Big Bad John (Bigger in Texas Series) (14 page)

God why did that sound so sexy when he said it? “Yes. Anything.”

“Anything?” His rhythm increased. “I believe you mean it. You’d let me do anything to you. Everything.” He groaned loudly. “Jesus, I love how responsive you are. How much you give me. How tight…Ah, you’re squeezing my cock so hard, baby. Do you need to come now?”

“Yes. Please John, I can’t wait anymore.”

“Come, baby.” His command was louder than she knew he’d intended, like a clap of thunder in the quiet night. “Come for me.”

She came in a wave of pure ecstasy, as if she were flying, as if she’d never land. John stiffened against her and then his thrusts grew wilder, shallower, as he lost himself to pleasure.

John. He’d planned this for her. Given her… Oh hell, he’d destroyed her for anyone else. She started to quake, tears streaming down her cheeks uncontrollably even while she continued to tremble with the seemingly never-ending ripples of her powerful climax.

She looked to where the men had been and they were gone. Probably inside one of their rooms to finish what they’d started. She hoped so. Everyone deserved to feel this good.

He murmured sweet, soothing words she could hardly understand as he swiftly and masterfully removed her bindings, finally reaching for her cuffs. When she was free she turned in his arms and pressed her face against his still buttoned shirt. She was devastated, and he was still fully dressed.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he said softly, pressing his lips against her hair. “I’ve got you.”

He carried her to the truck as if she were a doll, covering her with a blanket he pulled from behind the seat, leaving her only long enough to retrieve the rope, her clothes and the cuffs before joining her. He held her hand tightly as he drove them back to his house.

She leaned her head against the leather seat and cried. She’d heard about this—seen it happen to other people at the club—but she’d never had this kind of rush, this strong a release. He had barely played her-this was nothing like…but it was everything. It was too much.

This was different.
It was John
.

Somehow he got them inside and took off his boots before slipping the blanket from her shoulders, and then, still fully clothed, stepping with her into the shower. She chuckled through her tears, reaching up to unbutton his shirt. He peeled it off and let it drop to the floor, pulling her back into his arms and rocking her beneath the warm, soothing jets of water.

“Talk to me, Trudy.” He held her tighter. “Tell me what you need.”

“This,” she answered honestly. “This works.”

Just this. His strong arms around her. Had she ever felt so safe? So protected and cared for? Not for as long as she could remember. It was frightening, how good this was. How right. It had only been a few days, but the idea of leaving him behind was already distressing. It was the emotions of the moment. Her reaction to the rope. What she’d witnessed. That had to be it.

Eleven more days.

“Do we have any more of that wine?” She pressed her lips against his chest, before forcing herself to step away, out of his arms. “I think I need a few minutes in here and then I’ll come join you.”

John hesitated, looking down at her until she met his gaze. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He let her go reluctantly and stepped, sopping wet, out of the shower. “Don’t stay in too long, okay?”

Her smile was wobbly. “I won’t, I promise.”

He stripped, carrying his wet clothes and hers out of the bathroom, leaving her alone. Trudy pressed her forehead against the tile.

What a mess she was. Nothing this good could last. Eleven more days. She only had eleven more days.

***

John started the washer and walked naked to the kitchen for the wine, lost in thought.  They’d turned a corner, he could feel it. She was struggling with it, but she was letting down her guard, giving herself to him. And it was exactly what he wanted and more.
She
was exactly what he wanted.

She always had been.

He could see that the years had changed her a little. She was stronger now, obviously more aware of who she was. She’d also had some disappointments as well as some pretty damn admirable successes, and they’d changed her too. Life had happened to Trudy Adams while she was away, and while a large part of John wished he could have shielded her from it, the person she was now wouldn’t have wanted him to. He respected her. He liked her.

Hell, he was falling in love with her all over again.

And the sex…

He poured her glass of wine with hands that still shook with the memory of how unbelievable it had been. He was a fucking teenager when it came to her, unable to resist her round curves and tight—

John swore as his cock stirred. She was still coming down from that, and the last thing she needed was him diving on her again. No matter how much he wanted to.

This was more than that. He wanted to tell her but he’d never been good with words. If he were, she would have known where his heart was years ago. He could have wooed her. Romanced her.

He grabbed a beer for himself and headed toward the music room. He’d kept that door closed the last time she had a tour of the house. He wasn’t sure why. Or maybe he hadn’t been ready to admit what was now so pathetically obvious. He’d built this place for her.

What a sad song that would be. Sadder than the original Big John’s ballad of woe. He was no hero who died at the end saving lives, just a man waiting what seemed like a lifetime for the woman of his dreams to come home. To stay. To build the family he’d always wanted but never had.

He went to the piano, hardly noticing the shelves of music or the guitar and amplifiers he’d collected over the years. This was his. Whenever he got in a mood and he couldn’t go out in the heat and work it off, he came here and played. For her.

His fingers caressed the keys and he closed his eyes, starting to play a sad, bluesy tune he remembered from his misspent youth. He could still feel the crush of people, see the smoke-filled room making the lights hazy. That one man alone on stage, pouring his heart into his music, not caring if anyone else could hear.

He didn’t miss a beat when he heard her voice. “John, that’s beautiful. I didn’t know you played.”

He kept his eyes closed. “Learned this from an old man in New Orleans. He had the soul of a poet, the patience of a saint and the dangerous habit of making bets he couldn’t cover.”

The warmth of her body tempted him as she sat down beside him on the piano bench. He opened his eyes. She was wearing one of his shirts. God, she was beautiful. And looking at him as if she’d never seen him before.

“I do more than make barbecue sauce and keep your brother out of trouble, Trudy Adams. Don’t look so surprised.”

“I can see that,” she murmured, looking down as his hands moved effortlessly across the keys. “I’ve always wanted to go to New Orleans.”

John scoffed. “You aren’t missing much. The music is available on mp3 and I can make a mean Hurricane. The rest of those memories I can do without.”

She inched closer. “They’re bad then?”

He knew she wanted to know. She deserved to, and she was right, there was very little about her family he wasn’t aware of. Fair was fair. “There’s not much more to share on the childhood. Taught myself to read, tried to hustle or work, if I could. When I sprouted up overnight, I met a man who gave me steady work with good pay. A bookie by trade who thought I’d be the right incentive for his clients who didn’t feel like paying up. He was right.”

Trudy gasped. “You were a—like in the movies? The guy who breaks people’s fingers?”

John chuckled, but there wasn’t any humor in it. He didn’t like to think about it. That wasn’t him. Not who he wanted to be. “Nothing that glamorous or violent. I only used force when absolutely necessary, and I made sure I wasn’t the man in charge of last chances. But I was okay with it then. People being afraid of me. It was the only thing I knew, and I felt lucky. I had the opportunity to pay for classes and take my GED. And for a while I thought I had it pretty good.”

“Why did you leave?”

He’d been waiting for this. He struggled to explain it. To find the words. “I had to choose between hurting someone I knew and respected, someone not capable of defending himself, or taking the punishment in his place. I made my decision, and then I left. I realized that just because I had the strength to hurt didn’t mean I had to use it outside of self-defense. That patience more than brute force was what I needed to strive for to get where I wanted to go. To get what I wanted out of life.”

Maybe that’s why he always played the old man’s song when he was low. As a reminder. Or a punishment. He wasn’t sure.

“Your strength saved my father from becoming another drunk driving statistic.” Trudy placed her hand on his biceps, caressing his bare skin. “And you’ve used it, along with your impressive patience, a dozen times to keep this place going. To keep my brother from selling the land that’s been in our family for four generations on impulse. To become a man people know they can rely on.”

John stopped playing, looking down at her hand as his muscles flexed instinctively at her touch. “Jefferson isn’t always as irresponsible as he leads people to believe. And
I’ve
learned I don’t have nearly as much patience as I thought. Right now I don’t think I can wait to know if you’re touching me out of pity, if you want to go back to the main house and forget our arrangement now that you know what I was. What I’ve done.”

Trudy lowered her slender brows and shook her head, her curls damp around her somber features. She looked so sad. For him? “I don’t pity you, John. I’m in awe. You’ve made more with less than—” She ran a hand through her hair and her eyes sparkled with emotion. “I may not have had every advantage, but I had a home, my brother, and some support…and I was never satisfied. I went off to show everyone. To be famous, not because it would make me love singing any more or less, but because then they would be sorry. My father for chasing her away and letting her take his happiness with her. The town for talking about her behind her back. It took me years to realize that. Sure, I wanted—
needed
—to get away from this town. There were a million reasons. But making them sorry was the only one that mattered.”

For her mother. John understood. He’d had enough late-night drinking sessions with Jefferson to know that every one of them—including Matt Adams—had been scarred by her absence. He privately thought Trudy had gotten the worst of the whole situation—the lone girl everyone watched, wondering how far the apple fell from the tree.

“And you have shown them. Look at what you’ve done. Your fans. And now…” He swallowed the sharp pain his encouraging words were causing him. “Now you’ve been offered this tour. A contract. Your dreams are coming true. You’re not like her.”

Trudy dropped her hand and crossed her arms in a protective move that hurt his heart. “Others might disagree with you, but no, I’m not. Not in the ways that matter. I know that because she’s a drug addict. She left us to be a star in a few X-rated movies and allow herself to be treated like trash. And the worst part? She wasn’t even sorry when I told her who I was. She didn’t even recognize me.” She forced out a pained laugh. “Sometimes I wish I hadn’t found her. Then I wouldn’t be wondering whether I should secretly sabotage my brother’s great adventure or tell him the truth about his mother before he has the same rude awakening. Because if he goes to L.A. he’s a lot more likely to find out.”

He ached for her. It was pure instinct that made him pick her up and take her to his leather recliner, where he set her on his lap and rocked her close to his heart.

“I’m sorry.” She lifted her head, trying to smile as she wiped fresh tears from her cheeks. “This probably wasn’t where you envisioned this night going.”

John lifted his hand, gently pushing hers away as he caressed her cheek, drying the dampness there with his thumb. “You’re in my arms. It’s going exactly the way I wanted it to.”

She sighed, staring at him for a long, silent moment before leaning forward and gently skimming her lips over his. His grip on her face tightened reflexively. Her kiss destroyed him. Tender and vulnerable. Searching.

In that moment—before she pulled him down to the floor and begged him to take her—he knew he couldn’t let her go again. Couldn’t spend the next ten years without her in his life. Was there ever any part of him that thought he could?

But how could he ask her to stay, when everything she wanted was somewhere else?

Trudy rolled over and punched the pillow aggressively. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, her restless mind going over all the things that had happened this past week. Over all the things John had done with her, and to her. Over the fact that the days were speeding by and soon she’d be taking her rental car back and flying home to her small apartment in West Hollywood.

But what she thought about most were the reasons why John might have left her at the door of the main house last night with nothing more than a chaste kiss and a “Sleep well, baby.”

Was he pulling back? Did he realize, like she had, that one of their two weeks was over? Did he still want her?

Yes. She knew the answer. He’d shown her how much in a thousand different ways, with every glance and every touch. And for a man who never seemed to have much to say, he’d been generous with his compliments. Generous with his desires.

She sighed and picked up the cell phone beside her bed to check the time. Three o’clock in the morning. Of course it was. The witching hour. Or more accurately, the worst time in the world to call a man up and ask him what he was feeling—why he hadn’t bent you over the table and spanked and bitten and fucked you until you screamed, the way he did the night before.

She’d send him a text. He’d get it in the morning, and if it was something he wanted to talk about, he would. She turned on the light and squinted at the lettered numbers.

“Wondering if we’re still good,” she muttered aloud as she typed with her thumb. “Hope so…smiley face.”