Wild Like the Wind (Page 66)

Hound’s fingers seized the material at the front between my legs and yanked the teddy taut against my clit and kept doing it as he took me from behind.

“Yeah,” he grunted.

I came up to my hands and he mounted me, chest to my back, one hand rhythmically tugging hard at the material, one hand covering my tit and pulling at my nipple, his cock pounding.

He took me there again and straightened away only to drive two wetted fingers up my ass, and then he took me there again.

Only then did he go there with me, the muted thunder of his roar as he shot deep making me quiver all over on my hands and knees in front of him.

He couldn’t have been over it when he pulled out, flipped me to my back and leaned into a hand beside me in the bed, arm straight, other hand covering me between my legs.

“You still drunk?” he asked.

“Mildly,” I answered.

“I want my cum in every part of you that can take it tonight, Keely.”

I didn’t have to be drunk to be down with that.

I reached out an arm to curl my fingers around the back of his neck and used his solid strength to pull me off the bed so I could put my face in his.

“Then give it to me, Hound.”

His snarling growl sounded and kept doing it even as he kissed me.

It was then he followed through with his plan.

I went to work the next day with a slight hangover, still feeling my man’s cock up my ass and in my pussy.

And I learned, happily, I could still tear life up, move on to the next day and get the job done.

Ghosts Are Rising

Keely

It was Friday morning.

I was at the kitchen table and Hound was on the phone with what sounded like Tack.

He was still making breakfast for me every morning, and this was evidenced by the fact that he’d just slid my plate in front of me.

He was branching out.

Cheesy scrambled eggs, toast and sausage patties.

I grabbed my fork and knife and dug in, but did it feeling funny.

Hound had woken up beside me every day since Monday.

And every day, he got up with me when he could easily stay asleep in bed and he didn’t do it just to fuck me.

He made me breakfast.

We were good. The boys knew and were happy for us. Bev knew and was happy for us. We had an understanding of the worst that might come when we told the brothers and we also had an understanding of how we’d deal with that.

But I’d come home from work the day before to Hound’s truck in my drive, his bike behind it and a massive duffle filled with Hound’s clothes in my bedroom.

I had not asked him to kinda, sorta move in.

I did not mind he’d kinda, sorta moved in without my invitation.

What concerned me was, as far as I knew, until both his modes of transport hit my driveway and that bag hit my bedroom, he only went back to his place to change clothes.

Before the night was done, he moved his bike and truck through the gate at my back fence into the enclosed area, which Black had built for our park model camper he’d bought for when we hit rallies. I’d sold it a few years after his death to Arlo, and that space had gone empty since.

Until now, it became where Hound could park his rides so they wouldn’t be seen sitting overnight at my house by anyone who we might not want to see them who also might pass or stop by.

The hiding had to end and I was all for that, I just wasn’t all for how that might have to come about (at all).

And we’d agreed not to take this slow so he could move all his stuff to my place, I didn’t care. I’d even get rid of the old furniture that used to be in our living room, which I’d moved down to the basement when I’d renovated so the boys could have a place that was their own when they got to the age they needed that. Hound could put his kickass new shit down there.

What concerned me was that it seemed he was avoiding his space and it might not be the greatest, but it was where we started, it was his, and I liked being there with him.

What I didn’t like was that I knew he was avoiding it because he was avoiding memories of Jean.

“Knight’s not gonna take it that far, not with a woman, and as much as she’s an asshole, Turnbull’s still got a vagina,” Hound said into his phone, coming back to the table with his plate.

He sat down at corners with me and grabbed his fork.

But I was stuck on the name he said.

Turnbull.

I knew that name.

I hadn’t heard it said in years, but then again, I hadn’t heard anyone mention Chew in years. But it seemed with that he might somehow be back, and that somehow was not in a good way, as any way a total dick like Chew could be back.

I couldn’t say I hated Chew in the beginning.

I could say I hated him in the end.

“I know our patch is still clean,” Hound went on. “But I think we may need to back his play. He stayed outta it for us. Now he’s in it, we need to get back into it with him.”

He listened and ate. I just ate because he was silent and there was nothing to listen to.

Then there was.

“Yeah,” he said on a sigh. “Another meet. Doin’ that so much, might as well put cots around the table so we can sleep.” Pause before, on another sigh, this one heavier, “Right. Yeah. I’ll be there. Later.”

He put his phone down and sank his fork in his sausage patty.

“Everything okay?” I asked carefully.

“Club shit,” he muttered, shoving sausage in his mouth.

There was a lot of bad that Hound had to deal with coming after Black.

At his clear indication we were not going to talk about his phone call, a calm, sweet feeling settled low in my belly that there was something important, something good that he’d have, coming after Black.

I knew the golden rule when it came to Club brothers and old ladies, and this was not just Chaos. There was a lot that could be negotiated over time between hardcore bikers and their women, and in that lot, it was the old lady who had to make the decision if she was going to put up with it or not.

But I knew the golden rule.

If there was club business happening and a biker babe’s old man didn’t share, it was not hers to have. She didn’t wheedle, connive or nag. She kept her mouth shut and sucked it up, however that business affected her man, and in turn her, and without comment, she was there for him.

If she was smart, but mostly if she was loving, she proved with actions over time that he could trust her. And if he learned that, he might give her a little bit, he might give her it all. And they might have discussions about it, he might ask her advice, or if she turned stupid, there might be arguments.

But if he eventually gave her that trust, the one thing she couldn’t do was know what was happening with the club then stick her nose in it with the brothers.

She might have some influence but that had strict boundaries, behind the doors of the home she shared with her old man. Outside, especially on club turf, she had her man’s back, she had the club’s back and that was most assuredly that.

I knew Chaos had troubles and I had a feeling Hound trusted me. However, with my history, he was not sharing, more than likely because he was protecting me. I lost my mind after Millie had been taken and I went to the Compound to speak what was left in it. He didn’t want a repeat of that, not because I was so angry, because he understood the hurt and fear that lay under that.

I’d need to take the time to turn that around so I could do my bit to be the part of his life that was the calm to whatever storm Chaos had found themselves in, taking Hound right along with them.