The Bounty
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The hunters I work with all have cool, dangerous-sounding handles: Catch, Dagger, Bulldog. My first day on the job, Bulldog nicknamed me Buttercup, and it stuck.
Catch, the hunter who founded this agency, decided he needed a bounty hunter with “soft” skills. Someone approachable, whom mamas and girlfriends could confide in. Not that he ever expected I’d have to do the “heavier” tasks, like break down a door or take a target to the ground. Bounty hunting’s dangerous work, and not meant for faint-hearted dudes—or girls.
I felt lucky when they called me Buttercup because mostly they called me “the girl.” Like this morning, when Catch handed out assignments and told Bulldog to take along the girl.
I didn’t make a fuss. PC communications weren’t part of any office handbook. I knew from day one I had to prove myself. Not that I’d gotten a chance, so far, to show them what I had. Being ex-military, and an ex-cop, didn’t earn me any points. I guess it didn’t help I was only five-feet-five and a hundred ten pounds soaking wet. Bulldog figured that with blonde hair and blue eyes, I looked more like a former high school cheerleader—not a compliment, since he thought girls like that were stupid as hell.
Maybe I didn’t help my cause with the way I dressed. Ever since they’d named me Buttercup, I did my best to dress the part. Sure, I wore denim, tees, and boots, just like them, but my pink T-shirt emblazoned with “Girl Power,” and my purple-calico-lined jean jacket with lace inserts on the pockets, didn’t exactly fit with their black tees sporting bike club slogans and black leather jackets. The few times I hadn’t been tied to a desk making phone calls to relatives to track low-lifes who’d skipped their court dates, I’d been relegated to staying in the truck while the guys did the dirty work.
Not so today, but only because we were going to reach out to Lenny Holcomb’s mama to see if she wanted to keep her house, seeing as she’d offered her home as collateral when posting his bond.
Bulldog gave me the evil eye as we walked toward the small clapboard house on the bad side of town. “Shit goes sideways,” he said, “you stand back and let me handle it.”
I offered him a non-committal nod. “Think Mrs. Holcomb will give you that much trouble?”
He snorted and skewered me a narrow-eyed glare.
“Ooh,” I said in my best little-girl voice and gave an exaggerated shiver, hoping he’d trip over his big feet. Not that I had to pretend my reaction too much. Something about the big burly guy did it for me. His face was too manly to be handsome—square jaw, crooked nose, laser-sharp blue eyes. Thick, gold-brown hair dusted the collar of his jacket. His six-foot-four, heavily-muscled frame made me feel feminine and soft and all those other useless qualities I despised in “helpless” females. Go figure—the thought of those big, hard hands rasping over my skin made me tremble.
At Mrs. Holcomb’s door, I knocked.
No response.
I knocked again. Still nothing.
Bulldog stepped to the left and peered into the window. “Don’t think anyone’s home. And since this is his address of record…” He backed up and began to raise a booted foot.
I cleared my throat.
He lowered his foot and gave me a scowl.
“Really want to knock down her door?” I pulled my lock-pick kit from my back pocket and knelt in front of the knob. A couple of twists of my tools, and the lock snicked. I turned the knob and quickly moved away from the door, giving way to Bulldog as he grumbled something under his breath about smartass women and strode inside.
Bulldog’s big frame filled my view, so I was taken by surprise when he cussed and rushed toward a hallway.
A crash sounded in a distant room. Light from an open doorway in the back glared as he ran through it. I followed, watching as our target ran for the chain link fence and vaulted over it.
Bulldog cussed again, placed a hand on the top of the fence, but when he swung over his big body, the thin metal rod running through the top caved, and he fell to the dirt.
I picked another spot farther down the fence, grabbed a post and swung over, landing on my booted feet and shooting down the alleyway.
Behind me, I heard grunts and more curses, and finally, “Dammit, Buttercup, wait for me!”
I wasn’t waiting for shit. Lenny moved fast for a big boy. He was almost at the end of the alley. If I didn’t catch him quickly, I’d lose sight of him, and we’d lose our paycheck. With my breaths coming fast and sweat trickling into my eyes, I sped up, reaching out with my fingertips to snatch a handful of his shirt. With the fabric in my fist, I drew back and swung him.
He went sideways, but he didn’t go down. He twisted out of my grasp and raised his fists, his eyes widening as he looked me up and down, an ugly sneer stretching across his equally ugly face.
He swung.
But I was ready, ducking beneath and coming up to drive my fists into his fat gut, then bouncing backward to avoid the next wide swing.
When he didn’t connect, his swing carried him forward, and he turned.
I rocketed to his back and wrapped my arm around his throat, grasping my fist to keep my arm in place, as he staggered then went to his knees, his fingers scratching my arms before reaching backward to pull my hair.
But he didn’t get a hank. His body crashed forward, bringing me with him, because my arm was trapped beneath his thick neck. Then his body shifted halfway onto mine.
Boots pounded the pavement then slowed.
“Buttercup, need a hand?”
Not able to look back, I wheezed, trying to drag in a breath as Lenny’s weight crushed me against the pavement. “Roll him so I can get back my arm.”
Lenny’s body rolled to his side.
Bulldog lowered his boot then bent to offer me a hand up. His gaze went to the thick scratches on my arms.
Blood ran in rivulets from the deep gouges.
“Goddammit.” Bulldog’s scowl was scary as he blew out a deep breath, and then reached behind his neck to pull his T-shirt over his head.
He tossed it at me.
All I could do was stare at the grayscale tattoos covering his shoulders and chest and disappearing into his jeans.
“Wrap this around your arm. You’re gonna bleed all over my truck.” Then he went down on one knee and locked cuffs around Lenny’s fat wrists. When he stood, he kicked the low-life in the ass.
After we’d dropped Lenny at the jail, Bulldog remained silent as we drove.
My arm stung like hell, so I was fine with the quiet for the first while.
His expression was so dark, I didn’t dare try to make small talk. When he missed the turnoff to the agency, I straightened and darted a glance his way. His narrowed gaze swung toward me, daring me to say a word. I sat back, my heart thudding hard inside my chest. Just how pissed was he?
Twenty minutes later, we pulled onto a gravel road. Once we passed the first curve, I saw a single-story house ahead. Gray stone and wood. A metal roof. He reached up to hit a button above his windshield, and a garage door rose.
So, this was his house. He’d brought me home. But would he cut me into tiny pieces and feed me to the Rottweiler jumping against the fence, or was he planning to read me the riot act in private, because he intended to yell and didn’t want the world to hear?
I hoped for a third option. One where he pushed me face-down over the first piece of furniture we met and delivered his frustration in the sexiest way possible.
He pulled the SUV into the garage, hit the button to lower the door, and then turned to give me another glare. “Get the fuck inside.”
I was tempted to chide him about his tone. Not his words. I wanted to be the fuck inside…fucking.
Without a word, I slipped out of the truck and headed to the wooden stairs leading into the house. I stepped inside a mud room then through another door and into the kitchen.
Bulldog entered behind me and closed the door.
His hands grasped my shoulders and turned me toward the table.
My heart stuttered—was this the bending over part? No, he pushed downward, forcing me into a chair.
“Unwrap your arm.”
Disappointment turned the corners of my mouth downward. Slowly, because the shirt stuck to the bloody stripes, I peeled away the shirt while he headed toward the sink.
He ran water then pulled a washcloth from a drawer and wet it. Next, he strode back to the table, pulling out a chair to sit beside me. He laid the washcloth over my arm.
It was hot, and I winced.
“Got to soak the blood to loosen it,” he said.
His voice was softer but no less growly, and my pulse raced.
When he wiped away the smears of blood, he shook his head. “Should have let him go, Buttercup. These’ll leave scars.”
I raised my chin. “Would you have?”
He grunted and completed his task, then stood, opened a cabinet above the stove, and pulled down a first aid kit. After he’d rubbed antiseptic gel over my wounds, he wrapped clean gauze around my arm and secured it with surgical tape.
“Thanks.” I kept my eyes cast downward. “But I could have managed on my own.”
“I know.”
I lifted my head and found him studying me.
His mouth tightened. “You handled yourself well. I just didn’t like you anywhere near that shithead.”
“Oh.” And because I was feeling off-kilter, his change in demeanor sending my insides swirling, I did what I always do when I feel a little afraid. I brazened it out, giving him a slow, seductive smile and a wink.
Instead of putting him back in his bad mood, his reaction to my taunt was a narrowing of his green eyes. He glanced at my mouth then shot out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the back of my neck to pull me toward him.
When his mouth slammed over mine, I gasped, giving him entry.
Bulldog might have been a big guy, but there was nothing lumbering or bearlike about his reactions. They were lightning fast. His tongue invaded my mouth, pushing past my teeth to stroke my tongue.
I gave a kitten-like mew, very un-me, and melted against him, my hand landing on his broad, bare chest, and my fingers tangling in his hair. Then he gripped my waist and slid me right off my chair onto his lap. Shock blasted through me at how much I liked the quick way he took charge.
He bent me backward, an arm around my shoulders. His free hand slipped between my legs and pushed against the damp denim, cupping me then squeezing my sex. “You’re fucking wet, Buttercup,” he rasped when he raised his head to let me breathe. Then slowly, daring me with his steady stare, he removed his hand from my crotch and cupped my breast through my clothing. “This okay with you?”
I managed a nod, and before I drew another breath, he went to his feet, with me in his arms, and strode through the house, past a living room filled with deep leather seating, down a hallway, and into a bedroom. His bed was enormous, an Alaska or a Wyoming-size King. He crawled onto the mattress on his knees and stepped toward the center before he set me down. Then he began stripping away my holster, my belt…my tee and bra…my shoes and pants. When the only thing I wore was a pair of bikini panties, he halted, backed off the bed, and began stripping off his own clothing, flinging each piece to the side while he kept his hungry stare on me.
But I wasn’t any woman waiting on a man to decide what happened next. I lifted my bottom, scraped down my panties, and threw them at his face.
Magnificently nude, he leapt toward the bed, diving toward the middle.
I rolled away, and just had my feet on the floor, when his arms wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me back against his body. He sat on the edge of the mattress and bracketed my legs with his thick thighs, then smoothed his rough palms over my skin, starting at my breasts then moving down my belly to my pussy. I squirmed in his arms trying to turn, but he kept me faced away as he felt me up, sending tingles through me.
Again, he cupped my breasts, and I felt his tongue slide from the center of my back upward, following my spine. Goose bumps prickled on my skin. My breaths grew short. Fuck, oh fuck. I wanted him. “Bulldog,” I said, shivering hard inside his embrace.
“Don’t fight me, Buttercup. Don’t move. Let me do you the way I have to.”
He turned me until I faced him.
I stood with my arms at my sides as he raked my body with his gaze. His for the taking, because I wanted to be taken.
I couldn’t resist dropping my gaze to his cock, so thick and straight, jerking against his belly to the beat of his heart.
“Fuck, oh fuck,” I whispered and shivered hard again.
He reached to the side, slid open a drawer in the nightstand, and pulled out a condom. With his lips pulling back from his teeth, he cloaked himself, then scooted backward on the bed and patted the mattress beside him.
I crawled toward him then lay on my belly beside him, hiding my face against the coverlet, because I knew my expression would give away just how badly I wanted this. I rubbed on the mattress, because my skin burned and my nipples ached.
He kissed my shoulder and climbed over me, his weight pressing me deep into the mattress as he fisted his hand in my hair and held me down, then slipped his legs, one at a time between mine, waiting for me to open to him.
When he rooted his cock between my legs, my breath shuddered out. His lower body scooped against me, rubbing against my ass as he teased me with the tip of his cock sliding between my slick folds.
His teeth dragged on my earlobe, and he whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you up, babe. Fuck hard and deep. You ready, Buttercup?”
I made a sound—half-laugh, half-sob. Ready? Never. But I quivered underneath him and strained to lift my ass, needing him to take me now.
With one hand still lodged in my hair, he lifted his hips and slid his free arm beneath my waist to raise my hips.
I braced on my knees, my belly barely off the bed, because that’s all the room he gave me, and then he was rutting against me, pushing between my folds, quick in and out slides, penetrating only a couple of inches.
“Don’t tease,” I said, hissing when he tightened his fingers on my hair. My scalp stung, but the pain only made the tension winding inside my core tighten more. Already, my lips were clenching, releasing, trying to capture his cockhead as he wet it in the fluid drenching my sex.
“You want this,” he whispered, pushing a little deeper then withdrawing.
Way past worrying about my pride, I whimpered. “Yes. Yes, please.”
“One thing, babe. One thing before I give it to you. Promise me.”
My pulse pounded in my ears. “Anything, just please, Bulldog…”
He nuzzled into the hair beside my ear. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
He pushed inside then rotated his hips, his fat head dragging around my entrance. “Promise.”
“Anything.”
“Mean it.”
I could have lied and told him what he wanted to hear. And I was tempted, but lying wasn’t in me. “I…can’t.” I wanted to cry. Wanted to shout. But his weight crushed me, making breathing hard.
He let go of my hair and moved away.
I pushed to my elbows, but I couldn’t look behind me. I’d never been torn down like that, reduced to quivering and begging. Not by any man. “I should leave,” I whispered.
The bed shifted beside me. He lay on his back beside me, an arm beneath his head, his gaze on the ceiling above.
I glanced down his body and noted with not a little disappointment that his cock was still rigid, so heavy it rested on his firm belly. “You had no right to ask me that,” I said, staring at his dick and knowing my expression was shattered.
He tucked his thumb under my chin and turned my head to meet his gaze. “You’ll make an old man of me.”
“Then ask Catch to reassign me to ride with someone else,” I said, my voice surly.
Frowning, he shook his head. “Doesn’t solve a damn thing.”
“You think I’m a problem to solve?” I pushed up to sit on my folded legs, not caring his glance roamed my nude body. “You’re the one with the problem. I have a job I know I can do well. Do you have any idea what I’ve faced? Being a woman in the Army, now a hunter with a bunch of misogynists? You may call me Buttercup, but I’m not some delicate princess. I know you spent time in the sandbox. And you know damn well, I did, too. And I wasn’t serving any damn coffee to some general in the Green Zone.”
Bulldog’s face tightened. “I know you’re capable. That you can handle yourself, but shit…” His gaze went to the bandage on my arm. He shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. “For that minute when I was picking myself up off the ground, and I lost sight of you…”
Again, he shook his head and speared me with a look so stark my ready retort dried on my lips.
“So, you were worried about me. Maybe tomorrow, I’ll be worried about you. Sounds like we’ll both lose some sleep.”
He blinked. The corners of his mouth twitched. “We losing that sleep together?” he drawled.
“Depends on you, shithead.” I cupped my breasts and jiggled them. “You’re the one who climbed off this.”
“Come here.”
I narrowed my gaze. “I’m not making any damn promises.”
“And I’ll learn to deal. But you’ll have to get used to this—me working out my…issues, when you do something that hits me square in the gut.”
I held still for a second, and then gave him a slow smile. “Maybe you shouldn’t give me incentives to make sure you get issues to work out on my ass.”
One wicked brow arched. “Does your ass feel neglected?”
Done with waiting for him to get over himself, I leaned back, braced on my hands, and stretched out my legs, spreading them to offer an unencumbered view of what his dick was still hard for. “Better get up inside me, Bulldog, or I’ll see if Dagger needs a new partner.”
With his abs flexing, he sat, then climbed over me, not stopping his upward crawl until his cock nudged my pussy. “You’ll ride with me,” he said, his voice hard. “Where I can keep an eye out.”
“Show me why I should choose you,” I whispered.
His chest jerked on a grunt. “Do you ever stop?”
I puckered my lips and blew him a kiss. “No. Can you deal with this mouth?”
His lips landed on mine, effectively proving he could, and very well, as he devoured my mouth.
With the way he chose to fight, the horny part of me hoped I’d never win an argument.
I raised my knees to bracket his hips then scraped my fingernails from his shoulders to his hard ass. Without raising his body to make room between us, he entered me with a slow roll of his hips.
My mouth went slack beneath his as I reveled in the way he filled me, his girth stretching my inner walls. When he was all the way inside, he lifted his head and nipped my nose and my chin. “Buttercup, for a girl with such a big mouth, your pussy’s just a little thing.”
I pinched his ass. “Not delicate. Move!”
He chuckled, his upper body jerking against mine.
Right then, I might have smiled, but he slipped his hands under my ass and began rocking against me, sliding in and out, while his body ground against mine, heating the skin of my breasts and belly.
I needed him to give me space to let me move, needed him to get on his knees so he could stroke me with deeper, longer thrusts. More than that, I needed my clit rubbed, or I’d never come. Frustrated, I glared upward.
His smile was sly. He knew he was driving me crazy.
I lifted my lips in a snarl. “You want something…”
“I do.”
“You’ve already got me naked. You’re already inside me.”
“Baby, I just decided I want more.”
I widened my glare and slipped a finger into the crease of his ass.
Again, showing surprising speed, he slipped his hands from beneath me, grabbed my arms, and moved them upward. “I want you to agree that when we’re here, in this bed, you’ll do whatever I want.”
I shrugged. “Will whatever you want give me what I want?”
“Eventually.”
I pursed my lips and frowned. “And what do you want right now?”
His gaze dropped to my mouth.
“Huh. I’m down with that,” I said, my voice dropping to a husky whisper. Sure, it wouldn’t have taken much to push me into an orgasm, a flick of a nail against my clit, but I was curious about he’d feel inside my mouth…for starters.
“I’m gonna pull out now, but I want you to stay still. Agreed?”
At my nod, he slid slowly from within me, then knelt beside me and rolled off his condom. “I’m clean, Buttercup,” he said, fisting his shaft and giving it a long pull.
I liked seeing his big hand slide on his rigid cock. “Me, too. And on the pill. Just so you know.” I swallowed then licked my lips because my mouth was drying up—likely because it had hung open so long as I’d stared at him fisting himself. Something about watching him pump his generous man-meat, the sight glorified by the background of his muscled body, covered in gray-and-black tattoos of skulls festooned with flowers and guns, made me feel very, very feminine.
Here in his bed, just as I’d agreed, I’d do anything he wanted so long as I could touch every inch of his skin…suck every inch of his hard cock…
He lay on his back and held his cock so it pointed at the ceiling. “Your mouth on me…”
I scrambled up to kneel by his side.
But he shook his head and held out his arms. “Your pussy on my mouth…”
Better and better. I angled my body around and slowly lifted a knee over his head. With his hands guiding me, I spread myself and lowered, then gasped as his mouth latched on my labia, sucking and nibbling on my folds.
He slid a hand over my ass and smacked it, reminding me of my task.
Braced on one hand, I used the other to grip him at the base and lowered my mouth to suck his head. I swirled my tongue around and around, learning the territory and sliding into his tiny slit.
His musky scent and taste made me hungrier, and I opened wide and glided downward, loving the feel of him sliding on my tongue as I went deep. When the cap touched the back of my throat, I swallowed, the action giving him a sexy caress that made him groan against my sex.
His fingers entered me. His tongue slid to my clit, slicking over it. Then fingers lifted the top of my folds, pulling away the hood protecting my swelling knot of nerves.
I opened my throat and sank deeper, giving him everything he could want, just so he’d keep doing what he was—tapping, rubbing, flicking—until my thighs and belly quivered.
Mouth stuffed, I breathed noisily through my nostrils, little whimpers escaping as he fingered me. When he sucked my clit, I gave a very muffled shout. He had me on the edge, but I wanted his permission, his encouragement, before I flew. I wanted to please him more than I wanted my own pleasure.
Bulldog released my clit and kissed it. Then he withdrew his fingers. “I want you on your hands and knees,” he said, his voice rough and tight.
I came off him, trailed my tongue one last time up his shaft, then quickly crawled sideways, still faced away and waiting.
His hands gripped my ass and spread my cheeks. “Everything’s red and wet,” he rasped.
I sank my belly to lift my ass and braced my arms.
When he nudged my pussy, I bit my lower lip to still a cry. When he pushed inside, I arched deeper, clutching my own hair, waiting as he screwed slowly inside, swirling around and around, until his groin was snug against me.
I reached beneath me and gripped his balls, fondling the warm, heavy sac.
His thumbs slid into my crack and pressed on my tiny, puckered hole. “That ass is mine, Buttercup.”
A promise I’d make him keep. “Yes.”
Then he gripped the notches of my hips and strained inward. “This pussy is mine.”
“Yes.” I glanced sideways at the mirror above his dresser. I liked what I saw—every muscle of his body defined as he held himself there behind me. So big and ridiculously masculine.
Then there was no time to admire the picture we made—hard and soft, large and small—because he began to move, pushing me away as he withdrew, bringing me back with a snap as he thrust forward. Nothing gentle about his fucking. Hard, harsh—each muscular thrust rattling my teeth.
Slow, at first. Then faster. His cock tunneled, heating my core. Tension coiled deep inside me, making it hard to catch my breath. I grunted and moaned. Until I sobbed.
His balls banged against the top of my folds, each bounce a tease. But I didn’t dare fiddle with my clit. That was his right. And I knew he’d take it when he was ready. Already, he’d proven he knew what I liked. What I needed.
My breasts quivered with his strokes, the tips hard as pebbles and aching. My pussy spasmed around him, my channel convulsed…wet…so wet, the sounds of his flesh hitting mine grew louder and sloppier.
When at last he shortened his thrusts and bent to reach around me, I tossed back my hair and stiffened, ready. Now, now, now…
He bent farther while he kept stroking and nuzzled the corner of my neck. “Now, baby. Fuck, now.”
He gave my engorged clit a twist.
I shattered, keening as he emptied himself inside me. The cry I emitted long and thin.
Long moments later, I was still dragging air into my lungs and shivering.
Bulldog wrapped his arms around me, then bracing an arm on the bed, brought us both down, his cock still lodged inside me.
We lay on our sides, his hands caressing my breasts. The weight of his arm against my waist felt…right. Somehow comforting.
A kiss landed on my shoulder. “Fucking unbelievable,” he whispered.
I grinned. Though my injured arm was beginning to throb and I was tired, I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to bask in the moment and catalog every sensation—the hot palms squeezing my tits, the waning thickness locking our bodies together, his large, bearish frame snuggled against my back. “Think you might want to do that again?” I asked, surprised that my voice sounded so girly, so needy. My heart tripped as I wondered whether I’d pressed for too much.
Bulldog bit my shoulder then eased away.
Without being told, I turned and rested my head on his arm. He pressed me closer until my breasts rested against his chest. Then he slid a hairy thigh between mine. Again, I was surrounded by his body.
His gaze was on the fingers that played with a nipple, where a thumb rubbed lazily across it. “We ride together. We sleep together.”
I appreciated his simplistic speech. To the point. Reassuring. “I liked today,” I said. “Everything about it.”
“Even our argument?”
One side of my mouth twitched upward. “I like the way you ended it. But…” I waited until his gaze rose to lock with mine. “This doesn’t mean I’ll be so easy at work.”
“Think you’re easy?” He laughed. “My dick’s a fucking nub.”
I reached down and gripped his “nub.” “And now, I have high expectations,” I drawled as I gave it a gentle tug.
He grimaced. “I’d just as soon not let the other guys know.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Because you’re embarrassed?”
“No, because they’ll be all over me, asking me how good you are in bed.”
I gave his nub another, not-so-gentle tug. “What would you tell them?”
“I don’t fuck and tell, babe, but if I did…” He flicked my nipple with a nail. “I’d tell them you’re the best I’ve ever had.”
I let go of his cock and snuggled closer to his chest. “Is that the truth?”
“I won’t ever lie.”
I guessed by his lowering eyebrows that he was waiting for me to respond in kind. “Don’t go getting a big head,” I said, sliding my gaze away, because truth-time made me uncomfortable. I rubbed my palm over his heart and thought about what I wanted to say. Something to tell him just how pleased I was with him as a lover, but something that would also tell him that this, for me, hadn’t just been about fucking. Somewhere along the way, I’d started feeling something… more. “I’d like to try this, Bulldog.”
“Chris.”
I blinked.
“Just because I want you to say my name doesn’t mean I’ll stop calling you Buttercup.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning. He’d saved me from getting all mushy, but at the same time, he’d told me—with just one word, his name—that he wanted to be closer, too. “Chris.” Taking a deep breath, I finally met his gaze.
He was smiling.
Maybe it was a bit smirky, but he’d earned the right to feel proud of himself.
I inched my thigh upward until I nudged his balls. Then I arched a brow in challenge.
Bulldog growled deep in his chest and rolled over me, trapping me with his weight. “Sure you can take more?”
“Again,” I said breathlessly. “Not delicate.”
A week later, we pulled into a far corner of a parking lot outside a biker bar that Sparky Leonard’s ex-girlfriend had named as his favorite haunt.
“His bike’s here, all right,” Bulldog muttered as he stared down the long line of bikes parked in front of the bar.
“And you know that, how?”
He shrugged. “I ride with his club sometimes.”
I frowned, trying to see inside the window, but we were too far away and the glass proved too dirty. “They know where you work?”
“I might have mentioned it.”
I shook my head. “Then you can’t go in first. Everyone will know straight away why you’re there.”
Sparky had failed to show up for his regularly scheduled drug test. Our job was to deliver him straight to jail.
“Not how this works, Buttercup.”
“So you keep saying.” I didn’t glance his way as I took off my jacket then wrestled under my shirt to remove my bra. I pulled the band from my ponytail and shook my hair around my shoulders. Then I opened my jeans and tucked in the tee, tightly enough the tips of my boobs were clearly visible.
“What are you doing?”
I removed my holster and stuffed my weapon in the glove box. Then I shoved handcuffs in the back pocket of my jeans. “Give me a couple of minutes before you come inside. I’ll get close to him.”
He reached out and wrapped his fingers around my upper arm.
I stared down at his hand then lifted my head to give him a steely glare.
Only he didn’t begin reading me the riot act, telling me how this would go down—me waiting in the truck while he took down the bad guy. Instead, he pulled my upper body over the console between us and kissed me silly.
When he released me, he gave me a wink. “Two minutes. Tops.”
I touched my puffy lips as I headed inside, sure everyone there could tell how turned on I was. Sure enough, my chest got whistles.
Sparky was sitting at the bar, his thinning red hair peeking out from beneath the blue bandana he wore Axl-Rose style around his head. As I approached, his gaze locked on my chest.
I paused beside him and leaned over the arm he held extended toward his beer, making sure my breast brushed his skin as I pretended to seek the bartender’s attention.
“Hey, sweet thing,” he said, his gaze going from my boobs to my eyes.
“Hey, yourself.” I gave him a slow wink.
He cleared his throat and sat straighter. “Can I get you a drink?”
I leaned closer, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the smell of stale sweat. “No, but you can place your arms behind you.”
“I can?” he asked, his gaze falling again to my tits as I rubbed them on his chest then on his arm as I circled behind him. Then I reached into my back pocket, pulled out the cuffs, deftly slapped them open, and clicked one around his wrist.
“Baby, you don’t have to do that,” he whined. “I woulda said yes.”
Around him, laughter started as his buddies figured out quicker than he did that he wasn’t about to get lucky. Maybe they knew because Bulldog was making a beeline toward me, his gaze smoldering.
Had he seen me cozy up to Sparky?
I grabbed Sparky’s other wrist and pulled it back. The second cuff secure, I pushed him off the stool. “Time to go, baby.”
Bulldog growled and gripped Sparky’s upper arm, yanking him away.
As I followed the two men, I swung my hips, grinning as whistles followed me out the door.
After Bulldog helped Sparky into the back seat of the SUV, he slammed the door then rounded on me. His hands shot out and gripped my hips to pull me against his body.
The kiss that landed on my mouth ground my lips against my teeth, but I didn’t mind. I slid a hand over the front of his jeans.
He jerked back and handed me the keys. “Drive.”
He never let me drive, but I got it. He didn’t want my unfettered boobs anywhere near Sparky’s person. I sauntered to the driver’s door and let myself in. Then I adjusted the seat and mirror, dipping it low enough I could lock gazes with my man.
“Bulldog, she’s yours?” Sparky asked, his voice a tinny whine.
“All mine.”
“Damn. Are her tits for real?”
“Sparky—” Bulldog gritted out. “You want to keep your teeth, you won’t mention my girl’s tits again.”
The rest of the drive was made in silence. Bulldog insisted I remain in the car while he took care of Sparky and the paperwork inside the jail. I figured he didn’t want anyone else seeing my assets bounce.
When he returned, he eyed me through the windshield, and I quickly climbed over the console into the passenger seat. Before my butt hit the leather, he slammed the door.
Five minutes later, he pulled into a small gas station and escorted me straight into the restroom in the back. Inside five seconds, he had my jeans around my knees. Then he bent me over in front of the sink and fucked me.
After we both came hard, we bought sodas and took a more leisurely route to the agency with our hands clasped atop the console.
“That was fun.” I rolled my head on the headrest to glance at his profile. Bumpy nose, heavy brows, square chin. All manly muscle. I sighed.
“Next time,” he said, lowering his voice into that gravely growl I was coming to love, “don’t give me a hard-on before we make the grab.”
I huffed a breath. I wasn’t making a promise I couldn’t keep.
*
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