Kinkaid (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 2) (5 page)

“That’s not the point!”

“When the fuck did you become the Virgin Mary?”

“About the time I found out you were Mister Gigolo Holmes.”

I hung my head, deep chugging breaths adding to the sweat on my stretched-tight torso. “I don’t get it Sadie. You never even wanted me before this”—I waved between us—“whatever the fuck’s going on all of a sudden. So what’s your goddamn hang-up?”

“You stubborn, blind,
dickwheel
! I DO want you! I’ve always wanted you.” She spun on her heels, muttering, “Ignoramus. Shit for brains. Fucking thicker than that two-by-four you throw around. Almost took my head off, by the way . . .”

“What?” Shock rattled my teeth, shook my body, knocked my brain around, too, for good measure. “What did you say?” I repeated, stunned stupid.

“I want you, Kinkaid. But I can’t have you now, can I,
Kinky Kaid
?”

Holy fuck. What?

I couldn’t believe it. She’d never hinted at jackshit.

Oh My Fucking Fuck. She wants me. Or she had. Before the whole “Imma bonafide stripper” incident.

My jaw worked open, and I tried to speak.

She was having none of it.

“I don’t want to hear it. You go right on stripping and fucking anything with spread legs.” She straightened her shoulders, turning the seething blue glare on me.

“Fine,” I bit out, crossing my arms over my chest. “So where do we go from here?”

My heart lifted to my throat, my stomach dropped south. I stayed away from Sadie only through sheer force of will, my muscles clamped tight.

“Wanna go a round with me?” With those six little words, Sadie stole the air from my lungs.

“What? Here?”

She pulled up her fists, rolling her eyes. “This kind of
going a round
, not the getting naked and fucking it out kind.”

“Oh.” Didn’t I feel stupid? And frustrated as hell. “Are you serious? I told you the first day we met I don’t hit girls. After
you
hit
me
.”

A faint smile curved her kissable lips. “I know. That’s what makes you so much fun.”

She unclasped the hooks of her overalls at her shoulders.

“Now what the hell are you doing?” I sprang toward her, stilling her hands. My cock sprang to attention, too.

Big surprise.

“Well I can’t fight ya in these. They’re too baggy.” Wresting free of my hold, she dropped the paint-stained denim to her feet. “I’m wearing boxers, see?”

“Of course you are.” They were light blue and almost modest. But she was wearing nothing else but a black ribbed tank top—nipples firmly pressed against the thin cloth—and no lines of a bra.

Her tits swung, soft and inviting, as she held out her arms. “What? Boxers are good enough for you, aren’t they?”

“Don’t wear boxers.” I defensively cupped my crotch.

Sadie touched my wrist, underneath which my dick already pulsed, pounded,
needed
her. “Oh. You’re a briefs man then.”

With a strangled cough-choke, I said nothing, looking anywhere but at her.

“
Ohhh
.” Her eyes wide and comprehending, she licked the bow of her upper lip. “So, you wanna strip off too?” She leered at me.

“
In general
, I go commando.” Hairs on my wrists bristled where she touched me. My face flushed. “I wear a jockstrap under my shorts when I workout.”

“Even better. Shuck off the shorts,” Sadie ordered.

Oh dear Lord, she was definitely flirting with me. It was better than fighting, but I wasn’t sure how long my willpower would last especially with her standing there, just two small articles of clothing away from being naked. It was crazy, but her in the tank top and boxer shorts was a damn sight sexier than any of the primped and preened girls I’d ever been with.

For the first time I truly noticed how long her legs were. How high and round her breasts were. The way tiny fine hairs glinted on the nape of her neck, showing on that delicate expanse of skin with her hair swinging in the usual ponytail.

There was a hot snap to the cool air in the shed as if a current of electricity raced between us.

“Not taking my shorts off,” I gritted out.

“Scaredy cat.” She snapped the waistband of my shorts, her blunt fingernails scratching lightly against my lower pelvis, dangerously close to the thump-throb of my erection.

In a flash, I had Sadie on the floor. She kicked at me with her heels. She flew at me with her fists. Her legs wound around me, and she managed to flip me to my back. Her hair started falling free of the ponytail, and sandy gold strands wisped around her face. Hopping to her feet, she crouched above me.

“Gotcha!” she shouted triumphantly.

With a lightning fast strike, I gripped her around the waist and pulled her back over me. She squealed and squirmed, but I tightened my bear-hug hold. All her wriggling had a massive effect on my cock, making it rise even harder inside the confines of my jockstrap.

Sadie felt it at once. Her movements changed from frantically trying to get away to slowing down and writhing on top of me.

My head beat back to the floor with a thunk as I swallowed a groan inside. Gathering those last shreds of willpower, I flipped her off me. Then I straddled her. During our tussle, her top had rucked up, and my hands rested on the taut skin of her belly.

“What do we have here?” I changed the scorching sexual mood in a flash, tickling her bare skin.

She giggled and tried to bat my hands away, but I was relentless. I tickled her until her cheeks were bright with a pink flush, her blue eyes dancing, and she huffed between laughter and shouts.

I stopped abruptly, staring as she panted beneath me. She was perfect. I’d seen her face a thousand times, but I’d never really
seen her
as a woman, a beautiful, funny, foul-mouthed, vibrant woman.

I gathered a handful of her hair in my fingers, stroking the strands of honey and gold.

She bucked up beneath me, her hips arched to my groin. Her lips fell open and her gaze wandered down my chest to my shorts. My cock beat against the fabric, full and stiff.

“I think the real question is what do we have
here
?” she asked in a sultry purr. Her hand grazed me softly once before returning with more accuracy. She rubbed my length. “Oh, Kinkaid. Feels so hot, so heavy.”

I jerked against her, my fingers clamping down on her hair. A bead of sweat drizzled down the side of my face and onto my chest. Every single nerve ending in my body pinpointed on my dick, which pulsed as blood engorged it even more.

“Jesus.” I moved my pelvis, searching for more direct contact with her hand.

“Good Lord. You’re as big as that plank of wood and just as hard.” She dragged her fingers up and down my rigid cock.

We stared at each other, only inches apart. The moment should’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t. It was quickly becoming overheated. Or that was me, overheating. The seconds stretched out, and I blinked slowly, wondering if the connection would break.

It didn't.

Sadie was so close I could lean down and kiss her.

I didn't.

My cock ached and every stroke of her fingers pulled a deep groan from my throat.

“You weren’t wearing boxers under your dress that night at the club,” I said in a hoarse rumble.

“
Hmm
. So you want to know what I usually wear, Kinkaid?” She smoothed her palms up my arms and along my bulging shoulders, slanting her eyes at me.

I almost begged her to go back to fisting me. A burble of precome slid like a hot tease down the side of my cock.

“Panties . . . or a thong? Lace, white cotton, sheer?” she asked.

I panted against her neck, licking and biting and wanting to go lower, to suck her nipples into my mouth. To feed her cunt against my lips.

“Yeah. I wanna know.”

She rolled me off of her and jumped up. Slipping into her overalls, she swooped down, leaving the imprint of her lips on my cheek. “Maybe I’ll let you find out one day firsthand.”

“Dinner. Tomorrow. You’ll come?” I asked, my breath sawing in and out of my chest.

“I reckon I will come, Kinkaid.” She winked and disappeared out the door.

I should’ve walked her to her bike. Said a proper goodbye. Seen her home. Or at the very least stood up and waved or whatever, but I was too busy thinking with my
brain
that steadily pulsated between my thighs. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. Hard to walk with a giant piece of steel wedged between your legs.

It was all I could do to wait until I heard her dirt bike screaming off down the road before I lifted my hips, yanked down my shorts and jockstrap in one, and wrapped my first around my dick.

I didn’t have time to edge or tease or fuck around. Cupping my balls in one hand—tugging on them—I kept my strokes long and firm, crunching up to spit down on my knob. My wet palm flashed faster. My neck craned back, my hips pumped up off the floor. My toes curled and come shot out of me with a giant roar of relief and ecstasy.

My eyes closed, pictures of Sadie straddling me flashed behind them. The thought of her made my orgasm stronger, louder, longer.

With a last all-over muscle spasm, I dropped my come-covered hand and flopped back. My hips still bucked. My cock wanted something better than my hand to fuck, and the bastard wasn’t showing any signs of going down.

Figured.

The only consolation was that maybe Sadie had forgiven me.

She definitely wanted me.

But she wasn’t thrilled about my chosen
profession
to say the least.

And what if we did get together, and it fucked up our friendship?

I WIPED MY HANDS on my pants for the umpteenth time, looking out the little square window in the kitchen again. I heard Grampa whistling from his recliner in the living room. I pictured him bent over his crossword book, concentrating on the clues. Meanwhile my concentration was shot to shit.

Giving up my watchdog position at the window, I paced through the house. After sleeping off my late night shift at The GQ, I’d spent the morning cleaning up the place. At least the dusting, bathroom cleaning, and vacuuming had taken my mind off my sudden intense and insane attraction to Sadie. I’d been tempted to beat off another few times since our incident in the shed but refrained. After the third jag-off session I’d started to feel like a pervert.

So I’d cleaned the house instead and ignored my dirty mind. The place looked decent enough, and it wasn’t like Sadie hadn’t been here hundreds of times before. This was different though. All of the furniture in the small cottage was way past its sell-by date, but I took care of the constant repairs on old appliances and made sure the paint was fresh, the outside pressure washed, the roof well maintained.

I wanted to impress Sadie, and not just with a clean house.

I’d showered, shaved, and put on a nice pair of black pants and a black button-down. Grampa had frowned when I’d come out of my room. I’d ignored him too, after I’d made sure he’d shaved away his white whiskers and put on a clean, ironed shirt over his white Hanes T-shirt.

He’d gotten a little fractious with me. “Clucking hen is what you are. Need to get you married and off my back.”

I completed my return circuit to the kitchen. I’d even bought flowers, not that I could smell them above the scorched broccoli-cheese casserole. Grampa’s favorite.
Crap.
Smoke rose out of the oven, gray and acrid. Flapping my hands like an albatross, I made my way over and turned on the fan.

“Whatcha burnin’ in there, son?”

I shouted, “Your dinner. And if you know what’s good for you—”

“Somethin’ got you rattled?” He appeared in the doorway, head cocked like a curious parrot. “It’s just Sadie.”

This might’ve been a mistake. Why did I feel like I was getting ready for my first real date?
It’s only Sadie
. But not the same old Sadie. As I cracked a window to let in some fresh air, I scowled at the burned remains of the veg and sauce now sitting in the sink. As far as dates went, what a dumbass idea, especially with Grampa Dean as the crotchety old chaperone.

“I know it’s just Sadie.” But my cheeks glowed at the prospect of seeing her again. And I wanted to feel proud of something since I’d felt so ashamed about her catching me stripping.

“Oh, it’s like
that
.
Huh
.” He scratched his de-whiskered chin. “I did wonder about you two, but I didn’t think so.”

“We’re not. It’s not. I dunno. She’s just. And then yesterday.” I stopped and started half a dozen times, keeping my face carefully averted.

“You’re not. It’s not. Whatnot. Now, you know I like me some word games but dang, boy. It’s not just my broccoli cheese that’s a hot mess.”

“Not a word about it in front of her,” I hissed.

Just then the sound of her dirt bike tore up the street.

“Fuck.” I started flapping my arms again to air out the kitchen.

“I sure hope you don’t cuss like that in front of her.” He squinted at me. “Are you tryin’ to take off or somethin’?”

I groaned. “Sadie has a filthier mouth than me. It’s her you should worry about cussin’.” I heard her come to a screeching halt in the driveway. “Will you skedaddle? Just let me say hi to her alone?”

“Oh, son. You got it bad, don’t ya?”

I snapped at him with the dishtowel. “Scoot!”

He took his damn good time shuffling out of the kitchen and away from the front door. Of course he moved like a snail at the best of times these days. I shook my head after his slow retreat. Then I smoothed my palms down the front of my shirt, rubbed a hand across my jaw to make sure it was smooth, and opened the door before Sadie had a chance to knock.

“Sadie. Come in.” Shit? Did that sound stupid, like I was the butler or something?

She carried a brown paper bag and had her helmet tucked under one arm.

I took the helmet from her and leaned in close, brushing my face against her loose hair. “You smell good.” It was a mix of that spicy peaches scent and something new, floral, womanly, her.

“I would say it smells good in here, but . . . ” She scanned the kitchen until her eyes lit on the blackened ruins of the side dish.

Instead of answering, I swooped to kiss her before she could protest. Her lips opened with a gasp then softened against mine. No matter how much I wanted to plunge my tongue inside her mouth and drive my fingers through her hair, I softly caressed her lips with mine, keeping it light and chaste. For all its innocence, the kiss covered me in chills and shivers, and sent a big old slam of
want
to my cock.

And that was when I pulled away.

“Wow,” she breathed out, her fingertips lifting to the pink parting of her mouth.

I swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

Smooth, Kaid. Real smooth.

The problem was I had no technique when it came to her. I wasn’t playing by the usual rulebook of seduce, fuck, and flee. And
wow
was right. It was our first real kiss, and my lips continued to tingle from the sweet intensity of it.
My body tensed with deep driving desire for her.

I stepped back and smiled down at her. “Anyway, it was just the broccoli that burned. Everything else is well under control.” Unlike my wild heartbeat.

Sadie smiled back, her lips perfectly bowed in the middle. We stared speechlessly at each other until the oven’s loud buzzer rang across the room.

“Shouldn’t you get that—” she started.

“Here, let me help you with your jacket—” I said.

But she was already half out of it, and my attempts to do the gentlemanly thing ended in an awkward tangle of arms, the brown paper bag, and the padded dark brown leather. I finished the job, yanking it off her wrists and slinging it into a chair with all the finesse of a caveman.

“There!” I said.

Then we rocked together, laughing off the staggering strangeness of it all.

Jesus. I was so nervous around her.
It’s just Sadie
.

Or so I thought, until I recovered from the chuckles and got a good look at her. Then I wiped one hand over my face and looked some more. What was with the dresses and skirts all of a sudden? I wasn’t complaining, I really wasn’t but . . .

She was not helping the dangerous state of my cock. I should’ve taken the damn thing up on its offer yesterday and beat it senseless, perv or not. My dick reared its head, literally, bobbing inside my pants, which were a little too tight to hide a huge erection. And of course,
commando
. Not helping. I should’ve worn briefs. Even a jockstrap would’ve been better than sporting an obvious stiffie in my slacks.

This combo of skirt and blouse was clingy yet wispy in the perfect shade of brilliant blue to match the exact color of her eyes. The square neck of the shirt revealed the top mounds of her tits all enhanced by tiny white embroidery.

Then I got to thinking about her straddling her bike in the short skirt. The image suddenly seared on my brain got even better with me in the picture sitting right behind her.

I must’ve stared at her for at least a good minute because she asked, “Something wrong?”

Groaning, I shook my head. “Just trying to work out you, in that outfit, on your dirt bike.”

“Oh really?” Her lips curved in a temptress’s grin. “Maybe this will help.” She stretched out a long lean leg that ended in her usual stomping boots.

Pure Sadie
.

Until she fished out a pair of lethal looking stilettoes from her brown paper bag, the kind used in liquor stores. Then she treated me to a prime view of her ass in the swinging, swaying skirt as she bent over in front of me. The sort of bottom she had was ripe for the grabbing, and I fisted my hands at my sides. Taking off the bitching Fox boots, she replaced them with the dangerous heels.

I let loose with another long low rumble of a groan.

“Sure nothing’s wrong?” She turned around, standing almost eye-level with me.

“No. Nothing at all. You just . . .
Damn,
girl.”

She lifted one eyebrow.

Grampa’s cane clacked across the floor, and suddenly he stood next to me. His expression was a cross between hangdog and charming, and he stooped his shoulders a bit more than usual, trying to get the pity factor working in his favor.

Old coot.

“C’mere, Sadie. I didn’t get a good enough look at you yesterday what with you trotting off to find Kinkaid like your butt was on fire.”

She leaned in for a hug and a kiss. “Hey, Grampa Dean.”

“Yes, girl, you’ve grown up into a fine young lady. Now I got nothin’ against that dirt bike of yours and those leather things you wear or the overalls—I’m a woman’s libber, dontcha know?—but look at you in a skirt. Very purty. Ain’t she pretty, Kinkaid?”

I’d just been thinking the same thing, but the old charmer had stolen my line. I narrowed a glare on him.

I gave a slight bow in Sadie’s direction. “You do look gorgeous.”

Gorgeous didn’t cover the half of it, but I wasn’t one bit poetic, and my mouth had dried up the second I’d seen her minus the jacket. Correction: the second I’d seen her on the doorstep with apples in her cheeks and her dazzling blue eyes sparkling.

“Not so bad yourself, Kinkaid.” Her glance was both sly and promising.

I wondered exactly what she was promising tonight. Hopefully not another scuffle.

“You care to help me out in here while Grampa goes and finishes his crossword.”

“
Bah
! Nonsense. She won’t be wantin’ to bother with that woman’s stuff, will she? She’s a woman’s libber too, I reckon.” He chuckled for a long time and then stole my girl off into the living room, shooting back, “We’ll leave you to it, little wifey.”

I listened closely to the pair of them and heard the rustle of that brown bag and the clunk of a heavy-bottomed bottle.

“Woodford Reserve bourbon? My girl, you didn’t have to bring nothin’ for me. But I do ’preciate it. Shall we have a little ’fresher?” Grampa raised his voice, “Bring us here two glasses and one for yourself, would you, Kinkaid?”

I slammed cupboard doors and stomped into the living room, thrusting three tumblers at him.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, Sadie.”

“Why not? He’s in the prime of his life and deserves to get sloshed if he wants.” Her quick retort echoed my grampa’s snort.

“You’ll have to open it, son.” He held the bottle out to me in one shaking hand. “And pour it too. Be generous now.”

Hmmph.

As soon as I totted a fair amount into each glass and we’d chimed them together, Grampa remarked, “That somethin’ else burning in the kitchen?”

“I don’t know. Might-could be Kinkaid’s eyebrows he looks so hot under the collar.”

Oh, great. This was shaping up to be a fun evening.

Date?

More like torture while they tag-teamed on me.

I stalked back to the kitchen.

“Butler, chef,
sommelier
,” I grumbled as I uncorked the wine I’d bought. “Doormat, dishrag, dumbass.
Houseboy
.”

I oughtta grind up some oleander petals and poison their food.

I chugged a glass of red wine, set the old, scratched-up oak table with our best silverware, plates, and wineglasses. I’d cleaned every utensil and dish twice. The tines of the forks shined even if they weren’t anything expensive.

I checked on the beef, the roast potatoes and carrots. There was a green salad, too, which Grampa would eat grudgingly since the broccoli casserole was DOA. Taking the beef out to rest, I wiped down the counters. I had another glass of wine. Grampa had taught me the essentials of cooking early on, but whereas his culinary skills ran to southern favorites like fried catfish and hushpuppies—or that blessed broccoli-cheese—I sometimes liked to show off a little in the kitchen and unglut my arteries with something other than fried this or that.

Maybe it was the wine that mellowed me, or the thought of my two favorite people in the next room. I heard their muffled conversation and figured he’d probably ratted me out for my nerves earlier. I guessed I didn’t care if Sadie knew.

My movements slowed and I relaxed, closing my eyes, listening. His low chuckle sounded like gravel crunching under the wheels of a tire. Her counterpoint laugh was more like the purr of a well-maintained engine.

I remembered the first time Sadie had come home with me on the school bus.

Grampa had returned from work a couple hours later, shouting his usual, “Ain’t dead yet and still got me a job. It’s a good day to be alive, son.”