The guy looks over, and Brutal glowers back, squaring up and clenching his jaw. He doesn’t even need to say anything as Drunk Dude pales, gets up unsteadily, and heads for the door with the help of what I assume is his designated driver.
Brutal relaxes with a smirk. “Must’ve been something I said.” We chuckle because Brutal is the biggest teddy bear of us all, probably the least likely to get in a tussle, but he knows how to work his size and mean mug to his advantage.
“We’d better get going, anyway. Mama Louise is keeping Cindy Lou tonight,” Sophie says, standing up.
Next to her, James confides, “She’s hoping for another grandbaby.”
Allyson laughs. “She’s got Cooper tonight too. Told me that he helps her with Cindy Lou. Hope she’s not dreaming of another one from us. This shop is closed.” She waves her hand around her middle section.
But Brutal growls, “It’d better not be closed.”
Allyson rolls her eyes. “Not for you, but for babies . . . closed indefinitely.”
They all head for the door, leaving me alone at the table. I gather up our trash and glasses, stacking them the way Olivia does and taking them to the back. Ilene doesn’t blink at my being in the kitchen, and Daniel simply takes the glasses with a sound of appreciation and gets back to work.
I help clean up the front of the bar, pushing the broom and mop around after flipping the chairs up on the tabletops, and before long, everything’s done.
Daniel walks behind the bar and says something quietly to Willow. She looks at me, leaning on the far end of the bar, and I know my eyes are dark as night and promising sin. Dirty thoughts assail me . . . what I could do to her on the bar, behind the bar, over any table in this place? I don’t hide a single filthy idea from her.
Slowly, she pries her eyes from mine and turns to Daniel. With a nod, he waves at me and escorts Ilene and Olivia toward the door. On her way past, Olivia says quietly, “Fuck this up and you’ll only live long enough to regret it. Between Hank and me, we’ll put the meat grinder to good use and no one will be the wiser.”
What is it with women and true crime shit? Do they have lessons on how to get away with murder?
Wait, that’s got the potential to be a good song lyric. Oh, shit, no . . . the Dixie Chicks already did that with Goodbye Earl, Carrie Underwood killed her dad in Blown Away and her husband in Two Black Cadillacs, and Garth Brooks did Papa Loved Mama too. Maybe I’ll skip the murder music for now.
Once Willow and I are finally alone, murder is the last thing on my mind. Unless it’s little deaths . . . fuck, I could make her come all night. Make her sing with pleasure for me. That’s the music I’d love to hear. It’d be my new favorite song for sure.
Needing to hold her, I walk to the jukebox and hit J14. Hank keeps this thing pretty updated, keeping classics but adding new tunes regularly. Chris Jansen’s Done pours through the speakers, saying what I can’t to Willow.
She’s it for me.
I’m done for, no doubt about it.
I hold out my hand, and from across the bar, she takes it. I walk her down to the end and around, finally holding her in my arms again. We don’t do any fancy footwork. This isn’t the time for that. For now, I just sway her back and forth, feeling her body pressed to mine. She feels so right, so mine, and I want to soak her up, slide into her soul, and fuse us into one.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to hold you all night,” I confess quietly. I’m acutely aware of her weight shifting from side to side, her skin which is now covered in fine goosebumps, and the hitch in her breathing at my throaty admission.
She gives me one of those smiles that drives me wild and lays her head against my chest. Her arms go around my waist and mine drop over her shoulders in the tightest, sexiest hug I’ve ever had. She even squeezes me a bit.
“I like this,” she whispers against my T-shirt.
“I like you,” I tell her. Weak words for the thunder raging through my veins, but my racing heart is doing its best to get blood to flow north to my brain.
We sway quietly and I breathe her in. She smells like she’s been working, lemons and beer and bleach, but underneath is her own unique scent, and I take it into my lungs. I sing softly, a grittier, rougher version of the sweet song, and the jukebox plays on, serenading us.
After a few songs, Willow pulls back and looks up at me. Her eyes are begging for something she won’t say. “Bobby—”
I don’t make her ask. I’ve waited long enough already.
My mouth is instantly on hers, exploring and possessing. I trace her sides, brushing along the sides of her breasts before reaching back to firmly grab her ass. She whimpers in response to my tight grip, and I hungrily swallow the sweet sound. I pull her toward me, grinding against her, and a groan of pure bliss vibrates through my chest. I lower my hands to the backs of her thighs, encouraging her up, and lift her to straddle my waist, needing more, wanting to give her more.
Walking backward without breaking our kiss, I find the bar and set her on it. She pulls back long enough to warn, “I am not having sex on my uncle’s bar.”
Devilishly, I grin. “Not tonight, you’re not.”
Her mouth drops open in surprise, and I can’t help but laugh a little. But when she pushes at my chest in protest, I don’t move an inch. “Tonight, I’m going to kiss you, get you drunk on me, and make you so needy that you want me deep inside you. Then we’re going to go home . . . alone.”
Her face falls a bit, which gives me a twisted bit of reassured joy. She does want me.
“Don’t pout. Know that I’m going to be fucking my hand and wishing it were your sweet little pussy taking my cum.” Behind those big, black frames, she blinks at my words, and I wonder if anyone has ever talked dirty to her before. Softening a bit, I tell her, “I’m not going to rush this, Willow. We only get to do this buildup for the first time once, and when I get inside you, I’m going to want to stay there forever, so I’m going to enjoy this part and drive us both crazy until we can’t stand it anymore. Make me earn it, make me work for you. Don’t give in to me too fast because as soon as you do, I won’t be able to stop.”
Her smile returns in increments. “How do you make it sweet that you don’t want to have sex with me? Most guys would take the easy lay.”
“I’m not most guys,” I tell her. “And you’re not an easy lay. You’re . . . everything.”
Shit. Cat’s out of the bag now.
I watch her carefully, hoping she doesn’t bolt. To my delight, her smile grows to the point where her eyes crinkle at the edges in true happiness.
Relief washes through me, and before she can think on it too much more, I dive back into her for another kiss, returning us to the crazy beauty of this madness.
Her tongue thrashes against mine, and I moan at the power of her hunger. Weaving my fingers into her hair, I tilt her head to the side and trace down the line of her neck, nipping and kissing my way to her collarbone, which I lave with my tongue. She tastes like salt and sweetness, and I lap at her skin for more.
Her hands grip at my shirt, fisting the cotton before splaying wide to roam over my abs. I flex beneath her touch, wanting to rip my shirt off and feel her palms against my skin. But I don’t. If I start taking off clothes, I’ll have my jeans around my thighs and her shorts around her knees in an instant.
But shirts don’t have to come off to get at what I want. I slide the strap of her tank top off her shoulder, giving myself room to work, and push the neckline lower. With one finger, I follow the edge of the black cotton bra I find. I can see her nipple through the thin material and groan. “Mmm, sweetheart.” She arches beneath my touch, giving me silent permission to go further, and I swipe my thumb over the nub through the fabric, feeling it harden even more.
Needing to see her, I pull the cotton down to expose her small tit. I knead at the skin roughly, making tight circles around her dusky pink nipples. “So pretty,” I growl before I suck as much of her skin into my mouth as I can. I form a ti
ght seal around her nipple, sucking and teasing at her with my tongue at the same time.
“Oh!” she cries out, leaning back with one hand supporting her on the bar as the other rests on my shoulder. I feel the bite of her nails into my skin and take it as a sign that I’m getting to her, especially as I feel her hips buck on the bar, searching for my cock.
Shoving the other triangle of her thin bra down, I give that mound some love and attention too. I lay worshipping kisses all over her exposed body, breasts, chest, neck, shoulders, then work my way back up to her mouth.
My hands go to her thighs as we kiss, squeezing and kneading the warm satin skin I find there. Getting higher and higher, my thumbs are on the edge of her pussy beneath her shorts. Her ankles wrap around my legs, holding me in place as if I have anywhere else I’d rather be right now. I can feel the heat of her core, am right on the edge of testing her wetness beneath her panties—going slow be damned—when a loud bang on the door interrupts us.
“Willow? You good?” a voice booms.
“What the fuck?” I mutter, instantly on alert.
Willow jumps off the bar, yanking her bra and shirt back in place as she strides to the door. I beat her there, covering the distance in furious strides. I throw an arm out, keeping her behind me with a forceful look. It’s two in the morning and no one should be bothering her. The very idea makes my blood run ice-cold. Great Falls is safe, but Willow is precious. She looks at me wryly, likely thinking my protectiveness is unnecessary, but I couldn’t tone it down if I wanted to.
“Who is it?” she calls out.
“Chief Gibson. Doing a drive by and saw the lights still on and your car outside. Open the door.” His voice changes from congenial to authoritative.
“Oh, okay,” Willow says, looking at me in amusement as I step back to give her the space I couldn’t a second ago.
She twists the lock that Ilene closed when she left and cracks the door open. “Hi, Chief. I’m good, just . . . working late.”
She can’t lie to save her ass and Chief Gibson hears it. He pushes in, taking a few steps inside, but freezes when he sees me.
“Bobby.”
“Chief Gibson.”
He looks from me to Willow and back, seeming to fight a smile in favor of his blank ‘cop face’. Well, this particular cat’s out of the bag. By sunrise, the whole town will think the chief busted us having wild sex in the middle of Hank’s, no doubt.
“So, I guess you’re all good then, Willow?” he says, not bothering to hide his grin now that any fears he had have been allayed.
She nods. “Yeah. Uh, all good. We were just leaving.”
Doing his job, the chief turns back to me once more. “You been drinking tonight, son?”
I’m not his son, but I’m not going to piss him off by correcting him. “Yep, had a Girly Beer around eight and a draft around nine. Nothing since but dinner and Sprite. Ilene’s chicken fried steak sandwich was delicious.”
He takes my measure, looking me up and down. I’ve never been a heavy drinker, saw too much of that with Dad for it to have any appeal, but it’d take a whole lot more than a couple of drinks several hours ago to affect me in the slightest, especially at my size. “Damn, wish I’d gotten one of those sandwiches. I’ll have to swing by tomorrow and see if I can snag one myself.”
He touches the brim of his hat and dips his chin. “You kids have a good night, y’hear?”
“Yes sir,” Willow says.
I grunt an agreement, still a bit put out that he interrupted us. But it is good to know that he’s keeping an eye on the place and my girl.
Closing the door, Willow spins in place and puts her back against it. She’s breathing hard like we got busted doing something wrong, but what we were up to was so, so right.
“Oh, my God. That was terrifying.” She does look a bit mortified, but the way her eyes are dancing, she doesn’t seem too upset about it. She actually looks . . . invigorated.
I crowd in, pressing her against the door. “Yeah, terrifying,” I agree dryly.
She laughs. “Okay, Mr. Bad Boy, maybe not for you. But I’m a good girl, and usually invisible. Certainly not used to having the cops bang down my door when I’m in the middle of . . .”
Her voice trails off like she’s not sure how to describe what we were doing, and I’m now certain that no one has ever dirty talked to my sweet Willow. And I’m even more certain that she hasn’t dirty talked either.
“Foreplay?” I suggest.
Her cheeks pinken adorably.
“If Gibson had been a few seconds later, I would’ve been finger fucking you and at least then, I’d know what you feel like, how you smell, how you taste.” My voice has gone low and husky, and even just the thought of slipping a finger inside her has me adjusting my cock in my jeans, which are suddenly way too tight.
She blinks, owl-like behind those frames, and inhales sharply. “Bobby . . .” That breathy sound almost has me saying ‘fuck it’ and giving in to what we both want and know is coming, but delaying the inevitable has its reward too.
I rub a thumb along her cheekbone. “Time, Willow. We have plenty, but if you remember nothing else from tonight, I want you to know that you are never invisible to me. You’re all I see—your eyes swirling as you think, that smile that goes a little higher when you’re extra happy, how comfortable you are in your own skin and because of that, you make everyone else want to be around you, the way you double-tap the whiskey to the counter but single-tap the vodka and tequila, though I don’t know why you do either, how you take pictures of simple things that bring you joy and share them because it’s your way of brightening other people’s day too, and most of all, how your breath gets a little shallow when I get too close and you get nervous. Like now.”
She takes a deep breath, forcing air down into her lungs, but it’s too late. I already saw those little pants she was making. I’m not too close to her physically, but I’m too close to her truth, and that’s an itchy-irritable feeling to let someone that close, this fast.
Even though it’s not the real issue, I’m willing to give her an inch for now, so I step back. Her hands stay pressed to my chest, though at her own doing, and I hope that she doesn’t want to lose contact fully.
“You’re intense. You know that, right?” she whispers, as if that’s supposed to be a newsflash to me.
“Been told that a time or two. Never mattered till now. Too much?” I dare to ask.
Her bottom lip disappears behind her teeth for a second, and she stares at her tanned hands against the black cotton covering my chest as she thinks. Finally, her eyes lift and meet mine. She shakes her head, gifting me one of her soft smiles. “Not too much. Just right.”
“Come on, let’s get out of here,” I tell her, and she brightens. Laughing, I scold her, “Not yet, woman. I meant for you to go home and me to go home and jack off. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me, but I do want to wait. It matters, Willow. You matter. We don’t have to rush.”
Her cheeks pinken again, and her innocence washes over me like a balm, telling me that waiting is the right thing to do, but damn, her eagerness makes it so hard. “Okay, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.”
In the lot, I make sure she gets in her car safely and watch as she pulls out to head home. I have a split second where I consider turning right and following her home to finish what we started, but in the end, though it’s agonizing to do so, I turn left and go home as I promised.
The knocking on my truck window comes way too early, with the sun barely past the horizon.
“What?” I groan.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I peek one eye open to see Brody standing at my driver’s window, holding up a cup of coffee. The aroma’s enough to motivate me to wake up. I sit up straight, stretching out the new kinks in my back from sleeping slouched down in the cab of my truck.
Opening the door, Brody hands me the coffee. I grunt my appreciation, speaki
ng his first language. Hell, it’s damn near his only language. I have trouble expressing myself at times. Brody just gave up on even trying years ago. He’s more the point and grunt type, but somehow, we can all decode what he says, even when he doesn’t really say it.
He waits for me to get a few good swallows down, letting the caffeine do its job, before he asks, “How long ago did you get in?”
Knowing the sun rises at six, I estimate, “Couple of hours ago. Didn’t want to wake you and Rix up because I knew you had an early day.”
He grunts back, showing his appreciation in return. Today is the monthly farmer’s market day, and Brody and Shay spent several minutes last night talking about what to take. Well, Shay talked and Brody listened. They work together at the market, selling off the crops we grow and Shay’s products.
“I’d love to tell you to sleep in or skip out and leave Brutal to it today, but he’s gonna need you. I can’t fill in because I’ve gotta go to town. Shay needs me.”
That’s not exactly true, but also not exactly a lie. It’s more complicated than that.
Brody is the oldest of us all, and when Dad went off the deep end after Mom died, Brody took responsibility for us all, becoming a de facto dad in a lot of ways. He and Shay were the right and left hands of the family, leaving Brutal and me to our own devices, but somehow, we all worked together toward a common goal—keeping the family farm.
A goal we failed at meeting spectacularly, thanks to dear old Dad fucking us over, even from the grave. That’s how we got hooked up with the Bennetts. It’s been a while now, and we’ve all adjusted for the most part, though Brody has big dreams of saving up enough money to buy our land back. He says Mama Louise is just ‘holding’ it for us, but I think that’s wishful thinking.
Still, the bit of money Shay makes at the farmers market is split three ways—a bit to the Bennetts to buy supplies, like the plums from the trees, a bit to Shay as a salary for all her hard work, and a bit to the Tannen family account. We all donate to that, giving as much as we can, as often as we can, hoping that Brody will find a way to get that deed back. I think it’d be different now that we’re so dependent on the Bennetts and they’re so dependent on us, but it’d be nice to have the iron Tannen Farms sign above our gate mean something again.
Rough Country (Tannen Boys Book 3) Page 12