Badd Ass

by Jasinda Wilder

  "Nah, dating is old, we're just weird."

  She pointed at me. "Actually, I think it's the other way around. I mean, maybe twenty years ago you and I, the way we approach sex and relationships, ten or twenty years ago we'd have been weird, we'd be sluts--and to some people we probably still are. But I think the way we do things is becoming more common than you'd think, among both men and women. And I think old school dating like I'm trying it, I think it's actually becoming more and more uncommon."

  "And what is all this supposed to mean for me?" I asked, swirling my wine and finally taking a sip of it.

  I didn't want to be drunk, or even very tipsy, because if I let too much alcohol enter the equation, I wouldn't be making intelligent, informed decisions when it came to Zane. And if I was going to change the way I lived my life for a guy, I didn't want it be because drunk Mara was in charge.

  "I'm not gonna tell you what to do with your life. You're my best friend and you always will be, so I feel an obligation to bust out some truth bombs when I feel like you need 'em." She leaned forward again, giving me the Serious Claire look. "What I will say, though, just as an FYI, is that I've never seen you look at a guy like you've been staring at Zane. You were gushing about him, Mara. That's not usual for you. Remember when you finally got that sexy hipster barista from the coffee shop near the apartment to sleep with you? You said it was the hottest sex you'd ever had and, even then, you had no issue ditching him like last year's purse. You told me all about it, like every detail, but you weren't gushing. You were just sharing a nice experience. This guy? Zane? You were gushing about him, and yet you've told me almost nothing about him except that he's gorgeous and has a big dick, and honey, just from the one quick look I got at him, I could have told you that. The bulge in his jeans is so goddamn big it's silly. But then, a big dick by itself isn't that exceptional, right? Remember that plumber you slept with last winter?"

  I nodded, making an oh shit face. "That was honestly the biggest penis I've ever seen in my life. I seriously don't know how he fit the whole thing in his pants. It was almost too much cock, actually. Like, it took an hour to go from the top of it to the bottom. It was like having the Eiffel Tower in my no-no bits."

  "That's my point exactly. If it were just about dick size, you'd have brought Long John Plumber back for a second ride on his Washington Monument. But you didn't. And he was good looking, too, wasn't he? Like, in the face?"

  I shrugged. "He was hot, yeah. His name was Eric, and he was actually a really cool guy."

  "But you never saw him again, never spoke to him again, and certainly never slept with him again." She tapped the table. "So if it's not just about hot sex, and not just about a big dick, then there's something else about Zane you're attracted to."

  I stole a glance at Zane, who had his phone out and was scrolling through a feed of some kind. "I hate you," I said to Claire.

  She threw up fake gang signs, lips pursed, head nodding. "That's right! What now, bitch? Li'l Claire for the win, dropping the truthbombs like a boss."

  I facepalmed my forehead, groaning. "You are such a dork, Claire. I swear to god."

  "Um, hello, computer nerd? It'd be a betrayal to my kind if I wasn't an embarrassing dork."

  "Well if that's the case, then you're making a huge contribution to the reputation of your people."

  She leaned over the table to hug me. "For real, Mara. I love you, and I really hope you'll do yourself a favor: give this guy a chance. You might surprise yourself." She stood up, finishing her wine. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I see a hottie making it for the bathrooms, and I'm feeling just tipsy enough that a bathroom quickie sounds like fun."

  "Um, what?" I asked, but Claire was already gone.

  I watched her beeline for the bathrooms, where a good-looking redheaded guy was about to enter the men's room. Claire made it to him before he went in, lifted up to mutter something in his ear. His eyes widened, and he said something that looked a lot like for real?--Claire nodded, her hand cupping between his legs and rubbing. The guy glanced around, and then pulled Claire into the men's room behind him.

  Gah. The girl was a serious live wire. Even I didn't hook up with guys in the bathroom of a bar. But then, Claire always did things her own weird way.

  I sighed, shaking my head at my friend's antics, and got up. Zane was still holding court in the corner, still sipping what looked like the same glass of whiskey. He straightened as I approached.

  "Is your friend actually going to fuck that guy in the bathroom?" he asked when I was close enough.

  I nodded. "Looks like it." I eyed him. "No. Don't even think about it."

  Zane laughed. "Honey, a public bathroom wouldn't survive the things I want to do to you."

  My face heated and I felt my knees go a little weak. "Oh really?"

  He leaned closer to me, putting a hand on my hip. "We were both a little drunk last night," he whispered in my ear. "It was sloppy. I was overeager and off my game."

  I swallowed some wine along with a gulp of anticipation. "That was you off your game?"

  "I can do better, I swear. You won't regret it." He said this somewhat tongue in cheek, knowing as well as I did that the sex last night had been off the charts hot.

  I pivoted away, hardening my gaze and my voice. "What about that hot bartender? She looked like she was ready to blow you right there on the bar."

  "Meh. She's alright...she's got a lot of silicone, though. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm partial to a more natural look." He brushed a thumb almost accidentally across the front of one of my breasts. "Like these, for instance."

  I glanced down at his thumb, and my own tits. "Yeah, no silicone there."

  "I'm well aware. I became...very well acquainted with these lovelies last night." There was that smile again, the slow, lazy, horny, hungry one. "I gave them my tried and true jiggle test."

  "You did, huh?" I breathed, remembering exactly what he was talking about. "What test would that be?"

  He saw my ruse for what it was, and played along. "Don't you remember?" He leaned close so he could whisper in my ear again. "I put your legs on my shoulder and fucked you so hard your tits bounced all over the place. Silicone doesn't bounce the way your tits did. That was one hundred percent all natural jiggle."

  "Oh," I said, and gulped more wine. "That test."

  He bit my earlobe, his hand on my waist tugging me close enough that I could feel his hard-on bulging in his jeans. "You know what I'd really like to do, though?"

  I held up my glass. "Get me more wine?"

  "Nope, no more wine," he said, taking my glass from me and setting it on the counter by his elbow. "What I'd really love is to see you on your knees in front of me, letting me fuck these tits." He cupped one breast over my shirt as he ground against me.

  "Is that so?" I was out of quippy comebacks, and had to resort to breathy slut-whispered come-on questions.

  "The only way your tits could get any sexier is with my come all over them. And your mouth. And your chin." He bit my lower lip, then, staring down at me. "And your stomach. And that juicy ass of yours, too."

  Holy shit. My core was throbbing, and my hands were shaking. "You want to paint me white with your sperm, is what you're telling me."

  "Pretty much." His hand, formerly on my hip, was angling toward my ass. "And then clean you off in the shower so I can get you dirty all over again."

  I struggled through the haze of lust he'd created inside me, looking for that resolve I'd had for about thirty seconds--the amount of time it had taken to walk from the booth to this corner. In those thirty seconds, I'd had an idea. A stupid, crazy, bound-to-fail idea. Yet...it had sounded just crazy enough even to myself that I'd been prepared to ask Zane what he thought about it. And then he'd started talking dirty to me, and I'd lost my train of thought.

  I rested my forehead against his chest and focused on breathing through the raging wildfire that was my out-of-control libido. His hand was exploring my ass over my jeans,
which was making it hard to think clearly, because I really, really liked the way he touched my butt.

  I reached back, grabbed his hand, and moved it to my hip. "Down boy, I'm thinking."

  He titled his head to one side quizzically. "About what?"

  I settled my hormones, and gazed up at him. "About something I'd like to talk to you about. But I think we need to go somewhere quieter." I held up my hand to forestall the dirty comment I knew was coming. "No, not my hotel or your apartment. Somewhere public, but quiet."

  He scratched the side of his jaw with his fingertips, making a skritching sound on his stubble. "Huh. Sounds intriguing. I might know a place."

  Chapter 4

  Zane

  I'd borrowed Xavier's bike since he was, ironically, the only one of us with his own wheels--it turned out Bax had only rented that Harley for the wedding, and I'd had to return it for him today. I'd paid the bill, too, since I felt guilty for the nasty slice on his thigh. Thirty-one stitches and strict orders to take it easy for a while. Yeah, the bastard was going to milk that doctor's order for all it was worth. He'd be wheedling his way out of work at the bar left and right, claiming he had to stay off his leg. And I'd let him, because the guilt was a bitch. An inch or two higher and it would have severed his femoral artery and he'd have died. And there was still no guarantee his football career wouldn't be affected by it. They said he'd heal up fine, but still. I felt guilty.

  I led Mara out of the noisy bar, and swung a leg over the seat of the bike. "Hop on," I said.

  She eyed the motorcycle warily. "You have a bike?"

  "Nah, it's Xavier's, I'm just borrowing it."

  "Do you know how to ride one?"

  I snorted in derision. Kicking up the kickstand, I angled away from the curb, checked for traffic, and then twisted the throttle hard, and kept the front brake squeezed, sending the back tire spinning to push the back around in a tire squealing arc. When I was facing the opposite direction, I released the brake so the bike bolted forward like a shot. As soon as I hit optimum speed, I slowed down a little, leaned forward, barked the throttle and yanked back on the handlebars. The front wheel left the ground and I kept steady on the throttle, popping a wheelie for a good fifty yards before setting it down and braking in a skidding arc to face back toward where Mara was standing.

  I pulled forward next to her, grinning. "That answer your question?"

  "Show off," she muttered. "So you can ride a motorcycle. Just don't pull any of that shit when I'm on it with you."

  "No ma'am," I said. "We'll just cruise nice and easy."

  I gave Mara the one helmet and, to her credit, she slid it on without complaining about her hair--the last time I'd tried to get a chick on a bike, she'd bitched about the helmet ruining her hair, so we'd ended up Ubering it back to her place. Mara, however, just jammed that sucker onto her head without hesitation, swung on behind me, and snugged her thighs around mine, her arms clasping around my middle.

  "You've done this before," I remarked.

  "Yeah," she answered. "My dad has a Harley...I used to ride with him all the time."

  There was something dark and heavy in that, which I left well enough alone. As promised, I went easy, cruising nice and slow south toward 3rd Avenue and the Rainbird Trail parking area. It was after midnight and pitch black, but I knew this area as well as I knew my own reflection in the mirror--I used to bring girls here all the time, actually, because it's a damn amazing spot. I parked, swung off, and held Mara's hand as she climbed off, plucking the helmet from her head and shaking her hair out.

  "A parking lot?" she asked, looking around.

  Dark as it was, and being a tourist, she wouldn't be able to see much apart from the dark bulk of a hillside to our right, and the sky to our left, and maybe a hint of starlight on the water. Not too impressive...yet.

  I just grinned at her as I dug through the saddlebags Xavier had added to his Triumph; my youngest brother was a practical and always-prepared sort, and I figured he'd have...aha, bingo--a compact, ultra-bright LED flashlight. I clicked it on and flashed it around, satisfied that it would do the job.

  "Up for a short hike?" I asked her.

  "In the dark?" She asked, looking up from her phone; she was texting someone it looked like, probably checking in with her friend so someone knew where she was. Smart girl.

  "Sure," I said. "I grew up here, and I've been up this trail a zillion times. Just...trust me, yeah?"

  She blinked for a moment, and then shrugged, extending her hand to me. "If you turn out to be a serial killer, I'll be really pissed."

  I just laughed. "The only thing that's gonna get murdered is your pussy, Mara."

  She slapped my shoulder. "Yeah, I'd try and keep that in check if I were you, Rambo."

  "You mean that line doesn't make you horny?" I asked, leading her toward the stairs.

  "Shockingly, no."

  "Huh. And here I thought it'd have you throwing your panties at me." I grabbed her hand in mine and led her up the stairs, shining the light on the treads ahead of us.

  She stopped and hooked a thumb in the waist of her jeans--another pair so skintight they may as well have been leggings--tugging so she could pretend to peer down into her pants. "Um...nope. Still there."

  "Damn, it worked for Bax. I'll have to ask him what I did wrong."

  "You take pick up advice from your brothers?"

  I laughed. "From Bax?" I snickered. "He's the one you pulled the glass out of at the wedding."

  She shoved me back into a walk and we headed up the stairs. "The one who drained an entire bottle of Jameson to impress the girls?"

  "That's the one."

  "Hmmm, maybe don't take pick-up advice from him, if that's his tactic."

  There were quite a few stairs so I went slow, unsure how fast she'd be able to take them. I waited until we were at the top to answer.

  "Bax is a great guy. He's a bit rough around the edges, I'll admit, but he's got a great heart. And you'd be surprised how charming the guy is, when he wants to be."

  "Sounds like you're pretty close," she said.

  The forest was close and damp, my flashlight a white spear illuminating a tiny swath of the path ahead of us. Mara, like I'd hoped she would, pressed close against my side, staring around us at the forest as if worried a bear might amble out of the woods at any moment. On other hiking trails further away from downtown Ketchikan, that'd be a legitimate concern, but here? Highly unlikely. No point worrying her with that, though. I just enjoyed the feel of her soft curves pressed up against my side as we picked our way along the narrow trail.

  "Eh, we're getting there," I said. "I joined the Navy right out of high school and made the SEAL team not long after. Didn't get a lot of leave time, so I haven't seen my brothers a whole lot, until recently."

  "Did you, like, quit the SEALs, or what?"

  I could tell she wasn't sure how to ask what she really meant. "I had to retire, for family reasons."

  "Somebody got sick?"

  "Sort of," I said. "My dad died. Mom's been gone for a good ten years, but Dad's death was a surprise. He...ah, he left a bit of an odd will. He left us all a bit of money, but the only way we can get it is if all eight of us brothers came home. Bast--Sebastian, the guy that got married, the oldest--he was already here. He never left, but the rest of us were sort of scattered to the four corners of the earth. And Dad wanted us back together, I guess. So the stipulation in his will was that we'd get the money if we moved back to Ketchikan and help Bast run the bar. We have to stay here for a minimum of a year and put in full-time working hours at the bar."

  "I'm sorry to hear about your parents."

  I shrugged, unsure how to respond. I was still dealing with Dad's death in some ways, and wasn't sure how I felt most of the time. "Yeah, thanks."

  "So, tell me about the rest of your brothers."

  I glanced at her as we continued walking. She'd bolted the second she woken up this morning, and hadn't seemed interested in sticking
around for so much as a how do you do. Now she wanted to know about me and my brothers? My spidey-senses were tingling.

  "Well, Sebastian is the oldest. He's the original player of us all. He's been working that bar since he was a teenager. I mean, we all worked the bar as kids, because it was a family business, but Sebastian just took to it naturally. When Mom died, it put a lot of the work on Bast's shoulders. Dad...didn't deal well with Mom's passing. He sort of died inside, I think, and never really recovered. Bast took over pretty much everything after that." I laughed, thinking of Bast's many, many conquests in that bar. "The guy is the smoothest motherfucker on the planet. Tourist chicks just threw themselves at him by the boatload--literally, because of the cruise ships."

  She chuckled. "Having watched you get, like, twenty numbers just standing there in the bar tonight, I guess I can see how that might be."

  "Bast and I used to have a competition to see which one of us could collect the most digits in a night."

  "Who won?"

  "Oh shit, Bast always won by a landslide." She seemed skeptical, which made me laugh. "You haven't really met Bast. You'll understand when you meet him."

  "So Bast is a player, Bax is a hard-drinking brawler..."

  "He's not really a brawler, he just...he's a football player. He's rough by nature." We were getting close the overlook, now, I realized. "Then there's Brock. He's a stunt pilot. Him and Baxter are what you call Irish twins, born within a twelve months of each other. Brock is...he's...I dunno how to explain him. Probably the prettiest of us all and the most conservative. Brock was the straight-A student, the class president, the one who saved his money to pay for his own flight lessons."

  "I thought the other two were the twins, the ones playing on the stage?"

  "Yeah, they're the identical twins. Canaan and Corin." I glanced at Mara. "You ever hear of a band called Bishop's Pawn?"

  She nodded. "Sure. I actually saw them play in LA once." I saw the dime drop. "Wait, that's them? Your brothers are Bishop's Pawn?"