by Teagan Kade
He jerks faster, lifting from the bed, the muscles in his arm coiling and releasing, his tattoos alive.
Fuck it.
I draw the crotch of my panties aside, can feel my clit engorged, my own juices slippery and hot falling through my fingers.
I stifle a moan, holding onto a hanging pair of jeans with one hand while the other presses harder against my crotch, my hips searching and moving for friction, my body opening and responding.
He grunts again and I almost lose my balance, teetering and only catching my lurch at the last moment. He’s really getting into it, his cock a blur in his hand, shoulders straining.
I can’t settle. I shift from one foot to the other, constantly wondering whether my movements will give me away. I slip two fingers inside myself, press them deep into the hot mouth of my pussy.
Saliva floods my mouth as I watch, spellbound. I let my thumb slip over my clit, the feeling of being filled unbelievably satisfying. I haven’t masturbated since I was a teenager, have never felt the urge until now watching this private act. I quiver thinking what he would do if he caught me, opening the door to find me with my knees spread and the space between them open and wet, stuffed full of my fingers.
He might replace them with his own, with his tongue perhaps.
I shudder again.
God, Lux. You’re losing it.
I adjust my hand, match him stroke for stroke, my fingers quietly sliding in and out my steamy hole.
His breathing comes labored. He’s close, pearly desire leaking from the tip of his member, whisked away by his hand as it rises and falls.
He lifts from the mattress, levitating and pumping with everything he has, thrusting his hips to meet his hand. I do likewise caught in the cupboard, the tension growing in my core ready to explode.
I build, forced to close my eyes as I lift towards climax, my chest heaving from the effort, my muscles tight and tense.
It arrives and my eyes snap open just in time to catch the gush of semen over his hand, my climax crushing in its intensity, convulsions kicking me back and forward in the small space, quivering, out of control.
I press my teeth together tight lest I scream aloud, wave after wave of ecstasy washing over me until I half-collapse against the door, removing my slippery fingers as I buck and twist through the final throes.
Limp, exhausted, I watch through the slats as Deacon rises from the bed, cleaning himself with a towel from the corner, his cock still proud and hard, not even his own completion causing it to fall.
The door creaks and for one horrifying moment he looks straight at me.
I freeze. This is it, fingers still caught between my legs, no way to explain this.
He looks away and opens the top drawer of a dresser by the wall, pulling out clothes and tossing them onto the bed before leaving the room completely.
I hear the shower come on at the back of the house. Now. You have to go now.
So I do. I gently push the door open and stand, brushing my nightshirt down and peering around the corner, steam billowing out from under the bathroom door.
I reach for the knob of the bedroom door, turn and pull, rushing back to my room and pressing myself against the far wall breathing hard, the damp between my legs cooling fast.
*
I’m still tingling at work. I came prepared for a nightly weekend rush of patrons, but the pub’s as empty as it’s been every other day. Maybe Sarah’s right. Maybe the boys’ brawl money really is paying the bills.
“Is it always this quiet?” I ask her, continuing to polish glasses, a seemingly endless task.
“Afraid so. My father owned this pub, passed it on. It holds sentimental value, you know, but as for a retirement fund?” She laughs. “I’ll be working here ’til I’m six foot under. Hell, I might still be working after that.”
The door opens and in walks the sergeant, making his way up to the bar.
Sarah smiles in his direction. I get a quick visual image of the two of them and almost puke all over the counter.
Sarah nods towards me. “Pull the sergeant a beer, Lux, on the house.”
I pull a beer and slide it over to him. He takes a swig and leans back. “Ah, much better.”
For a cop, he looks mighty out of shape, not that I can talk coming from country where half the police force spends their time hunting down donuts instead of criminals.
“Sergeant Wilson, was it?” I offer.
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.”
Sarah takes an armful of beers over to a table at the back where I’m imagining a group of elderly men are discussing the finer intricacies of lawn bowling or how to maximize shaving-blade usage.
“Busy, Sergeant?” I continue.
He laughs. “‘Busy’ and ‘Finke’ don’t really go together. Then again, ever since your boys moved into town things have picked up. The ol’ cell’s not so lonely anymore with them around.”
I act surprised. “Oh?”
“I know you’re staying with them,” he says, matter of fact. “It’s your business, I know, but you should really choose your boarding buddies a little more carefully.”
I try to remain neutral. “Why do you say that?”
“Look,” he says, “you seem like a smart, intelligent woman.” Is he flirting with me? “So, I’m going to give it to you straight.”
Here we go.
“The Hunt boys are bad news.” He sniffs the air. “They reek of trouble. It follows them around like a filthy stink, and trust me, you have to be looking hard to find trouble here, but they do. If I actually put any paperwork through it’d stretch the Great Wall of China.”
“I see.”
He takes another sip of his beer. “Say, how long will you be staying in this fine town of ours?”
Almost automatically, I pick up a glass and start cleaning. “I’m not sure. I was hoping to get some more surfing in.”
He laughs. “Sharks in and out of the water around here these days. Be fucking careful, love. That’s all I’m saying.”
“I will.” But I can’t help myself. “Sergeant, when you say the Hunt brothers get into trouble, what do you mean?”
He leans across the bar. “I mean they use their fists instead of their heads when a problem arises, and that’s never a smart way to solve problems. I suppose if their brains were in their head instead of between their legs it wouldn’t be such an issue.”
I smile, can’t help but visualize what’s between Deacon’s legs again. Easy now. “I suppose so.”
As I say it I notice the same guy who was here the other night in the booth at the back. He’s not drinking. He’s not doing much, in fact, but staring in my direction.
CHAPTER SIX
DEACON
I join Bo on the veranda watching the sun lift from the horizon, high clouds cooked golden above. I bring the coffee to my mouth. It’s bitter, strong—just the way I like it.
Bo stands beside me, hands on the railing. “What do you think?”
“Slight west-north-west, maybe four feet or less. Slush.”
Bo leans back, exhaling. “When’s this low going to arrive?”
I take another sip. “Give it time.”
Bo places his hip against the railing, arms crossed. “You look a little more relaxed than usual.”
“Do I?”
“You rub one out or something?”
“Maybe.”
A smug smile begins to grow on Bo’s face. “Speaking of sexual release, I’m planning to fuck Hollywood before the week’s out. These Cali girls, man. The act all tame, but they’re fucking wild. Come Sunday I’m going to have my dick so deep down her throat she’ll be coughing up cum for weeks.”
I throw the mug to the ground and take him by the throat, shoving him hard against the front of the house. “You shut your fucking mouth.”
He shoves me back, hard enough for the railing to smash into my back. That’s the problem. When it comes to brawling, we’re equally matched, always have be
en.
“Don’t you dare fucking talk about her like that. She’s off limits.”
Bo steps up to me, gets in my face. “Look at you all fucking protective and shit. I thought you were done with girls and relationships. ‘Never again’, you said?”
“Don’t you dare fucking touch her.”
Bo steps back, nodding. “She’s gotten to you. I see the way you look at each other, the eye-fucking. I mean, have her if you want. It’s a pussy buffet in the city, but you know something else about these Cali girls? They all have issues, man. Are you ready for that? Or were you just planning to fuck her and forget her?”
I push myself off the railing, kick away shards of porcelain, steaming coffee falling through the floorboards. “What I do is my own business.”
“That’s not what I’ve been hearing. You keep saying we’re in this together, that we have to share everything, but here you are doing the complete opposite. I mean, I can see why you want her. Ass like that, who wouldn’t? But be careful. That’s all I’m saying. We good?”
I nod, the tension uncoiling in my core.
Bo breathes out. “Now, what are we going to do about this fuck-knuckle who’s been spying on us?”
“I’ll go over there tonight, suss him out.”
“You think he’s here for us?”
I shrug. “Could be. Looks local, though, no insignia I could see linking him to a club. Mercenary maybe, but he doesn’t have the build for it. He’s done time, that’s for sure, but we’ve got to know more before we act.”
Bo slaps me on the shoulder. “Again, be fucking careful.”
I laugh. “You know me.”
His face goes grim. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
*
I flip Lux over under the water, keep her rolling as much as I can.
She can fight, I’ll give her that. She grips my arms tight, eyes locked on mine as we tumble and thrash.
I pin her down on the bottom, hold her there until I can see the strain and panic growing on her face. She starts to swat at me, mouth moving, but she’s not getting up yet.
I don’t even know why I’m acting like this, where this misplaced anger is coming from. Sometimes it does that, just wells up and forces itself to the surface.
I wait until she’s struggling as hard as she can, beating me in the chest with closed fists.
I finally swing off her. She kicks off the bottom, breaking through the surface of the pool gasping for air.
I come up beside her.
She slaps me. “What the fuck was that for?”
Maybe it was the thing with Bo this morning, maybe the stranger. I can’t place it. “You wipe out at the Bluff on a big day and you’ll be down a lot longer than that. You should be thanking me.”
“For almost killing me?”
“For saving your life—again.”
She swims over to the edge of the pool, pulling herself out and picking up her towel. “I get it, I do, but that was taking it too far.”
I shake my head. “You’re not ready. You’re not even close.”
She stomps off, toweling her hair, but I’m right. She’s going to have to harden up a fuck-load more than that if she wants to tackle Shipstern again. If she goes out, it will be when I say she’s ready, not a fucking moment before.
*
I crouch in the scrub watching the motel. It’s darker than usual tonight, perfect conditions for this kind of nocturnal activity. I’ve got a balaclava in my pocket, but I don’t think I’ll need it. Same goes for the Colt, the barrel cold between my ass cheeks.
Time to find out who you are.
I watch the guy leave. He walks out in the direction of the pub, hands stuffed into a puffy jacket, little clouds of ivory jetting out from his face.
I wait until he’s long gone before making my way over to the door. I double-check there’s no one else around before pulling out my lock-picking kit and getting to work. Funnily enough, it feels good, probably the only decent thing I learned on the job back home before it all turned to shit. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to put these skills to use.
The door clicks open and I press in, closing it softly behind me and tucking my kit away. I take out a flashlight and switch it on, scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. The guy might look like a master criminal, but he’s a fucking neat one. There’s a single suitcase, clothes stacked by color. Jesus.
I hunt through it, check the linings. It’s clean.
I check the bed, the drawers and dresser, even the fridge, but nothing stands out. Maybe I was wrong.
I finally strike gold when I open the cupboard. I hold the flashlight between my teeth and reach up to pull the bag down onto the floor. There’s a digital camera inside with a big, fuck-off telephoto lens, binoculars…
I pick up the camera with my gloved hands and switch it on, scanning through the photos expecting to find shots of the boys and I, but we don’t feature in a single one.
What the fuck?
I scroll through the entire card, but they’re all the same.
They’re all of Lux.
*
When I get back Lux is sitting up on the veranda, her feet perched on the railing and a glass of water cradled in her hands. I’m conscious of the gun stuffed down my pants—the one that shoots real bullets, that is.
I climb the stairs. “You know, we’ve got harder stuff than water in there.”
She holds the glass up to the moonlight. “Makes a nice change, don’t you think?”
“I suppose so.”
I go to lean against the railing before I remember the gun.
“So,” she says, putting her feet down and rocking forward, “you going to try and kill me again tomorrow?”
Suck it up. “Look, I’m sorry if I was too extreme, but…”
She puts her hand up. “I know. I know, and like I said, I get it, I do, but do you think maybe we could go a teensy, weensy bit easier?”
I nod. “Why don’t we skip training altogether tomorrow, take a break.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Through the window I see Bo and Razor standing in the kitchen making some kind of signal. Fuckers. I ignore them. “We’ll take the boat out. See if we can catch anything.”
“You still haven’t told me what kind of boat it is.”
I laugh. “It’s hardly the QE2, but it does the job. What do you say?”
I see the two of them now. Bo’s bent over and Razor’s got hold the back of his shirt, thrusting his pelvis forward like they’re fucking. Razor pretends he’s spanking Bo, mouthing ‘Fuck yeah, Deacon, give it to me!’ Again, I ignore them.
Lux looks down at the glass. “Sure, but I warn you, I’m no good at fishing.”
“Did I say I was?”
Razor’s on his knees now pretending to suck Bo’s cock, Bo stroking forward with a hand whipping in the air and a pouty look on his face I never want to see again. Fucking nightmare material. I give them the bird.
Lux jumps up and looks through the window just as Razor gets to his feet, the two of them turning their backs and walking slowly away, hands running through their hair like nothing happened at all.
Lux shakes her head, laughing. “They’re really something, aren’t they?”
“You can say that again. Six sharp in the morning. See you then?”
“See you then,” she repeats, her eyes a little brighter than usual.
When I hear her door close, I pull the boys out to the veranda. I know they’re curious about my little expedition.
Razor pulls me close, checking around the corner to make sure no-one is overhearing. “So, what did you find at the prick’s place?”
I cross my arms, lean against the wall. “Not what I expected, that’s for sure.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bo asks.
“The guy’s not watching us. He’s watching her.”
“Lux?”
I nod.
Razor checks t
he corner again, lowering his voice further. “Fuck, why? That can’t be good, can it? An ex maybe?”
“He doesn’t seem like her type.”
“How do you know? Three weeks and you’re an expert on her?
“There’s more,” I add.
Bo rolls his hand. “Go on.”
“I checked his car, too.” I take a breath. “There was stuff under the spare wheel well. No ID anywhere, though.”
“Stuff?” questions Bo.
“Cable ties, duct tape, a revolver and, wait for it, a fucking shovel.”
Razor shakes his head. “Holy shit. What are we going to do about him? If he’s here to kill her, take her… whatever, we need to stop him, right?”
I don’t answer. Truthfully, I don’t know what to do only that something does have to be done.
“Ask her,” continues Razor.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Why not? Maybe there’s a good explanation.”
I highly doubt that. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think fast.”
“In the meantime, one of us is watching her at all times. Got it?”
Razor smiles. “Now that’s what I call an easy gig.”
I look to Bo. “Use the public payphone down the road and call you-know-who. Have him run the guy’s plates.”
Bo nods. “Will do, but you sure it’s enough? I say we go over and fuck him up.”
“No,” I reply, “we’ve been drawing enough attention as it is, and that’s a feat in a town this small. No, for now we lay low and we watch.”
*
I bump the throttle up a little once we’re out on the open water, Lux is at the front of the boat gripping the sides. The ‘tin man’, as we call it, only fits three or four. Even with Lux and I the poor five horse-power outboard motor is struggling, wheezing and whining as we crest over the top of a wave and collide into the bottom of the next.
It’s a great day to be out. The water’s a little choppy, but the sky is blue and the clouds cotton, the recent depression having moved on.
“We’re almost there,” I shout over the motor.
I turn us towards a small cove around the main cliff line sheltered from the worst of the swell that comes up from the south.