Page 3 of Badd Ass
“Um…Zane?”
He nipped at my lower lip with his teeth. “Hmmm?”
“I thought we agreed we wouldn’t make this awkward?”
“You’re telling me this is awkward?” He whispered into my ear, his hands descending to cup my ass, and then his mouth was on my neck, and I was having trouble breathing.
I was paralyzed; head tipped back, breath caught in my chest, feeling his mouth descending from the side of my neck to my jaw and then to the dip of my clavicle. Shit, shit, shit, this is exactly what I was afraid of.
Because now his mouth was on my skin, and my brain was going doolally—as my dear Irish Gran would say—and I was having trouble remembering why I was supposed to walk away.
Wait…what were my hands doing? Where were my hands?
Goddammit! The stupid, traitorous wrist appendages were drifting up and settling between our bodies, and then I felt his cock in my hands, sliding through my fists, because apparently I couldn’t be this close to that magical organ of his without putting my hands on it.
“Um.” This was a young-sounding male voice, from behind us. “You know, they have these really cool inventions we kids like to call bedrooms. They have doors you can actually close, too. Just…you know…saying.”
I gasped in surprise, peering around Zane.
Eighteen at most, he was tall and rangy, hair in a messy undercut, the sides shaved to the scalp, the top long and curly and deep brown, almost black. He was wearing a pair of Stanford sweatpants, the cuffs tugged up above his calves, and his torso was bare, displaying lean muscles and tattoos on his forearms, a bunch of interlocking, interwoven geometric shapes and higher math symbols. He looked enough like Zane that I was fairly sure this was one of the seven brothers I vaguely remembered Zane mentioning.
“Oh, hey, Xavier, didn’t know you were awake.” Zane backed away from me and turned around to face his brother.
The younger brother cringed away. “Holy shit, Zane! Do you go around clubbing baby seals with that thing? Jesus! Put it away, man!”
Zane laughed. “Baby seals? No. Who would want to club those cute little things? I have been known to club…other things, though.” He lurched toward his brother, waggling his hips to make his dick sway back and forth. “Like you, for example. I could club you with it.”
Xavier scrambled away from Zane with alacrity, hurling himself over the back of the couch and tossing a throw pillow at his brother, shouting “NO CLUB ME! NO CLUB ME!” in a faux accent.
I couldn’t help cackling, because Zane was still jumping around, buck ass naked, chasing his brother, his massively erect dick bobbing and swaying back and forth like the mast of a sailboat in choppy water.
“Prepare for a clubbin’, kid!” Zane said in voice even deeper and gruffer than his own natural rough bass, climbing onto the couch after his brother, taunting him.
“I swear to god, if you don’t get that fucking monster out of my face I’ll make you a Grindr account and give all the horny gay boys your phone number,” Xavier threatened.
That worked.
Zane hopped backward off the couch, holding the pillow over his anaconda. “You wouldn’t.”
Xavier scraped a hand through his messy mop of curls, brushing it back out of his eyes. “Try me, commando-boy. You’ll be drowning in gays faster than you can say power bottom.”
This was as good a chance as any to make my escape, I realized, since Zane was facing off with his kid brother. I snuck out the door while Zane was counter-threatening Xavier. I tiptoed down the stairs and into the darkened bar.
I made it to the dead-bolted entrance of the bar before Zane noticed my absence. “Goddammit! She’s getting away.”
“What is she, a prisoner?” I heard Xavier ask.
There was no verbal response from Zane, but I heard his footsteps on the stairs as I flipped the dead bolt. “Mara, wait!”
I didn’t wait, because if I did, I’d end up with my hands around that cock again, and then I’d never leave.
Something important to note about Navy SEALs: they, by definition, don’t have a give-up-easily setting. I was outside, and a good twenty steps down the street, shuffling through piles of discarded red Solo cups, bags of trash, overturned folding tables, carts full of folded chairs, a garbage bin full of empty beer bottles…all the detritus of a hell of a party. They’d cordoned off the entire block around their bar and were planning on cleaning up this morning. Although, as hammered as some of Zane’s brothers had been, it’d probably be several hours yet before the street was back to normal. Not to mention the fact that they needed to deal with the brother who had gotten injured last night—Baxter I think his name was. Someone had taken him to the hospital to get stitches in his leg after he and Zane had fallen on some glass. As far as I knew, Zane was none the worse for wear ‘cause he sure hadn’t complained when we were having sex last night.
I made it to the Ketchikan Public Works barrier when Zane caught up with me—wearing a pair of basketball shorts, thankfully. They didn’t really do much good, though, because he was still sporting a hard-on big enough to tent the shorts, although it did seem to be subsiding a tiny bit.
He hopped over the barrier and put his hands on my shoulders to stop me. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”
“Why are you so determined to make me stay?” I demanded. “It was great sex, Zane, but…” I trailed off with a shrug, hoping he’d accept that as a non-verbal explanation.