Chapter 13
Bronc
The griddle hissed like a cornered snake when the batter hit for the first pancake, butter screaming into smoke.
I counted twelve bubbles forming before flipping, military precision surviving another night of her teeth in my shoulder.
Through the lace curtain’s bullet-hole patterns, morning light caught the raised skin around Juliet’s fresh claiming mark.
The bite on her shoulder, a molten ridge of demarcation warning every male that she belongs to me.
She sat cross-legged in last night’s oversized shirt, cotton stretched thin where my hands had roughly pulled it from her body.
Golden waves framed her angelic face, such a contrast from the harsh dyed black disguise that she’d worn weeks ago when I’d picked her up at the bus station.
When she reached for the syrup, the shirt sleeve fell back to reveal four fading fingerprint bruises flowering along her wrist. My left hand twitched in remembered barely constrained passion.
“Still takin’ your eggs fried?” I asked, sliding the plate across the quartz countertops. Our breakfast ritual: me playing short-order cook, her playing civilized. The lie lasted three seconds before her pinky finger hooked mine under the plate’s edge, nail digging crescent moons into my calluses.
Her coffee sent up smoke signals between us, steam curling around the almost glowing bite on her neck. I watched moisture bead along the scar I’d given her, resisting the urge to lick it clean. Her accountant’s voice cut through the breakfast ritual.
“Section 6A of the parts invoices.” A syrup-sticky finger tapped last week’s ledger. “Someone’s double-charging brake fluid.”
I’d turned to tend the pancakes. The spatula froze mid-flip. Three drops of batter hit the floor like raindrops. I made my eyes stay on the perfect golden circle cooking instead of the V of tanned skin disappearing into her shirt. “How much?”
“Enough to buy a Harley carburetor monthly.” Her mug clicked against the quartz, brown eyes tracking my reaction in the stainless steel fridge door. “Cash transactions from the Thursday rallies don’t match garage receipts.”
I killed the burner, knuckles white around the skillet handle.
The kitchen’s familiar sounds took on a new edge—the ice maker’s rattle becoming ammunition belts feeding, the wall clock’s tick transforming into a countdown timer.
Her bare foot brushed my thigh beside the counter.
That someone was actively betraying me tasted bitter on my tongue.
It was a constant fight to control my wolf.
“You slept through the coyotes’ 3 AM serenade,” I deflected, pouring creamer in her freshened cup of coffee to cover my frustration. The spoon made slow circles—two clockwise, one counter, a suppressed memory of clearing Fallujah houses.
Her snort held more wolf than she knew, taking the cup from me in one hand. “You mean after you wore me out?” Claw-sharp fingernails of the other dragged across the invoice. “This skimming’s been happening since Skeeter took over parts inventory I think. But there were other things prior.”
Coffee boiled acid in my gut. I catalogued her tells: left eyelid twitch, right thumb pressing hard against the mug’s crack, the way her new hair color made her cheekbones look dangerous. My fork sketched battle lines in congealing egg yolks.
When she rose to refill my coffee, the shirt rode up to reveal twin bruises from my thumbs. The ledger fell open to pages marked with oil smears and what might’ve been blood. I caught her wrist mid-pour, coffee cascading over our joined hands.
“Shit, sorry, darlin’,” I murmured, licking bitter droplets from her knuckles. Her pulse jumped like a live wire under my tongue. The ledger numbers blurred into insignificance against her scent—ginger, burned sugar, and jasmine shampoo. Last night’s sweat still clung between her breasts.
Her free hand found the fresh scar under my shirt collar where she gave a lick. “You taste like panic and pancakes.”
The admission cost us both. I bit her thumb in retaliation, tasting copper and financial fraud. Somewhere beyond the kitchen’s false calm, at least one person in my pack was betraying me. But here in the syrup-smeared dawn, amidst greasy ledgers, I held a treasure in my arms.
Noisy dishes clattered into the sink as I lifted her onto the cool quartz counter. Her arms automatically circled my neck. At this height, her eyes could almost meet mine.
“What are we doing, Alpha? Thought the shop needed to open.”
I spoke against her lips. “Shop opens when I say it opens.” My tongue plunged in, meeting hers. “Fuck if you don’t taste like the sweetest honey, Luna.” Her tiny growl went straight to my cock. “Want to eat you. Lap up every drop of you.”
Juliet’s hips rocked back and forth on the countertop.
“Lay back, Juliet.” The words were a command.
“Are you really going to do this?” The rhetorical question dropped from her lips.
“What a fucking little actress you are, Juliet. Pretending you don’t want me to.” As she lay back propped up on her elbows, eyes not leaving mine. I ripped off the tiny panties she was wearing, finding her wet and wanting.
“Now, I need your legs spread as wide as you can get them. I can already see how your pussy glistens, beautiful. Fuck if it’s not the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen, apart from your face, that is.” My fingers ran through her wetness, and her ass jolted up as much as it could.
“Bronc, please don’t tease me.”
Our bond hummed with our desire. I’d never felt such a heightened sense of carnal lust mixed with genuine emotion for anyone. I wanted only to please her, to make her happy.
Lifting her thighs under my forearms, I pulled her to me, raising her ass up in the air.
Her pussy rose to meet my mouth. Fucking God, if ever there was ambrosia, this was it.
Tongue stabbing at her opening I dove in.
My lips working in harmony, touching every inch of her. Kissing, sucking, licking.
The sounds she made were like the sweetest song. They sang through our bond as well.
Teasing her clit with my tongue was my new favorite thing. “Fuck Juliet. I could eat you morning, noon, and night and still not be satisfied.” I flattened my tongue and moved my head back and forth. Juliet’s hands were in my hair, pulling enough to sting.
“Please, Bronc. I’m so close.”
I eased her down so I could add my fingers to the mix.
“Keep your eyes on me, Juliet.” She was on the edge of the counter, so I scooted her ever so slightly back as she raised up.
“I want you to watch me as I make you come. Watch me eat your beautiful pussy. See me take every drop you have to give me.” Her eyes followed me as I lapped at her.
She started to throw her head back in ecstasy.
“Don’t you do it, Juliet. Eyes on me.” I plunged my tongue inside her sopping pussy as her hands reached into my hair, pulling me closer.
Then, I flattened my tongue and swirled it around her swollen clit until she exploded into a beautiful release all over my mouth.
Her body writhed with as much control as she could muster.
The way she shouted my name is something I’ll never tire of hearing. As she came down from her climax, I gently sucked and cleaned her and lifted her into my arms. A heart filled with profound satisfaction at pleasing my mate was my reward.
A quick shower and we were ready for work.
The Road King ate gravel like it owed us money.
Juliet’s thighs vise-gripped the saddlebags.
Oh yeah, we’d fuck on this bike the first chance we got.
I throttled past Pearl’s neon sign. I knew everyone would smell her on me before we hit the shop doors.
Her fingers walked up my ribs under my cut, accountant nails finding the scab from where she’d clawed through my shoulder blades.
The shop exhaled burnt rubber and betrayal as we rolled in.
The lights glowed bright enough to find whatever was hiding.
Menace’s doing. He’d retrofitted the old airplane hangar with prison-grade lighting that made everyone look guilty.
Juliet’s heel caught in floor grating meant for oil runoff.
Her stumble transformed into a predatory crouch that showed off the knife she’d stolen from my boot.
“Get to work on those ledgers.” I growled, throwing her the office keys that jingled like Marine dog tags.
She moved through the partition of wrenches hanging in size order, past the bulletin board papered with local takeout menus.
Skeeter’s shadow detached from the parts cage, all nicotine fingers and guilty shoulders.
Her office area reeked of Windex and motor oil.
I watched through the greasy window as she spread invoices like tarot cards, lips moving over part numbers like she was committing them to memory.
When the air compressor kicked on, she startled, momentary vulnerability before the calculator’s click-click-click lulled her back into familiar territory.
Skeeter materialized with a camshaft that didn’t need fixing. “She’s workin’ hard.” His chuckle sprayed chewing tobacco on my boot.
“Yep.” I palmed a ball-peen hammer, testing its heft. “She’s going through a couple of bookkeeper’s worth of files. She’ll be feeding discrepancies to my wolf.”
The lie curdled as Juliet’s red pen circled something fatal. She’d pinned her hair with a pencil, tendrils framing her beautiful face. When our eyes met through the glass, she mouthed “love you” with scarlet lips that still shone from my mouth’s attention.