Badd Business

by Jasinda Wilder

  “That’s what my mother does for a living—she makes and sells stuff like that. Not just animal carvings, though, but necklaces and other kinds of jewelry, ornamental knives and letter openers, door stops and paperweights, all sorts of stuff, all handmade.”

  He set the hare down and picked up a little fox—carved from deep red Spanish Cedar, with turquoise for the eyes, its jaws open and real pieces of fox teeth sanded down to size and inset. “So your mom made all these?”

  I fidgeted with the collection—a hundred or so little animals, most small enough to sit in my palm. “Actually, all these ones I made. I grew up helping her make and sell her art. She’s a better woodcarver than I am, but I’ve always had a better knack for polishing and setting the stones and painting them.”

  He shot a surprised glance at me. “You made these?”

  I nodded, smiling shyly. “Yeah.”

  He put his back to the dresser, staring down at me. “You’re a wicked talented artist, as in sketching and tattooing, and you do this?” He frowned down at me. “And you’re playing the legal game?” Remington shook his head. “That’s a goddamn crime.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He threw up a hand. “Art is meant to be shared with the world, Juneau. If you have talent as an artist, I’ve always felt you have almost an obligation to share it with the world—there’s so much ugliness and violence out there, if you can do something to make it more beautiful, you should.”

  I stared up at him. “I suppose at this point I shouldn’t be surprised to hear a sentiment like that coming from you, but I am.” I rested a hand on his chest. “More of me underestimating you, huh?”

  “I grew up around a lot of that ugliness, Juneau. My dad was a drunk, and we lived in a shithole. We were surrounded by violent, drunk, drug-addicted fuckheads. I didn’t go to college, and I barely graduated high school. We only avoided becoming the kind of people we grew up with by leaving as soon as we could and never going back.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but I could tell this was a deep, difficult subject for him. “As a kid, I always wanted to spend more time in the library. I wanted to look at art books. It was the only time I ever felt…at peace, looking at those photographs of famous paintings from around the world. But my brothers were always more interested in getting into trouble, as you can imagine, and I always got dragged into shit with ’em.” He laughed ruefully. “Honestly, I was always willingly in the thick of things. But I did find art peaceful. I would sketch just to get my mind off of our shitty, leaky trailer, and Dad being passed out on the floor. Art was my escape. So yeah, I can see how you’d be surprised to hear a roughneck kinda guy like me talking about the obligation to share art, and making the world a better place, but there it is.”

  I ran my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, slipping my fingers under the tight sleeves to trace around his tricep. “You really are a man of endless surprises, Rem.”

  “It’s just because I’m so damn good-looking,” he said, dryly. “People look at me and just see another big, pretty piece of man meat and assume there’s no brains or depth in here.” He tapped his temple.

  “I admit I’m guilty of making that assumption,” I said, and untied the sweatshirt so I could dip my hands under his T-shirt and slide my palms over his ridged, rock-hard abs. “But there are brains and depth in there. And a surprisingly sensitive heart in here,” I added, palming his chest over his heart.

  His skin was warm under my hands, and smooth; his muscles bulged, and as I ran my hands over his pecs and up over his shoulders—pushing up his shirt, but being careful to avoid his new tattoo—he tensed his muscles, involuntarily. Abandoning pretense, I shoved his shirt up and off, baring that magnificently sculpted body of his. I couldn’t help but let my hands play over his torso, exploring the curves and lines of muscle, flicking my thumbs over his flat nipples, carving my fingers through the valleys of his abs, traipsing down his wedge waist to the denim loose around his hips, his jeans zipped but not buttoned. He was still hard—not all the way, the intervening conversation having allowed it lessen a bit, but as I let my hands wander closer, I watched him thicken and lengthen inside the constraint of the tight, stretchy black underwear.

  “It’ll be kinda hard to get those jeans off if you’re still wearing boots, you know.” I let my eyes and the curve of my lips fill in the rest for him.

  He put a hand on the dresser to steady himself, lifting his foot to untie the boot, loosen the laces, and then tug it off, tossing it aside, and then repeating it on the other foot. He toed off his socks, and then he was, deliciously, clad in nothing but a pair of blue jeans. His abs rippled with each breath, a vein in his throat pulsing, his jaw flexing and releasing as he stared down at me, waiting.

  Now that I’d gotten to feel him, to wrap my hand around him, I was eager for more—I wanted to see him, totally bare. I wanted to get both hands around him. I wanted to make him groan.

  I wanted to see if I could bring this mighty man to his knees with just my touch.

  “See something you like, Juneau?” he murmured, grinning.

  I smiled back, mischievous and eager and full of lust. “Not yet, I don’t.” I rubbed a hand over his hard stomach. “I mean, this is pretty nice, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something else I want to see a little more of.”

  “Just a little more?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, just a little.”

  He stepped on the cuff of his jeans and yanked his leg free, and then kicked them off, standing now in just a pair of skin-tight black boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination. His erection was a thick bulge behind the black fabric, straining against it; he pinched the material over his cock between thumb and forefinger and tugged it down…just enough that the broad round head popped out to peek over the gray elastic of the waistband.

  “How’s that?” he teased, that maddeningly arrogant—and maddeningly sexy—smirk tilting his lips. “That enough?”

  I slipped my hands over his shoulders, palmed his shoulder blades, resisting the urge to just rip the stupid underwear off—I wanted to play this game with him; I was enjoying the push-and-pull, the tease, the game, the waiting despite wanting.

  I pretended to be unaffected, although I couldn’t take my eyes off what I wanted to have all to myself. “Pretty nice,” I said, running a fingertip down the center of his chest to his navel, stopping there. “I wouldn’t mind just a tiny bit more, though.”

  He rumbled, a huffing laugh. “Cool as a cucumber, aren’t you?”

  I knew my tendency to chew on my lip gave me away, so I fought the urge to do so. Instead, I attempted to satisfy my lust for Remington by wrapping both hands around his enormous bicep, and then the other, and then scraping my palms down his abs yet again—those arms and those abs were worthy of a magazine, of a feature film, of his own woman-oriented pornography channel, if such a thing were to exist. Maybe it did—I wouldn’t know because I wasn’t really into porn, but seeing Rem like this made me think maybe I should start.

  He laughed, probably because he saw through me. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic on either side of his cock and slowly, sensually pushed downward, gradually exposing a couple more inches. I couldn’t help the slight intake of breath as the true scope of him was revealed. Feeling it in my hand was one thing—seeing it was another.

  His underwear was around his butt, now, and if I had to guess, I’d say he was roughly halfway bared. And that half was already more than I’d ever experienced.

  Ohhhh god. Oh god. I wanted him.

  My lip stung, aching where my teeth had involuntarily sunk in and bit down hard.

  The rough pad of Remington’s thumb gently tugged my lip free of my teeth. “Quit that—you’ll hurt yourself.”

  “It’s an unconscious habit.”

  He ran his thumb over my lip, and I slid my tongue against the salty flesh. “I could kiss it all better.”

  “I wouldn’t mind that,” I said, breathless.

  He leaned in,
closed both lips over mine where I’d bitten myself, and I felt the soft wet touch of his tongue and then his lips were covering mine and I was dizzy and throbbing everywhere. His kiss was a wilding onslaught against my senses and my restraint. He kissed me as if it were the last time, or the first time. He kissed me as if trying to fuck me through the kiss—with such hungry abandon I whimpered and clutched at his sides with clawed fingers and tangled my tongue with his.

  He pulled away, grinning wickedly. “There. All better.”

  I curled my fingers into the elastic of his underwear, but instead of pulling them off just yet, I grinned back at him…and bit my lip, hard, intentionally.

  He laughed and frowned, shaking his head. “Why’d you do that?”

  I shrugged, a cute, demure little roll of the shoulder. “So you’d kiss it all better again.”

  He laughed, his hands curling around my back and teasing the space between blouse and skirt. “You know, you could just ask me to kiss you.”

  “Sure. But this is more fun.” I bit my lip again. “Plus, I have a feeling it makes you a little crazy when I bite my lip.”

  “Drives me fucking wild,” he growled.

  “How wild?” I breathed.

  He pressed up against me, trapping my hands between us, sliding his hands up my back under my blouse, his lips slashing across mine, demanding a fiery kiss, slanting and touching, pulling away, teasing, licking my lip where I’d bitten it, then delving in for a kiss that scorched away my breath. He broke away, tugging my blouse up—I cooperated, slithering my arms out and letting him tug it off and toss it aside, leaving me in bra and skirt and heels.

  “That wild enough for you?” he murmured, tugging down the zipper of my skirt.

  I wiggled my hips side to side, letting the skirt droop, sag, and then fall free to billow around my ankles. “It’s a start,” I said.

  He stepped backward, openly admiring me. I was clad in just the lingerie I’d chosen for the day—and it was, truly, a lingerie set. I’d dressed for myself today, wearing a comfy but sexy skirt and pairing it with a top that showed off my tattoos and made me feel sexy. And, underneath…royal blue lace, comfortable but not entirely practical, a demi-cup push-up bra that my breasts didn’t need but which I knew made me look even more stacked than I already was, and a thong with a wide band and low waist.

  He shook his head as if in disbelief, passing the back of his wrist over his lips. “Damn, Juneau.”

  I popped a hip. “See something you like, Remington?”

  He growled. “You know I do.” He reached for me, grabbing me by the ass with a rough handful of flesh and tugging me toward him. “Gimme.”

  I laughed, dancing backward. “Ah-ah-ah.” I pushed his wrists down. “My turn, remember?”

  “Fuck—I didn’t think you were serious.” He tested my grip, my resistance. “Mine. I need to touch you. I need my mouth on that tasty fuckin’ skin of yours. I need to bury my face between those gorgeous tits of yours.” He fought my grip, and I fought back, knowing he could overpower me if he really wanted to, but I was determined to show him I was strong—and serious. “I need you naked. I need you under me.”

  “Yes, Remington, I was serious when I said it was my turn.” I pushed his hands down and then held up a forefinger in warning. “Stay.”

  He laughed, an impatient, amused, feral sound. “You have a few seconds—very few. So make ’em count, babe.”

  I gazed up at him, hooking my fingers in his underwear on either side of his erection. “You want me naked and underneath you?”

  He nodded. “Need is the more accurate word here, sweetheart.”

  “Then you’ll give me all the time I want.”

  “What are you going to do?” he asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

  “Whatever I want.” I tugged downward. “I’m guessing you’ll probably enjoy it, though, so it’s in your interests to just play nice and cooperate.”

  “Neither of those things are really in my skill set.”

  “Time to learn, then.”

  I had his underwear past his hips, past that taut, hard bubble of his ass, and he bent, shoving them down and stepping out of them, and I finally, finally got to see all of him, totally bare, and all for me.

  And oh…my…god—he was glorious.

  That V-cut was like an arrow from God to the promised land, pointing directly to the giant, veined, straining colossus that was his cock. I couldn’t even begin to guess at measurements, and comparisons were futile. As big as a…? What? What in my life could compare to that beautiful organ? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

  I groaned, my lip between my teeth. “God, you’re beautiful, Rem,” I whispered.

  He didn’t laugh, gave me no arrogant smirk. Just gazed levelly at me. “I’m glad you think so,” was all he said, in a quiet murmur.

  I wanted to grab it and do all sorts of wicked things to him, but instead I took my time exploring the rest of his body. I arced my hands over his narrow hips, scratching my fingernails up over his hard round ass, then palmed the globes and caressed them, then up his back and over his shoulders. I nuzzled against his chest, caressing his arms and his sides, and his hips again, and my lips danced across his sternum. He sucked in a breath, a long, slow, deep inhalation, which he held; his hands went to my butt, caressing and cupping as I had his.

  I pushed his hands away. “Ah-ah. My turn, remember? I told you to stay.”

  He snarled. “Can’t help it.” He clutched my ass, squeezing in gesture. “Got this beautiful thing out in the open, and I gotta get acquainted with it.”

  “Fine. But that’s it.”

  He laughed, a quiet huff. “Yes ma’am.” He continued his explorations of my backside and hips, toying with the strap of the thong. “You know, I never thought it’d be my thing, but I kinda like the bossy version of you. In this context, at least.”

  “I’m glad you like it,” I said, echoing what he’d said when I got my first glance at the glory of a naked Remington Badd. “Because I’m not sure I can help it. I’m not usually like this, but as we’ve established, you just bring something out of me.”

  “You can make demands of me any time, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I can’t promise I’ll always hop to obey you, ’cause taking orders ain’t my style, but I’ll do my best…just to make you happy.”

  I just laughed, a sniff and a huff of amusement at the idea of a man like Remington taking orders, using words like “obey.” He was dominant, all alpha, but he could also be sweet and thoughtful…when he wanted to be.

  “You can take off my bra if you want,” I said to him.

  He bared his teeth at me—less of a grin and more of a feral, animal gesture, a primal display of virile sexuality. He made quick work of my bra, unhooking it and stripping it off me before I knew what happened, and then, before he could do anything else, I pushed his hands down to his sides and touched my lips to his chest.

  “Need,” he muttered, the word more of a growl than speech.

  I cupped my breasts, rubbing the hardened tips against his chest. “These?”

  “Fuck…” he breathed. “You’re really fucking with my self-control here, babe.”

  I was at the end of my own self-control, truth be told. I pushed up against him, pressing my breasts against his chest—I felt his erection as a hard hot ridge between us, and I was afire with need—it was all I could think of, all I could comprehend, the only thought or emotion within me was need.

  My fingers curled around him, seizing the thick shaft. I pulled away a few inches, watching as my fist slid down and the fat tip popped out of my fist and his shaft sprouted upward through my hand. I wrapped both hands around him, caressing his full length with slow strokes, exploring him.

  Not to harp on size, but he was so damned massive it made my head spin and my pussy ache just thinking about it. Each stroke of my hands around him took an eternity, traveling from root to tip and back, and each time, he hissed, his abs tensed, flexing.

  �
�I’ve been hard for fucking hours, Juneau,” he growled. “You keep that up and this’ll be over before it starts.”

  “We have time,” I said. “Unless you’re in a hurry?”

  He groaned as I continued to caress his cock with both hands, without rhythm, just petting him, thumbing the precum-smeared tip, just playing with him, learning the feel of him in my hands. “Yeah, I’m in a hurry. I need to feel you. I need to watch you come apart under me.”

  “What if I want to watch you come first?” I asked, meeting his gaze. “What if I want to just touch and you feel you…” I hesitated “…And taste you? What if I want to come apart on top of you instead of under you?”

  He closed his eyes, abs flexed, hips subtly flexing forward as I let my caressing strokes find a rhythm. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His eyes flicked open. “I want to let you do what you want, Juneau, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself.”

  “Stop yourself from what?” I asked. “Coming?”

  He laughed. “No, that’s a goddamn certainty at this point—especially the way you’re touching me right now. You’re about to have a fucking mess on your hands, and I mean that literally.” He swallowed hard, breathing deeply as I pumped his length with both hands. “No, what I mean is I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop myself from bending you over this bed and fucking you.”

  “Oh,” I breathed, my lungs seizing as images of him doing just that bashed through my lust-hazed mind. “That would be…yeah. Wow.”

  “I’ve never needed anything in my life the way I need to fuck you, Juneau.” He pressed against me, grinding. “And I don’t mean just fuck—I mean…” He struggled for words. “I mean…everything. God, I don’t know what I mean.”

  I wasn’t ready for him to come, yet. I wanted more time with him. I wanted…just more. More touching…I wanted to taste him.

  I clutched him in one hand and walked backward toward my bed, pulling him after me, using his cock like a handle. He grinned, half laughing and half groaning as I twisted, pushing him gently toward the bed. He sat down on the edge, reaching for me, reading what he thought was my intention to climb astride him.