Hoss (Rebel Wayfarers MC Book 7)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “No baby, I got my shit on lockdown. I ain’t coming until after you give me at least one more.” He rolled his hips, pushing in deeper. “I meant you’ve nearly got all of me.” Rolling his hips, her inner walls stretched tight around him, the snug heat surrounding his cock blunted somewhat by the latex. Grinning silently, distracted at the thought of thanking the condom for added control, he hissed in surprise when she planted her heels in the bed and pushed up on his downstroke, and suddenly his self-control was broken, because he was root deep inside her and it was fucking amazing.

  “Aww, fuck. Fuck,” he ground out, holding deep, feeling her walls fluttering and clenching around his cock. She made a tiny sound of discomfort, but he couldn’t pull back, wasn’t moving…couldn’t move, couldn’t suck in air…couldn’t even breathe in her scent without losing his fucking mind. Then she moved her hips side-to-side again, and he was no longer in command, his arms shifting unconsciously to pull her close as he thrust hard, holding deep for a split second then plunging quickly six…seven times, sliding deep again for a moment.

  “Fuck,” he growled, then, “Fuck,” again as she arched and quivered underneath him, his name rolling off her lips in that goddamned rich tone that touched him in ways he couldn’t even begin to understand. “Fuck, baby.”

  Lifting his torso off her, he propped himself up and stared down at her as he ground down into her pussy. Her face flushed, eyes half-closing because she had come again and was on the way back down. Come on his cock, no hands on her pussy this time, just him inside her. Moving and shifting, hard and fast, he pounded into her, lunging down for a deep kiss then retreating upward so he could watch her.

  “Legs up, baby,” he demanded on a hard breath, and her knees came up to rest on his sides, her calves wrapping around his hips. Watching as his cock disappeared into her, he lifted his gaze to her titties. Dipping his head, he captured a nipple between his lips, tugging until she gasped. Drawing it into his mouth, he suckled hard, groaning when her hands came to his head, fingers threading through his hair, tightening when he gave her the edge of his teeth in a hard nip before lifting his upper body off her.

  In his mind, he was sketching frantic images, attempting to capture the moments as firmly as he held her in his mouth. The strands of hair caught in the sweat on her cheek, the bow of her lips when she whispered his name, how her throat worked as she swallowed her cries of passion, the movement and tension in the muscles of her forearm when her fingers curled in his hair. Everything about her was deserving of tribute, and even fucking her as wild as he was right now, he tried to impress each moment on his mind so he could bring it back to life later.

  Then she called his name as she lifted her hips again, pussy tightening, and he was gone, collapsing on her, cradling her to him while he pushed in deep and held, coming hard. His body jerked with the strength of his climax, locked muscles soothed by the steady pass of her palms across his skin. “Hope,” he groaned, “so fucking good for me, baby. Beautiful.” Shuddering again, he slowly moved in and out several times before burying himself root-deep again. “I could love on you for days, baby.”

  Fuck, he was wrung out, shaking and covered in sweat. “Made me lose my shit, baby. So good, sweetheart.” He kissed her shoulder, feeling her do the same, loving the soft press of her lips on his skin. “Gotta take care of the condom, baby,” he said, moving to slide out, chuckling when her ass lifted up, her pussy chasing his cock. He gave her that, bringing his hips back down and gliding deep one last time. “Baby,” he scolded, and then she giggled, and that sound was as rich and full and beautiful as anything he had ever heard. Fuck, he thought, his lips parting in a smile. Beautiful. Mine.

  Running

  Hope gaped at her phone, reading the scholarship requirements again, staring at them in disbelief. Each criteria, every requirement, few as there were, Sammy fit into as if this program was custom-made for him. Enthusiastic about hockey—uh…yeah. Willingness to work hard—yes again. Financial difficulties—duh…single mom. Everything boiled down to those three things, and she gave a little fist-pump.

  “What are we celebrating, baby?” Hands slipped around her waist, pulling her back against the hard planes of Hoss’ chest. He had left for an errand this morning after making soft, slow love to her, waking her with a deep kiss while his hand moved between her legs. She had been a little tender but had wanted him inside her again, wanted the connection they shared last night, and he made it good for her. He had moved over her, gentle and sweet, strong arms cradling her to his body.

  She hadn’t heard him return, but liked that he sought her out as soon as he got home, and had developed an appreciation for his hands on her like this. Every time he was near her, he put his hands on her, stroking her skin, trailing his fingertips along her arm, threading his fingers through hers. She liked it. A lot.

  “Good news about a hockey program for Sammy,” she said, leaning back. She turned her head when he nudged demandingly with his chin, raising her lips to his for a soft touch.

  “Yeah? Good deal. Kiddo seems to like the game a little.” He chuckled and glanced at her phone. “Spencer’s place? That’s what you’re looking at?”

  “The Patterson-Spencer Hockey Foundation? They have a scholarship program that looks like a good fit for us.” She grinned up at him, surprised when his face darkened, lips firming into a flat line.

  “Scholarship program? What the fuck does that mean?” He asked the question in a brusque tone and she flinched, knew he registered the movement when his arms tightened around her and his mouth found her temple with a soft kiss.

  “It means they help out parents like me,” she said softly, tipping her head down. For herself, she wouldn’t take anything. Even the food Mac pressed on her was for Sammy, nameless bump that he was at the time. She made her own way, always had. But for Sammy? She would beg, borrow, or steal to make his life better, and if asking this foundation for help would get him onto the ice again, then she would, by God, make it happen. Gritting her teeth, she lifted her chin.

  “It means Sammy can get back into hockey without him worrying about what it might do to our finances, how it would change things for the two of us.” That should lay it out for him, because if there was a chance of them working out as a couple, he had to know it would always be Sammy first. “Because he worries about things like that. I wish he didn’t, wish he never had to, but he does. This will make it easier for him to enjoy skating.”

  “Baby,” he said softly, pressing another kiss against the side of her head. “I can make this happen for you.”

  Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do anything to make Sammy’s life better, because she knew there was no way she would take Hoss’ money for anything. Out of nowhere, she remembered his words from the other day about getting her and Mercy a bigger apartment. She hadn’t demurred at the time, but there was no way they could afford that, and she thought he probably knew it. She also had the thought now he probably intended to make up the difference, which wouldn’t be happening, either.

  Shaking her head, she said in a firm voice, “No.” She didn’t owe him any explanation, no further conversation on this topic, and she hoped he would understand.

  “Hope.” He gave her a little shake, his arms tightening around her. “Don’t do that shit. I’ve seen you shut down before. Don’t do it, baby.”

  “What did you want to do for lunch?” Maybe changing the topic would make it clear the matter was closed, because she didn’t want to mar their time today with an argument.

  “Jase Spencer is a member of the Rebels, baby. Our kids go free, as long as they are interested and don’t cause shit with the rest of the kids. You’re mine, Hope, which means Sammy’s mine, too. No need to take up one of the scholarships, when it could go to a kid that needs it. That’s how Jase set it up, how he wants it.”

  A big, warm palm stroked up her arm. “You submit a scholarship application, and the minute he sees your name, he’ll call you and tell you the same fucking thing, ba
by. He’s probably going to be pissed at me as it is, because I didn’t front him the info first. He is a man that likes large gestures, so get ready for it. He gives, you gotta take it.” He snorted a laugh. “And the man gives big. He gave our president a fucking minivan when his twins were born. Your boy will come first with him, ahead of you, so get ready for that, too.” His voice had gone tender as he talked, and she relaxed muscles she didn’t even know she had tensed.

  “Jase Spencer? DeeDee’s Jase? He’s the Spencer part of the Patterson-Spencer Hockey Foundation?” Now her voice was squeaky and she hated that, since it would tell Hoss exactly how close to tears she was, furious at herself for a misunderstanding that could have bloomed into an argument.

  “Yeah. Sammy’s a fan of his, too. Got that straight from the source. I’m amazed he don’t already know Jase is the super cool hockey star he was fanning over.” She could hear the smile in his voice, and relaxed a little more. “Baby, I already planned on calling him. No worries, okay? This is a done deal.”

  “And it won’t cost you anything?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were a mistake, because he tightened in response.

  “Hope.” He growled her name, sucking in air in what seemed an attempt to calm himself. “Even if it did, if it were something I wanted to do, there’d be no way for you to tell me no, baby.” His mouth was near her ear, so he didn’t have to raise his voice to get across the fact that he was pissed.

  “But no, Sammy going to the foundation ain’t gonna cost me a dime.” One hand left her hip, digging in his front pocket and pulling out his phone. “I’m thinking you need proof, which pisses me right the fuck off, but here you go.” He thumbed the welcome screen open and then pressed a button, putting the call on speaker.

  She heard Jase Spencer answer, his tone welcoming and friendly. “Hossman, what can I do you for?”

  “You got room for Hope’s boy on your ice?” Hoss spoke brusquely and, because of that, she heard the difference when Jase responded, his voice now tight and careful.

  “You know it, brother. He skate?”

  “Yeah, loves it.” Hoss’ tone hadn’t changed, and Hope squeezed her eyes tightly shut, pressing her lips together to still the trembling that had returned.

  “He any good? I’m always looking for someone to help me push Tyler or Jonny, eh?” The barest hint of humor colored Jase’s voice when he asked, “Why you keeping secrets, Hoss?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. Let me see why I’m keeping secrets. Hope, what do you say? Is your boy any good on the ice?” The tone was cutting now, strongly reminiscent of how he had spoken to the woman who came to his garage door last night. The woman he didn’t like. Lips still trembling, she nodded, and he gave her a squeeze. “He can’t hear your head rattle, Hope. Is Sammy any good on the ice?”

  “Yes.” She had to work hard to speak. “His co-coaches in Birmingham said he was quick and fe-fearless. He jus…just loves the game.” By the time she finished, she was barely capable of being heard; her throat had closed down, choking her words.

  “Hope, get Hoss to text me your number. I’ll call you later and we can go over available groups and times. If he loves to skate, I want to get him in with Jonny and Kane, especially since that terrible trio is already fast friends. We’ll work up to the older boys if we need to. This is exciting, eh?” Jase’s voice was soft and encouraging, but they still hadn’t covered the cost, and she wouldn’t let this chance go by, in case Hoss was wrong.

  “The website said there were…were scholarships available?” He didn’t answer for a few seconds, and she was unable to still the shudders racking her frame. Fear swept over her, and then a shattering sense of loss. She thought to herself that the woman on the phone was wrong, Hoss was wrong, the website was wrong, but at least she knew now before she said anything to Sammy.

  “No, no, no. Hope, honey, you’re family, so you get the family rate, eh? And, you are in luck, because, at the moment, that rate is nada. Zippo, zilch. I don’t take money from family. Period. And, if he needs gear, I have a couple of rooms full of donated stuff. What position does he like to play?” His voice had gone even softer, and she shuddered again, biting back a sob, because, for Sammy, this would mean everything.

  “He plays defense, but an offensive defense, as opposed to sta…staying at home.” She gulped a breath that hitched in the middle, and Hoss’ arms tightened around her as she fought to continue. “His la…last coach said he’s still settling in and thought he could be a forward, but Sam seems to like playing the D-line.” Biting the inside of her cheek hard, she struggled to bring her breathing under control, feeling Hoss’ palm slide up and down her arm, calming her.

  “Jesus Murphy, he sounds fucking perfect.” The pleasure in Jase’s voice was too real to be forced, and she felt her lips curve in a watery smile. “Plus, you talk hockey, woman. That’s hot. Hoss, you need to bring her to dinner soon, yeah?”

  “Fuck you, Captain,” Hoss said, and now she heard a smile in his voice, too. “I’ll send you her fucking info, but you don’t talk to my woman without me there. I’ll show you the hot side of my fist, asshole.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So you say.” Jase laughed, then said, “DeeDee’s wild gesturing indicates tonight would be good for dinner. You can leave Sammy here until then. I have some interrogating to do anyway, because that kid is closemouthed about the game if he loves it like you say. Jonny’s gonna have some ‘splainin’ to do, too, keepin’ secrets. Damn kids, what good are they to me if they won’t do my recruitin’, eh?”

  “See you tonight, brother.” Hoss didn’t let Jase respond, terminating the call and placing his phone on the countertop. “Hope, you believe me now?” She nodded, and he leaned his head beside hers. They stood like that for a long time, him pressed against every inch of her he could wrap himself around, her taking comfort offered by the possessive hold.

  Stirring finally, he said softly, “We’re going to talk about expectations, baby. Because we are both going to want things out of this, and I don’t want stupid shit to tie us up, or close things off. You get stupid shit in your head, and then don’t talk to me? That’s when things could go sideways between us. You have to talk to me, baby. No stupid shit between us, okay?” He kissed behind her ear and she sucked in a fast breath, the sensation unexpected and thrilling.

  “Right now, though.” He worked his mouth down her neck, gripping her shoulder with his teeth and pressing against her butt with his hips. She felt his erection, hard and hot, outlined in his jeans. “I want something else.”

  ***

  Hoss smiled, leaning back into the couch cushions, his arm around Hope’s shoulders. Dinnertime at Jase and DeeDee’s house was wild, loud, chaotic, and entertaining. Bingo was back in the hospital, but his kids were in residence, which meant tonight there were eleven small bodies running around, aged fifteen and down. Nine, a mix of boys and girls, were Bingo’s tribe, one boy belonged to Jase and DeeDee, and one was his and Hope’s boy. His breath stuck in his chest for a moment, because he liked how that sounded in his head, ‘his and Hope’s boy.’

  When they arrived for dinner, Sammy had raced up and hugged his mother then stepped back. Looking up, he stood in front of Hoss, shifting from foot to foot, staring into his face. His features twisted into something that looked like sadness as he asked, “Did you and Mom have a good day?”

  Hoss had frowned, crouching down so he was on Sammy’s level when he answered, “Yeah, the best. How about you?” Tentatively, he reached out, cupping his hand around Sammy’s shoulder, asking, “Did you have fun with Jonny and Kane?” No way could Hoss miss how the boy leaned into the hold, his shoulders lowering a couple inches as he relaxed.

  “Yeah, we had a great time. Coach Spence took us to the rink.” He cut his gaze up to his mother, and Hoss twisted so he could see her face, too. “He said he has a Sammy-sized opening on his league team, Mom.” That was all he said, and Hoss watched a flash of pain cross Hope’s face at his hesitation.


  “I talked to him on the phone today, bud. He has this deal for friends and family”—she switched to a poor imitation of a New Jersey accent—“and he made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” She grinned, and he caught Sammy’s matching smile from the corner of his eye. “I’ll sort things out with him tonight, see what kind of schedule we’re looking at, and what I can commit to for equipment, okay?”

  Hoss felt more of the tension leave the kid’s muscles as he told his mother, “Yeah.” That single, soft word conveyed an understanding that if she could work it out, she would, and if she couldn’t, then the boy wouldn’t blame her, because he trusted she would always do her best. These two had a bond that seemed unshakable, having no one else to depend on for so long. In Sammy’s case, his whole life.

  He was hit yet again by how alone in the world they had been, no one to have their back, no one to give a hand when they hit bottom. Only each other, ever. It was going to be hard for Hope to accept that she had people to lean on now, but he planned on reminding her often enough for it to become second nature. “I’m going to go play outside, ‘kay?”

  Hope nodded and Hoss tightened his fingers, drawing the boy’s attention back to him for a moment, telling him softly, “You need us, you come find us, Sammy.” Before Sammy could respond, one of the other kids ran up, slapping him lightly on the arm and yelling, “You’re it, Samboni.” Sammy whirled, twisted out of Hoss’ grip, and raced after the boy, calling back over his shoulder, “Will do, Hossman.”

  Standing, he took in the perplexed look on Hope’s face and laughed. “Every good hockey player gets a nickname. I can think of worse for a boy named Samuel than being called after the Zamboni.” Pleased, she giggled, the sound rich and low, just as she had last night, and his cock swelled, beginning to thicken and stand out from his belly. Fuck. He had tried all morning to pull one of those from her with no luck, and now here it was, in the middle of his brother’s foyer, and he was getting hard because his woman laughed. Mine.