Page 36 of Driving Whiskey Wild
“I love being in your arms. Don’t ever let me go.”
“Never, lollipop,” he said vehemently. “Tell me you’re mine.”
This time she wasn’t taking a chance of him not hearing her promise. She touched her forehead to his and said, “I’m yours, Bullet. Wholly and completely yours.”
“Aw, baby.”
The emotions in his voice burrowed into her heart as she lowered her mouth to his, sealing her vow. His cock twitched inside her, sending ripples of lust vibrating through her, and she began moving. Riding him faster, harder, taking him as deep as she could with every thrust of his hips. She clung to his shoulders, gasping between messy, frantic kisses. Their moans and sinful noises sailed into the air, and she felt so free, she allowed them to flow, low and needy, each one earning another groan, another greedy noise from Bullet. Every sound he made for her, because of her, sent her climbing higher, moving faster, chasing the rush of emotions flooding her, until she was out of breath, her control hanging on by a thread.
“Let go, beautiful. Come with me now,” Bullet demanded.
The sheer need in his voice, the power of his passion, set off a series of explosions inside her.
“Bullet—” She dug her nails into his shoulders as her body arched and clenched.
His fingers fisted in her hair as he found his own intense release, and her name fell from his lips like a chant, “Finlay, Fins…My girl.”
BULLET MOVED THROUGH the afternoon feeling high and trying to dissect the strange and slightly out-of-control feeling as Finlay padded around his house wearing one of his T-shirts, belted at the waist. The shirt hung nearly to her knees, and the belt was so big he had to put a new hole in it so it would fit her. She looked so damn sexy, with her damp hair and without any makeup, it had been all he could do not to stare at her while they’d eaten lunch. Tinkerbell followed her around the living room as she checked out his things. She looked soft as a feather among his old, masculine furnishings. Her fingertips trailed along the back of his brown leather couch, her gaze gliding over the recliner that was once his father’s, a set of black speakers nearly as tall as her, and his grandfather’s old wooden desk tucked into a nook beside the windows. She walked around the coffee table, her eyes skirting over the handful of magazines strewn across the top, across the discolored and marred hardwood floors, to the brick walls and unfinished ceilings. He’d seen the exposed wood as rustic and appealing when he’d bought the place. But now, against the calming hum of the dryer he’d never before noticed, Finlay’s presence was like a beacon of light in his stark world, and he wondered how she saw his home.
He had removed all the interior walls when he’d moved in, leaving only exposed wood and metal support beams on the first floor, which was built behind the garage. The ceilings were eleven feet tall, giving it the spacious feel he so desperately needed. The walls were brick, with a black iron shelf that ran along the far wall, home to family pictures and spare auto parts that had found their way up from the garage. He’d left the barn-wood cabinetry in the kitchen and replaced the countertop with stainless steel, which he could toss his tools on without worrying he would damage them. Several shop lights hung from the ceiling, along with a few black track lights. Dixie had been after him to replace them with something nicer, but he liked their industrial feel.
Finlay walked to the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the yard, each flanked by off-white curtains his mother had insisted on. One day you might want privacy. He had privacy. That was the reason he’d purchased ten secluded acres and an old barn.
Finlay glanced at him, her finger hovering over the stereo’s power button. He nodded, and seconds later an instrumental by Rag’n’Bone Man filled the room. Her hips began to sway, and a playful smile lifted her lips.
Looking like the angel she was, she said, “This is nice. I expected to hear Ozzy Osbourne or something harder.”
“It’s the instrumental of ‘Put That Soul on Me,’ by Rag’n’Bone Man. The lyrics are pretty hot, but the instrumental takes me down a notch. I’ve got Ozzy and all the classics, too. If you hang with me, you hang with them.”
“I like this, and I like you, so I’m okay with classic rock.” She motioned toward the black iron steps leading up to his bedroom above the garage. “Can I go up?”
He nodded and followed her up. His bed sat atop a black rug on an old concrete floor, with a whiskey barrel as a nightstand on one side. Bookshelves crammed with books and magazines were built into the wall to their left on either side of the window overlooking the front yard. In the corner was a rust-colored oversized armchair, one of Tinkerbell’s favorite places to crash. The far walls each sported extra-wide circle-head windows, and the entire room was wood paneled, with the exception of the cathedral ceiling, which was mostly glass.
“It’s not much, but it works for me,” he said. “I needed space for gardening, and I like having a roof over my head, though it isn’t a necessity.”
“This is pretty much how I pictured your room would be,” she said appreciatively. “Except, what’re these for?” She pointed to the wrought-iron rails running the length of the walls in front of the windows.
“I’ll show you. Do you know the Bradens?” he asked as he crossed the room. “They own the microbrewery in town.”
“Yes. I’m catering a baby shower for one of Leesa Braden’s friends next Sunday. I was going to ask if you thought it would be a problem if I used the kitchen at the bar to prepare. There’s more room there than at my place, and the renovations should be done by then.”
“Next weekend? Sure.” It probably made him a dick for hating the idea that on his one day off she’d be tied up, so he kept that to himself. “Dixie’s usually there going over the books on Sundays, but she won’t mind. I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, good. That’s a big relief. Thank you. What were you saying about the Bradens?”
“I brought in their cousin Beau, a contractor buddy of mine from Pleasant Hill, to adapt this space into something I could live with.”
He unhooked the latches across the bottom of the back and side walls, then pushed a button on the remote control by the bed. The bottom of the walls lifted up and out, until they were parallel to the ground below, like wooden awnings.
Finlay gasped, smiling as she went to the railing and looked out over the gardens and pond. “Holy cow. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Neither had I.” He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “I thought he’d put on glass doors, or a deck or something. But this is so much better.” He kissed her neck. She smelled like his body wash, and hell if that didn’t strike every possessive bone in his body.
He turned her in his arms and gazed into her smiling eyes. “I like having you here with me, and I’m sorry my place isn’t fancier for you.”
“I’m not. Your home is perfect for you, and…” Her gaze moved to the center of his chest.
He sensed her desire to say more, and though he thought he knew what she might say, he posed it as a question. “And you’re starting to think that maybe this broken badass biker might be perfect for you?”
She smiled, and her eyes flicked happily up to him. “No.”
His gut pitched. He pulled back, but she held tight, keeping him close.
“I don’t think you’re broken,” she said vehemently.
“I’m broken, lollipop. I’ve been as honest with you as I could about all of it. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Well,” she said sweetly, “do you think I’m broken?”
“You? You’ve got your shit together better than anyone I know. You express everything you feel, and you find your way to the truth without hesitation.”
“Those are things I show outwardly. But remember when I told you that I had never felt anything for a man since I lost Aaron?” Her gaze went soft.
“Yeah. I remember.” He held her tighter.
“I thought I was broken, but I think broken is the wrong word for people like us. I think we were affected and hurt, but not broken. Broken implies that we need to be fixed, that we’re not good enough to be loved the way we are, or we’re lacking in some way. But the more I’ve gotten to know and care about you, the clearer it’s become that fixing isn’t part of our equation. You might always have flashbacks or nightmares, and you might never want to be in a house where walls can’t disappear.”
She shrugged, a small smile lifting her lips as she said, “And I may never get past the hurt of having lost one man I cared about. I don’t live my life afraid to love, but until you, I hadn’t even come close. You’ve taught me that I can feel again. And I hope that in time you’ll realize that I want to be with you, and you don’t have to apologize for the parts of you that stem from your past. Those things that make you you don’t deter my feelings. If anything, they make me want to be there for you if you get a nightmare, or experience a flashback. And don’t grind your teeth together like that,” she said sharply. “You’re still the biggest badass I know. Only now I’ve seen your badass naked, so I know how big you really are.”
