Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1) (10 page)

The photos on the wall showed places all over the world—Egypt, Europe, Japan, what he thought was India, and maybe South America. They were landscapes or monument photos, either without people or with Sid and an older man and a woman—her parents, maybe. The man had foreign features like Sid’s, but his skin was noticeably darker. The woman, taller than the man, was a blonde knockout. Really gorgeous.

On the mantle were photos of Sid with the same people—one which was obviously a graduation picture, with Sid in a cap and gown, the man and woman on either side of her, and the other an older, professional portrait, with Sid as a young girl. Yep, definitely her parents.

“You took off your vest.”

He looked over his shoulder; Sid held out a glass half-full of Jack, and he took it with a smile. “It’s called a kutte. And yeah. No need to wear colors in your house. It’s like a uniform.”

“I guess the biker thing is a big deal to you.”

“The ‘biker thing’? Yeah. It’s my life.” Before she could ask more, he changed the subject. “What you’re cooking smells good. What is it?”

“Just a Thai curry—like a spicy chicken stew. Pretty easy.” She smiled and sipped at her glass of red wine. “And tolerant of late guests.”

“Thai—is that what you are?”

She cocked her head. “What I am?”

“You know what I mean. Where you’re from.”

“I know what you mean. It’s a rude question.”

“Why?” He was honestly surprised.

“What I am is a person. A woman. Where I’m from is Huntington Beach. I’ve never lived anywhere but Southern California, and I’m not less Californian or American because my eyes aren’t shaped like yours. You’re making assumptions about me based on what I look like. It’s rude.”

He did like her fight, even when it came in the form of a lecture. He turned the corner of his mouth up in a smirk. “You practice that speech often?”

That bought him a smile. “I get that rude question a lot.”

“Is there a polite way to ask what I want to know?” He stepped close to her and brushed her hair back over her shoulder, letting his hand linger over the knob of that joint. “You are beautiful, hon. But not in the ordinary way. You can’t tell me all your people never lived anywhere but Huntington Beach.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’m not Thai. I just like Thai food. My father is from Kathmandu. Do you know where that is?”

What sprang first to Muse’s head was an old song by Bob Seger, but he kept that to himself. “Nepal, right? Mt. Everest and Sherpas and all that.”

“Rude again, pal. But yeah, right place. He’s a dentist, by the way. He’s not Sherpa—and not all Sherpas are mountain guides. They are a people, not a job description.”

Sliding his arm around her narrow waist, and feeling in his balls the smooth tautness of her lithe body, he turned her to face the photos on her mantle. “That’s your dad?” She nodded. “And the hot blonde is your mom?
She
looks pure California.”

“She’s not. She’s from Quebec. My parents met at an international student mixer in college. And it’s also rude for you to call my mom hot while your hand is on my ass.”

He laughed and gave her ass a squeeze. “Sorry. You’re like the United Nations all rolled up into a tight, perfect little package.” Before she could slam
that
remark for being rude, he leaned in and sucked lightly on her neck. “Baby, if we have to eat before we fuck, I hope that curry thing’s almost ready. Because what I really want to fill my mouth with is your pretty pussy.”

“Fuck, you’re raw.” The words came in a whisper, and he felt her pulse quicken against his tongue, so he didn’t think she was complaining.

“You want a gentleman, you called the wrong number, hon.”

She leaned back at that and looked up at him, her dark eyes catching fire. Then she put her glass to her lips and drank the wine down. “The curry will keep.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He finished off his Jack and took her glass, setting them both on her little square coffee table. When he stood back up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and leapt up; he caught her ass, and she hooked her legs around his hips. Sweet fuck, he loved her body, her limbs so long and thin she seemed coiled around him, her hair brushing over his arms, her tongue twisting with his. Sweet fuck.

He turned, trying to make his way to her bedroom without taking his mouth from hers. He missed, hitting a wall full-on and knocking a couple of her travel photos from their hooks. One broke when it hit the floor, the glass shattering, but when he tried to turn to see, she clutched his head and bit down on his lip.

Fuck it. He was going to fuck her right here, against the wall he’d run her into. He’d eat her out later. He hadn’t even been blown since the weekend, and that hadn’t gone especially well. He needed to get off, too. He grabbed at her skirt, seeking but not finding the end of the material, until he jerked his head from hers and growled in frustration. “Where the fuck is the end of this thing?”

Unwinding one supple arm from his neck, she reached down and helped him. “I thought you wanted to eat me out.”

Hearing her talk like that sent waves of need into his gut. “I do, hon, and believe me, I will bury my face in your pussy and eat you raw. But right now I gotta get you on my cock.”

With her mouth twisted into a raunchy leer, she reached down between her legs and opened his jeans, yanking the zipper down without any concern about what she might catch in it—a concern he had, since what was inside was just about tearing the zipper open, trying to get free. He was, as usual, commando, and she took hold of him and pulled him out. “You have a great cock.” She gave him a squeeze, and he rocked his hips with a groan. “Condom?”

He still had her against the wall, holding her up with one hand and the weight of his body, so every movement she made between them came with a maddening kind of pressure. She felt it, too; he saw her eyes widen each time her hand or his cock brushed her core. Under the skirt bunched between them, he could feel her heat.

With his one free hand, he fumbled for a condom. She took it from him and rolled it on. Then he knocked her hands clear and reached between them, spelunking past her skirt. “I hate this fucking skirt,” he grumbled as he finally found her and yanked the slender fabric of her panties aside so that he could sink into her wet depths. She cried out, her legs clamping hard around his hips and her fingers yanking his short hair, her nails scratching his scalp.

“Ah, God, yeah. Baby, you feel like heaven.” Her eyes were closed, her teeth biting down on her lower lip. “Look at me, hon.” She did, and he liked to see that those deep brown eyes were dazed and unfocused. “I am gonna fuck you hard and fast. I’ll take my time later. Ready?”

That sharpened her focus. For a moment, she stared into his eyes, then she nodded, a slow lift and drop of her head. He changed his hold on her, hooking her legs over his arms one by one. “Hold on, hon.”

He did what he’d said he would, pulling almost fully out before slamming into her, moving back and forth as quickly as his hips would go. Each time he went deep, grunting as he felt the limit of her body against the tip of his cock, she hit the wall, and a little burst of air left her, carrying a high-pitched grunt, too earthy to be a squeak, with it.

Jesus Christ, she was tight and lush, and her perfectly smooth, hairless pussy was slick with her juices. He could feel her desire, wetting him, clasping him. He could smell her. Hear her. Moving faster and faster as the hot fingers of ecstasy uncoiled in his gut and made his balls clench and his cock throb, he yanked her beater up and bared her fantastic little tits, then leaned in and sucked one hard and deep into his mouth. She went off at once, crying out
ohohohohGODohGOD
, arching off the wall with a strength and force he wouldn’t have expected from her slender body.

Her flailing forced him to take a step back, and the change in position sent him over, the climax forcing such a spasm of tension and release into all his muscles that he folded over her nearly in half, standing in the middle of her living room, groaning, his legs shaking.

“Christ, hon.” He was shaken in more than his legs. What was it about this girl that was so fucking hot? He stood straight and tried to set her down, but she whimpered and tightened around him, tucking her head into the crook of his shoulder.

“If you won’t let me go, I gotta sit.” She nodded, and he turned and stumbled to the chair near the turret. He was still mostly hard and fully inside her, and all that movement made him twitch and groan. When he sat, he went deep again. His eyes rolled back, and she moaned.

“You hurt?” She shook her head. He didn’t like that she wasn’t talking. “Sid. I need to hear you.”

He felt her take a deep breath. “I’m good. Just…shaken.”

“You and me both,” he chuckled. “You are something else.” He pulled his arms from the clenching grip of her legs and wrapped them around her.

She made a sound like a purr, and they sat together, holding each other, until they both found their equilibrium.

Their physical equilibrium, at least. Muse had a strange, sinking feeling that his head was still out of true where this girl was concerned. And that could really be a problem. But with his cock still inside her and her wonderful body still around him, he couldn’t find the energy to care about problems.

~oOo~

“Well, the rice is glompy. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll make some more.”

Muse stepped in behind Sid, reached around, and pulled the wooden spoon out of her hand. He set it on the counter next to her rice maker. “Don’t need rice. It’s stew, right? You got any bread?” He nipped at her shoulder. She’d pulled her hair back into a messy ponytail, and he wrapped his hand loosely around it and sucked on her neck.

She sighed and leaned back against his bare chest. “You sure?”

“Hon, I’m just looking to refuel here. I don’t need a gourmet meal.”

“That’s good, because I was never offering gourmet.” Rocking her hips back, she made him take a step away, then walked over to a cupboard. He watched her body move as she rose up on her tiptoes. He didn’t offer to help her reach—the view was too fucking good.

When they’d finally decided to get up out of her bed, it was nearly midnight. They had fucked twice more, and he had eaten his fill of her, making her come over his tongue again and again, her juices sweet and salty, those gorgeous thighs clamped over his ears. She was stronger than she looked, and he loved the way her muscles flexed and stretched against him.

Now, she was wearing only that pink beater and a pair of white cotton panties—the kind like tiny shorts, letting the bottom swells of her ass peek out. Damn, maybe he wasn’t as hungry as he’d thought. He shoved a hand into his partially-open jeans and dragged his stiff cock into a more tolerable position.

With two stoneware bowls, one yellow and one orange, in her hands, she closed the cupboard and came back to the pot on the stove. “Okay. Why don’t you get us drinks—I’ll have another glass of wine. If you want something besides Jack with dinner, help yourself to whatever. And there’s bread in that box over there”—she nodded toward an old-fashioned metal breadbox—“I’ll ladle us up some curry.” She laughed. “Not quite the meal I had in mind.”

Pouring her wine, Muse stopped and looked over at her. “You don’t have to impress me, hon.”

“No, it’s not that. But thanks. It’s just…I don’t know. It was nice to make a meal for somebody.”

She brought the bowls over with spoons and forks, and they sat at her little round table—Muse was careful this time to sit on the sturdier of the chairs—and ate. The curry thing was really good.
Really
good. Spicy and savory. And Sid didn’t make a fuss when he tore off a hunk from the half-loaf of French bread he’d found and dipped it into his bowl.

They didn’t talk much while they ate. Sid looked like she was thinking. Muse was thinking, too. Sitting here having this domestic moment, he felt like things were getting shaken around in his head. He tried to remember the last time he’d sat alone with a woman in her kitchen, eating a meal she’d made him. Not since his Nomad days, anyway.