Bounty

by Kristen Ashley

  He shifted his hand from between her legs so he could wrap his arm around her belly and drove her down. Grinding up, he felt the sweet release, his cum jetting inside her, his world narrowing to only that. His dick buried deep in Jussy, her slick, snug, sweet, hot cunt clutching him from root to tip, milking him dry as he felt her body judder, not with her orgasm, with the power of his body taking her along the ride with his.

  It took its time moving out of him and just as slowly his world expanded. He felt her softness tucked against him. He smelled her hair. Tasted the essence of her skin drifting into his mouth as he breathed hard against her neck. The sun shining against his closed eyelids. The sound of Jussy’s breaths starting to even. The feel of her soft sheets, firm mattress, both made warm by their bodies.

  Not satisfied with what he was getting, Deke went in direct, touching his tongue to her skin, tasting Jussy. His hand still at her jaw pushed her head back farther as he turned his, gliding his mouth up her neck to work just under her ear, knowing she liked what he was giving her as she relaxed in his hold.

  He trailed his other hand up her belly, over her tit, up her chest, around her neck and back into her hair. He gathered it there, up high, feeling the tangle of curls drag up his chest as it went, and he shoved her head forward, shifting his lips to work the nape of her neck.

  She shivered against him, a soft noise escaping her that he felt tighten in his balls, but she stayed still, taking what he was giving, getting off on it, her cunt contracting around his still-rooted cock.

  He filtered his fingers out of her hair and lifted his head slightly, tracking his lips to her other ear.

  He sunk his teeth lightly in her earlobe, tasting the metal of her earring, before he released her and whispered, “Love my gypsy.”

  The shiver that got was bigger, inside and out, forcing him to press his hips into her ass, deepening the connection they were losing as the hard went out of his cock.

  “Love you too, honey,” she whispered back, finding his hand, covering the back of it with hers, lacing her fingers through his.

  Deke moved minutely to kiss the skin where her shoulder met her neck, before he settled in behind her, face in her hair, holding her close, doing that until he naturally slid out of her wet, glazed in him, glazed in her, in them.

  And he still held her.

  It was Jussy who moved first, but only to turn in his arms, look into his face and do what she did a lot.

  She scrutinized it, her attention acute, but as usual, it didn’t last very long before whatever she found there settled her. She melted into him and lifted a hand to dig her fingers lightly into his beard where she left them.

  Post-fucking, holding her, their quiet, her peace, he didn’t want to leave that bed. It was the Saturday after Jussy’s house got done. The client Max had him working for didn’t want overtime. So they had the whole weekend.

  They also didn’t since she didn’t waste any time asking everyone over for a housewarming party, no gifts allowed, and she was making a vat of Steph’s chicken.

  Not to mention, he knew his girl. Sex helped shear off the edge of her morning mood. But it didn’t eradicate it.

  “You want coffee?” he asked.

  “Yeah, baby,” she answered.

  “You want pancakes?” he went on.

  Her eyebrows lifted. “You can make pancakes?”

  “Babe, you bought Bisquick, along with everything else the market had on offer. Add eggs, milk, stir, pour, cook, eat. Not hard.”

  She grinned. “Then yes, I want pancakes.”

  He grinned back, dipped in, brushed his mouth to hers and pulled away. “Then I’m on coffee and pancakes. You get cleaned up.”

  “Right, Deke.”

  He gave her a squeeze then dipped in again, this time the touch of their mouths lasted a lot longer and included a healthy taste of his gypsy.

  When he finished it, he rolled, careful to keep the covers over Jussy. He hauled his ass out of bed, twitching them higher on her, knowing she’d laze, not for hours but as long as she needed.

  He bent, grabbed his fleece sweatpants he’d taken off in order to fuck his woman and tugged them on. He then grabbed the band Jussy always pulled out when they fucked before sleep from the nightstand and used it to secure his hair.

  On the way to the door, he twisted to catch sight of her, the jumbled mess of dark curls all over the bed and pillow behind her, her eyes on him, her look lazy and cute.

  She hitched up one side of her mouth.

  He shot back the same, turned to face where he was going and walked out of the room.

  Moving into her living space, Deke looked to his right and saw what Jussy had created with her designer.

  She might have had the help of a designer, but what she made was straight-up Jussy.

  Two full couches flanking the fireplace parallel to the house, both covered in soft faded denim, four chairs in distressed brown leather with brass buttons marking their edges, two with their backs to the front door, two across with backs to the kitchen.

  In the corner by the front windows at an angle, another big couch, slouchy, in a dark brown, one red armchair to one side, a bright blue one to the other side, matching ottomans, but switched, blue in front of the red chair, red in front of the blue. Large square coffee table. More tables between chairs and couches. Standing lamps around so nothing got in the way of setting down a bottle of beer, a glass of bourbon or a finished plate of food.

  She had another seventy-inch TV fixed on a kickass mount that pulled out, angled up, down and sideways. That was Deke’s suggestion, giving her the opportunity to push the TV flush to the wall so it could be seen from the seating at the fireplace, or angled where it was closer to the corner space and watched from there, or again angled so it could be seen from the kitchen.

  The doors to her music room were open, that room painted black and he could see her guitar on the stand in there, the curvy couch covered in some hide that was dark-chocolate-colored and had a sheen. She also had curved chairs in there with cream backing, zebra print on the front. There was a big rug in a muted red design. Plus there were dark wood cases of different sizes holding a top-of-the-line stereo and speakers she’d set up as well as her CD collection, which her stepmom had mailed, something that was expansive. And last, a feminine, almost delicate desk with a leopard print chair where she’d put her laptop.

  He moved to the kitchen and looked into the opened doors of her dining room. One side of that room was curved and she’d gone with a massive, round table surrounded by twelve chairs. Some had arms, oval backs, and were covered in tiger print. Others had high backs, inwardly sloping at the top, covered in wine red velvet. The last, again with high backs, these curled back, the deep purple velvet upholstery buttoned.

  The chandeliers, light fixtures and other lighting she chose were made of branches or iron, large statement pieces that, along with all the rest, drew the eye so you didn’t know where to look, but it all was such the shit, you wanted to take everything in at once. Including the four dangling pendants over the island that ended in large, flawed, oblong globes that looked almost like drops, the glass blown so bubbles were trapped inside.

  The island was also flanked by six stools running the edge, low backs, seriously deep seats, comfortable and covered in a paisley that brought all the colors into play. Rich colors. Warm colors. Rock ‘n’ roll colors. Jussy’s colors. Red, blue, brown, purple, black.

  There were rugs on the floor (and finally one in her bedroom, even if it took him, Ty, Tate, Bubba and Chace to lift up her huge-ass bed while Jussy and Lauren rolled it out underneath). There were throws tossed around she told him were mohair. Sheepskins draped here and there. Soft, fluffy toss pillows in every shape imaginable all over the fucking place.

  Not to mention, each room upstairs was furnished all the way down to bed linens and towels in the bathrooms. Up there, though, there were wall hangings.

  Downstairs, Jussy had things of hers, her father’s an
d her grandfather’s that for the first, she was waiting on her mom or stepmom to send, the last, she was waiting for the nuisance shit that her half-brother was pulling to be over to get them so she could mount them where she wanted them when that happened.

  She’d told him what they were. Framed concert posters. Gold and platinum records. Original album cover art. One-of-a-kind photos of her dad, grandad, aunt and uncle onstage or candid on tour and at home, with family.

  This thought brought his eye to the only empty space left, the room she wanted her father’s collection in. The broken window had been replaced and Deke had adjusted the doorframe, this being the only thing left to finish since Max had had to custom order folding doors that worked with the space, Jussy’s vision of the place (which meant they were dead cool) and they wouldn’t be in for another two weeks.

  He’d also had the boys build a double platform in there, that platform running along the entire back of the space. And he’d ordered illuminated bookshelves fitted wall to wall, floor to ceiling on either side, putting in the ceiling lighting himself of small spots that would highlight the guitars when they were where they were supposed to be. All of this so she could display those guitars and her grandfather and father’s awards that she and Dana had divvied up that were in her father’s possession.

  Deke stopped at her brushed stainless steel fridge and gave the entire space a sweep.

  It was Jussy, end to end, top to bottom.

  It was huge.

  It screamed money.

  And outside his trailer, he’d never felt more relaxed in a space in his entire life.

  It didn’t feel like it was hers. Since his hands touched nearly every inch of it, each sweep of paint, every nail and floorboard—with the addition of the fact that not a stick of furniture, even a goddamned toss pillow, was chosen without his approval—it felt like it was theirs.

  His mother had never owned a home. Not even when his father was alive. They’d rented, saving meagerly to buy when they had the chance, this savings the only reason she was able to keep a roof over his head for the months it took her to grieve at the same time find a job.

  Now he felt like he was home.

  He hadn’t sunk a penny into Jussy’s place, but his energy and sweat put it together.

  It wasn’t even that.

  It was Jussy, almost from the first—before they got their shit together to be together—making him feel like this was his space, a part of him as it was a part of her.

  Deke felt this in a way he knew, when they got back from the road to settle in for winter, he’d go to his lake. He’d fish. He’d take his woman to the trailer to have her with him, fuck her there, let her put her stamp on it with shit they collected along the way, sticking her part of his history that was now starting to be their history on the ceiling, the walls.

  But this would be where they would be so Jussy could have her father close to her through his guitars and all his other shit and Deke could be in the place he gave her—not offering it up with money—piecing it together because that was his job.

  And that was the way he could give her what she needed.

  He shook himself out of his thoughts, as good as they were, because he needed to make his woman coffee.

  He had it brewing, had pulled out the Bisquick, eggs and milk and was reaching for a mixing bowl out of a drawer when he heard someone driving down her lane.

  He looked to the front door, knowing it could be anybody. Even though those anybodies were all invited to her place that night, that didn’t mean one (or several of them) wouldn’t be at her door for whatever reason they had need of Jussy.

  This had just become the way. Jussy was a part of Carnal now and when the folks of Carnal accepted you that happened.

  Deke left the shit on the island, moved around the marble and made his way to the door.

  He had it open and stood in it. The sun was bright in the sky. The snow that had stuck, stayed through the chill of Wednesday, then disappeared by afternoon Thursday after warm rushed back in meant his woman’s pumpkins were again out.

  There was a shiny black Escalade in the drive.

  Out of it stepped a woman, long legs, great ass, big head of auburn hair, a profile that was a mirror of Jussy’s.

  She turned to him full face with sunglasses on. He couldn’t see her eyes, but he still knew she was Joss.

  She slammed the door, and on high-heeled boots, her rounded hips incased in faded denim, a feminine-cut sheepskin jacket that looked torn off the likes of Carly Simon and transported straight from the 70’s on her shoulders, huge shades covering her eyes, shades locked to him, she moved across the gravel like she was gliding gracefully along ice.

  When he sensed movement, Deke’s attention shifted to the man rounding the hood of the SUV. Tall, seriously lean, his head a mass of long, tangled, spiked-out-at-the-top, dirty-blond hair. He was wearing a black leather jacket that was a lot of zippers and snaps with a dangling belt at the bottom, black jeans, motorcycle boots with rings at the sides, wraparound black shades covering his eyes.

  Roddy Rembrandt.

  Without notice, Jussy’s family was calling.

  Fuck.

  He didn’t move even as they made their way up the front walk and stopped in front of him.

  “Jesus, you’re a big boy,” Jussy’s mom muttered.

  And looking at her close, Deke was straight up stunned.

  Not a line on her face. The shades still on, he couldn’t see her eyes but from what he could see, he knew the woman was fifty-three, and she looked, tops, like she hadn’t even hit forty.

  “You’re Joss,” he stated.

  “Yup,” she declared. “And you’re Deke.”

  “Yup,” he replied, turned his attention beyond her to Rembrandt, who was standing close to his wife’s back, and he greeted, “Rembrandt.”

  “Dude,” the man greeted back.

  Deke moved out of the way, opening the door farther as he did, indication they should come in.

  No hesitation, they came right in.

  He shut the door behind them and turned, seeing they were already planted inside, facing his way.

  Jussy’s mom had her sunglasses pushed up in her hair and he saw gray eyes, not Jussy’s brown, and still no lines.

  These were aimed at his chest.

  And her mouth was curled up.

  “Jussy’s lazing,” he shared. “I’ll go rile her ass,” and get a fucking shirt. “Coffee’s on. Take off your coats, come in, get comfortable. Be back.”

  Rembrandt had kept his shades on, as apparently rockers did, even inside, but he didn’t hesitate to shrug his coat off. When he did, Deke saw a long sleeve tee that had seen better days, was faded from its original black to a dark gray, and had big, cracked white letters on the front that said, It’s Only Rock and Roll. But I like it.

  Joss kept smirking at him.

  Jesus.

  Deke moved and was halfway to the door to the back hall when Jussy came out of it, dressed in a new pair of ridiculous pajamas she’d unearthed from a box that came the day before from an online order.

  Bottoms long, gathered at the ankle, a peachy-cream with bright embroidery across the front of the hips and down one leg, waistband so loose, it didn’t sit at her waist but hung on the tops of her hips. Top, a tight-fitting, army green thermal with a dizzying pattern of stars on it that in no way matched the pants, but came with them.

  Deke had learned to look on the bright side with some of Jussy’s clothing. A lot of it rocked because it showed tits, legs, or if he got close, panties and/or bra. The rest of it, there was always something good about it, even if he had to dig to find the good.

  This was no exception. The top fit snug at her tits which were clearly not bound by a bra. The bottoms had slits all the way up the sides from gathered hem to waistband.

  In bed, and out of it, his hand could find itself in very good places with the slits in those pants. And starting about five minutes after she’d put them on l
ast night, they had.

  Almost as good, her nipples were showing through the thermal, she didn’t give a shit, he liked that and he liked the view.

  “Uh…what the hell?” she asked, her eyes aimed beyond Deke to her mother and stepdad.

  “Surprise,” Joss answered on a drawl.

  Jussy’s face screwed up.

  Deke stopped at her side and put a hand to her belly.

  She tipped her pissed-off expression to him.

  “As you can see, your family’s here. Gettin’ a shirt. Makin’ pancakes for four. And it’s all good,” he stated.

  She clearly didn’t agree.

  So he pressed his hand light into her stomach and repeated, “It’s all good, gypsy.”

  She drew in breath, doing it pulling a Jussy, which meant pulling her shit together.

  Seeing that, Deke let her go and kept moving.

  But he’d find she hadn’t pulled her shit totally together because he heard her mother asking, “My baby girl gonna come and give her momma a hug?”

  “Yes, she is, because she loves you. But first, she’s going to ask if your fingers have all been broken, and Roddy’s, so you couldn’t text me to tell me you were showing first thing on a frickin’ Saturday morning.”

  That’s all he got before he was in her room and the voices became less distinct.

  So he was grinning when he hit her room.

  He grabbed his own thermal, pulled it on and moved his ass back to where Jussy was with her family.

  When he got there, he saw Joss’s sheepskin jacket was off, it and her bag thrown on one of the denim couches. This exposed a bright red tee, barely-there sleeves, a dead-fucking-cool Chinese dragon stitched on the front.

  Rembrandt’s jacket was on the couch too, and Jussy was giving him a hug. It was a jerky, short, annoyed one, but it was still a hug.

  Deke’s lips quirked as he moved to the side of the couch opposite them and leaned against it.

  Jussy pulled out of Rembrandt’s arms and turned Deke’s way.

  “I take it you met Deke,” she remarked, throwing her hand toward him.

  “That we did,” Joss replied.