Strength & Courage (The Night Horde SoCal Book 1) by Susan Fanetti Page B
Authors: Susan Fanetti
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long, gold hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in soft waves. Fuck.
Nothing about her was like the women he usually spent time with. She was all class and grace. Except for that filthy mouth. He sure appreciated a woman who didn’t get queasy over colorful language. The best, most versatile word in the English language was ‘fuck,’ and he liked people who liked that word as much as he did.
Honestly, he didn’t ‘spend time’ with women all that often. He’d had a few regular fucks during his Nomad days, women in different cities he’d sought out for a comfortable bed and a reliably good time. He supposed he’d ‘dated’ a few of them, taking them out for a meal or a ride. But since he’d settled in Madrone with the Horde, he’d kept mainly to club pussy. Civilian fucks in the town he lived in meant complications, even in his new, mostly law-abiding life.
So what was he doing here, grinning at this little local confection who was cooking him a meal? Something with curry, apparently—he could smell it wafting out the open door behind her.
Was she Indian? Was that the foreign cast to her features? He wouldn’t have guessed Indian. Tonight, he’d just fucking ask.
“Hey, hon. Sorry I’m late.” He stepped up onto the porch. She didn’t move back, so he came right up on her, their bodies almost touching.
“That’s okay. ‘Around nine’ was sufficiently vague. You didn’t ruin dinner or anything.” She took the bottles out of his hands. “Thanks. Come on in. I’ll—”
With his hands free now, he grabbed her around the waist before she could turn away, and he bent his head to hers and kissed her. No fucking peck, either. He took all he could get of her in that kiss. He’d caught her off guard, and she was stiff at first, until he grabbed a handful of her little ass and brought his other hand up to run his thumb over an eager little nipple, popping up under her beater. Then she went fluid in his hold, her body draping over his arm, and she kissed him right back, taking as much from him as he was from her.
She gasped when he broke away. When he tried to speak, his voice failed him, and he swallowed and tried again. “Glad you called, hon. Been thinking about having my hands on you again.”
That was true. Far too much of the past five days his brain had spent recreating that early morning, and comparing club girls’ assets and talents to Sid’s.
He’d also been mulling over the pros and cons of trying to bring her to their way of thinking about Demon. That could blow up in his face if he wanted her for a regular thing. It could blow up in Demon’s face if he pissed her off. But it was worth a try, he thought. He wasn’t interested in her because she was Tucker’s caseworker, he wasn’t here for information or support for that cause, but on the other hand, it seemed wrong to waste the resource.
That was a fine line for him to walk, and he had no real skill with diplomacy. He said his piece when he had to and kept his mouth shut otherwise.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted with this girl or how to get it.
“Muse?”
He realized that he’d been standing there, holding her, staring into her eyes. He stepped back, keeping her steady while she found her feet again. “Sorry. Thinking.”
“Changing your mind?”
He grinned. “About dinner, maybe. Now I’m thinking I want something else first.”
“Nope. No dessert before dinner.” She turned, and he followed her into her house.
As he stepped in, she said, “Shoes off, please.”
“What?”
She pointed at the little table in the turret, the one he’d put her gun on the other night. There were three shelves under it, and a pair of flat, silver sandals was perched there. “I keep a shoeless house.”
Something about that made him feel awkward and vulnerable. “I had my boots on before.”
“Extenuating circumstances.
Nothing about her was like the women he usually spent time with. She was all class and grace. Except for that filthy mouth. He sure appreciated a woman who didn’t get queasy over colorful language. The best, most versatile word in the English language was ‘fuck,’ and he liked people who liked that word as much as he did.
Honestly, he didn’t ‘spend time’ with women all that often. He’d had a few regular fucks during his Nomad days, women in different cities he’d sought out for a comfortable bed and a reliably good time. He supposed he’d ‘dated’ a few of them, taking them out for a meal or a ride. But since he’d settled in Madrone with the Horde, he’d kept mainly to club pussy. Civilian fucks in the town he lived in meant complications, even in his new, mostly law-abiding life.
So what was he doing here, grinning at this little local confection who was cooking him a meal? Something with curry, apparently—he could smell it wafting out the open door behind her.
Was she Indian? Was that the foreign cast to her features? He wouldn’t have guessed Indian. Tonight, he’d just fucking ask.
“Hey, hon. Sorry I’m late.” He stepped up onto the porch. She didn’t move back, so he came right up on her, their bodies almost touching.
“That’s okay. ‘Around nine’ was sufficiently vague. You didn’t ruin dinner or anything.” She took the bottles out of his hands. “Thanks. Come on in. I’ll—”
With his hands free now, he grabbed her around the waist before she could turn away, and he bent his head to hers and kissed her. No fucking peck, either. He took all he could get of her in that kiss. He’d caught her off guard, and she was stiff at first, until he grabbed a handful of her little ass and brought his other hand up to run his thumb over an eager little nipple, popping up under her beater. Then she went fluid in his hold, her body draping over his arm, and she kissed him right back, taking as much from him as he was from her.
She gasped when he broke away. When he tried to speak, his voice failed him, and he swallowed and tried again. “Glad you called, hon. Been thinking about having my hands on you again.”
That was true. Far too much of the past five days his brain had spent recreating that early morning, and comparing club girls’ assets and talents to Sid’s.
He’d also been mulling over the pros and cons of trying to bring her to their way of thinking about Demon. That could blow up in his face if he wanted her for a regular thing. It could blow up in Demon’s face if he pissed her off. But it was worth a try, he thought. He wasn’t interested in her because she was Tucker’s caseworker, he wasn’t here for information or support for that cause, but on the other hand, it seemed wrong to waste the resource.
That was a fine line for him to walk, and he had no real skill with diplomacy. He said his piece when he had to and kept his mouth shut otherwise.
He wasn’t sure what he wanted with this girl or how to get it.
“Muse?”
He realized that he’d been standing there, holding her, staring into her eyes. He stepped back, keeping her steady while she found her feet again. “Sorry. Thinking.”
“Changing your mind?”
He grinned. “About dinner, maybe. Now I’m thinking I want something else first.”
“Nope. No dessert before dinner.” She turned, and he followed her into her house.
As he stepped in, she said, “Shoes off, please.”
“What?”
She pointed at the little table in the turret, the one he’d put her gun on the other night. There were three shelves under it, and a pair of flat, silver sandals was perched there. “I keep a shoeless house.”
Something about that made him feel awkward and vulnerable. “I had my boots on before.”
“Extenuating circumstances.
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