the fat crown in her mouth and licked away the drop of arousal, before opening wider to take him deeper in her mouth.

  She steadied herself with one hand on his knee, and reached down with her other hand to touch her clit.

  “Yeah,” he groaned. “Just like that. Fuck, so hot, my prissy milaya, being a filthy girl for me.”

  His hand tightened in her hair as he thrust shallowly in and out of her mouth, more salty taste leaking into her mouth. Lesa swallowed it, her pussy clenching under her own touch. God, this was so outside her realm of experience. She was naked, on her knees before a biker, servicing him like a club floozy, while she touched herself so he could watch. And knowing he was watching made it exciting in a way it had never been.

  Pete groaned again, and pulled his cock from her mouth. Grabbing it in his hand, he pulled her head back by her hair, and wet heat splattered across her chest and breasts. “Fuck, yeah,” he grunted, his face flushed and clenched with pleasure, his glittering gaze on her breasts.

  Slowly he relaxed, and his grip on her hair eased. He cupped the side of her face, and stroked his thumb into her mouth. “Fuck, that’s gorgeous,” he muttered. “Now c’mon. Get yourself off for me, baby.”

  If anyone had asked her if she would ever, ever consider doing any of this, even a few days ago, Lesa would have said no. But now … now, in this moment, a visceral longing to
obey him seized her, low in her middle until her pussy clenched in low need, and she stroked herself, her fingers swift and trembling, until pleasure streaked inward from her own touch and suffused her pussy, and then her body.

  “Beautiful,” he approved, leaning to give her a deep, wet kiss. “Now come on up here. Let’s clean you up, and I’ll get you off again.”

  And he did, using his fingers inside her, his thumb on her clit, and his mouth on her breasts until she came again, much harder, whimpering his name against his mouth.

  “That’s my filthy girl,” he approved, giving her ass an approving squeeze as she collapsed on him, her face pressed on his chest. “We’ll make a biker babe outta you yet.”

  “Biker cave man,” she mumbled. She would’ve pinched him, but she felt too gleeful, after two orgasms. Maybe next time he annoyed her.

  He reached over the side of the recliner and a moment later her sweater settled over her bare back like a small blanket, his arms enfolding her over it. She smiled against his skin, savoring his heat, his scent, even the rhythm of his heart beating under her ear.

  She had never had this much fun with a guy, and never this good of sex. He amazed her—so hot and sexy, but solid and protective.

  Of course, he also pissed her off worse than anyone she’d ever known. And he could be so arrogant, manipulating people to his plans. But he’d offered to tell the truth to the others, and to pay her well. And he listened to her ideas about the Hangar, and approved.

  So maybe he’d want more.

  Maybe after all his secret plot was over, they could even be one of those couples who worked together and had a relationship. Maybe.

  “Hey,” he said, his deep voice vibrating under her ear and interrupting her little fantasy. “I gave you two orgasms, you gave me one. So I figure, you still owe me. How ‘bout you make me some of those cookies? I’ll have some chocolate cum for my second round.”

  She lifted her head and gave him a disbelieving look. “That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard … ever.”

  He smiled, and she swore her heart sighed.

  “All right. Except you probably don’t have the ingredients.”