Quiet Man

by Kristen Ashley

  “Not a problem,” I told him.

  He gave a look to his wife.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Lottie, now that we have some calm in the storm my girls are so adept at blowing, why don’t you tell us a little about you?” Ingrid invited, and then, class act that she was, guided my way, “I hear you have a mother and sister that live in town.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “I’d enjoy meeting them,” she replied.

  “And they you. They already love Mo. I’m sure you’ll be fast friends.”

  Her gaze darted to her son and came back to me. “They’ve met?”

  Uh-oh.

  Mo hadn’t shared.

  He also didn’t share now.

  He was nonchalantly drawing off a bottle of beer.

  This meant I had to do it.

  “He came to dinner at my mom’s house.”

  “Of course they love Mo,” Trine butted in. “Mo’s lovable. Tammy’s parents adored him. I think her mother is still wearing black in grief that Tammy messed that up.”

  “Treenz,” Signe clipped. “Don’t mention Tammy.”

  “He wasn’t in a monastery before he met her, Seenz,” Trine shot back.

  “Lord save me,” Ingrid whispered.

  “Not that we’re Catholic,” Trine said over her, aiming this my way. “And not that we have a problem with Catholics. We don’t. We’re just not Catholic.”

  “I’m Catholic,” Lene put in.

  “Because Rick’s Catholic,” Trine returned.

  “I’m Catholic because I’m Catholic,” Lene retorted. “I just converted prior to marrying him.”

  “Because Rick was Catholic,” Marte butted in.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Signe snapped. “Talking about it is making Lottie think we think it matters when it doesn’t.” Signe looked to me. “We’re cool with all races, religions and creeds. I promise.”

  “I wasn’t worried,” I assured her.

  “Except white supremacists. We’re not cool with that,” Trine declared.

  “No one’s cool with that,” Marte replied. “And that isn’t a religion.”

  “It is a creed,” Trine fired back.

  “Right, would you four freakin’ shut it?” Mo demanded.

  All four turned to him.

  Or five, since I did the same.

  But he was looking down at me.

  “Rewind to our talk in the truck. You got nothin’ to be worried about. It seems I had somethin’ to worry about. You findin’ out my sisters are a bunch a’ kooks and runnin’ for the hills.”

  My mound of hunkalicious boyfriend looked hassled.

  I smiled up at him.

  “Ohmigod,” Marte breathed, moving toward me. “You were worried, Lottie? That’s so sweet.” She threw a look over shoulder at her sisters before she drew me out from under Mo’s arm and toward the coffee table. “Isn’t that sweet?” she asked her sisters.

  “That’s so sweet,” Lene said, crowding into me. “We don’t bite, promise.”

  “We’re just a little crazy,” Marte told me, reaching to get a little plate and handing it to me.

  Signe snatched up a square cloth cocktail napkin, also handing it to me, doing this saying, “We’re not crazy. Crazy makes it sound bad. We’re zany.”

  “Yeah, zany. Zany is good,” Lene agreed. “Now let’s get you some corn muffins. Mom’s corn muffins are to die for. And she only pulls them out for the special occasions.”

  Special occasions.

  I looked back at Mo, who had eyes on me.

  He no longer looked hassled.

  His sisters fussing over me, he looked happy.

  I then turned my gaze to Ingrid who was moving toward Mo.

  She had a small smile on her lips and this was pointed at her son.

  In other words, she looked happy.

  A corn muffin landed on my plate and females babbled around me while their males gravitated to Mo.

  As for me?

  I had Mo.

  Mo had a great family.

  He was giving it to me.

  And that meant I was happy.

  * * * *

  Mo

  They were on meringue cake, eating it in the living room, the women sipping Amaretto and Kahlua from his mother’s snifters, sitting on his mother’s couches, absorbed in woman talk.

  Mo was standing with the guys, having already devoured his cake and setting the plate aside when his phone vibrated.

  He pulled it out, looked at the screen and glanced to Lottie, who had her head bent way back, laughing at something Trine had said (or Lene, whatever).

  “Gotta take this,” he muttered to the men and moved to and out the front door.

  He’d received a text.

  Standing on his mother’s front porch, he made a call.

  “Mo,” Brock Lucas answered.

  “Hey, Slim,” Mo greeted. “What’s up?”

  “We had a situation last night in lockup.”

  Mo drew in breath.

  “This guy,” Slim went on, “the one who sent those letters about Lottie, some of the other men set on him at chow and did a number on him before the guards could break it up.”

  Jesus shit.

  “No idea why,” Lucas kept going. “He’s an easy mark, uptight like he is, no priors, slight, no experience lookin’ out for himself, definitely not in a situation like that. They could have just scented weak blood and went after it. He’d already had some trouble bein’ pushed around. Complained to the guards he’d been threatened. They put him in solitary a couple of days and the men who were causing the problem were moved out, either transferred or they made deals or bail. So they put him back in gen pop. Apparently, those men had friends and he was still a target.”

  “And?” Mo prompted when he didn’t say more.

  “They got him to the hospital and fixed him up. But in recovery, he developed a pulmonary embolism. Lost oxygen to his brain. They took him back into surgery, got that fixed too, but the damage was done.”

  Mo’s entire body felt tight.

  “What damage, Slim?”

  “Man’s alive, but braindead,” Slim said. “He’s on a respirator. Considering his inclinations, something my guess due to their reactions to the trouble he was in they suspected, his family is not tight with him. They’ve been called in. I don’t know if they’ll elect to take him off the machines. I just know, even if they don’t, this man isn’t gonna be in a position to hurt Lottie, or anyone. There’s not a blip on him, Mo. He’s breathing, but he’s still gone.”

  Mo didn’t know what he was feeling.

  Because he was human, he didn’t want it to be good.

  But mostly it was good.

  “So it’s over,” Mo noted.

  “Not for the boys in lockup who are now also facing manslaughter charges, but for Lottie, yeah. It’s over.”

  Yeah, what he was feeling was good.

  He wondered if Smithie or Hawk had some hand in this guy being hassled in jail.

  Or for that matter Lee or one of his men.

  But he stopped wondering almost before he started because he really didn’t care.

  “Thanks for telling me, Slim,” Mo said.

  “Not a problem. You’ll inform Lottie?”

  “Absolutely,” Mo told him.

  “Great. Thanks. Later, Mo.”

  “Later.”

  He hung up.

  He then heard the storm door open behind him.

  Lottie stood in it, holding it open.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, watching him closely.

  “The man that sent those letters about you got jumped in lockup,” he stated straight out. “They did some damage. He got an embolism which made him braindead. He’s on a respirator but if they pull the plug or not, it doesn’t matter. He’s not coming back from that so he’s no longer a threat.”

  She stared at him.

  Mo let her and kept his eyes locked on her as she did.
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  Eventually, he asked, “You good?”

  “I don’t really feel anything,” she replied, then asked, “Is that bad?”

  “Could come up later, baby,” he noted carefully.

  “I’m probably the safest person on the planet,” she returned. “You. The boys. My brothers. I had my freakout but then…” She shrugged. “It was already over for me before it was over over for him.”

  That was when Mo moved into her, entering the house pushing her back into it with him and letting the storm door hiss shut as he pulled her in his arms.

  She slid hers around him too and gave him a squeeze.

  “You good?” she asked, her head tipped back to catch his gaze.

  “Totally.”

  Lottie took a moment to assess this.

  Then she smiled.

  “Everything okay?” his mother asked at their sides.

  Mo looked her way and answered, “No. I need more cake.”

  His mom also took a moment to assess this, her silver eyes shifting back and forth between him and Lottie before she also smiled.

  Tammy never got his mother taking her in with Mo and then smiling.

  This was the fourth time that night he’d caught that from his ma.

  He’d been right. So had his boys.

  Lottie being Lottie and giving what she did to Mo, she had nothing to worry about.

  “I’ll go cut you one, darling,” she said then she was off.

  Mo moved Lottie out of the way and shut the front door.

  He then walked his girl back to his family.

  And got more cake.

  * * * *

  Lottie

  As far as I could tell, Mo Morrison was great at everything he did.

  But he had a particular talent with giving head.

  Something right then, in my bed, he was demonstrating.

  I had both hands on his smooth scalp, holding him to me, but I didn’t need to do that.

  He had me spread open with two fingers.

  And my man was hungry.

  When it happened, I hoped he got enough because he’d driven me to the edge and once there, I leaped off and went flying, coming hard in Mo’s mouth.

  He licked me clean like he had the rest of his night to do it and only rose up and settled over me when I gave him the sign by gliding my fingers over the top of his head.

  Once in position, he pushed his face in my neck and worked me there.

  I could feel his hot, hard cock pushing against my thigh.

  So I encouraged, “Come inside.”

  Mo glided his lips up to my ear. “Gonna let you come down, play with you, work you back up, then you’re gonna take it, in my lap, doggie style.”

  If he wanted me to come down, saying things like that didn’t help.

  His mouth eventually worked its way to mine and in the middle of the deep, sweet, wet kiss that tasted of him mixed liberally with me, I pressed up into him and Mo, being my Mo, got my message and took us to our sides.

  He broke the kiss and murmured against my lips, “My weight too much?”

  “Never,” I whispered, ducking down to press my face into his throat running my hands over his warm, smooth skin, feeling the power underneath, liking the power underneath but loving that it was all mine.

  I tipped my head back and kissed the underside of his jaw.

  “Sweet Lottie,” he said softly, cupping my ass in one hand, holding me tight with his other arm.

  “Tonight was the best, Mo,” I told him.

  “Yeah,” he agreed.

  “Your family rocks,” I shared.

  “My mom rocks. The guys are the shit. My sisters are nutcases.”

  They were.

  But the good kind.

  “I liked them.”

  “Thank fuck,” he mumbled.

  I smiled against his skin.

  And there, I informed him, “The day I met you, Smithie and I had a conversation.”

  I heard his head move on the pillow, so I tipped mine further back in order to catch his eyes in the moonlight.

  “About what?” he asked.

  “About the fact I was giving up since I hadn’t found my dream man and never thought I would.”

  His big body grew still against mine.

  “Then, hours later,” I carried on, “he walks right up and knocks on my door.”

  It was guttural when he groaned, “Baby.”

  But I didn’t need to hear the emotion.

  I was feeling it since he was squeezing the breath out of me.

  I let him, knowing he’d do what he did.

  Relax his hold but keep me close.

  I thought this was a good way to start the festivities back up.

  But unusually in times like this (and other times besides), Mo was feeling chatty.

  He shared this by saying, “You got that wrong.”

  “I do?”

  “Not wholly, but importantly.”

  “How do I have that wrong?”

  “I’d given up too. After Tammy, I was done. I thought it was me. I thought it was my shit that was driving them away. Then one day my boss hands me an assignment, and not an hour later, I walk right up and knock on the door to the house of my dream girl. And she made me see a lot of really fuckin’ important shit differently.”

  “Mo,” I whispered.

  His big hand shifted to cup my face as his dipped closer to mine.

  “I don’t know what’s gonna happen, baby. I know some of it probably isn’t gonna be great. But who you are and what you give to me, most of it’s gonna be awesome. You know I have bad dreams and they may never stop. I don’t want that for me, or for you. But I can handle it a lot better now, knowin’ I’ll get those and wake up to my real dream, right there beside me.”

  It was my voice that was hoarse when I declared, “We need to fuck right now.”

  “Yeah, we do,” he agreed.

  But he didn’t fuck me.

  Not immediately.

  He kissed me, hard, deep and for a long time.

  Then he rolled me to my belly, positioned between my legs, shoved his knees deep underneath me so he was sitting back on his heels and pulled me back on his cock.

  Taking him, my neck arched, I came up on my hands, and my powerhouse thrust into me.

  Mo was feeling it at the same time feeling like making a seriously good memory of it, so he didn’t let me control it.

  To do that, he had to stop the action to switch positions so he could fuck me in a variety of different ways.

  But we ended with me back in his lap, face to face, my legs up his chest, Mo on his ass, his arms around me, driving me down on his cock.

  And we were kissing.

  Later, I fell asleep in his arms and the last thought I had was that I’d been right.

  That night was the best.

  But add the end of it?

  It was living the dream.

  So I didn’t get a Hot Bunch guy.

  I got my Dream Man.

  And the best of all of that…

  My Dream Man got his Dream Girl.

  Epilogue

  “Not While I’m Around”

  Lottie

  I stood in my bathroom wearing some pink satin sleep pants with a cream, brown and pink striped waistband that made them look like girlie boxer shorts.

  I wore nothing else.

  I was staring at my breasts.

  I’d had the surgery.

  I’d also had the drama before the surgery.

  It was same-day, even if I also got a lift to repair some of the stretch. And I was out of commission for only five days, though that was about not trying to do too much or lift anything too heavy.

  The bummer was, I couldn’t dance for six weeks.

  That said, the whole thing wasn’t that big of a deal.

  However, I learned it was when I was going under the knife with Rock Chicks, Morrison Sisters, Hot Bunch and Commando Boys at my back.

  But the worst was M
o.

  You would think I’d had heart surgery.

  There had been a standoff the day before I was scheduled to go to the hospital.

  Although everyone agreed Mo would drive me and take me home, the around-the-clock care I did not need after all was said and done was hotly contested.

  As they discussed the schedule of who would make me chicken soup, change my dressings, grocery shop and clean my house, somehow, the conversation took a turn for the worse with Morrison Sisters wanting to prove to Rock Chicks that I was one of them and Hot Bunch and Commando Boys jockeying for position as the favored brothers-not-of-the-blood in my life.

  Though, for me, I would have paid to see any of those men bringing me chicken soup or running my vacuum.

  That said, I would be perfectly capable of doing the first on my own, and my vacuum could hold off for long enough I could wield it myself.

  By the by, through this, Mom and Ingrid sat at my dining room table, drinking coffees Tex had sent over from Fortnum’s Used Books, where he was their premier barista, and chatting calmly like it wasn’t happening.

  It ended with Mo shouting (shouting! until that moment I’d never heard him shout), “None of you are gettin’ anywhere near my woman’s breasts! And I can and will feed and take care of Lottie. I got this. Back the fuck off!”

  I learned then that when a big guy like Mo who was usually quiet and not easily ruffled bellowed, people listened.

  I also learned then that there was family of a lot of different varieties.

  But with that, Mo was claiming him and me (mostly me, obviously) as just ours.

  I was sure he appreciated the love and support they were showing.

  But in the end, it was just him and me.

  They could bring flowers.

  They could not bring me chicken soup.

  In the ensuing days after the surgery, he took care of my incisions, changed my dressings, brought me food, ran the vacuum, got the mail, did the grocery shopping, wouldn’t hear of me doing any of this for myself, even if I could, and didn’t let me take that first peak at my breasts. Not until the volume had returned and the bruising had faded.

  I’d had implants for a while, switching them out to freshen them up, because I looked great with big tits.

  But now…

  “Put a shirt on.”

  I turned at these words to see my man hulking into the bathroom.