Kinkaid (Bad Boys of Retribution MC Book 2) Read online

  I took the helmet from her and leaned in close, brushing my face against her loose hair. “You smell good.” It was a mix of that spicy peaches scent and something new, floral, womanly, her.

  “I would say it smells good in here, but . . . ” She scanned the kitchen until her eyes lit on the blackened ruins of the side dish.

  Instead of answering, I swooped to kiss her before she could protest. Her lips opened with a gasp then softened against mine. No matter how much I wanted to plunge my tongue inside her mouth and drive my fingers through her hair, I softly caressed her lips with mine, keeping it light and chaste. For all its innocence, the kiss covered me in chills and shivers, and sent a big old slam of want to my cock.

  And that was when I pulled away.

  “Wow,” she breathed out, her fingertips lifting to the pink parting of her mouth.

  I swallowed roughly. “Yeah.”

  Smooth, Kaid. Real smooth.

  The problem was I had no technique when it came to her. I wasn’t playing by the usual rulebook of seduce, fuck, and flee. And wow was right. It was our first real kiss, and my lips continued to tingle from the sweet intensity of it. My body tensed with deep driving desire for her.

  I stepped back and smiled down at her. “Anyway, it was just the broccoli that burned. Everything else is well under control.” Unlike my wild heartbeat.

  Sadie smiled back, her lips perfectly bowed in the middle. We stared speechlessly at each other until the oven’s loud buzzer rang across the room.

  “Shouldn’t you get that—” she started.

  “Here, let me help you with your jacket—” I said.

  But she was already half out of it, and my attempts to do the gentlemanly thing ended in an awkward tangle of arms, the brown paper bag, and the padded dark brown leather. I finished the job, yanking it off her wrists and slinging it into a chair with all the finesse of a caveman.

  “There!” I said.

  Then we rocked together, laughing off the staggering strangeness of it all.

  Jesus. I was so nervous around her. It’s just Sadie.

  Or so I thought, until I recovered from the chuckles and got a good look at her. Then I wiped one hand over my face and looked some more. What was with the dresses and skirts all of a sudden? I wasn’t complaining, I really wasn’t but . . .

  She was not helping the dangerous state of my cock. I should’ve taken the damn thing up on its offer yesterday and beat it senseless, perv or not. My dick reared its head, literally, bobbing inside my pants, which were a little too tight to hide a huge erection. And of course, commando. Not helping. I should’ve worn briefs. Even a jockstrap would’ve been better than sporting an obvious stiffie in my slacks.

  This combo of skirt and blouse was clingy yet wispy in the perfect shade of brilliant blue to match the exact color of her eyes. The square neck of the shirt revealed the top mounds of her tits all enhanced by tiny white embroidery.

  Then I got to thinking about her straddling her bike in the short skirt. The image suddenly seared on my brain got even better with me in the picture sitting right behind her.

  I must’ve stared at her for at least a good minute because she asked, “Something wrong?”

  Groaning, I shook my head. “Just trying to work out you, in that outfit, on your dirt bike.”

  “Oh really?” Her lips curved in a temptress’s grin. “Maybe this will help.” She stretched out a long lean leg that ended in her usual stomping boots.

  Pure Sadie.

  Until she fished out a pair of lethal looking stilettoes from her brown paper bag, the kind used in liquor stores. Then she treated me to a prime view of her ass in the swinging, swaying skirt as she bent over in front of me. The sort of bottom she had was ripe for the grabbing, and I fisted my hands at my sides. Taking off the bitching Fox boots, she replaced them with the dangerous heels.

  I let loose with another long low rumble of a groan.

  “Sure nothing’s wrong?” She turned around, standing almost eye-level with me.

  “No. Nothing at all. You just . . . Damn, girl.”

  She lifted one eyebrow.

  Grampa’s cane clacked across the floor, and suddenly he stood next to me. His expression was a cross between hangdog and charming, and he stooped his shoulders a bit more than usual, trying to get the pity factor working in his favor.

  Old coot.

  “C’mere, Sadie. I didn’t get a good enough look at you yesterday what with you trotting off to find Kinkaid like your butt was on fire.”

  She leaned in for a hug and a kiss. “Hey, Grampa Dean.”

  “Yes, girl, you’ve grown up into a fine young lady. Now I got nothin’ against that dirt bike of yours and those leather things you wear or the overalls—I’m a woman’s libber, dontcha know?—but look at you in a skirt. Very purty. Ain’t she pretty, Kinkaid?”

  I’d just been thinking the same thing, but the old charmer had stolen my line. I narrowed a glare on him.

  I gave a slight bow in Sadie’s direction. “You do look gorgeous.”

  Gorgeous didn’t cover the half of it, but I wasn’t one bit poetic, and my mouth had dried up the second I’d seen her minus the jacket. Correction: the second I’d seen her on the doorstep with apples in her cheeks and her dazzling blue eyes sparkling.

  “Not so bad yourself, Kinkaid.” Her glance was both sly and promising.

  I wondered exactly what she was promising tonight. Hopefully not another scuffle.

  “You care to help me out in here while Grampa goes and finishes his crossword.”

  “Bah! Nonsense. She won’t be wantin’ to bother with that woman’s stuff, will she? She’s a woman’s libber too, I reckon.” He chuckled for a long time and then stole my girl off into the living room, shooting back, “We’ll leave you to it, little wifey.”

  I listened closely to the pair of them and heard the rustle of that brown bag and the clunk of a heavy-bottomed bottle.

  “Woodford Reserve bourbon? My girl, you didn’t have to bring nothin’ for me. But I do ’preciate it. Shall we have a little ’fresher?” Grampa raised his voice, “Bring us here two glasses and one for yourself, would you, Kinkaid?”

  I slammed cupboard doors and stomped into the living room, thrusting three tumblers at him.

  “You shouldn’t encourage him, Sadie.”

  “Why not? He’s in the prime of his life and deserves to get sloshed if he wants.” Her quick retort echoed my grampa’s snort.

  “You’ll have to open it, son.” He held the bottle out to me in one shaking hand. “And pour it too. Be generous now.”

  Hmmph.

  As soon as I totted a fair amount into each glass and we’d chimed them together, Grampa remarked, “That somethin’ else burning in the kitchen?”

  “I don’t know. Might-could be Kinkaid’s eyebrows he looks so hot under the collar.”

  Oh, great. This was shaping up to be a fun evening.

  Date?

  More like torture while they tag-teamed on me.

  I stalked back to the kitchen.

  “Butler, chef, sommelier,” I grumbled as I uncorked the wine I’d bought. “Doormat, dishrag, dumbass. Houseboy.”

  I oughtta grind up some oleander petals and poison their food.

  I chugged a glass of red wine, set the old, scratched-up oak table with our best silverware, plates, and wineglasses. I’d cleaned every utensil and dish twice. The tines of the forks shined even if they weren’t anything expensive.

  I checked on the beef, the roast potatoes and carrots. There was a green salad, too, which Grampa would eat grudgingly since the broccoli casserole was DOA. Taking the beef out to rest, I wiped down the counters. I had another glass of wine. Grampa had taught me the essentials of cooking early on, but whereas his culinary skills ran to southern favorites like fried catfish and hushpuppies—or that blessed broccoli-cheese—I sometimes liked to show off a little in the kitchen and unglut my arteries with something other than fried this or that.

&nbs
p; Maybe it was the wine that mellowed me, or the thought of my two favorite people in the next room. I heard their muffled conversation and figured he’d probably ratted me out for my nerves earlier. I guessed I didn’t care if Sadie knew.

  My movements slowed and I relaxed, closing my eyes, listening. His low chuckle sounded like gravel crunching under the wheels of a tire. Her counterpoint laugh was more like the purr of a well-maintained engine.

  I remembered the first time Sadie had come home with me on the school bus.

  Grampa had returned from work a couple hours later, shouting his usual, “Ain’t dead yet and still got me a job. It’s a good day to be alive, son.”

  He’d worked at any odd job he could get after he retired until he plain couldn’t anymore. He didn’t approve of being shiftless and lazy. A man should be able to take care of his family was his motto.

  That day he’d passed my open door, stopped two feet down the hallway, then returned. “Well, who’s this now?”

  We weren’t more than ten and had been industriously eating our way through a bag of Doritos—orange fingers and all—and working on biology homework—not the let’s play doctor kind, but the crap from the textbook.

  “Grampa Dean, this is Sadie Grace.”

  She’d dusted off her fingertips and shook his large hand.

  “Well, she’s right purty, Kinkaid. Howdy there, Sadie. You staying for dinner? Or I gotta run you home?”

  “Oh, I can call my mom and ask, Mr. Ryder.” Back then she’d worn her hair in straight pigtails and in those days her footwear of choice wasn’t biker boots but Converse high tops minus the laces.

  “You do that, little lady.” He’d stared at me hard. “And you all keep this bedroom door open, hear?”

  When I’d turned twelve he’d sat me down and talked about sex, babies, marriage, and honoring the act of lovemaking instead of rutting like a stallion in heat. My ears had burned. I’d mumbled “yes, sir” and “no, sir” at all the appropriate places. Then I’d gone out and bought a box of rubbers. For the next four years, I’d studied them every night, wondering how something so small could fit on something that was growing proportionally with my body.

  When I’d finally screwed up the courage to try one out just for practice, I couldn’t figure out which way was right. It didn’t matter at that point. I’d already discovered the finer points of masturbating, and the thought of being inside any girl instead of my hand had been enough to shoot me off. The rubber had popped off my dick like a deflating balloon. I’d had a hell of a mess to clean up from the quilt.

  Two more attempts and my first girl later, I knew exactly what I was doing.

  In all those years it hadn’t mattered to me that much. I wanted sex, sure. I’d fucked a lot, of course. Willing women meant a warm place and soft breasts and the selfish, mind-obliterating bodily release.

  It wouldn’t be the same with Sadie.

  Once the roast had rested, I carved it in thin slices and covered it with the drippings from the pan.

  Taters and veg plated up, I called through to the living room, “Dinner’s ready.”

  Sadie aided Grampa to a chair. His cheeks were a little mottled, but his eyes lively, his hands less shaky, his cane only lightly tapping. Solange and I had wondered if he suffered from the early stages of Parkinson’s, but he hadn’t wanted any more tests.

  “I got me this here one life, and I don’t intend to end it bein’ stuck like a pincushion while they draw blood.” He’d been adamant.

  And Sadie was right. Why not let him have a few extra drinks? He’d lived his life, lived it proud. I was sure there was no finer man—jokes at my expense aside.

  I poured out the wine then sat between Grampa and Sadie, the two of them conspiratorially glancing at me.

  “It’s Sunday,” Grampa muttered. “Do the honors.”

  Sadie grabbed my hand, squeezing it, and Grampa did the same, his large-boned knuckles popping against the thin old skin.

  I lowered my head. “We give thanks for family and friends. The time we’re given on this earth. The people who love us, and who we love. Amen.”

  The hushed amen worked around the table.

  “I’d say there’s a poet in you yet, son. That was nice. Real fine of you. Raised you good, didn’t I?” His grizzled paw wrapped around mine.

  “You did, Grampa.”

  He snuffled into a pressed red bandana now faded to pink after years of washing, shoved it into his pocket, and pushed his plate front and center. “Y’all take the best cut, Sadie, but gimme that plump ass-end.”

  I laughed. “And you still lecture me about cursing?”

  “Shirrup,” he slurred, shoveling the first forkful into his mouth.

  Sadie carved off a rare point of her sliced beef and slipped it between her lips. “Oh damn! This is good, Kinkaid. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  “Not from him.” I watched her savor the taste in her mouth, my own salivating for a taste of her.

  One rheumy eye peered up from his roast beef—he’d made neat little squares swimming in what he called the au juice. “Could still tan your ass.”

  “Haveta catch me first.”

  “Too busy eatin’. Your girl’s right. Damn good gobbling. Compliments to the chef, son.”

  The meal passed with clinks of forks and knives, with the glug of wine poured, and happy chatter flitting back and forth.

  “And how’s your momma and daddy? Your brother?” Grampa asked, patting his stuffed belly.

  “They’re all good. Mamma retired soon as I went off to college. Makes a girl think she was just waitin’ for me to leave the nest.” Sadie took a sip of wine.

  “If ya don’t kick the hatchlings out while they’re young they’ll never leave.”

  I had half a mind to kick Grampa under the table for that comment.

  “Mind, Kinkaid bein’ my only kin, he’s done well by me. Yes, he has.” He rocked back in his chair looking me over, taking stock.

  I wondered what he’d think if he knew what I really did to pay the bills and keep us afloat.

  “He’s a good grandson, Grampa Dean.” Sadie scooped up the last of her gravy with a bread crust, earning a look of respect from him.

  “That’s the truth of it.” More clear than cloudy, his eyes found mine.

  “Shoot. We’re just two bachelors living together. Nothing to it.” I played it off, but unsaid emotions filled my chest. I didn’t know what I’d do without him.

  “Reckon it’s more than that.” Grampa pushed back his chair. “What about your brother, Sadie . . .?”

  I cleaned up the table, listening to her talk about her older brother Shawn, his wedding, his Hotlanta wife with the high-pitched voice she imitated. “I do believe she’s too good for us Charleston folk.”

  Grampa hooted. “Anyone ever call us the bad cousins durin’ the War of Northern Aggression? I say. Hell no. They used to flock to Charleston like heathens to a drum. Dearie me, what’s that Shawn of yours done, gettin’ hitched to an Atlantan?”

  “She ain’t yet a carpetbagger though.” Sadie shrugged, her lowcountry drawl coming out more and more as she talked to him.

  “Don’t know if that’s good or not, but at least we ain’t been overrun yet.” He hobbled to his feet and punched his cane to the floor. “Scrabble, y’all? If ya care to join me in the parlor, that is.”

  Sadie rose with her napkin fanned out in front of her face. “Ah do believe ah could take a turn or two, if you’ve a mind, kind sir.”

  She curtsied.

  Grampa cackled.

  He took her arm and escorted her to the living room.

  Sadie called back, “Dishes can wait, Kinkaid. Scrabble cannot.”

  Tossing the sponge aside, I joined them.

  The game quickly descended into seven tiles of who could play the dirtiest word at the highest count.

  When Sadie took another long drink of bourbon and played quim I shivered from head to toe, so hard inside my pants my co
ck licked the zipper. My mind flashed back to the lap dance, and I wondered again just what her pussy looked like, tasted like, would feel like in the palm of my hand. How slippery she’d be if I stroked her with one finger, and pushed the tip inside.

  My cheeks grew uncomfortably hot, my face tensed with the effort of hiding the sudden gut-punch of undeniable lust. I must’ve made a noise; Sadie raised her eyes and they grew wide then soft and hooded. She knew exactly what I was thinking about. She slowly licked her lips, leaving them glossy and—so help me God—juicy and pink.

  “We’re gonna haveta have a rematch at a later date.” Grampa’s hand searched for his cane, and he clasped my offered elbow instead. “I’m off to bed.

  “Sadie Grace. T’was a pleasure.”

  She hopped to her feet and kissed his cheek. “Purely mine, sir.”

  With Grampa settled in bed, nightshirt on, meds taken, and a glass of water beside him, I closed his door with a quiet snick.

  Sadie bent over the board, her hair like spun gold hazing about her. She’d kicked off her high heels, and she rubbed her toes against the sole of the other foot. “I don’t know who won.”

  I lifted her from the couch. “I did. With you.” I kissed her for only the second time.

  Inside her mouth my tongue slicked against hers, the wet silky heat and taste detonating through my body. I fitted her closer to me, holding the nape of her neck, the curve of her hip. I groaned loudly when her fingers found my shoulders, her soft form pushing against my hard planes. A soft mewl escaped her, her teeth lightly scraping my bottom lip, the tip of her tongue stroking mine.

  With a gasp, she broke away, her hands braced on my chest. “God, Kaid. This should feel strange.”

  Her face was so familiar, her body brand new to me. I yanked her to me so she could feel the thick ridge of my cock. “Doesn’t though. Feels crazy right.”

  Lowering her face, she rubbed her cheek against my chest, circling the hot spot between her thighs against my shaft. “Feels so good.”

  I swallowed down a moan, grasping lengths of her hair in my hands, and her tongue moved to my neck, licking, her mouth sucking.

  “Jesus, Sadie.”

  Her eyes, half-lidded and dark blue, arched up at me. “And you look damn good tonight too.” She broke out of my embrace, her gaze roaming down my body. “You went to a lot of trouble.” She brushed her palms against my ass then squeezed and cupped as my breath stuttered out of me. “This body. Holy shit, Kinkaid. I wanted to goose you the second I saw your butt in these pants.”