Wild Fire: A Chaos Novella

by Kristen Ashley

  “I did too, honey,” Keely put in softly.

  Whoa.

  He had no idea his parents had figured shit out about Carolyn.

  Dutch looked to Jag.

  Jag was staring at Georgiana.

  “The other guys?” he asked.

  She jolted again and then asked back carefully, “You didn’t know?”

  “I knew, but she takes money from them?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of them?”

  “All of you.”

  Jagger’s tone was not right when he asked, “Cocaine?’

  Shit, this sucked worse than he already knew it would.

  “It was recreational at first, and I was still concerned,” Georgie said. “But I don’t think it is anymore. She used to not hide it. She hides it now. And she sometimes sells handbags, or shoes, when she’s in between guys, I suspect so she can keep supplied.”

  “So the money I’ve been givin’ her is goin’ up her nose?” Jagger asked. “Not to pay her rent?”

  Dutch let Georgie go because he could tell by the line of Jag’s body and the deterioration of his tone that shit was going south.

  Hound also adjusted his position.

  Keely went to Georgie.

  “Son,” Hound said low.

  “Don’t, Hound,” Jagger warned.

  “Let’s take this outside, brother,” Dutch suggested.

  Too late.

  Jag’s body tightened tight.

  “Goddamned fuckin’ cunt!” Jag shouted.

  Then he twisted, reached an arm long, and pointed his finger at Georgiana, and Dutch braced to intervene.

  He did it with difficulty, because he would lose it if his brother was a dick to Georgie, and he did not want that between him and Jag, nor have that dragging on what he wanted to build with Georgiana.

  But this was Jag.

  He should have known better.

  “Sorry,” Jagger forced out. “Sorry you heard that. But she’s a goddamned cunt.”

  Dutch relaxed.

  Hound relaxed.

  Keely stayed close to Georgie.

  “I should have said something earlier,” Georgie noted, and she sounded miserable.

  “Can’t rat out your own sister,” Jagger replied.

  “I tried to stop her,” Georgie told him.

  “Babe, this isn’t on you. This is on your user, loser, junkie bitch of a sister,” Jagger stated.

  “I should have—”

  “Stop it,” Jag hissed. “This is the goddamned damage of assholes like Carolyn. She makes me feel like a chump, I gave her money. She makes you feel like shit, you didn’t shield people from her bullshit. And it’s all on her. So fuckin’ shut up about it.”

  “Jagger,” Hound said in a warning tone.

  “Fuckin’ shut up about it, please,” Jagger amended.

  Georgie let out a startled laugh and said, “You got it.”

  Okay then.

  Done.

  “You need a shot?” Dutch asked. “I got all sorts of shit. You call it.”

  “I need to find Carolyn and tell her she’s dumped and if I see her face again, we got issues,” Jag replied.

  Dutch looked to Georgie.

  But she shook her head. “It’s his now. And he’s right. It’s not his job, or my job, or yours, or anyone’s to cushion her from whatever’s coming. It happened how it happened and now it’s Jagger’s,” she said. “So I’m not going to ask any of you to let me cushion her from this.”

  “She’s gonna be pissed at you, babe,” Dutch warned.

  “Well, I’ve been pissed at her for a few years now, it’s my turn, I guess,” she returned, and then she looked to Jag. “But if you want me to talk to her—”

  “No, I got this,” Jag bit out.

  Georgie nodded.

  “I know I need a goddamned shot,” Hound declared, walking to the kitchen.

  Keely gave Georgie a look, Dutch, Jagger, then she followed her husband.

  “Mwrr?” Murtagh asked, batting at the leg of Jagger’s jeans with his paw.

  “So now you like me, after you know the piece of ass I was tagging was taking me for a ride?” Jagger asked.

  “Mwrrrrrrrr,” Murtagh answered, butted Jag’s leg with his head before he ran his whole body down it.

  Which meant Jag bent and picked him up, muttering, “You’re nuts.”

  “Murr,” Murtagh retorted.

  “Don’t deny it. You totally are,” Jagger said, and Murtagh gave up on the conversation and started purring when Jag started scratching behind his ears on his way to carrying Murtagh to the kitchen.

  “Does your whole family speak cat?” Georgie asked Dutch.

  “Until now, I’d have said no. Now, I gotta say yes.”

  She smiled at him.

  And it was huge.

  Chapter Seven

  It’s Family

  Dutch

  Dutch woke as usual, on his stomach.

  Not as usual, he felt something weighing on his lat and across the small of his back.

  It took a second before he smiled.

  Georgie.

  She was pressed up to him, cheek to his lateral, he could feel her soft hair there, her arm was around his back.

  He liked her just like that, but he had a feeling he’d like something else better.

  So he shifted, which made her shift, and he instantly found there was more to be into with Georgiana, because she made cute sleepy noises as they both moved.

  This being Dutch turning to his side to face her, Georgiana giving him room to do that, then burrowing in, tangling her legs with his, wrapping her arm tight around his waist, shoving her face deep into his chest then sliding it up, so it was in his throat.

  This left him with his chin on top of her hair which was contained in the poofy ponytail she’d put in it before they’d crashed the night before.

  He slid both his arms around her, gave her a squeeze, and murmured, “You awake?”

  “Mm,” she hummed.

  He grinned.

  “Baby, good morning kiss,” he prompted.

  “No,” she denied. “Morning breath,” she explained.

  He let his hands start roaming. She arched into him.

  “I’ll brave it,” he said.

  She moved her head up, her lips on him now, along his throat, to the side of his neck.

  “Dutch,” she whispered under his ear.

  Christ, he liked how she said his name.

  His hands began to roam with a purpose.

  Her lips moved down his jaw.

  “Rough,” she mumbled.

  “You like smooth?”

  Her eyes found his. “I like you.”

  Well, fuck.

  Enough play.

  He kissed her.

  He did not go in easy and he didn’t do that because he had a morning hard-on.

  He did it because he’d woken up for the first time with Georgie in his bed.

  He took her to her back, Dutch on top, and they both got busy with hands and mouth and tongues.

  And she didn’t have anything to worry about. She tasted of a hint of last night’s toothpaste and Georgie.

  All good.

  Real good.

  He found more to like about her when she demonstrated she was a woman who wasn’t afraid to use her nails.

  She eventually went for his ass.

  He went for her tit.

  It was generous, way more than a handful, the bud of her nipple hard against his palm.

  Dutch liked the feel of that so much, he tore his mouth from hers, angled, and gave it another occupation.

  He drew her nipple in over her nightie and the noise that bought him meant he disengaged, dragged her nightgown down, exposing her to him, and he went back in.

  She glided her fingers into his hair, moaning, “Dutch.”

  Christ, they’d barely started, and he needed her pussy.

  He returned to kissing her mouth, deep and wet, and when she
gave over to his tongue, he guided a hand up her nightgown, over her hip, her belly, and down.

  She gasped around his tongue.

  He ended the kiss but didn’t move his lips from hers.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” It was a plea.

  This woman.

  His woman.

  Always more and more to her.

  All of it good.

  He obliged, sliding his hand in the top of her panties and in.

  She opened her legs a little to give him more of that wet heat.

  “Fuck,” he muttered, toying at the heart of the lusciousness of her.

  “Dutch.”

  He rolled her clit.

  “Dutch.”

  He slid a finger inside.

  Wet, hot and tight.

  Christ.

  It was going to be heaven, sinking in there.

  “Ohmigod, Dutch.”

  He stroked her, her hips moving with his rhythm, then he pulled out and rolled her clit again.

  “Ready for you,” she breathed.

  “Unh-unh,” he denied.

  Her eyes were hooded, hazy, but they semi-focused on him when she asked, “What?”

  “First time I make you come, gonna watch.”

  “Watch while you’re inside.”

  “No.”

  “Dutch.”

  He put more pressure on her clit, her gaze hooded again, her back arched, and he ordered, “Baby, just roll with it.”

  She either didn’t have a choice because of what he was doing, or she gave in, because that was what she did. Making hot, sweet little noises he instantly became addicted to, clutching him, she rode his hand.

  Yeah, it was going to be heaven, riding that.

  And he watched the show as the heat swept over her, her face so goddamned gorgeous, his cock beaded and he couldn’t stop himself from putting his mouth to hers to swallow her sharp cry while he buried two fingers up her cunt to feel it spasm with her orgasm.

  When her body yielded, carefully, he slid out, skated a hand over her hip and turned them to their sides.

  He hooked her leg around his thigh and wrapped her up in his arms, holding her close.

  She cuddled closer.

  Neither of them spoke for long beats.

  Until she did.

  “Are we done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about you?”

  “Tonight.”

  “You’re waiting?”

  “Worth the wait.”

  She stiffened in his arms, relaxed, and mumbled, “Never had that.”

  Say what?

  A man had never taken her there?

  “A guy has never given you an orgasm?” he asked.

  She tipped her head back and he looked down at her.

  “Not without taking his own.”

  “I’ll get mine tonight.”

  Something washed over her, she didn’t hide it, she gave it to him, all of it.

  And then she gave him more, lifting her hand and running her finger along his jaw in that sweet way she had, looking deep in his eyes, hers filled with, well…

  Fuck.

  They were filled with everything.

  “What’s happening here?” she whispered.

  “A lot,” he stated the obvious.

  She melted further into him. “Yeah.”

  He grinned at her. “Good we got that understanding.”

  “I like your family,” she said.

  “They like you,” he replied.

  And they did.

  After the drama, the night did not go as he’d planned.

  That being Dutch having Georgie to himself without Carlyle or Carolyn or anything taking their attention, and they’d take that time to get to know each other better.

  It had gone to a different plan, with his ma finding out neither of them had dinner.

  She’d then commandeered the kitchen, and her husband to help, and made him and Georgie food while Jag, Georgie and Dutch alternately drank beer and took shots of tequila (of which Jag had more, but that was understandable). While they did this, Georgie and Dutch talked Jag down from feeling like a sucker for not reading the signs Carolyn was sending.

  The night ended with the men doing the dishes and Georgie, Murtagh and Keely on the couch, the two non-felines in that scenario cackling and talking in low voices. The feline just laid in Georgie’s lap, purring like he was in hog heaven.

  In other words, watching her with his brother, and his mother, Dutch got to know her better, and as with everything he was learning about Georgie, it was beyond good.

  It’d been late when they’d left and they did it because Dutch, not to mention Hound, had noticed that Georgie looked tired and was trying to hide yawns.

  So Hound rounded everyone up and took them home, leaving Jag’s truck because he wasn’t smashed, but he wasn’t good to drive himself.

  And Dutch had wasted no time and gotten his girl to bed.

  And now was now.

  She shoved her face back into his throat and said, “I don’t want to leave this bed.” But before he could concur, she yanked her head back and spoke fast. “But I know we gotta get back on the case. It’s just, you’ve got a great bed.”

  He did have a great bed.

  But it wasn’t his bed she didn’t want to leave.

  He beat back his smile and spanned her cheek with his hand. “Baby, I know you’re not a selfish bitch. You’ve proved that repeatedly. You don’t have to keep reminding me of it.”

  Dutch felt the heat against his palm even if he saw the rose bloom in the apple of her other cheek and she muttered, “Good.”

  “And I don’t wanna leave this bed either. But mostly you in it with me. So how ’bout we make a deal?”

  “A deal?”

  “Today is Friday. We give Carlyle today. We got a reservation tonight, that’s ours.” He grinned at her. “We’re gonna get busy after that, and I’m gonna get mine.”

  “Yeah, you are,” she promised on a whisper, shoving closer.

  He kept grinning as well as talking. “We give tomorrow to Carlyle, but even if shit is not sorted, we get Sunday morning just for us. In this bed. You and me. Work for you?”

  “Totes,” she replied.

  He felt his body move with laughter even if it wasn’t audible, except for the shake in the one word he said.

  “Totes?”

  She smiled at him.

  He couldn’t get lost in her cute.

  They had to get a move on.

  “Another deal,” he continued. “You get the bathroom first and I’ll make coffee.”

  Her smile died and she said, “Okay, but before we hit it, we talk.”

  They’d been talking.

  “We are talking.”

  “A different kind of talk,” she said.

  “About what?” he asked.

  She wet her lips, pressed them together and rubbed.

  This did not give him good thoughts.

  “About what, Georgie?” he pushed.

  “About you,” she said softly.

  He tensed.

  It came soft again when she said, “Please.”

  “What about me?”

  “You know, Dutch.”

  And he did know.

  He also knew she gave him Carolyn.

  She gave him history about her mom, her dad, her roommate, her cat, her condo purchase, her job.

  Open. Honest. Out there.

  This was happening with them.

  And she was asking for this.

  What was happening between them was a lot.

  He had to give her this.

  Fuck.

  “You get the bathroom, I’ll get coffee,” he muttered.

  “Then you get the bathroom, and I’ll pour us coffee. How do you take yours?”

  “Two sugars.”

  “Mwrrr!” came angrily from the side of the bed.

  They grinn
ed at each other.

  “Quarter can wet food, honey,” she ordered. “Be sure to break it up.”

  “Gotcha,” he replied.

  He touched his mouth to hers, then he got that cute, little squeal when he dragged them both out of bed.

  They each did their thing, and apparently, she did really like his bed because they were going to talk there.

  He knew this because, when he was done in the bathroom, he came out to see her cross-legged in it, Murtagh curled in her lap, her fingers hooked through a coffee mug, his steaming on the nightstand.

  He moved that way.

  She checked out his body when he did, and pure Georgie, did not hide she liked what she saw.

  He was wearing a pair of dark-red sleep shorts with a black drawstring and that was it.

  Last night, and right now, he’d not missed she was making another play with her wardrobe decisions considering he doubted she usually wore what she had on now to bed.

  Halter top, all lace up there, cut low, lots of cleavage, semi-sheer skirt, not lace, but super short.

  His girl.

  He smiled at her, got into bed, put his back to the headboard, legs stretched out, and Murtagh made what Dutch thought was a lunatic decision.

  This being, he defected from Georgie’s lap to take residence on Dutch’s abs.

  “You’re stealing my-cat-not-my-cat,” Georgie accused.

  “Cut the crap, babe, he’s your cat,” Dutch replied, simultaneously reaching for his coffee and stroking the cat.

  “Whatever,” she mumbled and shifted so she was angled his way, one knee resting on his hip.

  Okay.

  Here we go.

  Shit.

  “Dutch—”

  “No offense, darlin’, but you won’t get it,” he said gently.

  “I know that, but I think you need to explain it to me anyway,” she returned, just as gently.

  He drew in breath and let out a big sigh.

  Then, instead of explaining, mostly because he had no clue what to say, he took a sip of coffee.

  “I’m gonna say something and you tell me if I’m off base,” she declared.

  “Shoot,” he invited.

  “I watched that movie, now twice,” she began. “And your father…”

  He felt his body grow taut.

  Murtagh mrr’ed.

  Georgie persevered.

  “He was…I suspect this is not lost on you…he was revered by your Club, Dutch.”

  “It’s not lost on me,” he grunted.

  “That’s a lot to live up to.”

  He stilled.