6. The Ties That Bind Us
6
The Ties That Bind Us
Billy
R evv’s crew – camera man Jaxon and sound technician Trudy – were ceremoniously awarded the afternoon off by a magnanimous Revv Ryder. When they expressed a yearning to sample the old-world, small-town charm of Moonshine, Breanna, businesswoman and best friend that she was, sent them straight to Billy’s beloved tavern.
“The Pope is the best place in Moonshine!” she told them, explaining that the pub was conveniently located at the first intersection in town, just a few kilometres down the tree-lined road they’d driven along mere hours ago. “There’s a lot of history there, with the bushrangers and the founding of Moonshine on the illegal liquor trade, but it’s best told by the publican himself, so you’ll want to get the story from Billy tonight.”
From the expression on their faces, Billy guessed Jaxon and Trudy were unsure of his ability to do anything except be a giant, menacing presence. He added a mental note to find the energy to discuss both his amputation and his business tonight, clearing his throat as though that would make the task easier.
“Meredith Leonard will be tending bar,” Bre continued, ignoring his rumbling. “She’s new but extremely capable. Tell her Breanna knows exactly how much tequila is in each bottle … and to rebutton her shirt.”
Jaxon’s head perked up.
“Speaking of shirts …” Billy started.
“You’re right.” Bre nodded, reading his mind the way she always seemed to. “And tell Meredith that Adam’s shirt is to stay ON or he’s getting kicked OUT. She’ll know who we mean.”
We . A tiny spark of hope ignited in his chest. Could Billy and Bre still be a ‘we’?
With a swift honk of the horn, the crew left for the afternoon.
Revv Ryder turned his practised smile on Breanna. “You ready?”
Of course she was. The woman was a walking, talking organisational savant. Having Revv here, filming Crank Shaft , the spotlight shining firmly on Bre’s painstakingly restored Edsel, was more than a dream for Breanna. This moment was a huge tick on her most important plan – her life-long Bucket List.
Edsel’s restoration had taken her years, and its final stage had occupied much of her time over the last few months. Now, though, Billy began to wonder if it had been a ploy to avoid him more than was strictly necessary … and to help hide her pregnancy.
He could have kicked himself for not noticing it before, the way her figure curved and swelled so invitingly. It fascinated him, the difference not just in her body, but in how she carried herself as she strode to the line of all-terrain vehicles they used on the farm.
“You know, ATVs are becoming rare on farms these days. Most folks prefer the steering wheel and seat configurations of side-by-sides to these old-fashioned quad bikes. Plus, side-by-sides are safer.” Piers grinned, “Not as fun though.”
“We’re a bit behind the times, I suppose.” Bre’s clipped tone went unnoticed.
“Can I drive?” Piers asked, already moving to where the ATVs waited.
An engine roared to life before anyone thought to respond. Clearly used to getting his way, the man spoke only to hear his own voice, and was full of frustratingly unnecessary rhetorical questions.
“Sure,” Breanna responded as Piers revved the vehicle, raring to go. “I’ll take–”
Billy slid into the seat of the second quad bike, patting the seat between his long legs. The end of Bre’s sentence was swallowed by Piers’ almighty revving. Bre shot a frustrated glare towards the celebrity, clearly remembering why his nickname had stuck.
Wiping the smile from his beard with a quick swipe of his hand, Billy watched Breanna’s bun of red hair wobble with each shake of her head. What he wouldn’t give to dive his fingers into her tresses and tug her close. Just the thought of it sent a hopeful tug straight into his trousers. Trousers he might have to abandon altogether, if only he knew where he stood with Bre … or if his mother got her way and forced the clan into their kilts.
Billy patted the seat once more, shifting slightly.
“Billy, I–”
“Bruce.” His voice left no room for argument. “We were in this together, remember?” We . His words held the weight of layered meaning, and she knew it. Plus, there was no way Billy was going to leave Breanna Henderson alone with the infamous celebrity slimeball. She’d have Revv’s balls cut off and worn as earrings if he wasn’t careful.
Sleazy as the celebrity was, he didn’t deserve to be defiled by the short, freckled redhead he had clearly underestimated. Lavishing her with almost-kisses and winks and the repeated, coquettish moniker “Breanna baby” wouldn’t get Ryder far, if Bre’s usual biting honesty had anything to do with it.
Despite his charm, it could be dangerous for Revv if Billy left them alone. It was the chivalrous thing to do, Billy told himself, to act as an escort. He conveyed all this silently through blinks and raised brows and small shakes of his head, knowing Breanna would read him like a book, while she, arms crossed, flung equally pointed looks back.
Piers turned to watch their heated, silent exchange before clarifying, “He’s coming?”
The rhetorical question grated on Billy’s last nerve. “Correct.” The word was a deep rumble. “I am not leaving.”
Billy patted the seat again, sliding back and allowing her room to swing one leg over. With a loud exhale she settled on the ATV, hands on the handlebars, scooting her backside into the most comfortable position. He felt the moment she froze, having rocked her arse back and against his groin, noting the length of him there. She paused, clearly considering, before pressing her weight back once more. Clutching just below her ribs, Billy fisted her shirt – his shirt – before bracketing her hips, noting they were slightly wider than he remembered them feeling between his long legs.
“You are a temptress,” he growled into her ear. Her body shook with one silent laugh before relaxing beneath his touch.
“You’re riding dink?” Revv huffed a laugh.
Dink . The word wasn’t uncommon, but there was something about his tone that locked Billy’s jaw tight. Perhaps it was the implication that he was less of a man, abdicating the driver’s seat to allow a woman control of the vehicle. Or perhaps it was years of dealing with the casual judgement and (usually) well-meaning bias he faced for his physical disability.
Whatever it was, Piers Ryder had firmly jabbed himself under Billy’s skin, a leather-jacket-wearing splinter that had gone too deep.
Bre must have felt the stiffening of his entire body. “ Men – honestly! Everything’s an excuse to measure your dicks. C’mon, this way.”
An awful, exquisite echo of something like hope rekindled in Billy’s stomach at her cutting words. It had often been noted by Jillian, Bre’s best female friend, that Breanna had no shame and was too honest for her own good. A bit of that old spark was back, and after a long night of her refusing to effectively communicate about her circumstances, her wishes, and how he might support her through this time of transition, here she was, letting those blessedly blunt opinions loose.
Billy’s moustache tickled his lips as he forced himself to untense his pinched expression. “Go, Bruce. Leave him in the dust.”
Piers laughed and revved the engine yet again, gravel flying as he waved to the full windows of observers.
“Just follow the line!” Bre yelled over her shoulder, zooming away from Ryder, who had turned his reflective aviators and winning smile to the children and phone cameras now demanding his attention. Quite literally leaving him in the dust, Bre’s muscles loosened beneath his fingers with every metre gained.
Piers called something about catching up, but Billy refused to hear the words, instead shrinking his entire world to the feel of his legs around Bre and the sight of the thin, loose tendrils of her hair as they whipped back and forth in fiery flashes.
Rumbling along the worn path, faintly scented with charcoal, Billy revelled in the warmth of the sun, the fresh pine on the breeze, and the heat of Breanna, solidly planted between his thighs.
After a long while, he shifted his chest forward to prop his chin onto her shoulder.
“We need to talk, Bruce.” He pressed the words into her neck, hoping the shiver rolling down her spine was one of pleasure, prompted by his words, and not a cold wave of abhorrence at his proximity. “We are open books ...”
He’d thought long and hard about the words he wanted to say, and now finally had the time and courage to voice them. “And best friends, besides. There is nothing you could do, no one you could be, or anything you could say, that would ruin our friendship.”
Bre increased the throttle, and the ATV accelerated to full speed. Crunching his abdominals and squeezing his knees, Billy managed to stay upright.
Having no right hand seemed a small infirmity most days, but when matters of balance were involved, Billy had to be quiet and concentrate – and Bre knew this all too well. Hanging on with only five fingertips, he determined to wait, nodding as they flew past rows of trees, past the blurry shapes of his brothers, one wayward child, and the occasional farm worker.
He vaguely noticed the chains adorning numerous pines that indicated pre-orders, as charcoal and sun-bleached grass crunched beneath the tyres. He’d spent less time at the farm than usual this year, having been too busy at The Pope.
The dump of a pub became his business and primary residence at the tender age of twenty. Restoring it to its former glory had taken a few years, with the help of friends and family. Billy preferred to move his own mountains, but at times, the simple sincerity of the word “please” and admissions that he required help had made a vast difference.
Just months into his ownership, Moonshine’s favourite watering hole had begun to flourish once again. With its new staff and old drunks, he’d been so engrossed in the business for years now that he’d missed the subtle changes in his best friend.
Simply having her close by was a comfort he’d taken for granted, whether she was at her garage or at the tavern. Hell, even when they worked together at The Pope, he rarely saw her. She was too busy managing birthday parties in the attached bistro, hosting events in the courtyard whiskey bar, or whirling around his bulk, behind the bar serving patrons.
They’d been so busy … too busy … and somehow he’d missed the signs – the tiredness and her sudden aversion to certain smells. The cravings she’d had for pizza every night they ended up in his private rooms resuming their friends-with-benefits relationship. The frequency of those liaisons had increased over the past year or so, then all but stopped when she’d become ‘too busy’ prepping for the arrival of Piers Ryder.
It hadn’t seemed strange at the time, but now, as he slid his hand gently around Bre’s belly, he pondered how he could have ignored so much, for so long.
Billy had never considered himself a self-obsessed man, but perhaps he had more in common with Revv than he’d thought, if he hadn’t been able to see two feet in front of himself these past few months; if he hadn’t really noticed her. “Bruce … Breanna. Can we talk about-”
His words – and Bre’s sudden engagement of the brake – had them skidding to a halt outside the garage. Dust clouded around them, briefly obscuring the solid wooden building and its cheerful red door.
“What do you want from me, Billy? An apology?” She turned, eyeing him over her shoulder, and the kookaburras fell silent at her outburst. The dust drifted slowly downwards, much like Billy’s jaw. Hendersons did not apologise. Sliding his hand from her stomach, he ran it instead through the length of his dark hair, unsure how to proceed.
“I’m sorry, Billy,” Bre continued, “for not telling you the truth straight away. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. And I’m sorry for not telling you about Piers …”
Her gaze wandered down the scorched boundary line before drifting over to the Henderson side, then back to him. Hell must have been freezing over as she spewed her frustrated requests for forgiveness.
But as swiftly as the words came, they left, and Hell heated back up to its typically fiery Christmas-Down-Under temperature.
“I just … I don’t see why things have to change ... between us, I mean …” She moved to grip his forearm as he dismounted from the ATV, but he managed to evade her. “Wait, Billy! Hear me out. I think I’ve ruined everything – ruined us. But all I want is for things to be normal. We had a plan, and I know I’m fat and not exactly fuckable right now …” She reached for him again. This time, her fingertips seared his skin, marking him deeper than the tapestry of tattoos spread across his body.
“Don’t touch me, Bruce –” Billy’s voice was strained, “– because if you do ...” If his voice got any darker, midnight itself would spew from his lips. He knew how threatening he sounded, but couldn’t stop himself from grinding the words out, deep and low.
They both knew he wanted her touch more than a kid wants presents under the tree, but he needed to warn her. “It is taking all of my control not to grab you, to press you up against whatever hard surface is closest and rip your clothes off because you are … always have been, and always will be … completely fuckable.” He ran a shaking palm down his beard. “I’ve only got one hand, Bruce. Literally HALF a chance at managing to hold myself back. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
“What’s hard? This?” Her hand dipped indecently, fantastically low. Despite the barrier, his body knew her touch. Craved it and responded immediately. What he wouldn’t give for the damned kilt now, to flick the fabric back and feel her, skin to skin.
She moved, watching him suck in a sharp breath as she told him, “I want you to touch me. I want things to be normal between us. And you want it too … right?” She pressed her hand harder against the seam of his jeans, and he nearly growled like the feral he was.
He’d always been feral for her, hungrily gobbling up whatever scraps of affection she offered, insatiable, and unwilling to ask for more than whatever she offered in the heat of the moment, for the same reason she shared now – for the sake of their friendship. But what was a friendship, whether it included naked liaisons or was completely platonic, without honesty? She used to give him the courtesy of truthfulness. Now …
“Wanna know what the absolute worst part of being pregnant is, Billy?”
He grunted in response, unable or unwilling to say more and shatter this fragile, surreal moment in which Breanna was expressing regret, possibly for the first time in her life, with the hard weight of his cock pressed into her hand.
“The worst thing is … I’m horny .” The words fell from her lips to his as she pressed further into him. “All. The. Time.”
He should be more mindful of what he wished for. He wanted truth from her, but this admission might just force him to burst. Inhaling sharply, Billy forced her hand to still, gripping her petite fingers in his own larger ones, holding tight.
“Bruce …”
“Billy … Please …”
Who was he kidding? He could never deny her, deny them. His hand still circling her wrist, he led her with long strides to the cherry red garage door. Ripping it open, he stalked past car after car, Bre matching his pace with two quick steps to his one. He pulled her past Edsel and through the little door that led to her office, whirling to slam it closed as soon as she’d entered behind him. Hand propped on the frame, he dipped his forehead down to meet hers, deftly sliding the latch he’d personally installed. It warned in bold red font: Occupied .
The soft, hope-filled curl of her lips was so familiar and warm, he nearly melted at the sight of it as he pressed her against the locked door. The freckle on her top lip disappeared as his mouth eclipsed hers. Longing, strong and pure, surged through him, the remaining space between them banished from existence. Curling into her body, he cherished the weight of her, admiring her new curves, and loving how readily she responded to him.
Bre hadn’t been lying about her physical state. He’d seen her lustful before, let her take out those frustrations and needs with free use of his body, but he’d never seen her quiver like she did now, or demand more from him, quicker, harder, now, now, now. Words – blessed words – nonsensical as they were, tumbled from her lips. He wanted to bathe in them, soak them into himself, feeling everything between them finally click from wrong to right.
His old Mighty Ducks shirt lifted easily over her head, discarded somewhere in the room beyond as his teeth bit at her bra, tugging it southward.
Bre moaned and whimpered, each roll of her body against his begging for more. The ghost of his right hand reached for her, caressing and gripping. Billy’s brain filled in every gap between them, real or imagined. Frenzied didn’t come close to describing it, the way their bodies sought each other like the night drew out the stars.
A half-opened box of Christmas decorations lay open on the end of her desk. Pushing it aside, he swung Bre bodily from the door, sitting her at the edge of the worn industrial bench as baubles and glittery things raced around his feet, covering the floor in festivity. Finding a length of tinsel, he dragged it slowly across the table.
“Hands.” The word was guttural.
Her wrists, held out in offering, were quickly bound.
“I meant it,” he said, wedging his thigh between her legs. “No touching, or else.” Dragging her mouth closer once more, he luxuriated in the taste of her, sharp orange juice and sweet oat biscuits. He could have basked in the sweetness of her mouth all day. But her body wasn’t sweet. It was needy and savage, a carnal beast with its own mind.
She rocked against him, seeking friction, writhing, kissing, needing, wanting.
Gripping the tinsel tied around her wrist, he dragged her arms up slowly, before looping them over his neck. She gripped the base of his skull, the shaggy hair she found there, hauling him closer.
“God, Bre.” The words escaped like a prayer. A thanks for bounty he was yet to receive, but desperately wanted. For the return of the person he recognised, not the strange, stuttering woman who’d stood in his room last night, then lay in his bed, consumed by a silence he’d never known from her.
Uncertainty flashed over her face, so briefly he nearly missed it. His throat constricted. Would that stranger return? They needed to talk, yes. There were questions that needed answering and plans to be made – if she hadn’t already constructed elaborate colour-coordinated, dot-pointed enumerates.
“Take what you need, Bre.” He kissed her nose, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I’ve got you, honey.” I’ll always have you.
Now was about her, the way her eyes glazed and her mouth hung open. Now was about all the ways they didn’t need words, their bodies communicating in a language of their own, perfected over years.
Her soft whimper was pure delight, hips rolling as she surged forward, straddling his thigh. Bre’s mouth had always been a fascination – the way her truth flowed freely and she didn’t hold back. But when she let her body do the talking … He loved that even more.
Bre’s hands clutched at his neck and his hair, fingers digging in, swirling through the dark strands and over tattoos that disappeared into his shirt, spreading to places her hands couldn’t reach right now. The sensation thrilled him as she rocked higher and higher.
“Billy, I …” Her nails dug into his scalp.
He watched, awed. She was close. So close, so fast. Whether it was the long, wiry hairs of his beard she tugged, or the shaggy brown hair that fell into his eyes, her hair-pulling was always a precursor to climax.
“Use me, honey.” Don’t overthink this now, not when everything seems to be back on track ... “I’ve got you.”
The bench protested as they moved, desperate and demanding, needing to be closer. The tinsel binding her hands scratched at his neck, but he didn’t care. Another time, he’d strip her bare and use this tinsel as a sexy feather boa, slowly tugging it across her shoulders; he’d watch it fall over the tips of her breasts, just to see her nipples perk in response. He’d make her stand, legs apart, and run the sparkling string between her thighs just to watch her squirm ... at least, if he had two hands, he might have accomplished that. Perhaps he’d need his teeth … again …
Bre’s nails dug deeper and with a wicked little grin, he mentally filed all the wicked thoughts were filed away. Gathering Bre closer, he dragging her higher up his thigh. The damp warmth that lay between her legs was a blessing and a curse as her fingers tightened in his hair. She clung to him, writhing, maddening in those thin, stretchy pants that barely existed between them, existing only for blessed friction.
The round ball of her belly pressed firmly against his abdomen, and he marvelled – as he always did – how such a vocal little person could become so quiet in the midst of passion.
He wasn’t a monk. He’d watched porn, much of it with Breanna right beside him. He’d seen women pant and scream on screen, full of lewd sounds and foul words, but Bre wasn’t like that. He’d always appreciated how she kept their liaisons quietly and wholly theirs.
Screaming sounded hot on screen, but no one wanted their neighbours from three farms down bursting in, rifle or axe in hand, assuming someone was being murdered.
Billy, on the other hand, wanted to roar. He needed to let loose the wildness inside him that was usually firmly leashed. He wanted to shake the gates of Heaven with his pleasure, whenever they entered the ‘benefits’ part of their friendship. He didn’t, though, for fear of scaring this fierce, beautiful creature. Also, because most of their trysts occurred at his parents’ home, during a busy, family-friendly Christmas, where roaring sexual releases were, thankfully, uncommon. He did have three older brothers, however, plus his father and grandfather. When they were all under one roof, accidents occasionally happened, resulting in incessant teasing the morning after.
“Where are you?” Bre’s voice broke through his thoughts about the more primal aspects of manhood, hands on either side of his face as she locked eyes with him. “Come back to me … Please, Billy.” Her voice warbled. “I need you.”
“Here, Bre.” He gripped her neck, pulling her close. “Here. Always. You need me? Use me, honey.”
Weaving her hands through his hair, she dragged him closer, before letting out an almighty grunt as, in one hard tug, she broke free of the tinsel ties, dragging her hands down his neck and chest, fumbling at his crotch. “Clothes off.”
Chest heaving and lips swollen, the way she switched speeds – the slow tug of the zipper rolling down while grinding herself against him – might have been one of the sexiest things he’d experienced.
Why hadn’t they done this already? He struggled to remember. He could watch her all day, flushed and panting, moving against him. His cock strained for freedom as the zipper finally stopped and she worked to release his length, greedy, needing.
Seizing her hand he brought it to his mouth, kissing her palm before urging her hips higher. There was only her and him and now, push and pull, kissing and –
Bre near pulled the hair from his scalp as she spasmed and shook, teeth digging into his shoulder as she rode out wave after wave, soft little sounds filling his ears, just for him. He marvelled at her blushing cheeks, heaving breasts, the way her dazed hazel eyes found his, startled, like she hadn’t anticipated any of this, but refused to apologise for it, either.
“Damn, Bruce,” he murmured, “that was …” He gripped her chin between two fingers, breathing heavily himself, as she extricated her hands from his hair, slowly, staring at her fingers as though they’d suddenly turned into candy canes.
She shuddered once more against him, mouth opening and closing, eyes wide, lost for words – a state Breanna Henderson rarely found herself in, until recently.
“Hello?” Revv Ryder’s voice demanded an answer, as if this wasn’t the first time he’d called.
“Piers!” Bre called too loudly, snapping back to reality. “Just a sec!”
Billy lowered Bre to the ground as she hastily fanned her face and tugged her shirt – his shirt – down over her flushed skin.
“Just getting the lights!” she called, flicking the dodgy switch. The fluorescents flickered once, twice, before crackling to life, bathing everything in harsh, too-white light that deftly snatched him from a dream-like state.
Casting a small, bewildered smile over her shoulder Bre unlatched the door, the lock now proclaiming: Vacant . That was how he felt, as she pressed her forehead against the doorframe, eyes squeezed shut.
He saw her struggle, forcing herself to continue, the woman he’d known all these years slowly returning before his eyes.
“I know we still need to–”
“HELLO?”
She shook her head in Revv’s direction.
“If I’m going to survive this, I need you, Billy …” Her words trailed off as she slipped into the main garage.
At the last second, his hand caught hers. Turning slowly, she offered a shy smile.
“Tonight,” he told her. “We can talk tonight.” The tone of his voice brooked no argument.
With a tiny nod, she left the room, walking towards another man.
Billy watched through the half-window, manoeuvring his painfully hard erection into the band of his underwear, hoping to hell he could get his body under control before he had to join them.
Revv Ryder’s voice floated through the door. “So, what’s this Christmas Pickle all about?”
He didn’t hear Bre’s response, but he did hear Revv’s too-loud, too-confident reply, dripping with implication: “So you can unwrap any present?” His laugh filtered through the door just as Billy had finished composing himself. “Breanna, baby,” he drawled, “if I find the ornament, can I unwrap you ?”