Wild Like the Wind Read online

Tack nodded again.

  He locked eyes on Tyra when he said, “This is no one’s business but mine.”

  He said this because Tack’s woman was gorgeous, she was sweet, she was a fantastic old lady, a loving wife and an amazing mother.

  But she also had a big mouth.

  “It doesn’t leave this room,” Tack assured him.

  But Hound didn’t unlock his gaze from Tyra.

  She crossed her heart, held up her fingers and did it smiling.

  He’d take that and hope she meant it. Fuck knew the shit he’d have to eat if the boys knew about Jean.

  “Right,” Hound grunted. “Done,” he went on, still grunting. “Later,” he finished.

  Then he walked right out.

  Flexible

  Hound’s phone buzzed with a text.

  He pried his eyes open, saw his alarm said it was nearly two in the morning and he grabbed his cell off the nightstand.

  He had a text from Keely.

  It said, Open your door, cowboy.

  He stared at it a second.

  Then he lost his mind.

  He was out of bed, in his jeans and stalking to the door with his jeans not all the way buttoned before most men could spit.

  He’d looked out the peephole and had the door unlocked and pulled open before a woman could say “boo.”

  “Hey—” she started, giving him a look.

  But she got no more out because he wrapped his fingers around her upper arm and yanked her inside.

  He slammed the door, locked the three locks then shoved her against the wall beside the door with his hand still on her arm.

  “Jesus, Hound, what—?”

  He dipped his face right in hers.

  “Are you fucking insane?”

  “What?” she whispered, staring in his eyes.

  “Are you . . . fucking . . . insane?” he repeated, slower this time.

  “Why are you asking me that?”

  “Because it’s near-on two, this apartment building is on the brink of bein’ a full-blown crack house, it’s in a neighborhood that Hell’s Angels might find a smidge too scary, and your ass is not in your bed in your sweet crib in your house in your nice neighborhood. Instead, it’s at my door.”

  Her face screwed up. “Why is it safe for you and not for me?”

  “Because I got four guns, seven knives, six inches on you, eighty pounds and a fuckin’ thousand-pound punch.”

  “You know the PSI of your punch?” she asked curiously.

  “Were you asleep the five thousand times I took your boys to the gym?” he asked back irately.

  “No,” she mumbled.

  He let her go and straightened away, asking, “What are you doin’ here, Keely?”

  “Well, uh . . .” she started hesitantly, eyeing him up like she wasn’t sure how to go on.

  “You’re here to play with my dick,” he bit off.

  “How much more mad at me would it make you if I shared that had crossed my mind?” she asked.

  “Maybe five, ten hundred thousand times more mad, babe,” he shot back in answer.

  “Hmm . . .” she murmured, still eyeing him.

  “I thought we agreed we were done,” he reminded her.

  “I was kinda hoping you were feeling flexible about that.”

  Hound looked to the ceiling.

  Her soft “Hound” in her low, velvet voice came at him the instant her hand lit on his bare chest.

  He grabbed her wrist and she made a surprised noise as he twisted it behind her back, jerked her around, and pushed her chest first into the wall.

  He put his mouth to her ear.

  “Undo your jeans,” he ordered.

  Her body trembled against the wall as well as him, and her free hand went to her buckle.

  He had no excuse.

  Except this was Keely.

  And she wanted his dick.

  And he was Hound.

  He’d give her anything.

  When he heard her zip, he let her go and rumbled, “Hands to the wall.”

  She complied and he yanked her jeans down her thighs, taking her panties with them.

  She whimpered.

  He pressed his chest to her back, slid a hand around the front and went right in.

  Her hips jerked.

  “Be quiet, I got an old lady neighbor who sleeps light,” he told her.

  “’Kay,” she breathed, grinding into his fingers.

  “I make you come against the wall, make it good but hold some back, baby, because right when that’s done, you’re ridin’ my face ’cause want that wet on my tongue.”

  “’Kay,” she mewed.

  Christ.

  He pressed his hard cock to her ass.

  She moaned and dropped her head back to his shoulder.

  After he finished her off, he hunkered down, yanked off her jeans, boots, socks, and then ripped off her sweater and jacket, leaving them and his jeans down the hall before he yanked her into his bed on his five-hundred-dollar sheets and hauled her pussy on his face.

  He pulled her down and buried himself in nectar.

  Now they were talking.

  Keely on her hands and knees, Hound curved over her, an arm around her chest, hand at her tit, other arm straight, hand in the bed by hers, he fucked her fast, tough and hard.

  She turned her head, dug her forehead in his neck, and came . . . loud.

  Hearing it, he started pounding her inhumanly.

  “Can you take that?” he grunted.

  “Fuck yes,” she said like it was a plea.

  “Can you take more?”

  “Fuck . . . yes,” she answered, gasping and panting and slamming back into his ruthless thrusts as if to prove her words right.

  He dropped his head, trapping hers against his neck, listening and getting off on hearing the violence of their flesh connecting cracking through the room.

  “Hound,” she whispered.

  “That’s whose cock you’re taking, baby,” he growled.

  “Hound,” she whimpered and then went again, quaking under him, rearing back uncontrollably.

  “Yeah, Keely, fuck . . . yeah,” he ground out then he lifted up, pulled his arm from around her, wrapped his fingers around the back of her neck, and shoved her face into his sheets, his momentum increasing, jacking his cock using her pussy.

  “Fuck that pussy, baby,” she said in the sheets. “Fuck it and shoot for me.”

  A noise drove up his throat, thundered out and he let her neck go, clamped onto her hips and rammed her back into him as he fucked her through a staggering orgasm.

  It was so huge he couldn’t stop himself from collapsing over her, his forehead hitting her between her shoulder blades.

  She gave him a few beats before, breathy and hot, she gave him shit.

  “Mama wear you out?”

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Uh . . . you might be on number one but I’m on number four so . . . yeah,” she answered.

  He put his hands to the bed on either side of her and found her ear.

  “This is not a complaint that your pussy can take that thrashing, baby, but I gotta hear the words and believe them that it can.”

  She moved her head in a way that it tossed her hair out of her face and Hound had to lift up to let it. Even so, some of its silk slid across his face.

  And fuck, but he liked it.

  Then he had her eyes.

  And he liked that better.

  “You could fuck me harder, I’d take it. You could eat me dry, I’d take it. You could shoot a wad down my throat that was the equivalent of a large milkshake, I’d fuckin’ love it. What I don’t think I can take, honey, is you saying I can’t come back and get more of it.”

  He slid out, rolled her over, then eased his weight down on her, taking some of it in a forearm.

  “We had this discussion,” he reminded her.

  “Yeah, and I couldn’t sleep for two nights needing your dick, so I hightailed my ass to a
bad part of town to get it, and you barely pulled me in the door before you had my jeans down my thighs.”

  He felt his jaw get hard mostly because she did not lie, which reminded him he was weak.

  “I need you to ride this out with me, cowboy,” she said. “And the way you go at me, I’m thinking you need it too.”

  “We need to be careful.”

  “Chaos?”

  “You.”

  “Me?” she asked, sounding confused.

  “Keely, you know the shit would be deep I’d be in if the brothers found out about this and straight up, that’s a worry. But I haven’t put the time in I have lookin’ after you to ever make you feel anything but looked after.”

  “If you don’t think I feel looked after coming off of four orgasms in about an hour, you definitely need a better understanding of the concept.”

  She was being funny and he liked that too.

  But now they had to be serious.

  “I don’t know what you want from me and I’ll take that sweet pussy and smack that round ass and take whatever time you wanna give to me but we both have to have a mind to where our heads are at with this, and we pull out, literally and figuratively, the minute it looks like things are gonna get fucked.”

  “So have fun and don’t get in too deep?” she asked.

  “So, you wanna give your cowboy a ride, he’ll take it, but the minute you get even a hint what we give each other is no longer for you, you clue me in and we go back to where we were before.”

  “And where was that?”

  “I bring your checks. I switch out your thermostats that stop working. Otherwise I live my life and you live yours.”

  She said nothing to that.

  “Sex, babe,” he said softly. “Fuckin’ great sex. And when it stops bein’ just that between two people who dig each other and have history, we cut our losses. Can you do that?”

  “You’re a magnificent lay, Hound. That could take a while.”

  “Good to know, Keely. But we both know it’s not goin’ there so cut a man loose before he gets so tied up, he’s strangled.”

  She got solid under him and he didn’t know if it was what he exposed, what he put out there, even if he didn’t give it to her straight, or if it was the world “strangled” that was too close to the bone that made her that way.

  It would be a relief to find it was the first.

  “I’d never hurt you.”

  She’d been killing him for twenty years.

  He didn’t enlighten her about that.

  “So we’re straight,” he said.

  Her head on his sheets tilted to the side.

  “Am I hurting you?” she whispered.

  “Come so hard when I’m in you, think my balls are gonna shoot out my dick, but other than that, no,” he lied.

  She grinned. “That hard?”

  “Keely, you’re a machine. You’re like the bionic fuck master.”

  She burst out laughing, wrapping her arms and legs around him while she did it.

  He watched.

  He felt.

  Oh yeah.

  He’d lied.

  Totally fucking killing him.

  She stopped laughing but not entirely when she declared, “You got new sheets.”

  “Apparently, I was flexible about that first time bein’ the only time.”

  She kept laughing softly as she asked, “Tested?”

  “That’s just now been scratched on my to-do list.”

  She lifted her head and brushed her mouth against his before dropping it back to the mattress and murmuring, “Good.”

  He didn’t want to ask it, but she’d left him before dawn the last time so he had to ask.

  “You need to get home?”

  “Jag has discovered Dutch’s aversion to grocery shopping and never has any money, which is a mystery since he still has an allowance, now a lot bigger one since he’s still in school but mostly on his own, and he’s still human so he still has to eat and do whatever boys do, most of which I don’t wanna know. So he comes home to fuel up for the day, and he does that shit early.”

  “Kid’s always been an early bird,” Hound muttered.

  “It’s bizarre, and I told them it was for fun we did that DNA test two years ago but mostly it was to make sure he wasn’t switched at the hospital.”

  He would have laughed.

  But although part of what she said was funny, part of it was not.

  “What DNA test?”

  “Those ones you can send off in the mail.”

  “Someone has you and the boys’ DNA on file?”

  She stilled again under him.

  “Hound—”

  “Babe, what the fuck?”

  “It’s confidential.”

  “It’s not anyone’s fuckin’ business.”

  He felt her temper rising even before she stated, “They’re not gonna do dick that’ll make that a problem. Tack promised me that when he called me to tell me you all had taken on Dutch.”

  “It’s still no one’s fuckin’ business.”

  “Hound, you’re not outlaw anymore. I gotta believe that because my boy’s mixed up in that, and Jag says the minute he finishes school he’s gonna jump in.”

  Hound knew that. The brothers had already agreed to take him on the minute he made his approach.

  Still.

  “An outlaw never stops thinkin’ like an outlaw, even when he’s abiding by the law,” he informed her.

  “Are you abiding by the law?” she asked.

  That day?

  Sure.

  “Yes,” he answered.

  She seemed to relax under him but still asked, “Should we talk about the problems the Club is having?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is that nope, it’s Club business and as such, none of mine, or nope, you’re not tellin’ Keely that shit because she’ll lose her mind?”

  Clearly once an outlaw, always an outlaw, and also once an old lady, always an old lady.

  “Mostly first, little of the last.”

  “Fuck,” she muttered, and he saw her eyes roll up and stay up.

  “You hauled your ass to me at two in the morning to get it tapped, baby,” he reminded her gently. “And you did it knowin’ the Club’s got troubles. We already in the zone where you wanna cut loose?”

  Her eyes rolled back instantly.

  “Nope.”

  That was when Hound relaxed.

  “We gonna fuck real quick again before you go?” he asked.

  “Yup,” she answered.

  He grinned.

  She lifted her head, her fingers sliding into the back of his hair, and she kissed him.

  He rolled so she was on top.

  She slid the spent condom off his dick and tossed it to the floor beside the bed, which most women would have a problem with doing, most men wouldn’t, and Hound didn’t.

  They fucked real quick.

  They did it hard.

  Then they got dressed and Hound walked her to her car.

  “Next time, you give me a heads up and you stay in your car until you see me,” he ordered.

  “Whatever you want, cowboy.”

  With her, it wasn’t ever whatever he wanted.

  It was taking what he could get.

  So he did that right then.

  He kissed her.

  Then he closed the door on her after she folded in.

  And last, he stood on the sidewalk and watched her drive away.

  He hit his five-hundred-dollar sheets.

  And he woke two hours later to his alarm clock telling him it was time to take care of Jean.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, losing the sight of Keely bouncing on his dick when he was forced to dig his head into the pillows, close his eyes, thrust his hips up into hers and shoot hard.

  Before he got over it, he felt her body hit him, her pussy squeeze him and her hair all over his face when she collapsed on top of him.

  “You’re a lot of work
, cowboy,” she breathed.

  He turned his head and shoved his face through her hair into her neck. “You want it fast, don’t swallow a huge load before you decide to ride me.”

  “So noted.”

  “That said, if you’re markin’ preferences, I got no problem with you swallowing a huge load before you bring my boy back to life and bounce on my dick.”

  He felt her shake with her laughter, wrapped his arms around her so he could feel it better, and she replied, “Preference noted.”

  He wanted to touch her, smooth his hands over her soft skin, take her in gentle after she’d fucked him hard.

  But he didn’t do that, and not because he couldn’t remember ever doing that with a woman but because they liked each other, they liked fucking each other, but that wasn’t who they were to each other.

  This was what he thought.

  He’d find out immediately that Keely thought otherwise.

  He found that out when she lifted up, and with her long, black hair a curtain around either side of her face brushing the skin of his chest, she trailed her fingers across the eagle inked at his collarbone and the top of his chest. The wingspan was spread wide, the tail feathers fanned out, claws outstretched, face fierce, like it was about to attack prey, above it over the top of his collarbone, a thin line of clouds.

  She traced her finger down where he had a scroll of intricate fretwork arced across his pecs, and under that was where shit got interesting.

  He had the Chaos tat of wind, ride, fire, and free.

  To his left abdomen, he had the Chaos scales where one side was high, the scale dripping blood (on Hound that blood was black, all his tats were black, no color, and he was seriously tatted, full torso, back covered in Chaos, two sleeves). There was the word Red on the high side of the scale, meaning Cherry, or precisely meaning Cherry surviving the fact she’d taken a blade numerous times due to shit her girl’s now-dead fiancé got all of them up to their necks in.

  The other side of the scale, the one that was down, had a reaper drifting up from it, and it was labeled Black.

  Chaos’s Black.

  Keely’s Black.

  All the men got that tat somewhere on their body to remember what was important: brotherhood, family and keeping both safe.

  He held his breath, the ridges of his abs standing out, when Keely put her palm over the reaper, her husband’s name, and pushed in hard.

  They’d get there, he knew. It would be what would take this away from him, he knew that too.