Cold Blood (Lone Star Mobsters Book 4)

by Cynthia Rayne

  She wrapped her legs around his hips, and he pressed between them, pushing her thighs even further apart.

  Justice leisurely slipped the edge of her top up, eyes locked on hers all the while, in case she said no, but he saw nothing but passion and hunger in her eyes. He palmed her tits through the scant cotton bra. They were fucking scrumptious, two swollen mounds. When Justice couldn’t stand the tease anymore, he grasped the band at the bottom and pushed it up until they bounced free.

  Etta was every bit as lovely as he’d imagined.

  The rosy nipples were swollen, standing out from her breasts, all rigid and impudent as though insisting on being in his mouth. She moaned as he bent to suck on a nipple. He drew on it until she inched closer to him, hips bucking.

  Justice paused to taste her mouth once more, and kissed the length of her neck, sliding down to bite her nipples playfully, squeezing her. Women loved to be teased, enticed, and he was a master at the game. They had to be warmed up for a long, hard ride, exactly like his Harley.

  He brought his hands to the button of her jeans, and when she didn’t protest, he flicked the button open and then eased the zipper down with a raspy whir. He took them off and tossed the material aside. Beneath the denim, she wore a white cotton pair of panties dotted with red roses. Not the sexiest he’d ever seen, but they were pure Etta, practical but feminine.

  Justice slipped them off, and she lifted her hips to give him access. He tucked the panties into his back pocket for safe-keeping. He already knew he couldn’t bear to part with them, tradition be damned.

  Then she opened her legs wide for him. And he got to see the hot, slick center of her. A spicy ginger cloud covered her swollen pink lips. Moisture drenched the curls already.

  He started from the top again—her mouth and neck, her shoulders, then down to her nipples, and then her belly. Her skin was soft and supple. He’d like to lay her down and just stroke her, enjoy the sensation of his skin on hers.

  She’s definitely an angel. All that’s missin’ is a pair of wings.

  He waited until she was yielding, head lolling back, legs open for him. Only then, did he allow himself to stroke her pussy, just brushing her slippery skin, making her arch into his palm.

  Justice knelt on the linoleum and then she was at the perfect height for his mouth. He wanted to ask Etta if this was okay, but he was half-afraid to speak up and break the spell. Any second now, he feared she’d put a stop to his exploration and leave him with a raging hard-on.

  Justice shot a glance at her face, watching for any hesitation, but he saw none. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy.

  With a grin, he surged closer, eager to please her, make Etta come for him. Justice couldn’t wait for his first taste of her.

  Nearly there…

  “Justice, wait.”

  His hands stilled on her thighs, his lips a fraction from heaven. Gritting his teeth, he pulled back, moving away from temptation.

  “Yeah, Etta?”

  “I….I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  He closed his eyes. “It’s a fuckin’ great idea if you ask me, but whatever the lady wants.”

  Justice loved nothing more than flirting, seducing women into his bed, but if they didn’t want to go along with his desires, he wasn’t an asshole about it. He never tried to sweet-talk or push women into doing something they didn’t want to do. Even if it killed him, like now.

  He got to his feet. “Fair enough, but I’m keepin’ the panties.” Justice plucked them from his pocket to show her, and then stashed them away once more.

  She hopped off the counter and shimmied into her jeans, those tempting titties bouncing in the most distracting way.

  Justice swallowed, fascinated by the sight. “Do it again.”

  “Shut up.” She blushed furiously.

  “Never. Well, if I can’t give you that kind of ride, what do you say about takin’ one on my bike instead?”

  “You still wanna go?”

  “Of course I do, besides you already paid the toll.” He leered.

  She sighed.

  “Anyhow, I’m a patient man. Sooner or later, you’re gonna take me up on my offer.”

  “You think?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Angel, I already know.”

  “Angel?”

  “Yeah, it’s my nickname for you. Like it?”

  His answer was a small, pleased smile.

  Justice led her to his bike. After she’d placed the helmet on her head, and he’d snapped the chin strap in place, he started the bike up and held out his hand to her.

  “I don’t know about this.”

  “Trust me, it’ll be fine.” Gingerly, she threw a leg over. “Mind the pipes, or they’ll give you a nasty burn.” He’d gotten more injuries than he cared to admit.

  After she got situated, he took them for a long ride—away from Hell and Crimson Creek, until they were on a stretch of wide open road. The wind buffeted their bodies, as the engine growled beneath them. The sun was sinking in the sky, and the heavens had turned a gorgeous pinkish orange.

  Life don’t get much better than this.

  Etta seemed to enjoy herself, too. She gave the occasional shout of pure joy as he snaked around a curve or sped up. His motorcycle was better than any damn roller coaster on the planet.

  The noises she made, made him wonder if she’d be just as vocal in bed. With a bit of coaxing, he bet she could be a wild one. Justice would find out soon enough.

  “If you hold your arms out, it feels like you’re flyin’.”

  “I’m sure it does until you fall off and get a nasty case of road rash.” She leaned closer, her lips were against his ear, breasts pressed into his back.

  Damn. His cock twitched in response.

  “Wanna try it?”

  “Is it safe?”

  “Sure it is. I’m keepin’ my eyes straight ahead and my fingers on the handlebars, just hold onto me tight. I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.”

  The silence stretched between them.

  “Grady told me the same thing once.”

  “Well, I mean it.” Justice silently willed her to trust him.

  After a moment, she spoke up again. “Okay. What do I do?”

  “Squeeze your legs around me tighter, wrap them around my hips.”

  “I see.” Her breath tickled his ear once more. “So, you’ve got ulterior motives, huh?”

  “Yup, always check the fine print.”

  “Hmm, I’m rethinkin’ this.”

  “Oh? Remember when you had second thoughts about givin’ me your drawers, and then you surrendered?”

  “You’re an ass.” She smacked his back, and he chuckled.

  “Guilty as charged. So are you gonna fly, Angel?”

  “Yeah.” And then she raised her arms. Justice kept the speed steady. Her thighs were locked around his hips, and she let out another cry of pure delight.

  His heart swelled. “Feel good?”

  “Yes!” Etta laughed. “Check me out, I’m flyin’. Too bad you can’t try it out.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me none.”

  “Why?”

  “Believe me, I’m havin’ a good time.”

  Even being this close to her was electrifying. Justice realized he felt contented, whole somehow. It wasn’t about sex or romance, although that was part of Etta’s appeal. She lightened his mood, brought him joy.

  “Yeah, but I’m havin’ a better one.”

  “Fair enough. Tell you what, when we get back to your place, we can finish what we started in the kitchen, then we’ll be even.”

  Etta giggled. “You’re relentless.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and you’d better square with that.” He sighed. “I promised myself I’d stay away from you. You’re a citizen, and you don’t belong in my world.” Bikers used the word “citizen” like military personnel used “civilian.”

  “No, I don’t.” Yet, she held him closer.

  “Not to mention, I’m a
hot mess right now. I can’t even sleep through the night, but I refuse to walk away from you, not now.” Maybe not ever. “So I’m puttin’ you on notice.”

  “Notice?” She sounded wary.

  “I want you, Etta, in my life, and in my bed. And I ain’t gonna stop when I’m between those sugar sweet thighs again. Only next time, I’m gonna get a taste of you, and then we’ll really see how high you can fly.”

  Chapter Eight

  The next afternoon, Etta couldn’t keep her mind on the task at hand. Namely, getting her mail at the post office.

  Every time she tried to concentrate, her thoughts went winging to her joy ride with Justice. When they’d gotten back to her place, he’d stolen a quick kiss and then drove off, leaving her breathless and agitated on her front porch.

  Etta couldn’t believe, she’d let him strip her down on the kitchen counter, and make off with her underpants. If she hadn’t come to her senses at the last possible second, they would’ve had sex by the silverware drawer.

  It was even harder to believe that she wanted more. Sex had always been fine. Now and then, she’d had an orgasm, but she never craved it, like most people did. But she craved Justice. She wanted his mouth on hers, his body on top of her.

  Etta simply didn’t do this sort of thing. She prided herself on being sensible about men, these days anyway. Her last encounter with love had been an epic fail by any metric. But Justice smashed through all her border walls and defenses, and strangely, she didn’t seem to mind.

  Who are you and what have you done with Etta?

  “You’re lookin’ well.”

  Etta nearly dropped a fistful of junk mail. Instantly, she recognized the voice. She’d heard it every damn day for years. And at night it still echoed in her ears, jarring her out of a restful slumber.

  And now he was back.

  Okay, let’s do this.

  Bracing herself, she turned. “Grady.”

  At one time, Grady had been a handsome man. When she’d first caught a glimpse of him, he’d made quite an impression. He was older, a college student, and he’d seemed so sophisticated. Back then, he’d had an easy smile and mournful brown eyes. She’d noticed him straight away, though they hadn’t formally met until he’d saved her at the library one night.

  But Etta hadn’t seen him since he’d gone to prison. Grady was hardened, more muscular, and he’d gone entirely bald. Before he’d been sentenced, his hair had been thinning. Either it had fallen out, or the bare spot on the crown of his head had widened, and he’d decided to shave it all off. She liked to think it was the former.

  Grady must have spent his days working out because his arms were corded with sinew, and his veins were visible. He wore a pair of jeans and a skin-tight T-shirt, probably to show off his new muscles. Prison tattoos now covered his forearms. Strange. He’d been so preppy before, nothing but khakis and polo shirts.

  “It’s been a long time, Etta.”

  Not nearly long enough.

  Etta should have felt relatively safe, standing in a public place, in broad daylight, and surrounded by others, but she didn’t. People walked right by them, chatting on their cell phones, or talking to their children, oblivious to her plight. Long ago, he’d robbed her of any sense of security, among other things.

  At least she had a handgun tucked into her purse.

  Etta had purchased it after they’d legally separated, while she waited for him to be tried and convicted. While Etta had a protection order in place at the time, it wasn’t a guarantee. She’d seen countless cases on the evening news of men who’d murdered their partners anyway, regardless of any official paperwork.

  His gaze slid over her, and she felt it, almost like a physical touch. She’d shared so much of herself with this man, and it disgusted her. Although, she wasn’t sure who she was more upset with, him or herself. Why hadn’t she seen him for the reptile he was? Love was, without a doubt deaf, dumb, and blind—she certainly had been.

  “What are you doin’ here?”

  His lips thinned. “Why, I missed you and thought I’d check in.”

  Grady made a big show of patting himself down, and then retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. He slipped one in his mouth but didn’t light it. And then she noticed the unmistakable outline of a Zippo lighter in the front pocket of his jeans.

  Since when did he start smoking? Even the sight of him with a lighter disturbed her.

  “As you can see, I’m doin’ fine.” No thanks to you. “I got the plant you sent.”

  “I don’t have a clue what you’re talkin’ about. One of the conditions of my parole is no contact with you.” He smirked. “Unless we happen to run into each other at a public place. This is such a small town, I suppose it’s inevitable that our paths will keep crossin’.”

  “Yeah, I bet.”

  His eyes narrowed into slits. “You might’ve forgotten all about me, but I thought about you every damn day, kept track of you on the inside.”

  “Did you?” She felt dizzy all of a sudden.

  “Yeah, I googled you whenever I got a turn on the computer in the prison library.”

  Apparently, he’d been cyber stalking her for years. Even the thought made her stomach twist into tight knots.

  “You’ve done pretty well. Put yourself through school, got a job. Didn’t think you had it in you.” He sneered. “I always figured you weren’t the brightest crayon in the box.”

  She swallowed a retort. Etta had always imagined how she’d act if she saw Grady again. She’d had this whole serene, “rise above it all” plan. Grady loved to hurl insults, hitting her where it hurt most. He took pleasure in getting under her skin, so she refused to play his game.

  “It pays the bills.”

  “Really? I heard it don’t pay much.”

  “I get by.”

  A white line formed around his mouth.

  Etta bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. He was irked because she hadn’t taken the bait.

  “Well, it’s a damn sight better than how my life’s been. Now, I’m an ex-con. It’s gonna be next to impossible for me to get a job, let alone a place to stay.”

  “Hmmm.” Did he want her to feel sorry for him? Because she didn’t. “Well, I wish you luck.” You’ll need it, asshole.

  Grady scratched his chin. “I’ve been locked up for eight years, with nothin’ to do but spend my days thinkin’.”

  “Thinkin’ about what?” Etta feared she already knew the answer.

  “You. Me. How things should’ve ended.”

  Their last night together could’ve gone either way. She might’ve very well ended up six feet under. Or him. They were both alive, for now at least.

  “You’re the one who started all of this, not me.”

  “Well, I’m gonna be the one who ends it.” He stepped closer. “You wrecked everythin’. I can’t pick up where I left off. I don’t have a prayer of becomin’ a lawyer now.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ll be lucky if I could swing a paralegal gig.”

  Etta might be frightened, but she was a survivor. After their last encounter, she’d woken up in the hospital, black and blue all over, hooked up to machines, Etta knew she could handle anything.

  “I think it turned out just fine.” So much for staying calm and cool.

  His nostrils flared. “You betrayed me.”

  “No, you betrayed me. When we got married, you vowed to love and protect me for the rest of your life. Instead, you bullied and abused me.”

  And all the verbal and physical mistreatment had been a picnic in comparison to the things he’d done to her sexually. She’d been forced to endure all kinds of degrading acts. Sex had been about possession, a show of superiority. He’d treated her like an object, a series of holes for his use and it always left her feeling disgusting afterward.

  Every now and then, she’d imagined some big dude with enormous dick making Grady his girlfriend while in prison. The thought always made her feel better.

&nb
sp; “Don’t be so melodramatic.” He hooked his thumbs in the loops of his belt. “You enjoyed parts of it.”

  “No, Grady, I didn’t.”

  “You lyin’ bitch.” His lips peeled back from his teeth.

  “If I remember right, you’re the one had a lyin’ habit, not me.”

  He used to tell her all kinds of stories. It wasn’t until later she found out, he’d been alley-catting around with half the women in town. Only he didn’t smack them around.

  “Hey, Etta. Is everythin’ all right?”

  Startled, Etta turned around to see two bikers approaching them, Pretty Boy and Ace. Both of them were friends with Justice, which meant he’d hear about this mess.

  Oh no.

  “Yeah, I'm all right.”

  “Why don’t you introduce us?” Pretty Boy stood in between them.

  The biker had big green eyes, blue-black hair, and wore a white T-shirt with a pair of black leather pants. Back when he’d been in high school, she’d been his social worker. He’d come from an abusive home, and she’d done her best to protect him from the worst of it.

  Because of the mistreatment he’d suffered, Pretty Boy had a low tolerance for bullies. She’d seen him pick fights with guys twice his size, and win, through sheer force of will. When he’d been her client, it had scared her half to death, but she’d been impressed with his sense of right and wrong, nonetheless. Pretty Boy never backed down when he saw an injustice. Not everyone stands up for other people.

  “Meet my ex-husband, Grady Williams.”

  His brows lifted. The bikers flanked her, crossing their arms, and scowling in a very intimidating manner. Etta appreciated the backup.

  “Look at that, a reunion. Well, isn’t that special, Ace?”

  Ace nodded. “Yeah, but the visitin’ hours are over. Time to move on along, buddy.”

  Grady’s hands curled into fists, and he didn’t budge.

  Neither did the bikers.

  Stalemate.

  What happens next? A boxing match?

  Etta hoped not because people were already gawking at them. Hell’s residents loved nothing more than gossiping, even if they’d made up the juicy tidbits themselves. Come nightfall, the townsfolk would’ve concocted fanciful a yarn that would make Stephen King jealous.