by Debra Kayn
He sprawled his hand on her ass and squeezed, pulling her stiff body closer. She held on to her tight control.
Understanding her need to distract the other players and gain the advantage, he wanted her to know that she needed no help. Not from him. Not from diverting her opponents.
He pulled back. She blinked up into his face, her lips puffy and thoroughly enjoyed.
"Get it, tiger," he whispered, smacking her ass, snapping her out of the arousal.
She squared her shoulders and sashayed her way to the table. In his peripheral vision, Charlie's jaw hung open, and his gaze never wavered off Joey.
The muscle in Wyatt's cheek twitched. He missed Joey's shot because he wanted to ground Charlie's face into the pool table
Chapter 8
Joey
EXCITEMENT BUBBLED inside Joey. She put the car in park, took out her keys, and rushed out of the vehicle. Not only had she and Wyatt pulled off winning the pool pot for the night, but she'd spent it with him doing normal date-like things.
She'd surprised herself that through the butterflies, the kisses, the touches, she'd been able to hold it all together and shoot one of her best games in months. The look on Charlie's face when she sunk the eight ball was priceless. He and Rabbit would be coming after her full force next Friday.
To mess with their heads, she might even go to a different tavern next Friday and make them sweat it out, waiting for her to return so they could win back the pot from the last three weeks when she'd kicked their butt. She laughed, muffling the noise in the still of the night with her lips. No, she'd go back to Riverside Bar. The more money coming in was going to get her closer to her ten-thousand-dollar goal.
She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the apartment complex and stopped, peering up at the second story.
She closed her eyes, emotions swarming her. Hopefully, her grandpa was proud of her for how she was managing the business.
As a child, he'd take her to the Rec Center and teach her how to play pool. Even at a young age, she'd quickly learned to cherish each summer when her grandpa would spend time with her. Growing up without a dad, her grandpa had taught her the things she imagined other dads taught their kids. She'd learned to fish and bait her own hook, push lawnmowers while earning a few dollars, and grew to understand that hard work paid the bills and luck should never be relied on to make her happy.
Because of her grandpa, it was an easy decision to move to Missoula and run the apartment complex by herself when the lawyer had contacted her about Grandpa's will. She wasn't walking into a load of money or being set up for life. Grandpa handed her a way of earning a living that required her to work hard and use her brain.
Her mom had no interest in running a business. As a nurse, her mom had always looked forward to the day where she could travel the world and help people. That day came when Joey got her first job at eighteen years old and moved in with a friend in Portland. Her mom had sold the house, and off she went to Puerto Rico, then Spain. The list of countries her mom had lived in constantly changed. Currently, her mom was in South Africa for two years without a phone. Their correspondence came through letters, and she could tell her mom loved the experience.
While she missed her, she was old enough to appreciate that her mom was happy doing what she loved.
She opened her eyes. It was late, and though she was too keyed up to go right to sleep and wanted to think about everything that'd happened tonight with Wyatt, she needed to go inside.
Until the moment Wyatt had walked out of the bar ahead of her, leaving her to collect the winning pot, she could've sworn on her life that he would put the moves on her, and they'd end up back at his apartment since his kids were with their grandma.
She looked toward Wyatt's apartment in the next unit, her stomach fluttering. Mutual flirting after a one-night stand was new to her. As were one-night stands, but Wyatt never felt like a stranger because she'd had a crush on him for months. He was a tenant. She knew where he worked because of his application. She'd even met his kids—both of them fascinated her.
Not knowing the smaller details of his life was the biggest turn on she'd ever experienced. She loved the mystery of not knowing what he was thinking about her. When he'd shown up at the bar, she'd almost peed herself.
It was exciting, mysterious, and highly arousing.
She shook her head, knowing she had to calm down, and a large shape caught her attention in the parking lot in front of Wyatt's apartment. She squinted, looking through the dark until she made out a figure sitting on a motorcycle.
It could only be one person. Nobody else in the complex rode a Harley Davidson.
She walked toward him, never doubting her decision to go to him. It wasn't even an option to ignore him and walk into her apartment.
The spike of her high heel clicked along the sidewalk. Aware of the goosebumps on her bare legs and arms, it wasn't the warm night air prickling her skin.
Stepping off the sidewalk, she approached him in the parking space. Hard to catch her breath around him, she grabbed the handlebar of his motorcycle.
"You left the bar before I could give you half the pot," she said.
"I had something important to do." He held out his hand.
On instinct, she slipped her fingers against his palm. He pulled her between his spread thighs. It was then that she noticed he sat sideways on his bike as if he'd been watching for her.
He hooked his hand behind her thighs and kept her close. Getting used to him always touching her, she looped her arms around his neck. With him sitting, his face was right in front of her.
"What are you doing to me?" she whispered.
"I can tell you what I want to do to you." His hands traveled under the hem of her mini dress. "Come in with me. The kids won't be home until tomorrow morning."
She hooked her finger into the neck of his T-shirt. "I don't know..."
"Don't make me carry you over my shoulder."
He made her want to laugh. "Tell me what you're going to do to me if I walk into your apartment."
"I'm going to bend you over in front of me, grab that beautiful hair in my fist, and fuck you until you scream my name," he said.
There was no hesitation. The man knew what he wanted.
"Luckily, I like what you want." She stepped back, tugging his shirt, bringing him to his feet.
He put his arm around her lower back and walked her to the door. The interior much cleaner and organized than the first time she came into his place. What he lacked in knickknacks, plants, and end tables, he made up for with a large TV center, stereo, and two large speakers.
Wyatt walked over to the entertainment center. "What do you like?"
"Eagles, Creedence Clear Water, Styx. Foreigner." She sat down on the sofa, moving the pillow to the other side.
There was a sheet and a blanket folded and placed on the back of the couch. Running her hand over the cushion, she wondered if he slept here, or maybe one of the kids stayed in the living room.
Have You Ever Seen the Rain played through the speakers. She bounced her leg with the beat.
Wyatt approached her and held out his hand. She reached for him eagerly, and he led her into the kitchen.
"Beer or cooler?" He opened the fridge.
"Mm...Bartles and Jaymes."
He popped off the cap and handed her the bottle, then took a beer for himself. She swallowed the cold liquid, enjoying the bubbles. Standing in his kitchen, doing something as ordinary as having a drink, there was no rush to touch him, no push to have sex.
Yet, her body throbbed.
Highly attuned to him, she found herself comparing his body as if she was sizing up a game-winning shot. If she stuck her arm out straight, she'd touch his chest. If she stood against him, the buckle of his belt would hit her stomach. If she straddled his thigh, her pussy would rub against his jeans. Her breasts would press against his ribs. Her mouth would capture his collarbone.
Wyatt moved closer. As if reading her mind
, he took his turn and blocked her shot. With one arm around her, he lifted her up and set her butt on the counter.
She spread her legs, making room for his body. His long hair begged for her fingers, and she slid her hand into the strands as the song on the stereo ended, and Hey Tonight started.
Wyatt set his beer on the counter and cupped her ass, pulling her to the edge. She kissed him, filled with anticipation. His hard body between her legs, she hooked her ankles behind him.
He pulled his mouth back, dove in again, and stopped. "Do you know what your legs in those shoes do to me?"
She slid her hand between their bodies and stroked her fingers over the thick ridge in the front of his jeans. "You like them?"
"You drive me crazy, tiger." He dipped his head and kissed along her jaw, her neck, then straightened and with his lips on her ear, whispered, "You were the only thing I could think about tonight. I had to run to Murphy's and buy a few condoms because nothing else was open. If you got home before I got back, I'd planned to break down your door to get to you."
Amusement sent a shiver down her spine, imagining him striding into the twenty-four/seven convenient store on the way out of town. Her head fell back, giving him more access to her neck.
"Why do you call me tiger?" A wave of lust centered in her lower stomach, and she held his head against her.
"You remind me of a fierce tiger, claws out, ready to swipe."
She straightened her neck and opened her eyes. "That's an awful thing to say."
He pulled back and looked at her with the most intense expression, hardening his face in a hotness that left her paying attention. "Wild. Sexy. Proud. Those claws raked my back while you went wild underneath me, and that's not a bad thing, Joey."
Her breath caught in her lungs. "I scratched your back?"
His gaze warmed. She swallowed hard, flashing back to everything that'd happened the first time they were together. He'd used his mouth, this tongue, and then slid into her without any mercy. Her body had gone crazy. All those feelings had let loose at once, and...
She covered her mouth and mumbled, "Let me see."
He lifted his arm, reached behind his neck, and pulled his shirt over his head. Her gaze dropped to his broad chest. She squirmed on the counter. Running her hands over his shoulders, his pecs, and through the hair on his chest, she looked into his eyes and found his smoldering gaze. She needed to know if she'd scratched his back.
"Turn around." She unlocked her ankles and let her feet dangle off the counter.
He never budged. "You turn around."
Going back on what he'd confessed to wanting to do tonight, she held on to his shoulders and slid off the counter. Studying him, making sure that this was what he wanted, she got his answer when his hands went to her hips and rotated her body away from him.
She grabbed the edge of the counter and dropped her chin to her chest. The material of her dress lifted over her butt. Wyatt pulled her panties down. She stepped out of them.
His hands palmed each butt cheek, and a soft hiss came from behind her. Her neck warmed. Stimulated over his arousal, she hoped the heels of her shoes supported her. He left her weak and muddled, the exact opposite of a tiger.
He grasped her hips, bringing her back, then put his hand on her upper back, tipping her forward in front of him. The lips of her pussy opened, and she flipped her hair over her back.
Wyatt's hands left her. Seemingly alone, poised in front of him, she closed her eyes at the vulnerability of her position.
The crinkle of a foil package came through the music playing. Her chest tightened, and she puckered her lips and exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart.
Before she could get control, a warm hardness stroked between her legs. Her grip on the counter tightened.
"You're already wet," he said.
She squeaked, knowing it was true. It was something she was learning happened a lot when he was around because he constantly touched her. She'd lost track of how many kisses he'd given her to the side of the head or how many times his hand landed on her hip while they played pool.
Not that she was counting.
Okay.
She'd counted. Until she was so worked up, she forgot.
He rubbed the head of his cock against her clit. She trembled at the contact and arched her back to keep her balance.
Her breasts threatened to come out of the top of her bra. Aware of their heavy weight swinging, she realized it was her moving her body back and forth. She couldn't stop.
She wanted to keep rubbing against him. It felt so good. So, so good.
Her pussy spasmed, clenching for attention. She moaned.
Wyatt slid his hand up her spine, gathered her hair in his hand, and held her still. Her head went back. Her jaw dropped. Her breasts popped free of her bra.
Coming undone, she teetered on the edge when Wyatt slid his cock inside of her and reached around her hip and fingered her clit from the front. Filled with him, she bucked back against his body.
Her sex tingled, and she panted.
The roughness of his calloused finger, the pressure on her head, the fullness of him inside consumed her. She moaned loudly, her orgasm stealing her breath.
She quivered, all her strength going to the pleasure spreading throughout her.
His hand moved away from between her legs and clasped her hip. He slid in and out, harder, faster.
The hair on his thighs caressed the back of her legs. She rocked back and forth, coming up on the toes of her heels under his power.
He grunted and buried himself deep from behind her, and he let go of her hair. Her head fell forward between her arms. If it wasn't for him holding her hips, she would've melted to the floor.
Wyatt's body heaved, inhaling deeply. "Look at your fingernails, tiger."
She raised her head, opened her eyes, and looked at her hands, grasping the edge of the kitchen counter. Her fingertips were white, holding on for dear life as she tried to stay standing.
"Wild," he murmured, kissing the back of her head.
She shuddered at his husky tone. He was right.
She'd lost all control with him. If she would've had her arms wrapped around him, her nails would've dug into his back.
The phone trilled. She jolted, straightening. His cock slipped out of her.
"I need to get this. It could be my kids," he said.
She turned, pulling the bottom of her dress down to her thighs. Her heart racing at the interruption.
His belt buckle bounced against the buttons of his 501s as he crossed the kitchen and picked up the receiver. She turned around, reached in her dress, and put her breasts in her bra. Wiggling, she righted herself.
"Damnit. How long has he been gone?"
She turned at the raised tone from Wyatt.
He fisted his hand and banged the overhead cabinet. She picked up her panties and wiggled them on, knowing the night was over. With Wyatt's attention solely on the phone conversation, she tiptoed toward the living room.
Wyatt cleared his throat. She looked over her shoulder. He summoned her back with a crook of his finger.
She waited.
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He frowned. "Yeah. Thanks."
He hung up the phone receiver and turned to her. "Travis ran off from my mom's house. I need to go look for him."
She pressed her hand to the front of her neck. "He ran away?"
"A habit he's started lately." He fastened his jeans and latched his belt. "The damn kid. I don't know what is going through his head lately."
"He lost his mom," she whispered.
He raised his gaze. "He'd lost her long before she'd died."
"I..." She bit down on her lip.
It was none of her business about his previous relationships, including the one with his children's mother. She could only go off how much she'd witnessed Jess hurting when she'd talked about losing her mom. During her time with his daughter, she recognized the signs of grieving.
Wyatt walked to her and kissed her lips. "I need to go."
"Of course." She patted his chest. "Anything I can do?"
"Give me a raincheck, so I can finish what we started." He walked with her to the door.
She stepped out of the apartment and pushed him. "Go, go find your son."
He jogged to his motorcycle. She slowly walked to the sidewalk, keeping her gaze on Wyatt roaring out of the parking lot.
It was after two o'clock in the morning. A teenage boy should be asleep, safe in bed.
Chapter 9
Joey
EMPTYING THE COIN CATCH on the front of the last washing machine, Joey zipped up the old canvas pouch her grandpa had always used to carry the money. She picked up the dirty rags she'd used to clean each machine and hauled everything out of the room in the rec center with her.
"Ms. Joey?" Arnold Baste set down his playing cards and motioned her over to the table.
She smiled at the older, long-time tenant. Mr. Baste had lived at the apartments for as long as she could remember. As a child, he'd played hours of Old Maid with her while her grandpa handled the chores.
"The dishwasher in my apartment is leaking again." Mr. Baste shifted and whispered, "If you need to wait, I can handwash the dishes with no problem. I've already shut off the water supply under the sink."
She put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll contact the plumber today and have him come out. If he thinks you need a new dishwasher, I'll make that happen."
"Bless you." Mr. Baste patted her hand. "Your grandpa would be proud of how you're taking care of everyone."
"I'm trying." She hugged him and whispered, "George is bluffing. Play your cards."
"I heard that." George glared at her but couldn't hide the amusement breaking the sternness of his mouth.
Mr. Baste guffawed, making his bushy mustache wiggle. "Love you, girl."
She walked away, smiling, and lugging the dirty laundry and coin bag in one hand. Outside, she stretched her back. It'd been a long day of doing the chores and taking care of the tenants. Mr. Baste wasn't the only one having a problem at the complex. Apartment B3 had a bathroom light flickering. The tenant in A2, who used to mow the grounds in exchange for a lower monthly rental rate during the summer, notified her he was moving next week. She met with two renters from two different apartments that had an ongoing fight over who got to park closest to the building.