Wild Like the Wind (Page 11)

That was when Keely kissed him again.

Not deep or long, but it was wet. She touched her tongue to his, giving him a hint of her nectar even as he still had the taste of her pussy on his tongue.

Then she pulled away.

“Okay, Hound,” she whispered. “Whatever you say.”

He rounded her with his arms, allowed himself to give her a hug with a squeeze, then he rolled her off him and rolled the other way.

He hauled his ass out of bed, muttering, “Get rid of this condom and then I’ll get your clothes.”

She said nothing.

But by the time he got out of the bathroom, his bed was empty.

He found his jeans, tugged them on and stalked down the hall.

She was pulling her hair out of the back of her top, but was otherwise fully dressed except her shoes and jacket, when he hit his living room.

It was not lost on him that the bone choker had not moved from her neck the whole time they were fucking.

No, and just looking at it right then made him want his face in her neck, her ass in his hands, and his dick buried in her up to the hilt.

She slid her feet into her shoes, swinging her jacket on at the same time, before she tossed a big smile his way.

“See ya later, cowboy,” she said as she walked to his door.

He crossed his arms on his chest.

She looked down at his chest and smirked.

“Best tats in the Club,” she whispered, her hand on his doorknob. “Walking work of art.”

He tensed his jaw so he wouldn’t rush her, nab her and chain her to his bed.

Her gaze lifted to his. “Now I know that’s more ways than one.”

“Stop bein’ a pain in my ass,” he grunted.

“Pain’s in my ass, cowboy,” she shot back still smiling, but it went another way and he felt that way drive up his balls. “And I like it like that.”

With that excellent parting shot, she disappeared out his door.

Hound growled at it.

Then he went to it, locked it and walked right back down the hall.

He couldn’t even look at his bed with its sheets that were fucked up and not from him sleeping in them.

So he turned his back on it and fell to it.

He swiped his face with his hands, and when he was done doing that, he kept them there.

“Fuck me, that was a huge fuckup,” he muttered into his palms.

This was true.

It was also the best four hours of his life.

Bar none.

The next day, after taking care of his usual morning business, Hound did not strip his bed and wash his sheets.

Oh no.

Fuck no.

He went to the store and spent five hundred dollars on a new set.

A Woman Who Loves You

The morning after he bought his sheets, Hound’s alarm clock sounded.

He did not hit snooze.

He turned it off, rolled out of bed, went to his bathroom, took a piss, washed his hands, brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face and under his pits then he went back into his bedroom to pull on some jeans, a tee, some socks and his boots.

He headed out, nabbed his keys, unlocked his door, walked through it and down the hall to the door beside his.

He didn’t hesitate to insert the key in the three different locks, open them and let himself in.

He also didn’t hesitate to walk across the stuffed-full room that was a lot cleaner than his because he did pay a house cleaner to come in to that pad once a week, dust, vacuum, mop, clean the bathrooms, change the sheets and take out and bring back the laundry.

Hound didn’t hesitate at all on his way to his morning location where he journeyed every day, but he did stop at the door that was cracked open. The door to the bedroom that shared a wall with his living room.

He knocked on the jamb.

“You up?” he called.

He got the usual answer, “Yes, sweetheart.”

Hound pushed the door open and further didn’t hesitate to stroll right in, his eyes to the woman in the bed.

“Yo,” he greeted, smiling at her.

She smiled back.

He stopped at the side of her bed.

“What we doin’ this mornin’?” he asked.

“Shower, motek. Okay?”

He nodded. Reaching to the side to grab her walker, he positioned it how she needed it then he moved how he needed to move, pulling down the covers and carefully taking hold of the frail, thin body in its granny nightie.

With practice, they went through the motions until she had her slippers on and her hands firm on the walker.

He turned from her and let her shuffle her way toward the bathroom as he walked right to it.

He checked the angle of the showerhead, the seat in the bath, not that they would ever change position since him and her cleaner were the only ones to touch either, but that needed to be like it needed to be so Hound never failed to check it.

He also checked the towels and moved her shit from where it was out of the way to where she’d need to grab it when the time came.

She came in behind him and he helped her get into position. With practice, he was able to look away even as he pulled up her nightie and yanked down her granny panties that she insisted be put on over the adult diaper she wore.

“Good?” he muttered when he had her as she needed to be.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she whispered.

Grasping his forearms as hard as she could, which was feeble, he twisted his hands to hold hers as gentle as he could and still do the job that needed to get done. He held her steady while she slowly aimed her ass at the john.

Once she hit it, not looking at her, he walked out, closing the door behind him in a way that it was still open a crack.

He had never made his bed. Even when he’d changed his sheets the day before, he put them on, tossed the comforter on top and that was it.

Every day, he made Jean’s.

“Done, Shepherd!” she called.

He threw a pillow to the headboard and walked back to the bathroom.

He left her where she was and turned on the shower so it’d be nice and hot when he got her in there.

And then they danced the dance they’d been dancing every morning for years after he had grabbed a towel and handed it to her.

He never caught a look and by the time he lifted her scrawny body up, she had the towel down her front.

It got totally wet, but he’d bought her a shit ton of them so they could go through three or four, or however many they needed, so she could have her modesty and her shower.

“Shout out, beautiful, yeah?” he told her, still not looking at her and moving to the door.

“Of course,” she murmured.

He closed it to its crack and moved in the kitchen.

He made coffee and checked her pill case. Then her pill stash. She was getting low on a few so he wrote that on her grocery list, saw the list was getting long, so he yanked it off and shoved it in his back pocket.

He looked to her easy chair, saw she’d dropped a book to the floor, so he knew she was done with it. This meant he went to the stack he organized for her in the way she wanted it and did the rotation in order that she had a big pile so that she’d always have one to read close at hand, even if she finished one or started three she didn’t like the way they were going.

He checked her bottle of Baileys and saw she was good with that but made a mental note to stock her up. He cleared the area, set it up for the day including filling the water pitcher, putting out a glass for that, her squat glass for her Baileys when that time came, and then he went back to her room.

Fresh granny panties. Fresh diaper. Bra. Housecoat.

With timing borne of practice, he’d sorted all that shit right when he heard her call him.