What You See: Sons of the Survivalist: 3 Page 16

  “Oh.” Her small hands stroked his shoulders in a way he remembered…and enjoyed.

  He nibbled on her jaw. “I think we can maintain a boss-employee dynamic at the roadhouse and still have a friendlier connection outside of work.”

  “A connection?” Her lips quirked.

  “Precisely.” Damned if he could resist her. Even though she’d only stayed one night, he missed her in his bed.

  “You’re crazy. You know I’m not going to stay in Rescue.”

  “I did hear that, yes.” They’d see where they were when the summer season ended. Plans did change, after all.

  “Well. All right.” Her big brown eyes searched his for a moment, then her mouth curved into a sultry smile. “Yes, let’s connect.”

  He kissed her again, slow and sure, taking possession even as he slid a hand beneath her black tank top and black sports bra to savor her perfect breasts.

  More. He sat back on his heels so he could pull her shirt and bra up and off.

  “Fuck. You are incredibly beautiful, woman.” The sunlight glowed on her damp olive skin. Her lush breasts, a shade lighter, were tipped with large pink-brown nipples that practically begged for his touch.

  Words were inadequate. He bent to pay homage with his mouth, licking between the soft mounds, kissing up and over the nipples, sucking on each until they peaked…and she squirmed in need of more.

  Perfect. But stripping her completely naked in a park, even with the dog on guard, wasn’t wise. He eyed the area, grinned, and rose. Partly naked would work.

  * * *

  “Bull?” Frankie stared up at him, and damn, but he seemed even bigger than normal, standing over her.

  He closed his hands around her waist, lifted easily, and set her on her feet.

  Had he changed his mind?

  He noticed her expression, and a dimple appeared in his cheek. “We’re not done, Ms. Bocelli.”

  “Oh. Good.” Wrapping her hands behind his neck, she pulled him down. The long, exploratory kiss led her mind to other things she wanted to do, to touch, to lick.

  Step by step, his mouth on hers, he moved her backward until her butt bumped into a picnic table. “Stand right there for a minute.” He pulled off his shirt and covered the surface.

  His arms brushed against her naked breasts as he reached down to untie her joggers. Oh, this was so unwise. And somehow, she didn’t care. She ran her hands over his bare chest, leaning forward to lick over taut, salty, damp skin, to swirl her tongue around one of the flat male nipples.

  His growl sent hunger rolling up and over her.

  Hands cupping her face, he kissed her long and hard, then spun her around. With his hand between her shoulder blades, he bent her down until her breasts flattened against the picnic table.

  On his shirt. Because, being Bull, he’d made sure she was protected from dirt and splinters.

  He yanked her pants down and rumbled in satisfaction. “I love your ass.”

  She could only grin because…such a guy.

  There was the sound of his sweatpants being untied. The crinkling of a condom wrapper. Then he pressed against her entrance and made an appreciative purr.

  She was really, really wet.

  “Now,” she ordered.

  “Oh, it’ll be now, city girl.” His thrust inside her was long and hard.

  The full, slick sensation sent pleasure rippling along every nerve pathway in her body. “Cazzo!” She extended her arms and gripped the sides of the tabletop.

  “I know that much Italian.” He chuckled and squeezed her hips. “In fact, I intend to cazzo you very, very thoroughly.”

  “Try this one. Di più.” She pushed her butt up to get him to move.

  “Oh, not just yet, sweetheart.”

  With a powerful hand, he gripped her right hip, holding her still. Reaching around with his left, he slickened a finger between her folds, then with unerring precision, he stroked her clit.

  A glorious wave of heat swept over her, and she shuddered at the exquisite sensation of being held in place and forced to take the pleasure he was dealing out. “Di più, Bull, please,” she gasped.

  “Not yet. I want you higher.” His lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “When you come this time, my pretty screamer, you do it without making a sound. Understand?”

  The edge of command in his voice shook her, but she nodded. No screaming in the park. But, but, but…

  His finger continued the slow circling of her increasingly engorged nub, even as his shaft filled her to overflowing. As everything inside her tightened, as the sensations became overwhelming, she started to tremble.

  A scream threatened, and he covered her mouth, even as his finger pressed harder on her clit. The controlling hand on her mouth and the way he had her pinned to the table with his weight somehow increased every sensation, tipping her over the precipice. A fireball of pleasure erupted and roared through her so hard that the world went white around her.

  “Very nice,” he rumbled in her ear, moving his hand from her mouth.

  Panting, she rode the last waves of sensation—and then he gripped her hips with both hands and began to thrust, hard and fast and deep. Plunging in, pulling out, his hold on her unbreakable, unyielding.

  She could only grip the edges of the tabletop and hold on as another orgasm rolled over her, flattening her with mind-shattering pleasure. It lasted and lasted as he worked her with a glorious hammering.

  By the time he lifted her hips for an even deeper penetration as he came inside her, she was a limp, sated body.

  “Mmm.” Rather than pulling out and moving away, he lay with his chest over her back. His chin rubbed against the top of her head as he…cuddled…her. “You’ve ruined me for any sparring sessions. I’ll think of the way this one ended, get a hard-on, and not be able to fight at all.”

  When his words registered, she busted out in giggles. “Try taekwondo with a wide stance. That’ll leave room for your massive equipment.”

  She could feel his chest shake with his laugh. “Massive equipment, hmm? Pump my ego like that, and we’ll end up with another round or two on this picnic table.”

  That would be amazing.

  It also reminded her where they were. “We should move, actually, before someone finds us.”

  “Gryff would give us warning. But you’re right.” Bull lifted up—and pulled out, the sensation making her spasm inside. How could she have come so hard and yet want more?

  He moved away to the garbage container to deal with the condom. With a sigh, she started to push up off the table.

  “Let me, sweetheart.” He bent, squeezed her buttocks with an appreciative hum, and pulled up her pants for her.

  “Thanks.” As she stood all the way up, her head spun.

  He steadied her with an arm around her waist. “Okay?” His frown created a deep line between his dark eyebrows.

  “I’m good. Those were just really good orgasms.” At his chuckle, she grinned up at him, then patted his bare chest. It really was mesmerizing how his tanned skin stretched so tightly over the rock-hard pectorals. She could even run a finger between each horizontal line of abdominal muscle.

  With a guttural growl, he took her hand in his. “We can continue this back at your cabin if you want.”

  “We shouldn’t—” Disappointment stole her breath as he donned his shirt. He should never wear clothes. Ever.

  Unfortunately, she had her own clothing to deal with. She picked up her bra. Before she could pull it on, he turned her so he could check her wounded arm. “Appears to be healing all right. I noticed you didn’t let it slow you down.”

  “It’s fine. Just a bit sore.” His concern made her feel…funny, and she hurriedly pulled her damp sports bra over her head. Naturally, the tight elastic band rolled, and the fabric squished her full breasts into odd positions. Somewhere a demon laughed and rubbed its hands in sadistic delight. She hissed in exasperation.

  “Need help?” Laughing, Bull unrolled the mess in
the back. Putting her back against his chest, he slid his hand down the front of the bra and lifted her left breast, then the right to settle them comfortably.

  As he teasingly ran a finger around one nipple, her skin flushed. “Bull, behave.”

  “You think I should?” His arm tightened around her waist…and his finger kept circling. “I didn’t get a tour of your cabin the last time I was there.”

  “Ah.” She swallowed at the throaty promise in his deep voice. “You know…I have a very nice bed.” Her words came out sounding like she’d just woken up in that damn bed.

  “I’d enjoy seeing this fine bed.” Releasing her, he grinned and pulled her tank over her head.

  As she picked up her jo, he called Gryff. “Good job, buddy. You did a fine job of guarding us” Bending, he gave the happy dog scratches and pets.

  In the deepest part of her chest, Frankie’s heart did a long slow slide.

  Oh, no, no, no. She was falling for this big Alaska man.

  Chapter Thirteen

  If at first you don’t succeed, reload and try again. ~ Unknown

  * * *

  On Monday night before the book club meeting, Frankie turned off the car. Cribbio, she was tired.

  Earlier today, she’d parked her car at Chevy’s house and tried the trail that Bull had used after she’d been shot. It turned out she might have been just…a bit…overly optimistic about how easy that trail would be.

  It was a good thing she had her compass, or she would’ve been totally lost. And this was in daylight. Trying it at night, even with the NVM? No way.

  She needed to figure out how to mark that trail.

  With a sigh, she laid her head on the steering wheel and pulled in a breath. Rain pattered down on her car, turning the interior to a gloomy gray…just like her mood.

  It was only a few days into the PZ’s lockdown, and already she was so frustrated her head might explode. Who knew what Kit and Aric might be enduring in that ghastly place?

  Then there was Bull. She laid her hand on her chest because just the thought of him made her heart happy. Then sad. Since last Friday’s sparring sessions, Bull had joined her in the park for morning workouts—he called it P.T.—and then sweaty, amazing sex in her cabin afterward. Damn her for a fool, but their times in bed were becoming more than just friendly fuck-sessions. At least on her part.

  But what if he started to really care for her?

  Maybe, if the stupid PZs hadn’t done their war scenarios, she would’ve been too busy to let Bull sneak under her defenses and into her bed. Into her heart.

  But nooo, she’d been so anxious, so lonely, so unhappy that the comfort of his mere presence had been overwhelming, even without adding in the sex. Now, here she was, totally falling for him. A man she wouldn’t hurt for the world…and that was what appeared to be in the cards. A whole bucketful of hurt for them both.

  Straightening, she wiped her eyes. At least, she’d held firm on not spending evenings or nights with him, and she’d been clear about why—that she’d be leaving, and they didn’t have a relationship. She refused to have a relationship. He kept telling her he understood, then kissing her, touching her, until all her worries disappeared.

  Shaking her head, she slid out of her car. Fat raindrops splattered her face and hair, and she yanked her hood up. One tiny beam of sunlight escaped through a thin gap in the dark clouds. The sun wasn’t anywhere close to setting.

  Hurrying into the municipal building, Frankie saw that the reception desk in the center of the lobby was empty. The police station doors to the left and the health clinic to the right had CLOSED signs. Police station and health clinic. Bull’s brothers had both sides covered, didn’t they?

  She shook her head. Honestly, it was a good thing that their “Sarge” had managed to instill so much…honor…into them, or this town would be in trouble.

  Gabe was an amazing police chief. She should still find out if his officers were PZ members like Kit thought, just in case. She wouldn’t call them in, even if they were all good guys since the last thing she wanted was a siege situation, but if something bad happened during the rescue, it might be good to have some sort of…secondary plans.

  Upstairs, the library was tiny and cozy with gray-blue walls and off-white trim. There were bookshelves, areas for children, computers, and magazines. In one corner, a group of people in comfortable armchairs were in a circle. Some had travel cups with them as well as their books. She should have brought coffee, too.

  Next time, she’d be more prepared.

  “Frankie, I’m glad you could make it.” Audrey rose and waved her forward. “Everyone, this is Frankie from the roadhouse.”

  “Welcome, Frankie. It’s good to see you again.” Silver-haired Lillian rose and held out both hands. “Do sit beside me.”

  As Frankie took a seat, people introduced themselves.

  “I’m Guzman.” The gray-bearded man laughed, showing silver fillings. “Welcome to the best of the book clubs.”

  “Glenda Johannsen. I own the arts and crafts store.” The stout middle-aged brunette smiled. “It’s nice to get another reader.”

  EmmaJean was in her thirties, slender and bouncy. “Hi, Frankie!” Frankie knew EmmaJean and her husband ran one of the B&Bs.

  “I’m Cecil. It’s good to see another city girl settling in.” White hair, white beard, weathered ancient face. He tapped his black cane on the floor for emphasis.

  Frankie liked him immediately.

  With long, gray hair and an adorably garish, tied-dyed T-shirt, Zappa hadn’t left his hippie days. She’d met him at his gas station a few days ago. He gave her a bright gap-toothed smile. “You’re here just in time for fishing season. Then there’s hunting season after that. All sorts of things to show you.”

  “Hear, hear,” Guzman said.

  Hunters. She eyed them. I bet they’d know a lot about trails.

  “Welcome, Frankie. It’s good to see you again.” Tina, Chevy’s wife, was an energetic redhead. They’d met earlier today when Frankie parked near her house to hike the trail.

  And it would be best to head off any commentary about that. “Is this your escape from the little ones?”

  “It’s such an escape.” The petite woman snickered. “Every minute with them, there’s some cataclysmic meltdown. Reading about world-ending disasters helps me put everything back into perspective.”

  Frankie couldn’t help but laugh.

  As people settled in, the discussion started. So fun. There were occasional forays into gossip until Audrey would bring them back. Frankie had rushed to finish the current book and was able to contribute.

  Before they broke up, Audrey asked them to pick the next book—which set off a whole new set of discussion.

  “I like the one with the engineered plague,” Tina said. “It’s very different, and—”

  Frankie frowned, seeing Audrey cringe a little.

  After a glance at Audrey, Lillian spoke up. “I quite adore psychological thrillers, and we haven’t had one of those in a while.”

  Cecil pulled on his beard. “Mebbe, mebbe. There was one that Guzman favored with hostages.”

  “Yeah. A bomb and hostages in the New York subway system.” Guzman winked at her. “Our city girl here could tell us how realistic it is.”

  “You’re giving me nightmares at just the thought, you evil man,” Frankie told him to his delight.

  “It doesn’t sound too bad. It’s centered around a mercenary group, so it’ll be all shooting and stuff.” EmmaJean wiggled. “A team of guys. I love bromance, don’t you?”

  “What’s not to love?” Frankie’s comment got a laugh, and the discussion continued.

  Her thoughts had been derailed.

  Mercenaries. Soldiers for hire. Could she hire some—an outfit or whatever they were called—to rescue Kit and Aric?

  If Kit couldn’t manage to get to the fence, that might be one way to help her get out. However, the risks would go up. As she knew, the PZs would s
hoot at trespassers, and the mercenaries would probably shoot back. That’s how innocent women and children could be hurt or killed. Better them…probably…than calling in the Feds and instigating a siege-type situation, but neither scenario sounded safe.

  Okay, she’d keep that as a backup plan.

  As everyone rose, she moved to where she could walk out between Guzman and Zappa. “Hey, guys.” Now, how to phrase this? “It sounded like you’re both hunters, and since I have you here, I had a question. I heard the best hunting is at night, but don’t you get lost? I mean, there’s night vision goggles, but still, don’t you get turned around if you’re following a trail?”

  Zappa beamed at her as they walked down the stairs. “That’s a righteous question. I lost my way a couple of times getting to my stand.”

  “You can get lost on your way to the outhouse,” Guzman stated and held the door for her.

  Zappa drew himself up in insult. “Dude.”

  At the sight of the rain, they all stepped under the shelter of the overhang.

  “There are ways to mark a trail—or…the path to a kill so it’s easy to find the way back,” Guzman said.

  A kill. Ew. Personally, she’d rather think of her meat as dropping into the grocery store all prepackaged. “I thought there must be a way, but it seemed like going around and spraying trees with fluorescent paint wasn’t a good thing, especially if you’re hunting on someone else’s land.”

  Zappa had the cutest laugh, a heheheheh sound. “You’d be right. But there are ways.”

  “There’s chalk—even reflective chalk which will wash away within a day or so.” Guzman pulled at his beard. “I like reflective tacks. Or…if it’s somewhere I prefer to keep hidden, I use a clear reflective trail marking spray. Can’t be seen in the daytime.”

  Clear? Now that had possibilities. She smiled at them. “I knew there must be a way. Thank you.” She smiled at them. “I might have to use one to find my picnic table in the dark, huh?”