Their Ex's Redrock Dawn (Texas Alpha Biker) (5 page)

“Here’s your key, lady,” Mohawk said to the woman.

Zeb frowned. He sure hoped her old man was with her, but then why wasn’t the a-hole in there at her side?

Miss Apple Bottom said, “If you see that man around in the picture I showed to you, I’ll give you twenty dollars to call my room.”

“Oh yeah, lady—” Mohawk started to say.

She interrupted him, “Call me Coco, and I really need to find him.” Her hand with manicured fingernails patted Mohawk’s hand. Mohawk looked at her like maybe she was inviting him to bed, and Zeb watched her quickly remove her hand to step back.

When she continued to turn, he stepped back and she hit him with troubled brown eyes. Miss Coco Suburbia was a looker, in a really high-maintenance way, which he did not appreciate. He liked more natural and less gloss, but she would turn his gaze to watch her hips swinging out of the door in those heels.

Damn.

“You get much high heels in here?” Zeb asked the desk clerk.

Mohawk barked a laugh. “Only legs-in-the-air kind for fifty, not really like that fancy piece.”

Zeb thought so as he moved to the counter. “Give me the room next to hers.”

Mohawk eyed him, but made no comments on that as he worked the deal and Zeb fished out his credit card. “Give me your weekly rate,” he told the clerk. Then when he had his key, he asked, “You the owner?”

The clerk frowned, shaking his head. “Naw, Finn’s off for a few days.”

“He around, though?” Zeb asked.

More head shaking. Hell, Zeb wanted the owner involved in the crap gang hanging in the parking lot.

Zeb left after that meaningful conversation, and he saw that should-not-be-there Coco was trying to lug a suitcase out of the back of a Camry. Talk about suburb; that car reeked of it. He bypassed his bike and stalked to her, while giving the lowlifes paying too much attention to her a death stare. Yeah, he could call it that and he meant it. They believe it too, turning their gazes.

“Ma’am, let me help you,” he said, arriving at the trunk of her car, where she was trying unsuccessfully to twist her huge suitcase out.

“It’s nice of you,” she replied, with the strain in her voice of trying to lift the suitcase. “But I can get it.”

Zeb shook his head, reached over her shoulder, and with one hand grabbed the other side of her monstrous luggage, did a twist and lifted it free. It tugged his forearm muscle, but he still lifted it right over her head. She turned, following the suitcase with raised arms and her eyes wide.

“No, really!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want some unknown man’s help.”

He liked her spunk—she wasn’t a pushover, but—

“It’s me or them,” he told her, tilting his head toward the gang of thugs paying too much attention. She glanced at them, then got worried, as he said, “I’ll get your bag to your room, they’ll think I got your back. Then I’ll split.”

Her arms lowered as she eyed him uncertainly, while he lowered the suitcase to where he could carry it by its handle. Then she nodded. “All right, just to the door.”

“Ma’am.” He nodded, politely as he could. He might look rough, but his grandma taught him manners way back, with a little military polish thrown in there.

She turned and reached back into her trunk for another bag, much smaller, while he wondered how she could need another one. He shook his head again.

“Zeb Andersen,” he told her when she turned back to him. “You got any more in there?”

She barely held back a tolerant smile, as if she’d had men exasperated at her before and she bore it with good humor. “Coco Maxwell, Mr. Andersen, and no, that’s all I need brought in tonight.”

Which meant she did have more in the darker recess of her trunk. He stepped back and gestured for her to go ahead of him, then he turned his head until he could glare at the men still hanging on the bed of the pick-up truck. They sure liked that truck, he thought. He wondered what kind of shit went down around there—drugs, guns, or both.

Coco got her key out and unlocked the door. He reached in and flipped on the light. He did not step past the threshold, but bent to set her suitcase just past the open doorway.

“Thank you—” she started to say.

But he interrupted her. “There’s no way you should be staying at a place like this, ma’am,” he growled at her. “But you fucking are. Those lowlifes tag you’re alone and it could be trouble.” Her lips pursed as she gazed at him, while he continued, “My room’s next door.” He nodded that direction. “There’s a connecting door, which I’m leaving open on my side. You get trouble, you come through it.”

Now she gasped, opening her mouth to say no way was she ever going to do that. “Don’t give me your ‘I’m an appalled, upright lady’ bullshit. You shouldn’t be here, then. You can keep your side locked, and then I can’t get through. You find a need ...” He paused, leaned down into her shocked face, and said each word slowly: “Come. Get. Me.”

“Mr. Andersen,” she exclaimed with a hiss, but he just nudged her back and grabbed her door to shut it. At which time he said loudly, “Lock that motherfucker, babe.” Then he turned, and for the thugs’ benefit, he said, “I’ll be right back, babe.”

Zeb out-waited them after that, until the dudes got tired of hanging around, or he’d screwed up their drug traffic business by being out there. Thirty minutes or so later they went inside, and Zeb waited another twenty after that until he hit his room. No way would they make the fact that he didn’t go into Coco’s room. That would add some incentive to leave her alone.

Once in his room, he unlocked the connecting door and went to take a shower thinking about Carly. Once he’d gotten half-assed dried off and into bed with just the sheet over him, he lay back and nabbed his cell off the nightstand.

You in bed
, he texted Carly.

Yes. Are you?
she texted back within a minute. 

Just. What you wearing.
He grinned after he sent it.

Not much with me
, was her eventual reply, making him chuckle.

Naked?
he persisted, getting hard just thinking about that. And fuck him, it felt really good to be hard over a woman again.

Yes.
That made him groan.

Still taste you,
he texted back.

Making me hot,
she replied.

Want that sweet pussy hot for me,
he texted back as he resisted the urge to start stroking his hardening cock.

It is.
He could almost hear her breathless voice.

Wet?

Zeb, yes.

Then something came over him. Not sure why he’d thought it would work.
Don’t rub it. That’s mine.

He held his breath, waiting for her answer.
I won’t, baby.

Man, a woman had just told him she was horny for him, but was going to save her climax for him because he’d ordered her too.

“Damn,” he swore. He liked that.

Pretend my tongue’s in your mouth saying goodnight.

Deep kisses back.

––––––––

W
hen Carly went to bed the night before, she’d never thought she’d be rushing to Zeb’s motel room the next morning before seven o’clock. That was before the texting. Maybe she was a slut?

“I don’t care,” she muttered, hoping Zeb’s worry over her safety at Rowdie’s didn’t include early mornings. She didn’t want him mad at her—she wanted him
inside
her.

She’d brought two coffees and a few things she’d snatched from the comp room, but she was too excited to grab them when she pulled into Rowdie’s. Then she realized her mistake, and she started praying that Zeb had parked his bike in front of his room, because her spur-of-the-moment, headlong craziness hadn’t taken that into account.

“Be the right room,” she implored, pulling the little truck she’d borrowed, that had “Redrock” painted on both doors, into a parking spot.

She’d taken a shower, which left her hair long and damp, and she had on the sundress from the night before. Still no panties, very little makeup, just some mascara she’d had in her purse and some lip gloss ... thank God.

Then what she was about to do—further do—made her pause with an excited breath. This was
so
not like her.

“But do you
want
to be like
you
anymore,” she exclaimed to herself. “Look where that got you.”

With that crazy thought, she hurried out of the truck. On bare feet, she tiptoe-skipped to the door in front of Zeb’s bike. She had her hand knocking before she could further think on it.

Except by the time she heard movement in the room, and a grumbled, “Who the hell is it?” she’d started to doubt her crazy actions, as she whispered, “Carly.”

No way he could hear her, while her doubts told her maybe he’d just been playing with her? Maybe he’d found his wife and she was in there, right now! Those thoughts panicked her, and confronted with really facing Zeb again, she started to turn away from the door. But it just flew open.

“Who the fuck?” Zeb glared at her.

Carly had skipped halfway back to the truck. His gaze swept her. Her gaze swept him. Well, really she couldn’t do anything else
but
look at him, wearing only tight black boxers.

Oh.

My.

God.

She’d felt some of Zeb’s body the night before. But that body had been beneath his clothes. This one was of ripped and sinewy flesh displayed. Looking at him actually
made
her mouth water.

Zeb worked out. Zeb wasn’t bulky, but tight, so tight she could see the ridges on his taut belly and the lean ridge on each side of his hips that disappeared into his black,
snug
boxers. There was a freaking ridge there too. Big and thick. He had tattoos across his carved chest. Two around each mounded bicep. She gulped up all the hot manliness he was throwing out—and she nearly
came
right there.

“Oh hell no. You are
not
leaving.” With that snapped pronouncement, he swooped over, and with a one-arm curl she was lifted.

“Zeb,” she whispered, clutching his packed shoulders of hot skin.

“You better whisper,” he muttered. “I think you need your ass spanked for showing here unescorted.” The door slammed behind him. “And with no fucking panties on,” he growled.

One second she was in his arms being carried by him, and the next she was in the air where he’d tossed her. She squealed. All girl. All excitement. Then her butt hit the bed. She did an unladylike bounce with her legs fallen open and her airy dress up around her waist. Exposing
everything.

“Man, I did not get a good look at this sweet fucking pussy last night,” Zeb uttered, and it sounded primal, which sent shockwaves through her body. Readying it. For
him.

She panted. And she wasn’t sure she’d
ever
panted in her life. She started to close her legs—

“Don’t move,” he ordered sharply, and her inner thighs quaked.

He walked to the end of the bed slowly, his gaze a volcanic eruption of blazing color. “This little strip you left above your
wet
pink slit. What you call that?” His voice was rough and husky as he deliberately started to crawl up on the bed.

“French bikini wax,” she heard herself saying, because basically she was not in her body but exploding out of it with heat and arousal.

“French?” his voice rumbled. “I’m going to lick up that French, sweetness.”

“
Oh
God,” she gasped.

He chuckled as he crawled between her legs. “‘Oh Zeb,’ that’s what I want to hear.”

Then she did squeal his name, because he grabbed her thighs and tugged them and her body leaped toward him, while his head dropped between her thighs.

Then when he had her writhing on the bed, he asked, “My baby waited?”

He sucked tight. “Oh God
yes
, Zeb,” she cried, arching.

“You sure?” He plucked tight with his lips.

“I swear,” she whimpered. “I swear I waited.”

“Held your climax for me, sweetness. I like that.”

“Zeb,
please,
Zeb.”

Then he took her over the edge, and when she was shuddering on the ends of it, he knelt in the bed and lifted her up to him. She caught his shoulders as her thighs spread over his hips and she slid down over his thick erection with a spasm of passion and a scream of pleasure.

“Oh
fuck
, baby,” he growled, and his body shook tightly.

She bit his earlobe. “God, Zeb.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, then he began moving her on his cock.

She tried to help, but he was strong enough to do it, lifting and lowering her, while thrusting his hips. Something about the position made her whine high notes, while sensations attacked her deep ... so wonderfully deep.

“Yeah, baby,” he growled.

The next position, when she was nearly climaxing from the astride position, was with her tummy over the pillows. He moved her, and he was back inside her before she could protest and her imminent climax came seconds later as he held her wrists in the small of her back, while he thrust into her with heavy, penetrating drives. As soon as she started coming, her ass arched up to him and he plunged faster.

He came long jarring and wonderful thrusts later, so hard he grunted with a tight tremor, while she panted, and through it she said, “I’ve never climaxed with sex before, baby.”

“Never,” he groaned.

“Never,” she gasped.

“Let’s do it again, then.”

Then the second most amazing thing in her life to happen happened (after the first: coming with sex); she had a man get hard again after
just
coming.

“Rub your clit,” Zeb ordered with a heavy, labored breath. 

Carly tossed her head, moaning as he fucked her up against the wall. “Do it,” he ordered.

She dug her hand between them.

Her teeth were in his shoulder, after she came down from her fourth freaking climax and his fist was planted into the wall next to her cheek after the tension left his body from his release. His other forearm cradled her ass as he tried to catch his breath. She grabbed him in an embrace, holding him tight. They were sweat-slick together, and she’d never had sex against a wall before.