Hunte

by Warren, Rie

  “Naw. Y’all got better things to do than waste time over a man’s last dyin’ breaths.” He shuffled into the kitchen and sat at the table. He always made sure to set it for breakfast before turning in at night.

  “I’ll be here ’til the end, Grampa. I’m double as stubborn as you and a helluva lot stronger.”

  “You so strong, lift that old bottle over there and get me a refresher of bourbon and branch.”

  I laughed at that and handed him a cup of black coffee instead, slightly flavored with bourbon. “You can have your one branch and bourbon of the day at precisely four p.m.”

  He glared at me with his cloudy eyes then took the cup in his hands. It was only half-full. His hands shook so bad nowadays, I didn’t want to him to get burned if the coffee sloshed over the sides.

  He was still a big man despite his years. Well over six feet tall and broad as a Southern pine. Wasn’t anything wrong with him but frailty—a delicate-sounding word for the worrisome burden of old age.

  Grampa Dean’s mind was sharp as ever. After he finished his breakfast, he pushed the plate away and tapped his fingers until I placed a sharpened pencil and the daily large print crossword in front of him.

  His lips curled up at the sides as he stared at the first clue. “You’ll make someone a good wife someday, son.”

  “You old good-for-nothin’ coot,” I slung back.

  He crowed with laughter, scribbling in the first crossword answer, holding his wrist steady with his other hand.

  I took care of Grampa as best I could and as for Sadie, I hadn’t had to go all big brother over her yet. Just a few fistfights through the years to protect her from the usual jackasses. Nothing I couldn’t handle. For that I was thankful. Even the guys at Retribution had been respectful toward her, so far. It was a good thing, too, because I’d hate to have to pull a knife on a brother.

  My so-called other brothers—“From a different mutha” as Jamal always said—pounded me on my oiled-up back as I headed toward the stage.

  “Shake that fuckin’ money-maker.” Jack The Stripper spanked me on the ass, having just finished his dark BDSM routine.

  “This one right here?” I riffed, grabbing my junk.

  “Bom chicka wang wang!” Hiro shouted.

  “You need some new material, my friend,” I said.

  “And you need less on that big white honky ass.” Jamal reached out to squeeze my rear in both steering-wheel-sized hands.

  “It’s called class, J-man. Somethin’ you wouldn’t know about.” I pulled away from his grabby hands, tugging at the seat of my pants.

  As soon as I entered the pitch-black stage, their wisecracks drifted away. I was immediately centered. I got into place as my sight adjusted to the dark. Sitting at the desk inside a massive metal cage used only for my routines, I checked the angle of my fedora one last time. Then I dropped my chin down, looking out into the seething sea of women impatiently waiting in the crowded, smoky-lit room beyond the darkened stage. I watched them through lowered eyelids.

  As far as strip clubs went, The GQ was upscale. But the deluxe surrounds didn’t fool me. No amount of expensive décor, upholstered seats and sofas, or pricey wine and liquor could disguise the fact ladies came here for one reason and one reason only.

  S-E-X.

  They wanted to be the center of attention, to feel important, wanted, attractive . . . hot by some of the most jaw dropping, eye-popping, impressive men in the lowcountry.

  Horny plus honeys plus good booze and a sexy stud equaled cha-ching. Cash money.

  A shiver of excitement raced through me. The fact I loved this vibe was what made me the best at what I did. I could be whomever I wanted for the length of one song. I was whoever they wanted me to be. And that gave me power over my life I had in no other area.

  “Aaaand next up tonight! The man y’all have been waitin’ for! Showstopper, bed-hopper, babe fucker . . . KINKY KAID!” Micah hollered from his standpoint at the very top of the stage. The answering roar from the sex-rabid women resounded through the room.

  “Now, he don’t do full frontal.” Micah’s voice registered low.

  “BOOOO!”

  “Wanna know why?” he yelled.

  “YEAH!”

  “Kaid’s cock is too big to cover with his hands. Boy ain’t small, if you know what I mean, and we don’t wanna get busted. Am I right, ladies?” Micah raised his arms, lapping it up.

  “HELL YEAH!”

  Well, at least Micah the cowboy boot-wearing, chaw-chewing emcee and owner of The Gentleman’s Quarters had one thing right.

  He backed away from the stage with a bow, one arm extended behind him.

  At that precise moment the lights blazed on, beaming down on me in a white shimmer.

  There was no music at first. There didn’t need to be. The women went whole fucking hog wild, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

  I sat statue-still behind the desk, the fedora shaded over my face. Continuing to look at them, my lips a firm slash in my face, I slowly splayed my hands on top of the desk I sat behind. Tonight I was a severe businessman, one who wanted to fuck the hell out of his naughty secretary. The suit I wore was jet black, and it wasn’t an off the rack POS either. I’d bought it from that huge Italian tailor downtown everyone seemed to know, Frankie Burelli. It had thin gray pinstripes and a few extra modifications. Cost a mint, but it was an investment in my career.

  Music grinded from the high-end music system. Tove Lo’s sexy, raunchy “Talking Body” began. The chicks fucking loved it, so I was gonna work it hard.

  Still I sat poised, waiting for the ladies to grow quiet. One by one, a hush circled through the throng. They stared at me and me alone.

  When I was their sole focus and the music really kicked in, I stood and knocked the chair away, rounding the desk, face hidden, features stern.

  “OH MY GOD!!!” A blonde woman screamed, standing right at the front with her nose pressed against my cage.

  I pointed at her, and she clapped a hand over her mouth with a second squeal.

  Loosening my tie, I slid the pale gray silk length from around my neck. Keeping my eyes locked on the middle-aged screamer, I ran the tie between my legs, up to my groin, and rode it back and forth between my legs. You didn’t need sex-ray vision to get a solid view of my balls and cock as the tie pushed my package up and out.

  The woman fanned herself once then fell back into a heap of arms.

  She might’ve fainted.

  The rest of the chicks were foaming-at-the-mouth frenzied.

  Job well done.

  I whipped off the belt with a loud SMACK against the stage from side to side as I moved forward to the rhythm of the song.

  GASPS, EVERYWHERE.

  I slapped the belt against the shiny steel bars of the cage before I flung it aside.

  Turning away, I hooked one shoulder out of the suit jacket then the other. Rolling my body in a sinuous rhythm, I dropped the jacket. The muscles in my arms pulled at the seams of the bright white shirt. I turned my head to the side and bit my bottom lip with a wink.

  Ate. That. Shit. Up.

  Dancing across the floor, I released the tails of the shirt from my tight pants. Making eye contact with one squeeing, flushed woman after another, I popped button after button down the front of my dress shirt. It rippled open. I flicked the cuffs apart, waiting for several beats of the music before letting it fall to the floor in a snowy pool of fabric.

  My first fainter was not long alone.

  Grooving to the desk, I stood directly in front of it, my back to the howling audience. Muscles fanning all along my back, I hooked my fingers into the waist of the fitted black pants. My tat showed, and I heard more than a few women swear in loud voices. The tattoo wrapped from my shoulder blades along my sides before curving inward to my ass. Twin cobras in black ink hissed at each other across the top of my spine then snaked to my lats. Their tails disappeared inside my pants, the ink elongating onto my left ass cheek and down to m
y thigh.

  The women hissed with one giant intake of breath when I swiveled around to face them.

  I flicked the button at my waist, bunching all my muscles.

  They waited for me to rip off the breakaway pants.

  Silence. Held breaths. Pink cheeks. Parted lips. Parted legs. Heaving tits . . .

  I didn’t give them what they wanted, not yet.

  I glided forward, dancing to the unstoppable beat. Button popped. Eyes hooded. Face in shadow. Bare-chested. Zipper down. Screams from the crowd. Undulating to the floor and back, I grabbed both sides of my pants.

  “DO IT!!!!”

  Fists pounded on the stage.

  Money fluttered down, green rain.

  I shredded off the pants and slung them away.

  The fainting count went up to half a dozen.

  Like Micah said, no full Monty, just the tight black mesh pouch sheer enough to make all the chicks’ eyes bulge like my more-than-a-handful package. My blond pubes peeked over the top, trimmed and tidy. The V-cut of my pelvis arrowed right down to my cock. And there was no mistaking how large I was.

  To go buck naked you had to cup your junk with your hands, and even though I had large hands, they simply weren’t big enough.

  “Still got my hat, ladies.” It was the first time I’d spoken since my show had begun and my voice came out deep and hoarse.

  “Give it to us!”

  “Think you deserve a piece of me, do you?” I rubbed against the front of the cage, my cock in the thong rasping against it.

  Women licked their lips and waved money in the air right in front of me.

  I returned to the desk. My muscular ass and back laddered in muscles on show. “You got it.” I nodded to Micah who stood offstage, grinning like a maniac.

  The cage rattled up, up, and away. Ladies rushed to the lip of the stage the instant they had a free pass.

  I hung back, building excitement. I bent over the desk and peered back. In this position, the women got a prime view of hard glutes and a hint of balls.

  Total hysteria erupted behind me.

  I faced the throng, and slid across the floor. The rhythm propelled my feet. My arms rising above my head, I rolled my big shoulders, my huge ripped chest. Close to the edge of the stage, I dropped to my knees, leaned back, spread my thighs, giving a bird’s eye view.

  Holy Marys and Hell Yeahs and Holy Fuck Me shouts splintered the air as the green rain fell faster.

  As soon as I gained my feet, I sailed the fedora out across the women. Then I jumped off the stage and into a het-up sea of horny ladies.

  Hands all over me.

  Screams in my ears.

  Aroused mania surrounding me, I made it to Glen the Noob’s frat brothers at the bar. They were busy circle-jerking each with tales of the last babe they’d bagged.

  I latched onto the first Greek-letter-wearing schmuck and turned his stool around with a screech. I split his thighs with my hands on his knees then went heavy breather routine in his ear.

  “How’s about we find a free room?” I was well aware my dick was not all that covered up and the frat boy had to feel it pressed against his leg.

  “What the fuck, man?” He tried to push me away.

  I straddled him in one smooth athletic move and nudged my crotch against his lips. I was beginning to feel queasy, but fuck it. Glen had more balls than these guys so I guessed I could rub mine in their faces. I didn’t want them to give Glen a hard time. The scrawny little dude had earned my respect.

  “If you give Glen a break, I’ll take my scrotum out of your face.”

  “Deal!” Frat-fuck squealed just like one of the ladies.

  Jumping to my feet, I landed on the floor. I laughed while the Greek dudes fled for the door.

  I accepted a stiff drink from Rebel-Mae, the funky punk bartender with the glow-in-the-dark pink fauxhawk, forgetting for a moment I was the Grade-A beef in the joint. No sooner than I took my first sip of Jack, women surrounded me, pressing against me, panting all over me.

  I couldn’t very well leave the clients out in the cold. I slung an arm around one of them and smiled at another, raising my eyes in a help-me expression across the bar toward Rebel-Mae when something familiar snagged my gaze.

  I did a double take. Then a triple look.

  Then my legs almost collapsed out from under me. My heart went sluggish. My body felt cold. My gaze stopped on none other than Sadie my-motherfucking-best-friend Grace.

  Holeeey Shit.

  She stared at me with wide unblinking eyes and hot pink spots on her cheeks.

  Carolina Bad Boys

  Read more about the sexy alpha men and their feisty women

  in the original, ongoing series!

  Stone, At Your Service, Carolina Bad Boys #1

  Contemporary Erotic Romance

  September 25, 2014

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MRPKWAY

  http://www.amazon.com/Stone-Your-Service-Carolina-Volume/dp/1500744786/

  Blazing Reviews!

  “Humor, romance, loveable characters, and hot sex. Talk about one hell of a winning combo.” ~Hines and Bigham’s

  “If you like the good guy who just happens to be badass, who’s not afraid to fall hard for the woman he knows is meant for him, then Josh Stone is at your service.” ~Literati Book Reviews

  “Drama, a really hot sexy as hell Southern bad Boy, LOL moments and my favorite – romance authors UNCENSORED.” ~Lustful Literature

  Rie Warren delivers a steamy, humorous romance with one hell of an alpha male bad boy.

  Hell on wheels meets hell in high heels.

  Bad boy mechanic Josh Stone likes to get his hands dirty any way he can—the filthier, the better. Ever since his wife walked out on him and their young son, he's only had room in his heart for two loves: the kid and cars.

  Roped into playing his best buddy's gay boyfriend during a romance writers convention, the player meets the girl who's gonna rock his world. Leelee Songchild. Shy, bashful, beautiful Leelee who blushes at the drop of a hat yet writes hardcore smut to rival Josh's backlist of Penthouse Forum.

  The only problem is his hands are tied. Josh can't stab his old friend/fake lover in the back even though all he wants to do is take luscious Leelee to bed, and maybe, love her. When the truth comes out, all hell breaks loose.

  Too bad romance is just for books.

  Love, In The Fast Lane, Carolina Bad Boys #2

  Contemporary Erotic Romance

  December 11, 2014

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00NIB9MU2

  Rie Warren gives readers a bad boy bachelor and a tattooed vixen in this hot new release from her steamy southern series.

  New York Times bestselling paranormal author, Nicky—Nick—Love is anything but successful in love. For years he’s lost himself in his writing career, but now he’s ready to get back to his rebel-boy roots. While restoring a motorcycle at Stone’s Auto Service, he meets the Wildcat of his dreams. She’s a shock to the system for the romance writer who doesn’t remember a damn thing about wooing a woman.

  Cool-as-ice, Catarina “Wildcat” Steele is utterly untouchable until Nicky ignites a spark she can’t control. Their electric attraction explodes as Nicky pursues her, but he comes bearing the baggage of a family tragedy he’s hidden from everyone. He knows love has no guarantees.

  Their passionate romance falls apart when Nicky discovers Cat’s secret rivals his own. The truth about her past reopens Nicky’s raw wounds and awakens a ghost he never laid to rest. He doesn’t know how to have Cat, and now he can’t trust her. Will they be torn apart . . . or tamed by love?

  Steele, Into Your Heart, Carolina Bad Boys #3

  Contemporary erotic romance

  April 2, 2015

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00RSVAEL4

  Brodie Steele is a badass MC dude. Ashe Kingston is a sexy police officer with an attitude. Their bad blood runs deep. But after they hook up at a wild biker week, can they keep their pact? What happens
at Bike Week stays at Bike Week. Yeah, right.

  Riding out the rough years following a family tragedy, Brodie is still trying to put his life back together when he finds something he never expected with Ashe. She annoys the ever lovin’ hell out of him, and turns him on so much he can’t see straight. He keeps coming back for more.

  Ashe isn’t just a hard-nosed police officer. And she wants no part of Brodie outside of their no-strings-attached fling. There’s no way he’s settling-down material but he’s hard to resist with his inked sleeves and rebellious ways, not to mention piercings in places that make Ashe melt. Brodie Steele is dangerous, delicious, and suddenly determined to have her.

  If there’s anything more risky than laying his heart on the line for this sexy woman, it’s Ashe’s job. It puts her life in danger in a way he can’t possibly protect her from. Can their hot bond win out over the bad blood of years past? Or will Ashe be taken from Brodie before she lets him into her heart?

  RIDE, Carolina Bad Boys novella

  New Adult

  January 8, 2015

  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00PSMR26K

  The full, sexy, New Adult version of RIDE, the novella featured in Stone, At Your Service, Carolina Bad Boys series.

  College man Jase Everly has bad boy written all over him. Rides a motorcycle? Check. Has tats? You bet. Couldn't give a shit about rules? He's all over that.

  When he's cut off from the oil baron family funds, he finds a new way to support his education, his bike habit, his bad habits. And his business venture is nothing he's proud of.

  Top-notch student Avery Greene is a good girl. Deans List, never missed a class, straightlaced material. She's on the college fast track until one night and one jock destroy her life. She hides inside her sweaters. She buries her nose in her books.