Wild Like the Wind (Page 15)

“Gruenberg,” Hound answered.

Tack nodded again.

He locked eyes on Tyra when he said, “This is no one’s business but mine.”

He said this because Tack’s woman was gorgeous, she was sweet, she was a fantastic old lady, a loving wife and an amazing mother.

But she also had a big mouth.

“It doesn’t leave this room,” Tack assured him.

But Hound didn’t unlock his gaze from Tyra.

She crossed her heart, held up her fingers and did it smiling.

He’d take that and hope she meant it. Fuck knew the shit he’d have to eat if the boys knew about Jean.

“Right,” Hound grunted. “Done,” he went on, still grunting. “Later,” he finished.

Then he walked right out.

Flexible

Hound’s phone buzzed with a text.

He pried his eyes open, saw his alarm said it was nearly two in the morning and he grabbed his cell off the nightstand.

He had a text from Keely.

It said, Open your door, cowboy.

He stared at it a second.

Then he lost his mind.

He was out of bed, in his jeans and stalking to the door with his jeans not all the way buttoned before most men could spit.

He’d looked out the peephole and had the door unlocked and pulled open before a woman could say “boo.”

“Hey—” she started, giving him a look.

But she got no more out because he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and yanked her inside.

He slammed the door, locked the three locks then shoved her against the wall beside the door with his hand still on her arm.

“Jesus, Hound, what—?”

He dipped his face right in hers.

“Are you fucking insane?”

“What?” she whispered, staring in his eyes.

“Are you . . . fucking . . . insane?” he repeated, slower this time.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“Because it’s near-on two, this apartment building is on the brink of bein’ a full-blown crack house, it’s in a neighborhood that Hell’s Angels might find a smidge too scary, and your ass is not in your bed in your sweet crib in your house in your nice neighborhood. Instead, it’s at my door.”

Her face screwed up. “Why is it safe for you and not for me?”

“Because I got four guns, seven knives, six inches on you, eighty pounds and a fuckin’ thousand-pound punch.”

“You know the PSI of your punch?” she asked curiously.

“Were you asleep the five thousand times I took your boys to the gym?” he asked back irately.

“No,” she mumbled.

He let her go and straightened away, asking, “What are you doin’ here, Keely?”

“Well, uh . . .” she started hesitantly, eyeing him up like she wasn’t sure how to go on.

“You’re here to play with my dick,” he bit off.

“How much more mad at me would it make you if I shared that had crossed my mind?” she asked.

“Maybe five, ten hundred thousand times more mad, babe,” he shot back in answer.

“Hmm . . .” she murmured, still eyeing him.

“I thought we agreed we were done,” he reminded her.

“I was kinda hoping you were feeling flexible about that.”

Hound looked to the ceiling.

Her soft “Hound” in her low, velvet voice came at him the instant her hand lit on his bare chest.

He grabbed her wrist and she made a surprised noise as he twisted it behind her back, jerked her around, and pushed her chest first into the wall.

He put his mouth to her ear.

“Undo your jeans,” he ordered.

Her body trembled against the wall as well as him, and her free hand went to her buckle.

He had no excuse.

Except this was Keely.

And she wanted his dick.

And he was Hound.

He’d give her anything.

When he heard her zip, he let her go and rumbled, “Hands to the wall.”

She complied and he yanked her jeans down her thighs, taking her panties with them.

She whimpered.

He pressed his chest to her back, slid a hand around the front and went right in.

Her hips jerked.

“Be quiet, I got an old lady neighbor who sleeps light,” he told her.

“’Kay,” she breathed, grinding into his fingers.

“I make you come against the wall, make it good but hold some back, baby, because right when that’s done, you’re ridin’ my face ’cause want that wet on my tongue.”

“’Kay,” she mewed.

Christ.

He pressed his hard cock to her ass.

She moaned and dropped her head back to his shoulder.

After he finished her off, he hunkered down, yanked off her jeans, boots, socks, and then ripped off her sweater and jacket, leaving them and his jeans down the hall before he yanked her into his bed on his five-hundred-dollar sheets and hauled her pussy on his face.

He pulled her down and buried himself in nectar.

Now they were talking.

Keely on her hands and knees, Hound curved over her, an arm around her chest, hand at her tit, other arm straight, hand in the bed by hers, he fucked her fast, tough and hard.

She turned her head, dug her forehead in his neck, and came . . . loud.

Hearing it, he started pounding her inhumanly.

“Can you take that?” he grunted.

“Fuck yes,” she said like it was a plea.

“Can you take more?”

“Fuck . . . yes,” she answered, gasping and panting and slamming back into his ruthless thrusts as if to prove her words right.

He dropped his head, trapping hers against his neck, listening and getting off on hearing the violence of their flesh connecting cracking through the room.

“Hound,” she whispered.

“That’s whose cock you’re taking, baby,” he growled.

“Hound,” she whimpered and then went again, quaking under him, rearing back uncontrollably.

“Yeah, Keely, fuck . . . yeah,” he ground out then he lifted up, pulled his arm from around her, wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, and shoved her face into his sheets, his momentum increasing, jacking his cock using her pussy.

“Fuck that pussy, baby,” she said in the sheets. “Fuck it and shoot for me.”

A noise drove up his throat, thundered out and he let her neck go, clamped onto her hips and rammed her back into him as he fucked her through a staggering orgasm.

It was so huge he couldn’t stop himself from collapsing over her, his forehead hitting her between her shoulder blades.

She gave him a few beats before, breathy and hot, she gave him shit.

“Mama wear you out?”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh . . . you might be on number one but I’m on number four so . . . yeah,” she answered.

He put his hands to the bed on either side of her and found her ear.

“This is not a complaint that your pussy can take that thrashing, baby, but I gotta hear the words and believe them that it can.”

She moved her head in a way that it tossed her hair out of her face and Hound had to lift up to let it. Even so, some of its silk slid across his face.

And fuck, but he liked it.

Then he had her eyes.

And he liked that better.

“You could fuck me harder, I’d take it. You could eat me dry, I’d take it. You could shoot a wad down my throat that was the equivalent of a large milkshake, I’d fuckin’ love it. What I don’t think I can take, honey, is you saying I can’t come back and get more of it.”