Bayou Bishops Box Set: Books 1-12

CHAPTER 8

Gracie sat next to Ruckus, fighting her giddy grin at the way he never let go of her hand. How fricken cute he was being obsessed and possessive. She could hardly walk after all the sex he’d made her have. How quickly their bedroom relationship took shape. Was as if his animal testosterone read all her buried hormonal desires and formed a sex menu along with the pace at which he dished it out. And then after, he put a physical collar on her—her hand in this case—tightly in his. She felt like his pet. And she never loved anything more and couldn’t wait to get this little trip over and get back to their love shack. After she had a shower. Thank God she was past baby making age. Allowed her to fuck all she wanted without a care other than having another one of those merciless orgasms he gave her.

“I feel like we’re halfway through,” she leaned and whispered to Ruckus who seemed engrossed in memorizing everything being said and shown. Not that she wasn’t interested, the whole place was fascinating. Just not as fascinating as Ruckus. She was using up all her maturity muscles sitting still and serious so long. Just wasn’t her strength. She was sure when Ruckus wasn’t in her vicinity she might be able to participate with more than a fraction of her brain. She’d intended to ask Beth and Maggie for any details that might go missing.

“So,” Beth’s hunk of a husband continued. “The twelve Hatches span a twenty-foot wide by fifty-foot-long stretch of land with bayous interwoven between. Bayou Fourshe runs down the middle, connecting all the Hatches. That bayou is too small for major traffic which makes it perfect for traveling from Hatch to Hatch. This is also the waterway the Nouvelle Runners use to collect the Nouvelles and deliver to the Churches’ bulletins. This waterway is under heavy surveillance with defense at its beginning and end or opening and closing where it leads to other main waterways that make it vulnerable to outside traffic.

“Every Hatch has a church, a school, a library, a general store, a Treyter or doctor, and a small jail for temporary holding. Every Hatch has a different name for these. Panic Room, Halfway House, The Cooler, The Rest Stop, Sick Bay, Quarantine—you get the idea. Each Hatch has a Hatch Hall where the Keep-ums record all the important facts and events. Births, deaths, deeds, marriages, etcetera. Hatches also have a Revelle which are towers that are used to send out alarms for natural disasters, manmade disasters, and any other incoming dangers. Every Revelle Tower has a Keeper that relays messages to the other Hatches to ensure all are informed as to the manner of the emergency and what steps need to be taken. From there, they report directly to the Leader of that Hatch where plans are formed and executed to protect the families from whatever the danger may be.

“Speaking of that, every Hatch has a leader with a particular skill. Blades, bullets, bombs, combat, trapping, excavation, tracking, food, medical, spiritual, manufacturing, technology and poison. The Twelve serve the family’s in every Hatch in whatever capacity they need to ensure they are thriving. All needs are accounted for. Physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual.

“Now, on to the fun stuff,” the Bishop went on. “Every Hatch has a Premiere Bouffon which is a type of mascot that represents their Hatch. They even have their own float in the many parades, known as the Bayou Bishops Premiere Bouffons. They are elected each year by their own Hatches. To qualify to become a Premiere Bouffon, you have to satisfy a certain criterion. Every Hatch has its own. If you want, when we go to Patches Hatch, we’ll stop at the Hatch Hall and pick up a copy of the Swamp Hoard book that details all these things.”

“I definitely want one,” Beth said,

Bishop leaned and whispered something in her ear that made her blush. What a dream man. Gracie loved that he was so attentive to her every need.

“Our Hoard is full of very affectionate people who are also highly competitive. They hold lots of competitions between the Hatches,” Bishop said, getting Gracie’s interest. “When they’re not working, they’re celebrating life in some form. Many of these competitions are held in Patches’ Hatch where the Bat-tie field and main park is located. All major events that involve all the Hatches take place there usually, as well as the Bat-ties.”

Gracie raised her hand, and the Bishop gave her a charming smile. “Yes Aunt Gracie?”

“What’s a Bat-tie?”

“The simple definition is ‘a fight.”

“Fight?” she wondered, surprised. “Like…physical?”

“Yes ma’am. With rules. We use them to settle disputes. They are more sport than anything.”

“What kind of disputes?” she wondered, intrigued to the hilt by such a barbaric idea.

“Civil usually. If somebody challenges you to a Bat-tie to settle a dispute, you’re required to answer it and fight. If you choose not to fight, then whatever is disputed goes to the challenger.”

“And if they fight? The winner wins the dispute?”

“Qui,” he nodded.

“Our Belle Eveque was in a Bat-tie,” Mah-Mah announced, patting her niece’s leg with a huge smile.

When nobody volunteered more, Gracie wondered, “What on earth for?” She couldn’t imagine her challenging somebody.

“One word.” Mah-Mah muttered, her gaze turning hard on Gracie. “Katrina. Sahvrin’s ex.”

Gracie and Ruckus exchanged looks. “We met her the other night. Well, what happened?”

“Oh, she beat her ass,” Mah-Mah assured, matter-of-factly while Gracie wondered over the uncomfortable looks on Maggie and Beth.

“What am I missing?” Gracie wondered.

“I’m not proud of it,” Beth muttered.

“That’s because she’s an angel,” Mah-Mah explained. “Katrina is the mother of our sweet Savvie, my son’s daughter that she hid from him. From all of us. We had no idea he had a child till recently. And our Belle Eveque respects her for that.”

“I think she’s plenty miserable without getting beat up,” Beth added softly.

Mah-Mah patted her hand. “Honey, that girl needed her ass beat good. Trust me, Did her a world of service, more than you realize.” She regarded Gracie again. “That’s why everybody loves her. Even when that cunt was evil to her she was still kind.”

Gracie smiled when Bishop stole a kiss from her niece and knocked her nasty mood right off her face. What a sweetheart he was to her.

She wondered over Maggie’s pensive look and what her hunk was whispering in her ear that made her nod and turn to give him a kiss too. Interesting. There was a whole lot more to this story than she was getting. But would get.

****

Felix sat at the table as asked, stealing glances at her chef who got sunburned and couldn’t wear a shirt. God bless the UV rays. “I like your tattoo,” she said.

He glanced over his shoulder, his grin making her insides dance. “Sounded like that took a lot to say.”

She had to laugh and of course it was too loud. “I guess it did.”

“You have a hard time with receiving compliments and giving them, I’ve noticed. Maybe you should practice. What else do you like about me?”

She laughed then quickly reeled it in before it got too far away from her. “Some of those might be blasphemous.”

He glanced over his shoulder at that one. “I definitely need to hear those.”

She couldn’t resist her laugh, liking how he made things easier. “Are you training me or something?”

He was at the table now, both hands holding the back of the chair across from her. “Or something.”

She chewed her lower lip, debating which blasphemous thing to say. “You remind me of a… god.”

His smile was a slow bloom just before his sexy laugh filled her kitchen and killed her fears. She of course laughed with him, crossing her arms at her chest.

“That was definitely a first. I’ve been called the grenade god, but it has nothing to do with my looks.”

“Your skin reminds me of ice cream,” she dared, giggling at how funny he found it.

He made his way to the stove and leveled a look at her over his shoulder that made her quake. Those eyes were full of things coming and the small smile was the precursor. Lord, let it be real whatever this is. “What else?”

The knowing look he wore said he’d read her mind and wanted the rest of it. Lord she couldn’t. “Your muscles seem…almost unreal.”

He was headed for her again. This time he bypassed the chair and stopped next to her. “Touch and find out.”

She lowered her gaze to his abs, fighting for air. She saw her nosy finger reaching like the damn thing had a mind of its own and nothing to fear. He suddenly took her hand and pressed it against his hot skin, making her gasp.

“Feels real now?”

His low voice made her dizzy as she dared to feel him. Hot. Hard. She jerked her hand back and hid it in her lap. “Yes. Very real.”

“Damn,” he said, sounding disappointed. “Was hoping I was a god.”

She wanted to smile but her brain refused to be distracted from dissecting what it’d just touched and felt.

Back at the stove, he said, “My turn.” He shut the fire off under the pot. “I think this is ready,” he announced before glancing at her then staring for endless seconds. “Your eyes,” he began with a half grin, “remind me of a field of morning glory’s.” His smile grew as she held her breath. “Set on fire by the morning sun.”

A sudden rush of emotions brought her breath in a single gasp. She lowered her head when tears filled her eyes.

“Damn, was that offensive?”

She shook her head, discreetly wiping off the childishness while his beautiful words continued to pierce her heart. When it was clear her tears would not be wiped, she excused herself to the bathroom where she pulled herself together before he thought he’d messed up and it ruined the night.

“It smells amazing,” she announced, entering the kitchen and finding their food on the table. Lord, he was coming at her again. She aimed her face down, bracing for whatever was about to happen. Which was him opening her chair. She quickly sat, ready to get herself back on track, helping him scoot her to the table. He sat across from her and lowered his head for several seconds, causing her panic to rise.

“Amen,” he muttered, raising his gaze to hers.

Relief brought her own whispered, “Amen,” before she picked up her utensil and stared at the food in her bowl.

“I can only cook one dish,” he said. “But I’m good at it.”

“Is it chili?”

“It is.”

“I like chili. I’ve never had it over rice.”

He was eating like nothing weird had happened and she let herself relax a little. Then she had her first bite and immediately launched from her chair and headed to the cabinet for a glass.

“Too spicy?” he wondered, sounding surprised and disappointed.

She shook her head and hurried to the fridge, reaching for the milk unable to pour it fast enough. She downed several gulps, wiping the tears and gasping. “I may not be used to spice.” She refilled her glass before returning the milk to the fridge and heading back to the table.

“Don’t worry, Petite Pwah, I got you covered.”

He took her bowl back to the stove while she marveled at herself. She’d hated that term and now she was ready to marry it. Whatever he did with her food at the stove produced the most delicious dance of muscles in his back. How was she supposed to eat when everything she craved stood right before her wrapped in silky ice cream skin?

He returned with her food and set it before her. “Try that.”

She determined to eat it, no matter the cost to her stomach. She took a careful taste and nodded at discovering it was safe. She put a hand before her mouth and gave him a thumbs up.

“You sure? I can cook you an egg sandwich if it’s still too hot. It’s the second other thing I know how to cook.”

She giggled and shook her head. “No, seriously. It’s not bad at all. It’s delicious,” she hurried. “I mean the spice isn’t bad at all.”

“You don’t lie well,” he laughed, getting back to his own food with gusto.

“I’m not lying!” she cried, showing him with another bite.

She managed the entire bowl without needing a drink until the very end. She waited till he took his dish to the sink to take several gulps, not wanting to disappoint him. Realizing he was cleaning, she hurried with her own bowl. “You cook, I clean,” she insisted next to him at the sink. “Shoo,” she ordered, shoving him with her body that didn’t budge.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “You let me help with the cleanup and I get to brush your hair after.”

She stood there with dish sponge in hand, stuck in confusion.

He laughed. “What? It’s a good deal!”

“It’s not a deal at all,” she cried, still flustered over the hair brushing part while imagining him doing that.

“I’ll even use a brush,” he added, confusing her more.

“What…else would you use? A fork?”

He found this hysterical as she blindly washed the dish in her hand then passed it to him.

“My fingers,” he said, like that was obvious.

“Is that what you use for your hair?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting.” Her body was literally humming with energy. “Maybe I’ll brush your hair too then.”

“With your fingers?” he asked, setting the bowl in the dry rack and taking the next one from her.

She was sure that wasn’t a good idea. “I think you should experience a brush.”

“Puuhhh, elle est mechante!”

She gasped a laugh and shoved into him. “That’s not mean! Trust me, the brush is divine.”

“So are the fingers Petite Pwah.”

“You can use your fingers, but I’m using the brush.”

“I can use my fingers in your hair?” he dared.

“No, I mean when you brush your own hair.”

“Puhhhh,” he chided lightly, shaking his head. “Go get it ready. I’ll finish.”

She laughed. “It’s a brush. It comes all put together, no assembly necessary.”

“Just one more request,” he said.

“Now what?” she wondered, grinning.

“We do this away from our feathered family.”

Even as she laughed it hit her what that meant. Being in her bedroom with him again. “C’est Mechante!”

“Nooo, it’s not mean at all, just practical.” He snatched the dishcloth from her hand then jerked it out of her reach when she tried to get it back. “Let me finish what I started, Petite Pwah. The gift of cooking comes with cleaning.”

She put her hands on her hips with a huff, unable to hold back her grin before pointing at him. “You’re next,” she promised. “I treat you to the works!”

He chuckled as he wiped down the counter. “So vicious, Petite Pwah. Go take care of your feather babies and say goodnight to your demon spawns while I finish.”

****

Nitro climbed the stairs, his blood pumping hard through every vein. Just a taste. A tease. Till she was ready. Desperate even. The idea of getting her to such a point was its own pleasure, he realized. But after his time with her at dinner, he wasn’t sure how capable he was of dropping breadcrumbs. He recalled how she’d cried over his compliment. He wasn’t sure why and that bothered him. To think he’d hurt her when trying to heal was a hard bullet to bite.

He then recalled when she’d felt his abs. He’d had visions of him pressing her hand on his cock while watching her face. He knocked on her bedroom door. What she wore would tell him the pace he’d set.

“Come in,” she called.

He braced for whatever impact was coming. She sat on the edge of the bed in light blue pajamas with fluffy white clouds, holding a brush between both her hands. His sweet, nervous angel with a timid smile. He knew in that second what he wanted. Everything. Every fucking thing that she was.

She handed him the brush. “Where do you want me?”

Everywhere.

He sat on the floor and pointed to the spot just before him. She quickly got in it, and he stared at the wall of dark silk before him. Temptation had never hurt to resist more. Then he remembered he wasn’t resisting.

“You can use your fingers,” she suddenly said. “If you want to.”

****

Oh God. Felix held her breath in the sudden silence before his fingers moved along the back of her hair. “Magnifique,” he said softly, his touch gliding along her temples and slowly moving back through her hair. Goose bumps raced across her body at the amazing feeling. She closed her eyes, wishing he’d do it all night. She gradually relaxed more as he combed through her hair for many minutes, his touch always gentle, almost reverent.

He raked along her scalp with his nails then and a moan slipped from her throat.

“Feels good, Petite Pwah?”

His soft voice matched his touch, sending another round of goose bumps all over. Her nipples felt extra sensitive against the pajamas as she sighed her, “Yes.”

He muttered, “I can do this all night,” in French.

Another half moan escaped as she realized his native tongue was like a drug to her mind and body. It made her feel drunk.

He raked his fingers on either side of her head, gathering all her hair in one hand. She gasped when he held it in a tight fist at her scalp and stroked the ponytail with his other hand. He made sounds that spoke directly to her privates as she marveled how something could feel so good. Was this the pleasure he was talking about? If it was, she loved it. She gave herself to it, allowing him to move her head in whatever way he wanted. He seemed to find as much pleasure in it, switching hands on her ponytail and tilting her head the other way, drawing another gasp when the pain increased but didn’t hurt.

“Pourquoi es-tu si belle?” he barely whispered, causing her heart to hammer. Why are you so beautiful. The question was unanswerable. She had no idea why. She was just happy she was. “That’s enough, Petite Pwah.”

His words were warm and right at her ear. Then he electrified her with the softest kiss at the base of her neck before gently releasing her hair and passing his fingers one last time before standing and holding his hand out to her. She took it, hardly able to stand and breathe at what he’d just done along with the feel of his strong grip easily pulling her to her feet.

She fought to get her brain unstuck, looking down at the brush. “Your turn?” she said, her voice an embarrassing mess.

He sat on the bed. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said, laying down.

Her heart and stomach churned at seeing he would sleep in her bed again. The grimace on his face reminded her of his sunburn.

“I have cream I need to apply to that burn,” she remembered, hurrying to her dressing table. She found the homemade aloe mix she’d made and returned to the bed, wondering how to do it. He stared at her with things in his gaze that made her need more air. She hurried to the foot of the bed and climbed to her side.

“Turn over.”

****

Nitro survived the crucifixion by delicate angel fingers. He even managed to hold back the arousal from his voice when he thanked her and bid her goodnight. It was what needed to happen in order for him to play his final dirty trick, even while knowing she lay there in quiet shock that he didn’t do more.

He spent a tormenting amount of time thinking about her hair and how she’d responded to him. If there was such a thing as hair sex, he’d had the hottest. And fuck, how she loved it. His cock gave a painful jerk at recalling her gasps when he pulled her ponytail. Fucking hell, she especially loved that. He could’ve taken her then, but he forced himself to wait and follow the plan. When she was sleeping, he’d get his relief. It would be the final rage of fire aimed at those scared walls around her. He’d burn them all to the ground and set the woman in her free.

Had to be well after midnight before her breathing turned steady and deep. He slipped out of bed and got out of his jeans. Slipping back under the covers, he wasn’t as careful not to wake her. He took plenty of time getting situated before he lowered his hand under the blanket and found his insanely hard cock. Fuck, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d jacked off, but it was like making a bomb. His fingers worked magic as he slid his right leg open till warm pajama material touched his knee. He moved his underwear down and pulled his cock out, gripping it tightly in his fist before sliding it slowly along his thick shaft. He reached with his other hand and pressed his fingers under his balls, letting the heat have him and a hot breath go.

****

Every nerve in Felix’s body hyper-focused on the feel of Nitro’s leg touching her thigh. What was happening? Why were his breaths uneven and strained? Was he having a bad dream? Was his sunburn hurting?

His breaths did something different as his leg pushed more into her and the bed shook. The hot sounds he made…oh God. He was touching himself! And he thought she was sleeping!

She lay there, trapped in the flames coming off of him, silently gasping for air as his breath got thicker and more labored. He gave a moan that was so lust-filled it made her eyes clench tight. The dire need to answer built inside her like a storm and she bit her lip to keep it from escaping as the bed shook more and his knee pushed harder. He was giving himself an orgasm. Her mouth opened with light pants as his breath filled with an agony she needed to save him from. Denying it was torture. Her hands became tight fists at her chest as she listened. She’d heard this sound once from her boyfriend while he was trying his sex tricks on her, but it sounded nothing like this. Nor did it touch her the way his did. She’d closed her eyes when her ex did it, too ashamed to look but with Nitro, she wanted to see every detail.

Her mind drew pictures of what his handsome face looked like making those noises and having an orgasm. Things suddenly erupted and his hand clamped down on her thigh as the orgasm turned fierce and it sounded like his body was being forced through a clothes wringer. Her mouth was wide open in silent, panting astonishment as this pleasure war slowly left him groaning in herbed, like a triumphant hero in the arms of exhaustion now. And all she could think about was the morning! How was she supposed to hide the evidence? She was so lovestruck. Pleasure struck. Without even looking at her face in the mirror, she felt it glowing and burning under her skin for all to see. Especially him!