Protect (5 page)

When his eyes fell on her the heat seeped up
from her belly into her chest, neck and face. She hated being this
attracted to him. It was ridiculous. He was just a man, for
Christ’s sake.

His hands pulled at his belt and she realized
he’d caught her staring. With a self-satisfied smile he nodded to
the bed. “What does the Sheriff need tonight?”

His accent, good Lord and
fuck
that
accent was a whole different level.

“No talking,” she requested. “That’s what the
Sheriff needs.”

He cocked on eyebrow but the smile stayed
put. “Yes ma’am.”

Only he could make the word
ma’am
hot.

She crossed the room and pulled her shirt
off. His eyes were on her as she did it, and as he dropped his
jeans the sight of his erection set off a female surge of triumph.
In her panties she climbed onto the bed, pulling her hair over her
shoulder as she went up on all fours.

His hands were on her hips, pulling her
underwear down to her knees but not off. His rough palms skimmed
along the backs of her thighs, then one of them ran up the center
of her back and pushed down between her shoulder blades. She
lowered her chest to the bed, the anticipation heady. One might
think she craved control in this situation, but it wasn’t true. She
really preferred to just be fucked by someone who knew how to do it
right. He never begged her to handcuff him to the bed, or ride him
wearing her uniform shirt. No, in bed she was just another woman.
And that was fine with her.

His other hand slid between her legs, along
her wet opening. She gasped, burying her face in the sheets. Her
heart was hammering with want.

“So wet,” he mumbled, fingers rubbing into
her with great skill. She bit her lip so as not to whimper. “Is
that for me?”

His finger slipped down to her clit, circling
it, slick and warm. She closed her eyes, refusing to make
noise.

“Must be,” he was saying as she heard him
rustling in his clothes. Then there was the sound of a foil package
tearing, and still that finger circled her, agonizingly tender.
“You’re one naughty bitch, Sharon.”

He didn’t call her Sheriff, either. That
earned points.

His blunt head was nudging into her, slow.
Too fucking slow. She pushed back against him but his hand on her
back pushed down harder. “You’ll take it as I give it.”

Again she had to bite her lip. She’d never
liked dirty talking until Fritter.

When he was all the way inside, filling and
stretching her, he remained still. She was trying to move but that
hand on her back was firm.

“I like watchin’ you squirm. Keep doin’
it.”

She stilled immediately and that made him
chuckle.

“All right then,” he mumbled, both hands
going to her hips. “I’m goin’ to make you scream once, you know.
It’ll happen eventually.”

She squeezed her eyes shut again, then he
pulled free of her and slammed his erection home swiftly, making
her gasp before she could bury it in the mattress. Then he did it
again, harder.

The sheets rolled as her hands clutched at
them, desperate for something to hold onto. Eventually his pace hit
the point where she was climbing, a hot pressure behind her
bellybutton growing uncomfortable. It needed to release but she
held on, knowing the longer she waited the better the
sensation.

“Fuck,” he muttered, hands leaving her hips
momentarily. Before she could track it he grasped the edges of her
underwear, still at her knees, tearing the seams on each side with
one motion.

That made her cry out, but before she could
say anything his weight was lowering onto her, and her stomach met
the mattress while he still thrust into her. She arched her back,
trying to ignore the heat of his skin on hers. Her hair was yanked,
arching her head back, and his mouth went to the side of her neck,
teeth nipping her slightly.

That sent her over the edge, tumbling into
ecstasy with her teeth digging into her bottom lip hard enough to
draw blood, probably. She saw stars every time with him, and she
hadn’t even known that was possible.

“Atta girl,” he growled, rising up onto his
arms again, pushing against her hard enough that his hips dug into
her ass cheeks.

Her eyes flew open, set on the mirror over
the dresser across the room. She loved this room for its mirrored
dresser. She could watch him this way, and he was a true thing of
beauty when he fucked her.

The muscles of his arms and chest bunched and
strained. His eyes on her body were intense, and when it felt good
he let his head loll back, eyes closed, face giving everything
away. Like it was right now.

Seeing that started the build again, and she
tried moving but this position gave her no room for it. He had her
pinned with her legs trapped under his, one hand on her lower back
with the other still in her hair.

He opened his eyes again, and that’s when he
saw her watching in the mirror. He knew she did that, it was no big
embarrassment. He grinned at her, bit his lip and planted both
hands on the mattress at her sides. Then he fucked her. Really
fucked her, like bodies bouncing on impact kind of relentless
thrusting. Now she could push back, raising her hips into him, the
angle perfect. So perfect.

She was coming, and as she planted her face
in the mattress to keep from crying out he jammed a hand under her
chin, pulling her up to see the mirror. She was flushed, looked
wild and out of control, and he looked the same.

“Watch it,” he was growling, so close to her
ear. “Watch yourself come. It’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”

As he was saying it she was doing it, her
body clenching and tightening under and around him. Her mouth fell
open but still she made no sound, just waited for the tremors to
pass.

With a curse he yanked her back up onto all
fours, pounding into her, not letting up for a second. One hand
went under her stomach, sliding up to pinch and pull her nipple.
She had to bite her lip again and close her eyes, concentrating on
where the next orgasm was coming from.

“Scream for me, Sharon.”

She shook her head, eyes closed.

“Look at yourself.”

Again she shook her head, refusing to give
in. His thrusts became more vicious, how she liked them. As another
orgasm was building his thumb pressed over her anus and her eyes
flew open, meeting his in the mirror. He was grinning.

“Got your attention now?” He wasn’t probing,
just teasing. Tickling. It felt fantastic, and her mouth fell open,
impossibly on the doorstep of another orgasm already. It hit hard,
and she
did
cry out but dropped her face into the mattress
so it was muffled.

She was gasping, blinking, trying to orient
herself as he pulled free and all but tossed her onto her back.
“You’re not tired already, are you?”

She shook her head, smiling now. “Not even
close.”

“Another one already?” Buck spoke for the
table this time.

Sachetti was requesting a last minute
delivery, but at least it was a shorter one-day trip. Pick up in
Hazeldale, drop off on the far side of Bakersfield, delivery at a
warehouse. The Hazeldale pick-up was the real stumbling block.

“No Gypsys to worry about,” Jayce pointed
out.

That was just because they’d been wiped out
by the brand new Red Rebels Nomads. Not a single man with Gypsy ink
was drawing breath, save the one that was a possible Fed, and no
one felt any guilt over that. But trepidation over venturing onto
the turf was still kicking around for good reason. There was always
the chance that the town stood behind their MC, but Fritter didn’t
see how that was possible. He knew the Gypsys were assholes, and he
couldn’t see them doing any of the warm and fuzzy community stuff
that the Red Rebels did. These Gypsys had been old-school, hard
core, one-percenters. Maybe the town would be grateful to be rid of
them, but that meant the Rebels had to behave themselves. They
might be given a good stink-eye.

“It’s just the pick-up, right?” Fritter
wanted clarified. “I mean, we’re basically driving in, turning
around and leaving. Other than a few sideways glances what’s the
worst that could happen?”

Jayce was nodding. “That’s my point. It’s a
one-day venture.”

“Who are we picking up
from
?” This
from Tank.

“The guys that brought it over the border.”
Jayce shifted in his chair, leaning forward with both elbows on the
table. “Guidinger informed me that who they were with wasn’t
anything I had to worry about.”

“I hate that fucking guy,” Knuckles mumbled.
He cracked the joints of his left hand all at once. “He’s such a
smug son of a bitch.”

“Who cares?” Jayce cut in. “He reports to
Sachetti, we make nice and do a little glad-handing. So what?”

Tank nodded. “I’m in.”

“I’m in,” Buck threw in immediately. “Might
be the last one until the baby gets here.”

“I’m in,” Fritter offered, no hesitation.
Then he looked to Tiny. “You mind staying close to Jayce this time
around?”

Tiny shrugged but Jayce was cutting in. “Wait
a minute, I can ride.”

“Tank’s going,” Buck pointed out.

“Only one or the other,” Fritter reminded his
president. “This is a last minute deal. Definitely not the time to
be getting all complacent.”

“All right,” he grumbled, clearly pissed
off.

“I’m in,” Knuckles piped up.

“I’ll go,” Mickey offered.

Rusty raised a hand. “I’m in, too.”

“That should be enough,” Jayce decided. “They
said the delivery’s small. It’ll fit in a box truck. Mickey, can we
borrow the shop’s?”

“Sure. I’ll drive.”

“All right. Decided. You leave in an hour.”
Jayce rapped his knuckles on the table and called the meeting to a
close. With shuffling feet and creaking leather kuttes the Red
Rebels stood and filed out of the board room.

Fritter headed for the coffee pot behind the
bar. Richey had started a strong pot before the meeting and he
needed a shot of caffeine.

“Where’d you get to last night?” Knuckles
asked, plopping a mug down next to Fritter’s as he poured.

“What do you mean?”

“I told you I had those triplets coming
by.”

He gave Knuckles a startled look, nearly
missing the mug. “Really? Ah, shit. The blondes?” They weren’t
really related, but they were similar-looking in a weird, Swedish
super model way. Generically stunning, if that was possible.

Knuckles nodded, playing with the toothpick
in his mouth. “Yeah. We waited a while for you but the girls got
restless. So Tiny filled in for you.”

“Yeah. Should be thanking you,” a gruff voice
said as a tree-trunk sized arm passed in front of him, reaching for
the coffee pot. Fritter grabbed his brain juice and stepped out of
Tiny’s way.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I totally forgot they
were coming to town.”

Knuckles eyes were twinkling. “So where the
hell’d you go?”

“I was at Ma’s,” he said, trying not to sound
too defensive.

“I called at seven-thirty. You weren’t
there.”

Fritter frowned. This wasn’t the first time
his illicit meetings nearly got him caught. He always found a way
out of it. “Fine,” he conceded. “I got a call for lawn maintenance
at Judge Cohen’s. It was a sod emergency.”

That made the other two cut up. The judge’s
wife had a thing for hired help. Fritter had been doing their “lawn
work” for years now. It consisted of fertilizer, aeration, cutting,
and fucking the wife stupid.

“Is that right?” Tiny snorted. “How can you
do that, man? She’s gotta weigh two hundred pounds.”

Fritter considered that. “Nah. A hundred
eighty, tops.”

“She’s only five feet tall, though,” Tiny
argued. “You’re not worried about leaving incriminating evidence in
her rolls?”

Fritter laughed as Knuckles nearly snorted
coffee out his nose at that. “She’s fun, man. You should try a
chubby girl sometime. They’re so cuddly and appreciative. She made
me cookies.” He was elaborating by using something that was
honestly the truth. “They were good, too.”

“Chubby girls know their baking,” Knuckles
agreed, clicking his mug against Fritter’s and heading for the
sofas. “As long as everyone got laid. Now, I gotta take a fucking
nap.”

It was a good idea. Knuckles stretched out on
the leather sofa and Fritter sank into an upholstered arm chair
with broken springs under the seat. It was the comfiest fucking
chair in the place, and he loved napping here.

He set his coffee on the floor to his right
and got settled, head back on the worn fabric, and let his body
sink into the tired furniture.

It didn’t bother him he’d nearly given up his
dirty little secret about the Sheriff. By quite a few miracles and
the fact that his brothers knew how stupid he was he could usually
bullshit his way out of anything.

No, he was more worried that he’d totally
forgotten about Knuckles and the blonde trifecta. They were fun; he
and Knuckles had shared the three of them on a couple of occasions
before. They were built like sex dolls, it was amazing.
Anatomically perfect, walking wet dreams. And they made porn star
noises. He loved the triplets.

But he’d
forgotten
they were in
Markham, all because Sheriff Downey had called him to duty. He’d
walked away from twenty-five-year old underwear models without a
second consideration. He had no idea how that could have
happened.

He shifted his shoulders, his body thoroughly
exhausted. He was always worn out after a round with Downey. He had
a strange need to give her a good two hours of his time, even
though it seemed as though she could have been with any cock for
all the difference it made to her. She enjoyed it, he knew damn
well she did, but she gave him nothing but a “Thanks,” with a
weird, professional cop smile before leaving the motel room. Weird
for a chick, for sure, but preferable. He liked what their deal
was. He liked it plenty. She was a great fuck when you got right
down to it. He’d love to hear her come, make some kind of noise
beyond her control, but all he got were gasps that she always
buried in pillows, or the mattress, or his skin.