Bones by the Wood (37 page)

“Stay with me.”  His voice as still roughened.

She’d been about to argue that it wouldn’t be good for Josh to find them like that, until he added “please”, so quietly she almost didn’t hear his plea.

Thea couldn’t deny him.

She crossed the room and climbed in next to him, letting him settle the covers over her.  He shifted until his head rested on the pillows and she curled up against his side, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders.  She laid her head on his chest, still almost able to feel his cock inside her, like a bruise, and listened to the heavy thump of his heart as he petted her hair, until they fell asleep.

It was the day before Christmas Eve.  Thea had been working in the garage for two weeks and, up to now, it had been going extremely well.  The main difficulty was that Dizzy had a
tendency to get distracted if he was within touching distance of her, or even within sight of her.  And there was no time at which the cackling hags he called brothers weren’t watching like vultures, ready to swoop down and make a comment about it.

Anyone’d think they’d never been in love.

But now he was in the doghouse.

The argument had started over something admin-y.  He’d called a client the day before to let them know that their car was ready to be picked up.  Client calls were Thea’s purview.  And he’d made it worse by forgetting to tell her that he’d done it, so when the client had shown up, she hadn’t had the bill prepared.  He should have known from the night he caught her mopping the floor in that fucking dump of a store that she had a thing about keeping up a professional appearance.

At least she’d waited until his brothers had headed into the clubhouse to wash up and get their beers before she’d mentioned it.

He might be President of an outlaw MC, he might even be the boss of the business that employed her, but within the walls of the garage bays, Thea’s word was law.  Dizzy thought about the lockdown, which seemed an age ago now, and the way she'd taken charge there from the first, doing what needed to be done and making sure others did the same. That was Thea's way, she didn't wait around waiting on instructions. It was the way of a good, strong old lady.  But ultimately, he was still in charge.  That wasn’t perhaps strictly true; sometimes he let her get bossy at home too, mostly in bed.  His mind went wandering again.

She was reminding him that he was supposed to let her know the plate number of a finished vehicle, so that she could figure the bill and make the call, but he wasn’t paying attention, and that was getting her back up, he could tell.

Dizzy couldn’t say it was his fault that he wasn’t paying the appropriate attention.  He blamed Annelle squarely for that.  She’d taken Thea shopping and now Thea kept turning up to work in these little sex kitten outfits.  She classed the place up something wonderful, but it was fucking distracting for him.

Thea, of the jeans and permanently attached Converse, now usually wore skirts that were demurely knee length, but provocative in every other way.  They weren’t slutty, just fitted to skim her hips and hug her thighs with an inviting little slit at the back.  And then there were the crisp shirts that usually stopped just shy of showing her cleavage.  Topping it all were the shoes, heels even, with a delicate little strap that wrapped around her ankle in a place he liked to circle with his hands as he parted her legs.  The cherry was the nylon stockings.

It drove him up the fucking wall.

None of his brothers had any idea how hard it was to keep his mind on work when he had a permanent fucking hard-on for his lady.

By the time he got her alone at home, his balls were usually purple, way past blue.

And now she was irritated with him, and it was doing things to his cock to see her in control, to listen to her take charge while she was dressed up like a fucking wet dream.

“Dizzy, are you even fuckin’ listenin’ to me?”

Why deny it.  “No.  I’m not.”

“Dizzy!  What the fuck?  Dizzy?”

He stalked over to the roller shutter door and slammed that bastard down so hard and loud that his brothers would know to keep their fucking distance.

He turned and swiftly closed the distance between them.

Thea backed up, looking a little nervous.  As well she should, she was going to get fucked.

“Dizzy?”  Oh, when her voice went all breathy like that.  Someone would have to drop a nuclear fucking bomb on the town if they wanted him to stop.

He had been intending to bend her over the desk, but he changed his mind.  He backed her up until her ass hit the edge of the cheap veneer and wedged himself between her legs, catching her off balance on those spindly heels.

He let his mouth crash down on hers.  He wasn’t even going to attempt to be gentle, but she didn’t seem to mind.  She met him, matched him.  But that wouldn’t do.  This fuck wasn’t about that.  He devoured her, thrusting his tongue into her warm, wet mouth like he wanted to thrust his cock into her warm, wet pussy.  He gripped the hem of her skirt and pulled it up.  She flexed a little, so that he could get the material past the edge of the desk, until it was bunched around her waist.  That put her pussy right against his cock, which was twitching and straining to get inside her.  The pressure ripped a growl from him

Without moving his mouth from hers, he wedged himself still further between those silky thighs, banded by the black nylon.  He growled again, a purely animal sound.  He scrabbled at his clothing, feeling half-wild as he freed himself from the coveralls and opened his jeans.  His cock sprang free, fully under its own motivation to get to where it needed to be.  He just barely remembered to snag a condom from his pocket.  He had a brief, gut-wrenchingly arousing image of Thea walking back into the clubhouse with his fluid smeared on her thighs, hidden under that sexy skirt.  Maybe another time.  Now, he wanted inside her.

He gave her room to catch a breath while he rolled the latex onto his cock. Thea took the opportunity to fiddle at the buttons on her shirt.  Good girl, he’d hate to rip it.  He was dressed and she’d exposed enough of her breasts that he could yank the lacy cups of her bra down.  Her shirt was black; she’d worn that fucking red bra under it. 

Dizzy hooked his thumb into the delicate lace of the thong that matched that fucking distracting bra and pulled it out of his way. It was flimsy and probably wasn’t going to survive this.  He fairly roared as he shoved his cock into her pussy.  He leant over her, pushing her with his body to lie back on the desk.  That was better.  He thrust harder, deeper.  Yeah, that was better.

He had ahold of her hips, not caring if he hurt her, and bent until he could nip at her nipples as he pulled her body onto cock as he thrust into her.  Her pussy was tight and hot and wet.  It was heaven.

She had her nails in his forearms.  Fuck, he loved that, the scratch and sting.  But she was meeting him, thrust for thrust.  That wasn’t what he wanted.

He brought his hand up between them, and pushed down on the center of her chest, on her solar plexus, until she was lying flat over the desk, on the piles of crumpled papers that he didn’t give a shit about.  Her hair had come loose and was flowing like a waterfall over the opposite edge.  He held her in place, with a palm on her chest and a grip on her hips, as he fucked her.

He felt the shift in her body as she relaxed and let him have her.  She stopped trying to meet him, to compete with him, and let him take her.

But the look in her eyes nearly floored him.

She knew exactly what she was doing, what he was doing.  She was giving him what he wanted.  It didn’t lessen the win, it heightened it.

He wanted to show her who was boss.  He’d wanted to see submission in her eyes as well as feel it in her body.  But even though her eyes were shaded by half-closed lids, her lips slightly parted as she gasped with each brutal thrust, there was something in her gaze.  The only word Dizzy’s wild, lust-muddied mind could come up with was ‘regal’.

He slammed into her harder, bruising his thighs on the edge of the desk with the violence of his possession, as he tried to fuck the attitude out of her, needing to dominate her.  But that assertive look in her eyes was his undoing, especially when she bowed, nearly leaving the desk completely, her head tipping back, as she came.  He felt the orgasm rip through her and let his own climax burst with it.

As they came down from the blinding heights of ecstasy, as they were still trying to drag air into their lungs, Dizzy decided where he wanted to put his ink on her.  He wanted to be able to see it when they fucked like this.

He stroked between her breasts and trailed his fingers over her ribs under each full orb, still straining out of the twisted confines of her bra.  It would be painful, she wouldn’t thank him for it, but he was sure he could persuade her.  It wasn’t like she had a lot of actual real estate left to bargain with since her back was covered.

Fuck, the idea of seeing his mark on her there, while he was buried in her to the hilt, was hot as fuck.

“You got that out of your system now?”  She asked, her tone saucy.

At that little half smile Dizzy flexed his still mostly-solid cock inside her.  Thea moaned and twisted.

He had to pull out or they’d be fucking over the desk all night.  Which, in theory, was possible.  Clarice had asked to take Josh for the night.  On the condition that he checked in by text every so often on the phone that Dizzy had given him, Thea had agreed.

“Not in the least, sweetheart.  Thought I’d take you home for round two, though.”

“Bet you give up first, cowboy.”

~o0o~

Later that night, or rather early the next morning, Thea was lying on her stomach in their bed while Dizzy traced the lines of the ink that flowed over her back.

She’d cried for mercy first.  The effort had nearly killed him, but it had been worth it.

Dizzy wasn’t given over to vanity much, apart from his attachment to his Stetson, which had been forged when his father had put his first one on his head before he was even walking.  But lying next to Thea, a pale canvas covered in wondrous art, he was struck by the contrast between the soft perfection of her body and his own rough, scarred hide.  As Fitz had prophesied, they now looked like twins with their matching collection of scars.  The difference being, Fitz had taken years to accumulate his.  Dizzy had earned the majority of his in less than half a day. 

But Thea didn’t seem to mind. No, she didn’t seem to mind at all.

Dizzy had his head propped in the palm of one hand, resting on one bent arm.  His other hand was making lazy patterns on her back.  He was enjoying finding the random spots that made her skin shiver and her body shudder.

Thea had been resting her head on her folded arms, but she shifted now, and reached over, stroking the lower edge of his ink that was the collection of skulls massed over his bicep and down to mid-forearm.  That ink was his ledger of his time with the Priests.  St Peter would take that ink as evidence, right before he slammed those pearly gates shut.

“What does this mean?  I get the club ink, but I’ve been wonderin’ ‘bout this.”  Her voice was thick with fatigue.

“That’s been a work in progress for the better part of twenty years, sweetheart.”

She circled a couple of the skeletal faces individually with her fingertip.  He was beginning to think that she made him feel younger than was good for his health.  He wondered if she’d ask him for more details.  He didn’t want to have to spell it out that each skull was a person he’d killed in the name of the club.  Random acts of violence didn’t count, neither did traitors.  Her ex from the Rabid Dogs hadn’t warranted being etched into his skin.  These were the people who’d meant something, who for various reasons, Dizzy didn’t think should be forgotten.  He could lay a name, or at least a face, to each skull.

“You still want my ink?”  He asked her.

The exhaustion was gone, replaced by sharp anger as she pushed up to lean on her elbows. “Really?  You really just asked that?  You....”

He cut her off with a kiss.  “Sorry, sweetheart.  I’m sorry.”  He mumbled against her lips.

“So you fuckin’ should be, doubtin’ me like that.”  She kissed him, a light press of lips.  “It’s an angel, right? Where’d you want to put it?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He pushed on her shoulder until she rolled over onto her back.  He moved over her until he was kneeling between her legs.  As he parted her thighs to make way for him, her eyes grew hot. 

Maybe they weren’t that tired after all.

He put his hands on her ribcage, just under her breasts, bracketing them between his thumbs and forefingers.  His palms were flat against her skin, his thumbs overlapping.