The sun was coming up in the sky.
The dawn of a new day.
Mo was looking forward to it.
He just hoped like fuck he didn’t run anybody over getting his ass back to Lottie.
* * * *
Hawk
Hawk stood looking out the window at Mo’s truck taking off.
He felt Smithie come up beside him.
“You’re gonna let me call Mitch and Slim?” Hawk asked.
“Yup,” Smithie answered.
“And you’re gonna let justice take its course?”
“Yup.”
“Then, after it does, if it doesn’t swing Lottie’s way, you’re gonna bring someone in to neutralize this whackjob,” Hawk guessed.
“Yup.”
Hawk stared at the empty street.
“My girls gotta be safe, Hawk,” Smithie explained.
“I didn’t say a word.”
“All girls should be safe.”
He turned to the man at his side. “I got a daughter, Smithie, and I got a wife. Even if I didn’t, you’re still preaching to the choir.”
“You won’t know,” Smithie assured him.
“I’d give you some names, you asked. But if you want to compartmentalize, this is your thing, she’s yours to protect, it isn’t my call.”
Smithie studied him before he noted, “Your man, he had no say, you just wanted him to think he did.”
“He was here speaking for her. The only thing I feel bad about is that Mo was right, she should have a voice in this. And in the end, she didn’t.”
“That’s what men like us are for, Delgado,” Smithie pointed out. “Someone’s gotta make the tough decisions. This guy,” he tossed up a hand to indicate the house they were in, “he’s touched. Somethin’ wrong with him. But that’s not my problem. What’s in that basement is anyone’s worst nightmare. That’s my problem. And that cannot stand.”
Hawk nodded.
He could maybe argue, but he wouldn’t know why, since he agreed.
“I’ll lock the door when you go,” he said.
Smithie didn’t hang around.
Hawk locked the door when he left.
He dealt with the situation first through Jorge, then he called Slim.
Mitch was a straight arrow.
Slim had been DEA. He got shades of gray. He’d take care of it.
Then Hawk went home and was met with the sounds of pandemonium coming from the kitchen. This pandemonium being his wife getting breakfast for their three kids.
It wasn’t just the kids, though both his boys were a handful.
Gwen was an even bigger handful, thankfully, and she got off on the chaos of family.
His youngest, Vivi, hit him in the legs before he even made the kitchen.
Hawk looked down and put a hand to her head.
His black hair, Gwen’s blue eyes.
Pure beauty.
A letter was ever written about her, a room prepared…
No, he had no argument for Smithie.
“Hey, Daddy,” she greeted.
“Hey, beautiful,” he replied.
“Mommy’s making us chocolate chip cookie dough pancakes.”
Of course she was, and he had no idea such a thing existed.
To Hawk, it sounded repulsive.
But cookie dough was considered by his wife as a food group, maybe the most important one, and she had no qualms sharing this thinking with their children in a variety of creative ways.
Hawk smiled at his girl, but his thoughts were on his wife.
“Vivi, honey, get in the kitchen and control your brothers before I shoot them. Book bags, you know the drill,” Gwen ordered, striding in wearing little gray shorts with lace at the bottoms and a loose gray tank, more lace at the bottom.
“Okay, Mommy,” Vivi agreed, gave Hawk’s thighs a squeeze then skipped out of the utility room and into the open-plan kitchen.
He lost the arms of one of his girls only to be in the arms of the other as his wife pressed into him.
Hawk returned the favor, but considering his children were in the next room, he didn’t put either of his hands to her ass like he wanted to do.
Her eyes moved over his face. “Okay?”
“Yeah, Sweet Pea,” he murmured.
“Tough night?”
“Job done.”
She pressed closer and smiled up at him.
The minute she did, he started the clock.
It ran down to zero when he pulled back into his garage after taking the kids to school.
Kids at school.
Job done.
It was time to fuck his wife.
Chapter Nine
A Little Bit More
Lottie
I woke up when dawn was kissing the sky.
I didn’t know what woke me, though since this all started, I’d wake on occasion, make sure Mo was there, then go back to sleep when I saw he was.
But that time, I knew something was off.
I got up to an elbow and looked to the couch.
No Mo.
This was concerning, though some mornings when I woke up in a way I was awake, he wasn’t there. He’d be using the bathroom or doing a walk-through of the house, and then he’d come back.
I rested on my elbow listening in case that was what was happening, but I heard no noises from the bathroom or the house.
After Mo informed me the guy was there last night, he was so edgy, he was quietly wired, that live wire charging everything anywhere near him.
Even me.
I suspected he wanted to be in on the interrogation, or the takedown, or the search of his house, or whatever they were doing, but he had to stay with me.
We did our normal thing coming home, but when no word came, I’d had to ask him to talk me to sleep with his toes-to-feet-to-knees gig.
Not to get him to help me sleep, but to help him relax so his vibe would leak out of the room and I could go to sleep so he’d at least stop worrying about me.
Listening to his deep voice lull me, I did just that.
Now was now.
If they’d caught him, would Mo leave me?
If they’d caught him, wouldn’t he stay and pounce on me?
Considering I very much needed to have answers to these questions, I threw the covers back, twisted my hips and tossed my legs over the side of the bed.
Since the morning of the egg white omelets, I’d made a habit of wearing my most unsexy nightgowns to bed.
I didn’t have a lot of such items of apparel, though when I was on my period and feeling bloaty and devouring popchips by the bag, I went with one of those.
So this situation was taxing the limits of my unsexy stuff, but it wasn’t for that reason I hoped it was over.
And my sleep drawer included the one I was wearing, which had little straps but the rest of it hung from a high-ish neckline down to my upper thighs and looked like one, wide, white cotton smock with a deep ruffle at the hem.
It wasn’t ugly, as such. But it didn’t make me feel like a bombshell.
I went to the bathroom, the door of which was open.
No Mo.
Okay, I wasn’t liking this.
I crept to the top of the stairs and listened.
The house wasn’t exactly brightening up with the September dawn seeing as Mo still had all the blinds closed.
And they were now closed.
No noises.
Shit, shit, damn.
I hoped the threat was over, I hoped Mo was off somewhere, having a quiet conversation or tying up loose ends.
But I should be prepared.
And with him gone, I had to admit, I was a little freaked.
He’d never leave me, unless it was safe to do that.
Still, he’d been around every day. I was used to him. I liked being used to him. And the situation was fraught.
So yeah.
I was a little freaked.
I moved silently back to the bedroom and
assessed my options for a weapon, just in case.
I could use a shoe, though if I did actually have to use it, that would include getting in close proximity of someone I thought was a bad guy.
I didn’t want to do that.
So no shoe.
I had a can of Mace, but that was in my purse which was on the seat of the hall tree downstairs.
I decided to buy some Mace for my nightstand.
And I went with hairspray. A shot in the face might incapacitate somebody long enough I could run away.
I had three different kinds (light hold, medium hold, and super hold).
I decided on super hold.
I uncapped it, put the cap on the counter, stole out of the bathroom and skulked down the hall, then the stairs, thanking God I’d had a thick, buttery-cream carpet runner installed in both.
It was when I hit the wood floors at the bottom I was glad my feet were bare.
I turned, moved through the arch into the living room and stopped dead.
This was because the lights were on in the kitchen and there was a very tall, very muscled dude (not taller or more muscled than Mo, but then again, not many were) standing at my Nespresso machine. He was wearing olive drab cargos and a white T-shirt.
His head was turned to me.
Thick head of silvery-gray hair, even though I could tell by his face he hadn’t lived the years to earn that color.
Too far away to note the color of his eyes.
Totally not too far away to see he was gorgeous.
Undoubtedly one of Hawk’s dudes for no man who looked like this could be a crackpot, or at least I hoped the laws of the universe weren’t that twisted.
“What’s with the hairspray?” he asked.
“To incapacitate you so I can run away,” I told him. “I had a selection and went with super hold.”
“Good choice,” he replied.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Axl. One of Hawk’s men. Buddy of Mo’s.”
I lowered my weapon, now on the subject that interested me. “Where’s Mo?”
He turned fully my way and leaned a slim hip against the counter. “Caught the guy. Mo’s with Hawk. He told me to tell you if you woke up before he got back that he’d be back as soon as he could.”
I bet he would.
But…
They got him.
Ohmigod, they got him.
Instead of doing a round-off followed by an arms-up-in-the-air, heels-kicked-back jump, I walked to my coffee table and put the hairspray down.
When I gave my attention back to Axl, I saw I hadn’t lost his.
“Mind if I have some coffee?” he asked.
“Help yourself,” I answered, wandering toward the kitchen and stopping. “Pods in the cupboard above the machine.”
He reached to the cupboard above the machine.
“Who was he?” I asked.
“Semi-regular. Total whackjob,” he muttered, putting the bowl of pods on the counter and hitting the button on top, making it blink green.
Then he turned again toward me.
Whoa.
Clear, ice-blue eyes.
Nice.
“He comes to the club on occasion,” he went on. “And—”
He cut himself off as he tensed, straightened and then used those long legs of his to move toward me, by me then stop four feet beyond me just as I heard the front door slam, heavy footfalls…
I stepped to the side so I could see past Axl.
Then I stopped dead.
Because Mo caught sight of me and he stopped dead one foot into the living room.
My panties grew wet and my mind went into a trance as Mo again very successfully communicated non-verbally.
This time he was communicating the wait was over.
And what was to come next was going to be worth that wait.
“Go,” he grunted.
“Gotcha,” Axl replied, humor dripping off that word. “Nice to meet you, Lottie,” he said as he strolled across the room.
I stared at Mo and didn’t say a word.
I’d apologize for being rude later.
Vaguely, I heard the front door open.
Vaguely, I heard the front door close.
I forced myself to speak.
“They got him?”
“They got him.”
We stared at each other.
We stared at each other longer.
Then in a sudden burst of movement, I raced toward him.
I also raced right by him so I could sprint up the stairs.
All those nights with Mo on my couch wishing he was somewhere else, this was happening in my bed.
I heard the thunderous falls of Mo’s boots hitting the steps behind me and I knew by their tempo that he was skipping some.
And my panties got wetter.
I ran into my room, twirled to face the door, the voluminous folds of my smock nightie flying out, exposing panty I was sure, and I saw Mo enter the room.
He stopped advancing but not moving. However, he moved only to take his gun with holster off his belt and toss it to the foot of the bed.
I started panting.
We stared at each other again.
My body felt so hot, I was certain I was about to burst into flame.
He put his fingers to his light gray compression shirt, pulled it up and it was gone, exposing the enormous wall of his chest, his bulbous pecs, the wide sweep of his shoulders, his bulging biceps, his demarcated abs and the thick, dark trail of hair that circled his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his black cargos.
Oh God.
I was gonna pass out.
“Mo,” I whispered.
At that, he moved.
In two great steps, he was on me.
He hooked me with one arm at my waist and I was up, literally flying through the air to land with a couple of bounces on my back in my bed.
Oh God.
I was gonna come.
I got up on both elbows and saw him standing at the foot of the bed, his upper body rising and falling in a huge, smooth, but fast and deep rhythm.
He was getting control.
I needed to get control.
The problem was, certain areas of my body were begging me to get up on my feet, use the mattress as a springboard and land on him.
He bent at the waist, all the way, so all I had was a view of his back which might have been good except he was clearly taking off his boots and that meant he was using his hands which meant the muscles in his back and shoulders were moving.
And I was gonna come again.
“Mo,” I whimpered.
Fast as a lash, he was up, his hands on my ankles, pulling my legs apart.
Lord, he had to stop doing shit like that.
“Baby,” I breathed.
Then he went in, one knee to the bed, the other. Fluidly ducking his head down and moving forward like he was diving deep in a body of water, his head disappeared under the ruffle and his mouth was on me over my panties.
My fingers curled into the bedclothes and my head fell back as I spread my legs wider, feeling his teeth scraping at the material, at me.
So good.
So good.
“Oh God, oh God,” I chanted, moving one hand to the back of his head, feeling the warm smoothness and quivering from top to toe.
I pushed him to me.
His mouth closed over me and he drew, hard.
So good.
“Mo,” I moaned.
His mouth disappeared, I felt his finger hook in the gusset of my panties and my legs were forced back together and straight up as he got on his knees and tore my panties off.
He tossed them away, caught my legs at the calves, separated them and let them fall to his sides.
I stared up at him as he dug into his back pocket for his wallet.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Wallet out, eyes locked on mine, he dropped it to the bed and his hands went to his belt.
<
br /> “Yes,” I panted.
The metallic noise of the clip buckle releasing gave me another quiver. The sound of his zip going down made me start to shiver. The movement of his arms which meant he was putting his hands to his waistband and was about to do the reveal made my eyes drop.
His cargos went to his beefy thighs and his massive, rock-hard cock sprang out from a thick bed of dark hair.
Oh yes, oh yes, yes, yes, yes.
God loved me.
“Hurry,” I begged.
I watched him roll the condom halfway on before my gaze cut up to his face.
“Hurry!” I snapped.
He fell forward and I almost shouted, Hallelujah!
But he caught himself in a hand beside me, straight arm, holding himself away from me.
“Mo!” I cried.
His hand went between my legs, two fingers gliding tight over my clit then driving right inside.
Oh yeah.
I fell fully to my back, closed my eyes, lifted my knees, and reached to him.
Hard muscle, sleek, hot skin.
Beautiful.
I opened my eyes as he started to stroke. “You need to get inside me.”
“And you need to be ready, baby,” he said low, his voice tight.
“I think you can feel I’m ready for you, honey,” I pointed out.
I wasn’t wet.
I felt it.
I was slippery.
He separated his fingers inside me and dragged them out.
My eyes rolled back into my head and my fingers dug into his sides.
He withdrew and gently rolled my clit.
I looked at him again, fingertips compulsively clutching his flesh. “Mo, please.”
“Slow,” he said.
Had he lost his mind?
We’d been waiting a hundred years!
“Not slow,” I replied.
His fingers left me, and I felt why when he guided the head of his cock to me.
“Oh yeah,” I breathed.
He slid in, stretching me. I took the head and then he rocked, giving me just that.
I glided my hands to his pecs and held on. “More, Mo. Come inside.”
He gave me another couple of inches, opening me, filling me, then no more and he again rocked, giving me only that.
The wide stretch affected my clit, the gentle rub pure, delicious agony.
“Mo, baby,” I pleaded.
“I’m a lot.”
Through the haze, I focused on him and saw the strain, the sweat breaking out, the harshness in his face, the dark hunger in his gaze.
Quiet Man Page 13