I reached up, grasped onto his thick neck, pulled myself up and stared in his eyes.
“I don’t care, Mo. I want it all.”
He gave me more, not all of him, and again rocked.
“Baby,” I whispered, swinging my feet in so I could dig my heels into his ass.
God, his ass felt good, his cock felt good, the rest of him was just hot.
I needed him inside.
“Lottie, you aren’t helping,” he gritted.
“I’m trying to,” I snapped.
“Baby—”
“Mo.”
“Sweetheart.”
I seized his jaw in both hands. “Mo!”
He stared in my eyes, then dropped to his elbow, and with a powerful surge, I took all of him.
He’d filled me.
I had him.
He was finally all mine.
I arched up into him, the long, low moan from my throat slinking around the room like a cat as I dug my heels in, wrapped my arms as far around him as they could get, and I clutched him tight with my pussy.
“Fuck,” he groaned.
And we were off.
He drove into me and I held on.
He moved faster and harder and I held on tighter.
When I started coming, a magnificent occurrence that didn’t take long, I dug my nails in and called his name.
I got his thumb on my clit.
And I went flying, clawing at his skin, wrapping my legs around him so I was holding his ass with my calves, moaning his name over and over like an incantation.
I kept coming and I kept coming and only when the fingers of both my hands found the back of his neck and head and held on did his thumb go away.
But he dug his arm under me and clamped it around my waist to hold me stationary so I could take his thrusts and he didn’t fuck me into the headboard as his deep, fast, hot rhythm went super-charged and my powerhouse lost all control.
Oh yeah.
I liked it like that.
Coming down from my orgasm, I caught his eyes drilling into mine and I felt the rumble in his belly before it grunted out his throat.
His head snapped back, the cords in his neck straining, he slammed his hips into mine, then ground them there, and his grunt became a groan that I would swear shook the lamps on my nightstands.
God, he was spectacular when he came.
Breathtaking.
He did not collapse on me when he came down.
Oh no.
Not Mo.
I knew his climax was big, I saw it, felt it, heard it.
But even if he couldn’t possibly be over it, he rolled so he was on his back, I was on him, and we were still connected.
I rested my cheek on his pec.
He clamped one hand on the side of my neck, one hand on the cheek of my ass.
It was quite a trip, riding the powerful rises and falls of his chest as his breath evened out.
It felt like riding a mountain.
I loved every second.
Eventually, his thumb came out to stroke my jaw.
“We’ll go slower next time,” he murmured.
“Okay,” I murmured back, stroking the smooth valley between pectorals with the backs of my fingers.
“Hawk gave me two days off.”
“I’m calling in sick.”
At first, I didn’t know what was happening. I also didn’t know what I was hearing.
It took a second to realize the quaking of his big body and the deep noises that were tumbling low around the room were indications Mo was chuckling.
It seemed like a very long time since I heard him laugh and I’d never heard his humor come like that.
But hearing it, I wanted to see it.
So I lifted my head and looked down at him.
Face relaxed, sated, eyes soft and warm and aimed down his nose at me.
“You haven’t kissed me,” I whispered.
“I’ve totally kissed you,” he whispered back. “Just not your mouth.”
Oh yeah.
Right.
I smiled at him. “Our first kiss a pussy kiss. I like it.”
His mouth quirked, his eyes dropped to my lips then his arms went around me, and I was on my back with Mo covering me, his lips on mine, his tongue gliding inside.
I made a mew, rounded him with my arms, my legs, and sucked his tongue deeper.
He tasted precisely like I thought Mo would taste and he kissed like I thought Mo would kiss.
Overwhelmingly amazing.
Yeah.
I’d been right.
Every day, little by little, or big by big, I’d be falling deeper in love with this man.
He ended it by running the tip of his tongue along my lower lip then asking, “How’s that?”
It was the best first kiss I ever had.
Except the pussy one.
“I liked that too.”
He smiled at me and stroked my cheekbone with the flat of the nail on his forefinger.
And there was a little bit more.
* * * *
I had both arms forward, hands pressing into the headboard, noises forced out of my mouth through my ongoing orgasm with each thrust I took.
Mo was on his knees behind me.
His thighs were so long, he had to fuck me with his legs wide, holding me up and spreading me open so I could take him.
This meant I was suspended from mostly nothing but his driving dick as he fucked me from behind.
I was coming down, how I didn’t know, because each stroke I took blasted against my clit.
But Mo felt it, didn’t like it, and I knew that when he reached around and pinched that sensitive bundle of nerves.
I cried out, whimpered, and came hard again.
“Fuck yeah, Lottie,” he growled, those strong hips of his pistoning into me.
Suddenly, he did a dip and roll, and my eyes went back in my head as my body went into spasm.
“Fuck yeah, baby,” he grunted, put me down, coming down with me, covering me, and fucking me to his finish with my belly to the bed.
Man, I loved listening to him come.
Though I preferred watching it.
But considering there was a good possibility he’d fucked a Lottie-sized dent in the bed, I’d take this one as it came.
After he was done, he commenced a slow roll, stroking gently inside as I felt his lips move from the tip of my shoulder, up, then he buried his face in my neck.
“Sweet pussy,” he murmured there, sliding his cock in and staying in. “Sweet little body. Sweet hair. Sweet sex noises. Sweet smell. Seriously sweet fuck. My sweet Lottie.”
“Don’t say things like that when I can’t kiss you,” I mumbled into the pillow.
I felt his smile then I felt his tongue exploring the area behind my ear.
“Don’t do things like that when I need to pass out after coming fifteen times,” I ordered, but did it still mumbling into the pillow.
He nipped the back of my ear, the big lug, and through the tremble that caused, asked in it, “Fifteen?”
“I don’t know. You’ve got a mammoth cock. And you’re a powerhouse. And you fuck like a tank. I lose track of time when you’re fucking me. And place. I don’t know if we’re still in my bedroom. I’m not even sure what year it is.”
I felt that feeling I knew I’d come to love, his gentle laughter, before he slid out, lifted up, rolled me under him, then carefully covered me again with his bulk, taking weight onto a forearm, using his free hand to caress my hip.
I had to tip my chin up to catch his contented, handsome face, but with what I got, I didn’t mind the effort.
“We’re still in your bedroom,” he informed me.
“What year is it?”
“Sweetheart, watching that tight ass of yours while your even tighter pussy takes my cock, I’ve no fucking clue. But I hope I drilled you for a decade.”
“I don’t. We can’t make babies if you drilled me for a decade with a cond
om on. A decade, my babymaking years might be behind me.”
That didn’t freak him.
Not at all.
Not my Mo.
He dipped closer, touched his mouth to mine, pulled an inch away and asked, “How many do you want?”
“Seven thousand, but I’ll take two or three and seven thousand cats.”
His body and mouth both laughed again, I loved it again, then he said, “I’m not a cat guy.”
Uh-oh.
“You don’t like cats?”
“Take or leave cats, mostly leave. I’m a dog guy.”
Okay.
This was a problem.
I communicated the enormity of that problem by grabbing both sides of his face and demanding, “Don’t tell Tex that.”
“I know about Tex’s cats.” He turned his head and kissed my palm (and there it was, a little bit more). He came back to me. “Swear to Christ, won’t mention the cats.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“Work too much to have a dog.”
That’d end since I could take care of it when we got one (or two, or four).
Though he’d also have to put up with a cat (or two, or four).
“Axl seemed nice,” I noted.
“Axl’s a good guy.”
“He says you two are buds.”
“We are. Like I said, Axl’s a good guy.”
“Do you have a lot of buds?”
“Hawk’s crew. Some old high school friends I keep in touch with. My family.”
I tilted my head on the pillow. “Your family?”
“Mom in Denver, and four sisters.”
Four?
“You have four sisters?” I queried.
“Yup.”
“You the oldest?”
“Youngest.”
I stared up at him.
Then I asked, “You’re the youngest with four older sisters?”
“Yup.”
“Ohmigod.”
This seemed impossible.
No man his size was the littlest or youngest of anything.
“All but one is married,” he shared. “All but that one have kids. I’ve got five nieces and nephews.”
I loved this.
I loved it like crazy.
And not just the fact that I could freely ask him questions about his life, his friends, his family, and not try to keep things distant and professional.
But that he had a big family.
I loved family.
“Are they named Norwegian names?” I asked.
“Signe, Marte, Lene, Trine, in order, oldest to youngest.”
That was a yes.
“And you’re gonna meet them, soon as that can be arranged,” he announced.
I started to smile.
Then something occurred to me and I didn’t smile.
“Are they gonna have a problem with me being a stripper?”
A shadow crossed his face, which meant a shadow shrouded my heart.
But I would learn I shouldn’t underestimate Mo, or his feelings for me, and I’d learn it quick.
Like right then.
Because Mo rolled us both to our sides, gathered me close, but kept a lock on my eyes.
“You know, baby,” he said gently, “think the problem with what you do is with you.”
Hunh?
“I don’t have a problem with it,” I pointed out the obvious.
“First place you go, first question you ask, is if someone has issues.”
It wasn’t the first.
But I saw his point.
“That’s so I can ascertain if they have issues so I won’t waste time or emotion on someone who’s an asshole.”
He looked dubious. “You sure?”
“Mo, honey,” I said quietly, “can you imagine the shit I’ve come up against because of my job?”
The dubiousness fled, understanding replaced it, and he nodded. “I can.”
We were on rocky ground here and I didn’t want to be on rocky ground.
Not now.
Not when the wait was finally over and we were getting to the good stuff.
But maybe it was good to at least start the discussion, so it didn’t get buried under all the goodness. Both of us trying to ignore it was there. Then it became harder to bring it up, but it was between us and needed to be dealt with, and since we didn’t deal with it, it grew out of control and became a problem.
This was a very adult thought.
I still didn’t want to broach it and this demonstrated why I wasn’t a big fan of being an adult.
But I was a big fan of Mo’s, so I had to be an adult.
Damn it.
“And we need to—” I began.
“Babe, I don’t like you stripping,” he announced.
Shit.
Fortunately, Mo wasn’t done.
“But I also wouldn’t like you being a journalist based in Syria. My job isn’t often dangerous, but it is far from always safe. If you had a problem with it, we’d talk about it, but it would definitely drive a wedge if you put your foot down about it. It isn’t what it is. It’s who I am and if you asked me to stop doing it, it’d be you asking me to stop being who I am. I’ll eventually have to get out of the field because this kind of job has a shelf life and I won’t be as strong and quick as I need to be. What you do isn’t the same, but it is in some regards. I like you and I’ve had enough experience with women to know I won’t like every single thing about you. But the same goes for knowing that what I like, I like a lot so I’m willing to work at it and find ways to compromise with the rest.”
Okay, that right there wasn’t a little bit.
It was a huge truckload.
“I see you’ve been thinking about this,” I noted.
“On the ride back to you. I knew if I started things with us, I had to be all in.” He pulled me closer. “I’m all in, Lottie.”
Yeah.
That was a huge truckload.
He gave me that. He gave me a kiss.
And when he pulled away, I whispered, “Thanks, Mo.”
That was when he gave me a smile and pulled fully away, exiting the bed.
I wanted to get into his “experience with women” (and how they’d fucked him up) but I was learning this was how Mo was.
He had to get rid of the condom and he didn’t make that announcement or a production of it.
He slipped out of the bed, took care of it, and came back.
I was hoping he’d brought a bunch of them because I decided, before we got into his “experience with women,” I’d give him more experience with this woman because I had a hankering to ride my mountain of man.
We could talk about the bitches in his life after I got myself in the mood not to be pissed as shit about whatever it was.
In other words, after I had another fifteen orgasms.
Mo was walking back into the room, and I was watching him walk back in, precisely his hips, not covered in cargos, and that huge dick, which was impressive even soft, and how I’d decided just then to suck it before I rode it, when he stopped dead and his head jerked to the side.
This was right before we heard a pounding on the door and a faraway, but still loud bellow of, “Lottie! Open this goddamned door!”
I felt my face pale as I watched Mo look back my way.
“Oh shit,” I whispered.
Then I finished.
“Tex.”
Chapter Ten
Little Sister
Lottie
“I’ll take care of it,” Mo announced.
Say what?
You didn’t take care of Tex.
No one could take care of Tex.
Especially when he was bellowing louder than his normal bellow and pounding on a door.
I suspected even my mother couldn’t take care of Tex when he was doing that and Tex was head over heels in love with my mother.
Sadly, while these thoughts tumbled through my head, Mo had found his cargos and tugged them
on.
He exited the room doing the fly.
Shit!
“Mo! Wait!” I yelled, scrambling to get out of bed.
It took me too long to find my panties and nightie in the mess of bedclothes and too much longer to struggle them on at the same time racing out of the room.
My nightie was floating down as I hit the top of the stairs and I started to bolt down them as I heard, “You! You’ve got some explaining to do.”
Tex.
Tex getting in the face of Mo.
I kept going, just a lot faster, and when I made it to the bottom, my feet squeaked on the floor as I slid across the hall and slammed into the arch to the TV room from my momentum.
This was when I saw that this situation was not just Tex in A Snit bad.
It was worse.
Way worse.
Because, filing through the foyer, was not just my big, wild-haired stepdad Tex.
Behind him came Lee.
Hank.
Vance.
Luke.
Hector.
Ren.
And Eddie.
The entire Hot Bunch (save Mace, but I figured he only wasn’t there because he now lived in LA and he hadn’t been able to catch a convenient flight).
Shit!
They all glowered at me as they trooped into my living room, trailed by Mo.
Mo was not glowering.
When he turned his head to look at me, he appeared to be having trouble containing his mirth.
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
He didn’t get it.
This was not funny.
I’d been onboard when Smithie had explained why he brought in Hawk, way on board, for a variety of reasons.
First, and arguably the priority, because the Hot Bunch run amuck in Denver in protection mode of one of their own was a very scary thing.
Second, and arguably the priority, because Eddie would tell his wife, my sister, who would tell my mother, and the other Rock Chicks, and they’d all be worried, just like everyone at Smithie’s.
And I couldn’t have that.
Now, it was very clear the men knew.
And now, they were ticked, not that they’d been kept out of the loop, that they hadn’t been asked to do the job.
And the Hot Bunch ticked was another very scary thing.
I needed to handle this.
Immediately.
I rushed to Mo.
Quiet Man Page 14