Chapter 18
ALLYSON
There’s a loud rumble of an engine coming closer, but the noise that draws my attention is the purring in Bruce’s chest beneath my palm.
“Should we . . . I don’t know, get up? Sounds like someone’s coming.
” I know it’s one hundred percent what I should be doing, jumping up and righting my clothes, but I’m so floaty and dreamy in this post-orgasmic haze.
At least my bra’s zipped and my tank is back on, I think distantly.
Good Lord, it’s been years since I’ve come like that, and I’m not exactly bad at using my favorite vibrator.
But even with its ungodly amount of horsepower, it’s got nothing on Bruce’s fingers .
. . or his tongue . . . or his cock, if I remember correctly.
I wonder what new tricks he has up his sleeve these days and realize I am in so much trouble.
He’s talking about making me ‘his’ again, and I heard that proud caveman grunt when he said ‘mine.’ That alone should send me running for the hills as fast as my legs can carry me. So why am I still sitting here?
He’s bossy, that I know. But it’s in an oddly respectful way that doesn’t set off every alarm bell I have in my body. He sets off some sirens, but it’s mostly the good ones, the really good ones.
“We’ve got about thirty more seconds until they’re close enough to see us, and I’m using every one of them in case you go skittish on me again.
I want as much of you as I can get.” He grinds his still-rigid cock against my core, and I moan, forgetting to argue that I’m not skittish.
Nervous maybe, wary definitely, but I’m not some jumpy, on-edge runner.
Or am I?
Deciding to do some self-analyzation on that at a time where I don’t have Bruce underneath me, I smirk at him. Challenge accepted. “Count it down, then.”
He blinks slowly in confusion, and I give him two heartbeats to start counting, even if he doesn’t know why. “Thirty, twenty-nine . . . fuck, Al, what are you doing?” He groans as I move my hips, fucking him through our clothes.
My shorts are so soaked, I’m probably leaving traces of my juices on his jeans and I don’t care in the slightest. He grips my thighs, not stopping me but not guiding me either, just letting me ride him however I want.
I pick up the pace, and the numbers fly from his mind as he begins cursing instead.
“Uh-uh, keep counting,” I admonish and continue my torture of us both.
I don’t know who this wanton woman is. This playfulness, this forwardness isn’t me, at least not anymore. But with Bruce, she comes out of her hidey hole, ready to be frisky and fun. I like it, even as it makes me sad that I haven’t been like this in so long.
Since Bruce. Only with Bruce.
“Ten, nine . . .” He spits the words through clenched teeth. “Fuck, Allyson. You’re gonna make me come.”
I can’t help but cry out, wanting that desperately. I’m close again too, and I want us to come together.
The engine sound quiets and I hear a voice call out instead, “Incoming!”
“Goddamn it.” Bruce grabs my ass, fingers spread wide to squeeze all of me, and pulls me against him hard and tight, grinding against me for a second before letting me go. He rests his forehead against mine, panting as his eyes bore into mine.
“Wait a fucking second, Bobby!” he calls out into the air around us. “Fucker knows exactly where we are.” His eyes are scanning the trees around us like he’s expecting Bobby to sneak attack.
The tension of being on the edge fades away slowly, the adrenalin cooling, and a sense of normalcy returns to the moment. I start to laugh lightly, but everything I’ve done hits me at once.
Did I seriously just come barreling onto Bruce’s farm to yell at him and fire him from the team?
Only to end up apologizing when he talked me down because I did actually overreact?
And then walk around all afternoon like old times and end up riding Bruce, trying to make him come in his jeans against a clock? Who the hell am I?
Yourself, a tiny voice says from a deep recess in my mind.
Is that true? Could I be this woman?
I’ve worked so hard to be even-keeled and analytical, safe and routine-oriented. But what if I’m also emotionally tumultuous, passionate, with just a dash of wild? Have I really shut myself off that much?
“Well, at least you’re both dressed this time,” Bobby drawls from behind me. There’s an undercurrent of fury, though, one I’ve never heard from him before. Bobby was always our alibi, Bruce’s best friend and brother who helped us sneak out as much as we could or sneak in whenever we had to.
I might be realizing I’m a bit wilder than I thought, but being caught astride Bruce still isn’t exactly a comfortable position. Nor is this the first time Bobby’s caught us, though the last time was a very long time ago.
My spine straightens, and I don’t look over my shoulder, staring at the tree over Bruce’s head in embarrassment instead. “Hey, Bobby, how’re you doing?”
He snorts disapprovingly. “Not as good as you two, apparently.”
Bruce looks over my shoulder, seemingly having a conversation with Bobby through dark-eyed angry scowls alone. Even I flinch, and they’re not directed at me, so surely, Bobby is cowering. “Did you need something?”
Bobby hums for a second, and I imagine he’s stroking his chin thoughtfully.
“Dinner. Mama Louise invited Allyson and Cooper . . . good kid, by the way . . . to dinner. He’s already snapping green beans at the kitchen table, so I was elected to come hunt you down to extend the invitation. Knew where you’d be.”
It almost sounds like an accusation?
“Oh, that’s so sweet,” I say politely, my manners automatic even though something’s off about the invite. I turn slightly to finally see Bobby. His eyes tick over me, but just as fast, return to Bruce, giving me a chance to do a quick scan of my own.
Bobby’s grown up too. His lanky limbs have filled out into bulges of muscles—from working on the farm, I guess—and his previously round face is all angles and shadows.
He looks like a model, and I bet he has women chasing him twenty-four seven.
Ironically, his darkly Hollywood looks do nothing for me and actually trigger a small flinch in my gut.
I don’t like pretty guys. They can hide monsters beneath the attractive facade.
Guess I like my men a bit rougher around the edges, like Bruce, where what you see is what you get. Not that Bruce is my man. Definitely not that.
He’s currently death glaring at Bobby, who’s making a damned good attempt at returning the frown. I suddenly feel like a gazelle caught between two competing lions. I know it’s the lionesses that hunt, but my mind doesn’t care about National Geographic level accuracy right now.
I sense danger, and my gut reflex is to apologize even though I’ve done nothing wrong. But I check myself and instead go to my second instinct—mitigate this, mediate it, deescalate whatever the hell’s going on.
“Or that’s not sweet?” I say, trying to figure out what’s wrong between the two boys who were the best of friends when I knew them. “We don’t have to stay if you don’t want us to.”
“It’s very kind,” Bruce reassures me, squeezing my thigh. “Here, lemme help you up, and we’ll go back to the house. You can check on Cooper while Bobby and I have a chat.”
Why do I get the feeling that chat will be done with their fists and not their tongues?
“Uh, okay.”
I move to stand and Bruce helps set me on my feet before rising from the ground himself. He adjusts his cock in his jeans with zero shame, somehow turning me on again but pissing Bobby off another degree or so.
Bobby spins on his booted foot and stomps back through the trees.
“Is everything okay?” I ask Bruce quietly. “Why’s Bobby so mad?”
Bruce squeezes my hand and sighs softly. “He was there for me through the worst of it and it was ugly as fuck. He’s got my best interests at heart and is mad at my utter lack of self-preservation.”
It hits me hard. Bobby’s not mad at Bruce.
Well, maybe a little, but mostly, he’s mad at .
. . me. Upset at the past and scared that I’m going to hurt Bruce again, worried he’ll have a repeat performance of propping him up through the heartache.
Just like Brody said. Bruce’s brothers hate me, I realize painfully.
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. It’ll be all right.” The reassurance doesn’t feel so comforting this time. I don’t want to cause problems between them, and I don’t want Bruce to tell Bobby that everything’s fine because I’m not sure it is.
I’m not sure I am.
I climb in the Gator with Bobby and Bruce anyway and head for the house. Bobby’s going too fast, getting airborne over every bump, and I have to hold on to the oh-shit handle to keep from flying out. He even skids just a little on the dry grass when he slams on the brakes at the back of the house.
“Head on in, Al. We’ll be there in a second,” Bruce tells me, his voice cold and his eyes on Bobby.
I climb out and walk in front of the vehicle. I pause, seeing their matching clenched teeth. I can’t leave them like this. I have to try. “Hey, guys, can we just agree to not kill each other? Or even harm or maim each other? That’d be a great line in the proverbial sand. Agreed?”
There’s a growl in the air, but I’m not sure which man it’s coming from. “Okay, then. I’ll take that as a no.” And like a fucking coward, I skedaddle into the house.
It feels like I’m running for safety, right up until the second the screen door closes behind me and a whole bunch of eyes turn to me. Frozen bug, pinned to the pine floor . . . yep, that’s me.
My hands clench and unfurl, tapping fingers to my thumb as I wilt under the weight of the stares, some curious and at least one unfriendly. Brody gets up in my face again.
“What’s wrong.” It should be a question. It’s definitely not.
I look behind me, worried. “Bobby hates me. I think they’re fighting it out?”