She threw her head back, her hair flying over his arms and aimed a screwed-up face at him, those tears still in her eyes.
“Don’t be a dick, Shep.”
He grinned at her. “You like my dick, babe.”
“Now don’t be more of a dick, Shep.”
“You walked up here without texting me, which I’ll let go this time ’cause we’ve had enough drama today.”
She rolled eyes that were clearing.
He kept going.
“Does that mean I gotta go down to your car to lug up the groceries?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t buy groceries. I didn’t know the state of play between us. But if I won, I figured we’d get something delivered if we could talk someplace into sending a delivery person to your ’hood.”
His brows went up. “If you won?”
“If I won.”
“So this is a game,” he noted, pretty sure how he felt about that, and it wasn’t all that good.
“Life’s a game, Hound. People don’t play it. We’re pawns. It plays us. And every day you don’t know how it’s gonna play you. You could wake up a winner, or you could wake up a loser.” She pressed into him, tightening her arms around him. “But when you’re wild like the wind like we are, you roll with it. Today, I woke up a loser. But I’m gonna end the night a winner.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
So he didn’t.
“I want to spend the night on the weekends,” she declared.
Now she was pushing it.
“Keely—”
She gave him a squeeze and a shake. “If you need to go over and be with Jean, and you don’t want me a part of that, I’ll hang and watch TV while you do. Or snooze, because, baby, you wear me out. But what sucks about this is that it’s been made clear that this might not be the end, but there will be one. So I want all I can get while I’ve got it.”
It’s been made clear?
“It’s always been clear,” he stated.
She looked him in the eye and it took her a beat to say, “Yeah.”
He didn’t get that, but he had Keely in his arms and they had an understanding.
Hound wasn’t sure it was the right one, but it was an understanding.
They both knew where this was at.
And she wanted more of him.
He wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do to give it to her.
But he still was going to do it.
Because they weren’t done.
Not yet.
And he wanted more of her.
Since she was offering . . .
It was dumb as fuck.
But he was going to take it.
Proper Biker Grandma
Keely was going down on him, body slightly to the side, legs straddling his cocked thigh, rubbing her wet pussy along its length, and Hound had had enough.
He pulled out, took hold of her and heard her breath catch as he flung her on her back, gripped her behind her knees and yanked them high and wide, pulling her hips clean off the bed.
He looked her in the eyes as he grasped hold of his dick and led it home.
He had the head in when he returned that hand to the back of her knee and drove inside.
He caught the first moment of her head jerking back right when his did as he felt her slick wet close tight around him.
He bent his neck to watch her face and alternately watch his cock plunge inside her again and again and again.
“Clit and tit,” he bit off.
She immediately moved hands as she was told.
And Hound fucked his Keekee, watching her fingering herself and twisting and pulling at her nipple.
It took it out of him but he held back until she went.
Then he ground as deep inside as he could get and let go.
His alarm clock sounded and he opened his eyes to feel Keely draped on him again.
This time, it wasn’t chest to chest.
This time her chest was over his hips, his morning hard pressing into her tits, head in the bed, the covers tangled around their legs, her round ass, the sway of her back and arc of her neck all he could see.
He ran one hand over that ass and reached the other out to the alarm clock as she shifted, lifting her head, twisting.
The alarm went silent. He felt her eyes on him and looked to her.
It was a few days after their big blowout. Since then, the sex had gone from bionic to stratospheric. With the reminder shoved right up in both of their faces that their time was limited, they obviously were both committed to sucking everything out of it they could get.
Last night was Friday. She’d brought a bag and enough groceries that they didn’t have to leave the house for a month.
He didn’t say dick.
“Gotta take care of Jean, baby.”
She shifted on him, slithering up, putting her face in his, hers was soft and sleepy, something he’d never seen on her. The only time she’d woken up in his bed, she’d had to rush out of it.
He could get used to that look.
Just like he’d gotten used to all she gave him.
Yup.
Burrowing in and sucking out his soul.
And he was the goddamned motherfucker letting it happen.
She touched her mouth to his, whispered, “I’ll be here,” brushed her mouth along the side of his neck then slid off him, reaching to yank the covers up her naked body.
Hound got up to sitting and let himself watch as she settled back in, stretching just an arm behind her to tag his pillow and pull it over her so she could hug and curl into it on her side.
She looked good in his bed.
Then again, she’d look good in any bed because she looked good any time.
He rolled the other way, did his morning gig and moved his ass to Jean’s.
It was not a shower day so he had her taken care of, in her chair and was in the kitchen when she remarked, “I didn’t hear Keely leave last night.”
“She didn’t,” Hound grunted to the skillet he put on the burner.
“She didn’t?”
“Nope.”
“She’s still over there?”
He grinned at the carton of eggs he pulled out the fridge. “Think we went over the fact you know about these modern-times, man-woman gigs, Jean bug.”
“I do know,” she stated tartly. “What’s she doing?”
“Snoozin’.”
“Does she not eat breakfast?” Jean asked.
Hound turned to her. “Say again?”
“Shepherd, I’d like to get to know your girl. We could do that over sandwiches and Jeopardy! but I get tired in the afternoons. I’m bright-eyed now. So before you crack those eggs, get home and ask her if she’d like to join us,” she ended all this on an order.
He was considering the “tired in the afternoons” mention, something he suspected due to her naps, but not something she’d ever spoken about.
He was not liking what his consideration was bringing up when she prompted, “Well? Or, even though the cat’s out of the bag, are you still keeping me all to yourself, leaving your girl right next door when you make excellent eggs.”
With the back of her chair to the kitchen, she was peering around her seat at him.
“Jean—” he started.
“Please go get Keely, Shepherd,” she requested quietly.
Shit.
Fuck.
“Right,” he muttered, stalked to the door, out of it, down the hall to his place.
He went in, moved down the hall and saw that Keely was what he said she was. Snoozing. In fact, she was dead to the world curled around his pillow.
He sat on the bed and put a hand to her hip.
Her body did a soft jump, her eyes opened and she turned her head on the pillow.
“Hey,” she mumbled. “Everything okay?”
“Jean wants to know if you’d like to have breakfast with her.”
She stared at him, sleep receding, then it was him t
hat jumped and it wasn’t light, when the covers and his pillow hit his side with a slap.
She scrambled out of the bed the other way and said, “I’ll . . . I . . . a shower might take too long. I just need to, uh . . . brush my teeth and drag a comb through my hair and . . .”
She trailed off and turned at the door of the bathroom to look at him.
Hound had tugged the covers off him but other than that was unmoving from his spot on the bed, watching her.
“Do you . . . are you gonna wait or do you want me to just go over and knock on the door?”
Fuck, she really wanted to have breakfast with Jean.
“She gets why you did what you did, babe,” he told her.
“I . . . well, I hope so, but, um . . . I need to get dressed.”
Then she disappeared in the bathroom.
Hound dropped his keys on his (new) nightstand at the base of his (new) lamp then went to the bathroom door.
She was brushing her teeth so vigorously, her bare ass shook while she did it.
His cock started to respond so he looked into her eyes in the mirror.
“Keys on the nightstand, Keekee. Lock this place up when you come over. Knock first but you can come in after that.”
She nodded, still brushing.
He grinned at her.
She lifted a hand, gathered the sheet of her hair behind her neck, and bent over the basin.
That jutted her sweet ass his way.
Christ.
He walked back to Jean.
Her eyes were on him the instant he walked back through her door.
She looked hesitant but excited.
“Is she coming?” she asked.
“She’s brushing her teeth.”
Jean beamed.
Fuck.
Hound moved to get back to business in the kitchen, announcing, “She’s nervous.”
“I’ll settle her down,” Jean told Saturday morning TV that she’d now turned down.
Hound had nothing to say to that and nothing to say at all because this was not something he expected to happen, or expected he’d want to happen, some part of him thought it shouldn’t happen, and another part thought it should.
Faster than he figured she would, even in the tizzy he’d left her in (or maybe because of the tizzy he left her in), there came a knock on the door.
Hound turned from the toaster to the door to see it open slowly, not far, and only Keely’s head coming in.
She glanced at Hound before she found Jean.
“I . . . is it okay if I come in?”
“Of course, dear,” Jean replied.
She pushed the door open, came in, closed the door, but stopped there, and it sucked she was cute in her anxiety and not because she was anxious. Because it sucked Hound found it cute.
“Let’s put this to bed, shall we?” Jean said immediately to Keely. “We didn’t meet under great circumstances but you apologized, and it says nothing about the person who receives a sincere apology if they don’t accept it, set what happened aside and simply carry on. I accepted it. I set what happened aside. And now we’re carrying on. So, Keely, tell Hound how you like your eggs. And do you like lox?”
Keely stood there and stared at her.
“Also, please sit down,” Jean invited.
Slowly, Keely moved to the couch and sat her ass down where Hound usually sat.
“Shep can make eggs?” Keely asked.
“Very good ones,” Jean replied.
“I do all the cooking for us,” Keely told her.
Hound watched Jean lean over the arm of her chair toward Keely and say conspiratorially, but loudly, “He makes sandwiches and soups for lunch, which are rather nice. But I cannot say his dinners are as good as his eggs.”
“I heard that,” he grunted, and decided to just let this be.
Jean wanted it.
Keely wanted it.
Right now they were his two girls.
So who was he to say dick about it?
He returned his attention to the toaster.
“Please do not take that as me being ungrateful, motek,” she said to his back.
“Whatever,” he muttered.
“Shep loves my cooking. So do my boys. When I cook for him, I can make more for you so he can bring it over for dinner.”
“I must admit, I had some of your leftover spaghetti a few weeks back and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask Shepherd if he would share more of what you had left over.”
“I’ll totally make more,” Keely said, and Hound heard the smile her voice.
“That’s very sweet,” Jean replied, and Hound heard the smile in hers.
“Can I ask, what does motek mean?” That was Keely.
“It means ‘darling’ in Hebrew,” Jean explained.
“You’re Jewish?” Keely asked.
“The mezuzah usually gives it away,” Jean said on an amused cluck.
“I hadn’t noticed it when I walked in.” Hound looked to Keely to see her twisted to look at the door. She twisted back. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”
“From Jerusalem. A friend of mine brought it back for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe thirty years ago. Outside of Shepherd, it’s my most prized possession.”
He felt Keely’s surprise at that, and then he heard her hilarity when she burst out laughing.
He looked from the frying eggs to the ceiling rethinking his decision this was okay.
“Bikers aren’t usually owned, Ms. Gruenberg,” Keely stated through her continuing fit of laughter.
“I slipped it past him when he wasn’t looking,” Jean told her.
Keely busted out laughing again.
Hound shook his head, his mouth quirking at the skillet.
Then he called out, “Babe, best give me your egg order or you’re getting over easy like Jean.”
“Over medium, honey,” Keely replied.
Jesus, how in the fuck did he find his ass in a kitchen taking egg orders from a woman?
But there he was, doing that.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever tried lox,” Keely told Jean.
“Then today is your lucky day. And just to say, please, Keely, call me Jean,” Jean replied then louder, “Shepherd, sweetheart, make sure to add some lox to Keely’s plate.”
He turned to the living room. “You women want me to put on an apron while I’m servin’ you?”
“No, babe,” Keely said. “Your outfit is just fine.”
That was when Jean busted out laughing.
Keely was naked on top of him, tracing the eagle tat across his collarbone, her attention on it.
“You’re cute with her.”
She meant Jean.
And she’d know.
She’d gone over for breakfast.
And lunch.
And she’d ordered Hound to go escort Jean to his own damned apartment so she could make the woman dinner.
Through this time, Hound had watched Keely falling in love (it happened during Jeopardy! when they both shouted “The Fonz!” at the same time for some TV question, and then Keely reached out and Jean actually gave the woman a high five).
Jean took that dive not long later (about a second after she put a bite of Keely’s fried beef cutlet smothered in mashed potatoes and gravy in her mouth).
“Shut it,” he replied.
“It’s absolutely adorable you call her ‘Jean bug,’” she told his tattoo.
He gave her waist a warning squeeze.
Her gaze came up to him and she had a sassy smirk on her face.
“She’s like your proper biker grandma. It’s hilarious that you don’t cuss in front of her.”
He lifted his brows. “Didn’t I say shut it?”
The smirk remained but quickly faded away and the look that replaced it, Hound had learned to brace.
“It’s incredibly beautiful the way you are with her. The way you take care of her. How much you guys love each other.”
“Keekee,” he murmured, lifting a h
and to her cheek.
She turned her head and kissed his palm before she righted it and tipped it to the side, resting her cheek in his hand.
“I’m not surprised,” she whispered. “You seem to have all the time in the world for everybody else, Hound. Live in a crappy apartment with old furniture and worn-out pots and pans and making Jean eggs, giving her guff, handing over money to Jag . . . which you should not do, his allowance is plenty . . . putting Dutch forward for Chaos and looking out for him, and just being all you are to your brothers in the Club.”
“Not gonna let my boy look bad in front of a date,” he murmured. “And just to say, babe, every man in Chaos backed Dutch.”
“Yours was the one that mattered the most.”
He slid his hand to the back of her neck, gripped it and used it and his arm around her waist to pull her up his body, repeating, “Baby, shut it.”
“You’re the—”
She cut herself off.
He didn’t want to know what she was going to say. What he did know was that whatever it was wasn’t healthy to his peace of mind.
He asked anyway.
“I’m the what?”
She shook her head, let her lips curl up a little and murmured, “You’re just a really, really good man, Hound.”
So she’d shut up, he lifted his head to kiss her.
She let him, got into it when he pushed it further, then he broke the kiss and used his hand on her neck to settle her face tucked in his throat.
“I’m worried about her.”
That was in the room and it came in his voice.
Fuck, now shit was just running right out of his mouth.
He needed to get a tighter grip, seriously, or that would get him into trouble.
Big.
She pushed on his hold to lift up and look down at him again.
“About Jean?”
He said it, and she was now in it with him with Jean, so he knew she wouldn’t let it go.
“She fell asleep on my couch tonight, Keekee,” he said.
Keely looked confused. “She’s not young. I thought that was normal. Is it . . . unusual?”
“She goes to sleep early. Sleeps light. Wakes up a lot. She’s up before I get there every morning and alert enough I figure she’s been up awhile. But lately, she’s been nappin’ a lot more. She doesn’t take that shuffle down the hall often, but she’s never been as slow as she was tonight or as obviously worn out after.”
Wild Like the Wind Page 15