“Oh God, Cade, I want your cock this time. You have to let me up. I want to feel you inside of me—”
“Is this a bad time?”
I scream out like Freddy Kruger is standing over me with his glove of knife blades and I’m about to die. Keys moves from beneath me, taking away all my happiness, and I’d whine about that if I wasn’t buck naked, in the aftershock phase of the best orgasm of my life, as well as a cold dose of reality rudely stopping my second joyride. I look up pulling my knees against my chest, legs firmly together, to see Chief Brock Stockman standing at the door.
Shit. Shit. Mother-fucking-shit.
“I could come back?” he says, and he’s not even bothering to hide his humor.
Brock isn’t a bad looking man. A little thick in the middle, salt hair with a dash of pepper, and a cookie duster mustache that’s always been in need of a trim, yet never seems to get it. He’s older, early to mid-sixties and I’ve always thought of him like an uncle or something—you know, a kind father figure. I sure as hell never wanted him to see me naked, begging for dick. I reach out, blindly slapping the floor, looking for Larry’s shirt. My other hand is trying to cover my boobs, my legs still firmly up and closed, trying to hide any other delicate areas. I breathe a small sigh of relief when my fingers wrap around the fabric. I’ve got it to my body, when Cade stands up on his knees, using his body in front of me. He rips the shirt out of my hand.
“Hey! Give me that back!” I screech at him.
“Fuck no. We had a deal. You never put this damn shirt on again, Red,” Cade rumbles out, his hair mussed up, evidence of my orgasm making his face wet and shiny, and his eyes smoldering hot. He looks so good that an ache of hunger pulses through me. Damn it.
“You’re supposed to say my name!” I yell back like he’s not right in front of me—making very little sense, but not really giving a damn.
He ignores me, yanking off his MC cut and putting it over my naked body. He’s broad and muscular enough that it covers me—but it doesn’t cover me as much as Larry’s shirt would. A fact that I feel compelled to point out.
“Larry’s shirt covers me better,” I huff, not even caring that I sound like a spoiled child.
“Jesus, Red, the bastard saw you riding my face like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby.”
My mouth falls open and I can hear Brock laughing in the background.
“Cade!”
“Well, it’s true,” he rumbles.
“I’m starting to wish I’d ridden you harder,” I respond, my voice quieter, deadlier, my eyes narrowed on him.
“We can try that later, after I get rid of our company,” he says.
“I’ll smother you next time so you can’t embarrass me anymore,” I grumble, making Brock snort in laughter.
“You damn near came close to it earlier,” Cade says, giving me that cocky grin of his.
“If he’s already seen me, then you can just take this back, and you both can watch my backside when I go up the stairs,” I huff, yanking on his cut. I don’t get it past my shoulders before Cade reaches over and catches my wrist in his hand and stops me. “What’s your damage now?” I snap.
“My cut isn’t to cover you, Red. It’s to show ownership.”
“Ownership?”
“Exactly.”
“Oh son, you’re a brave asshole, aren’t you?” Brock laughs in the background.
“I ride your face, let you get me off, and you own me now?”
“Owned you before that. Letting you ride my face was just a fringe benefit.”
“Tell you what, Stud, how about you fix my fucking door and then go outside and offer Stinker your cut. Maybe he’ll give you some fringe benefits while you sleep outside with him tonight. Hey, you may not have to fingerbang him. He might let you by with just scratching him behind the ears!” I stand up, my eyes daring Cade to say anything.
“I take it I’m not really needed here tonight?” Brock says.
“Yes, you are. I want him arrested. He broke my door!” I growl.
“You’re not needed,” Cade responds. “In fact, I’d be mighty beholden to you if you’d leave so I can take Finley upstairs and sort her shit out.”
I gasp. Brock laughs harder.
“Sort my shit out?”
Cade doesn’t respond. When Brock finally gets some of his laughter under control, he’s the one that speaks up.
“Maybe before you get to sorting, you can fix the door? The next guy that wanders in might do a little more than just watch the free show,” Brock suggests.
“I’ll take care of it,” Cade responds.
“Take care, Finley,” Brock says. I don’t take my eyes off of Cade.
“Later, Brock.”