Shara & Friends

Naughty

Bites

Volume 2

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover Artist: Shara Azod

Editor: Savannah J. Frierson

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. Due to copyright laws you cannot trade, sell or give any ebooks away.

Dedication

We would like to dedicate this anthology to all our readers.

You guys rock, thank you so much for supporting our work.

~Shara

Casting

Spells

~ The Spell ~

“Becca, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.”

Rebecca Marlow frowned at the agitated whisper. She loved her cousin Anne dearly, but the chick was constantly anxious. They were thirty years old for crying out loud. What would happen if they got caught? Would Aunt Bonnie spank them?

“Anne, seriously, get a grip! We are grown ass women doing a little experiment! What could happen?” Rebecca hissed back, pointedly ignoring the fact she was, actually, whispering also and they were both creeping around in their aunt’s workroom with a flashlight.

Aunt Bonnie was a root woman. She called herself a spiritual counselor; but when people talked about Bonnie Marlow, they did so in hushed tones. Children ran past her house and frowning church elders crossed to the other side of the street rather than walk past. No one messed with Aunt Bonnie, or her husband Big John. No one. People either feared her or were in awe of her. Men tipped their hats when Aunt Bonnie went by, and women spoke with respect in their mouths even if they held envy or contempt in their hearts. The last thing in the world anyone wanted to do was piss her off.

In the tiny town of Saint Mary’s, Georgia, the Marlow family was something of an anomaly. Rebecca’s father, Red, was the pastor of the town’s largest African-American Southern Baptist church. Her mother, also named Rebecca, refused to attend. In fact, she led a small congregation of her own. It wasn’t exactly a church, seeing as how the religion was Oshun, one of the West-African forerunners of voodoo, Santeria, and the like. The fine ladies of her father’s church both shook their heads in scandalized mock sympathy and praised the good reverend’s fortitude in trying to convert his wife. Of course, Rebecca’s father did no such thing, valuing both his life and his place in his wife’s bed.

The only other Marlow child, Uncle Mitch, didn’t believe in organized religion. He was a devout agnostic, spending his leisure time fishing. He said he communed with nature, and that was enough for him. During the week day, he made a killing investing in emergent companies. Not even the recent economic downturn had affected his bottom line. His wife, Mary, was a committed member of Rebecca’s father’s church.

And Bonnie. Bonnie was not only a root doctor, she also happened to be a black woman married to a great big old white man, a white foreign man, in a tiny Southern town. She had brought home the damn near seven foot, heavily accented John Belrose, formerly of someplace in Southern France. The huge, handsome man was constantly at his wife’s side, rewarding folks who even looked like they were about to speak unwisely with a scowl so fierce it would freeze the bravest tongue before it had a chance to say something it couldn’t take back.

Seeing as how Big John was built like a Viking on steroids, no one ever made mention of how odd the coupling was. To say she was bold was an understatement. She walked around town, head high, dressed like a gypsy half her age…whatever Bonnie’s real age was. Neither of her brothers would ever say. Her brightly colored embroidered skirts and shirts clung to a figure that made her the envy of every woman who saw her. Her breasts were still high and proud and her dark face was unlined by age. Many a female crowded this very workroom in search of the youth they were fast loosing while Bonnie seemed to look younger with each passing year.

But that wasn’t what had brought her nieces here tonight. Rebecca was sick and tired of the dearth of available men. Well, available men who would want to be attached to the voodoo priestess and Baptist preacher’s daughter anyway. She was just not the type of woman men wanted to bring home to Mama. Sure, she could have moved to a bigger city; Jacksonville, for one, was just a hop, skip and a jump away. The problem was Rebecca loved her home. She loved her family. She didn’t want to move just to find a man. But she wasn’t willing to wind up a lonely old spinster, either. If a spell didn’t work, she would be forced to go somewhere and drag a man back kicking and screaming.

Anne didn’t have these problems. Rebecca’s cousin had been married to her high-school sweetheart since she was eighteen. The two had gone off to college together, then grad school, moving back home just as soon as Anne’s husband Deon had finished his medical residency. Anne was merely here for moral support.

Rebecca snorted at the thought. Some support. Anne was shaking so hard it was a wonder Aunt Bonnie hadn’t heard them. Her bony ass was simply no help at all.

“Found it!” Rebecca exclaimed in an excited whisper, thumbing through Aunt Bonnie’s handwritten book of spells.

“I can’t believe you are really doing this,” Anne whispered back, rubbing her arms as if cold.

It was over eighty degrees though it was nearing midnight. Southern Georgia in early summer was many things, and cold wasn’t one of them.

“Yeah, well, some of us need a little help in the love department,” Rebecca murmured, locating the spell she sought. “Here it is. Bringing Him to You. I think this is the right one.”

“Maybe you should turn on a light to see it better…” Anne’s voice was becoming increasingly agitated. “Maybe that isn’t what you think it is.”

Next time, Rebecca was bringing her dog. Anne was turning out to be nothing but a wet blanket.

“Shut up and give me a match.” She didn’t have time for her cousin’s constant bitching. She had a man to catch.

Lighting one solid black candle and one solid white one, Rebecca silently repeated the neat scrawl on the page, hoping with her whole heart this would work. Thirty was a frightening age to be alone with no prospects, and she really, really didn’t want to leave the safe security found in her hometown and the bosom of her family.

She followed every instruction to the letter, closing her eyes as she blew out both candles with a wish in her mind and heart. As soon as the tiny flames sputtered and died, light flooded the work room. Both women gasped, flashlights clanging to the bare floor. Two sets of eyes swung to the doorway where Aunt Bonnie and Bog John stood, Aunt Bonnie with the oddest smile on her face, while Big John looked as if he would burst out in loud guffaws any second.

I am so busted, Rebecca mentally groaned, slumping back against the high wooden worktable behind her.

“Aunt Bonnie!” Anne squeaked. “I told her! I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen!”

Rebecca rolled her eyes as her cousin ratted her out. As if that were necessary. The evidence was pretty damning as it was.

“Be quiet, Anne, and go home to your husband,” Bonnie dismissed the other woman, making her way over to where Rebecca stood.

Traitor, Rebecca thought, watching Anne scurry past Big John and up the stairs. The sound of her car door slamming and screeching tires reminded Rebecca belatedly she didn’t have a way to her own home, which was approximately ten miles out of the center of town. Damn!

“You know, you really should have listened to Anne and turned on the light,” Aunt Bonnie said with barely suppressed mirth. “But I have to admit, I am glad you didn’t.”

“What? Why?” An amused Aunt Bonnie wasn’t really frightening, but it did cause tiny hairs to stand up on the back of Rebecca’s neck.

Aunt Bonnie tapped a perfectly manicured finger at the heading Rebecca failed to see before she had cast her spell. Gargoyles. Below that heading were several spells, Passion for a Night, Thirty Nights of Ecstasy, and Mating a Gargoyle. Under the last title was the spell, Bringing Him to You.

Well, shit. That was definitely not what she was looking for. It was a damn good thing gargoyles didn’t exist because otherwise…

Aunt Bonnie’s eyes were alight with a mischief. It was all a joke. She was going to have to travel to a city in order to find a man. Rebecca’s heart dropped as gloom descended on her shoulders. Anne had been right; she should have turned on the light. Apparently, Aunt Bonnie had known for a while they were here.

“Please don’t tell my mom,” Rebecca mumbled. There was a darn good reason Rebecca hadn’t gone to her mother for a spell. For one thing, she didn’t want to see the disappointment in the older woman’s eyes. Rebecca, Sr. didn’t need to know her daughter not only couldn’t pull a man on her own, but also was desperately lonely. Secondly, and perhaps most importantly, Rebecca, Sr. was more of a healer than anything else. She really didn’t do spells.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Aunt Bonnie said and chuckled. “I’m gonna leave that all to you.”

Rebecca moaned, slumping down even further. So much for sweeping this unfortunate incident under the rug all nice and neat! “Do I have to?” Rebecca really didn’t want to see the reproach on her parents’ faces. She might be grown, but she was far from immune to the censure of her parents.

“Well, how else are you going to explain mating with a gargoyle?”

Rebecca stared at her aunt. Yeah, the woman was eccentric, but she didn’t know Bonnie was batty. Rebecca had to think of what she could possibly say to her obviously touched-in-the-head aunt. Somehow she didn’t think, “Auntie, gargoyles don’t exist!” would cut it. So Rebecca just sat there, her mouth half open, while her aunt called her husband over.

“I think she is going to need convincing, Johnny!” Aunt Bonnie laughed. Within a blink of an eye, Big John was at her side. Well it had been Big John for a moment, then it had morphed into something that shouldn’t exist.

“Auntie, I really don’t think…HOLY MOTHER!”

~ Just a Dream, Right? ~

It was way too soon to be morning. The damn seagulls were out, screeching their idiot heads off. Waves crashed against the shore. The sun was beyond bright to be as early as Rebecca suspected it was. She used to love waking up to the sounds of the beach, which was why she had lovingly restored the isolated cottage by the sea that used to belong to her grandparents before they had passed on to glory. This morning, because of the mother of all headaches, she was beginning to think she might have made the wrong decision.

Cracking open one eye, Rebecca moaned as she realized her window was wide open and the screen was missing.

What the…?!

The events of last night’s fiasco came crashing into her consciousness.

“No, no, no, no!” she moaned into her pillow, hoping if she buried her face into the soft, fluffy cushion, the memories would go away.

Big John was not a gargoyle! She did not see him morph into the massive, grayish thing with giant bat-like wings standing over eight feet tall. He most definitely did not fly her home with Aunt Bonnie on his back and her cradled in his arms like a blubbering baby, (man, how could she just start crying like that?!). And he had not torn off her screen and placed her in the bed, disappearing as Aunt Bonnie poured some herbal tea down her throat and tucked her in.

One eyes glanced toward the nightstand where a singular mug sat as testimony to her memories. And that damn window! She really should get up and close it before all manner of bugs made their way inside her little home. Too bad she really didn’t feel like moving.

Funny, I always thought gargoyles were supposed to be gruesome looking, Rebecca couldn’t help but think. Big John was his same handsome self, only larger and slightly gray.

This was so not good. If some dude like Big John were to show up at her door, what the hell was she supposed to do?

“It’s not going to happen,” she said out loud, hoping to assuage her fears.

There was no one in the house with her now, and she had attempted to cast the spell last night. She must have missed a step. Yeah, that was it. She missed a step; she did it wrong; there would be no gargoyle for her.

Taking heart, Rebecca sprang out of bed, ready to face the day. This would soon be forgotten and everything would go back to normal. Despite the weird dream she’d had last night, there was no such thing as gargoyles.

~ Finally A Man ~

One thing summer did in St. Mary’s—it helped to fill out the local clubs. There were only three, one Hip-Hop, one Country and Western, and one annoying Rave-type place only open during Spring Break and now. There were a dozen or so little out-of-the-way honky-tonks and juke joints, but only old people went to those, and Rebecca couldn’t stand to count herself as one of them just yet. Still, she was getting kind of old for Friday nights at Shug’s, the one Hip-Hop club within a fifty-mile radius. It didn’t stop her from getting out on the dance floor and shaking her thing, though. Let Anne sit at the table like an old stick in the mud. Rebecca was letting it all hang out.

Most of the gathered partygoers had known Rebecca from birth, so they had pretty much learned to ignore the way her hips swung enticingly, as if to invite company. She wasn’t; she simply didn’t know another way to dance. Any tourist who got too close would quickly be cut off by one of the locals, usually the bigger ones, in order to dissuade any misunderstanding before it began. More times than not, whenever she was here during the season, she was escorted to her car by one of more of the bouncers—usually after an “unfortunate incident” involving a townie from Jacksonville and his inability to take no for an answer.

Life was like that here; neighbors looked out for one another, and everyone was everyone’s neighbor. That was why she didn’t bother to open her eyes when she felt the distinct body heat of someone moving close to her person. She expected the offender to be removed quickly, just as soon as someone noticed.

Yet halfway into the song, the body still remained. Her eyes drifted open to encounter one very large black-clad chest. A very well-muscled, huge, black-clad chest. And a totally flat stomach. Nice. But too close. She looked up, and up, and up, gasping at the face that went with the very nice stomach and chest. Gorgeous was an understatement, dangerous far too weak. The man looked like…well nothing came to mind, really. Maybe and angel, but Rebecca really didn’t think angels were so carnal looking. His dark-brown hair fell in waves around his shoulders, piercing blue eyes scorched her skin. Holy mother, the man was hot! Just looking at him immediately brought to mind a million and one dirty thoughts.

She blinked as she became aware of several stunning facts all at once. He wasn’t dancing. He was just standing there, looking down at her. He was white. He was white, standing there as if he belonged in an all–African-American club and not a soul staring at him. In fact, people seemed oblivious to his presence. The last fact was the one that made her knees a little weak; he looked a hell of a lot like Big John. Not as if they were related or anything, but there was something there, some indescribable likeness she couldn’t shake.

Gargoyle.

No, no, no, no! Gargoyles didn’t exist!

Too bad her rational mind was at odds with every other instinct in her body. He was a gargoyle, all right. A damn find one at that.

“You called me.” His voice was not loud, but it was deep and gravelly; and for some reason, easily heard above the boom and bass of the music blaring throughout the club. “I heard you call and accept your offer.”

“My-my offer?” Her voice was wobbly and weak. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she knew he could hear it nonetheless. The cocked brow was a dead giveaway.

“To mate,” he explained impatiently, moving forward enough to force her backward.

“Uh, I think there might be some mistake.” He kept moving forward, so she kept moving back, until she found herself flat against the back wall to the right of raised platform booth containing the deejay.

“There was no mistake,” he growled all sexy-like at her. Her panties were instantly wet. A bolt of raw, unadulterated need shot through her body.

Oh, man she was in trouble! Looking around, she noticed no one, not even Anne, was looking in their direction. In fact, Anne was staring wistfully at the spot Rebecca had so recently vacated on the dance floor.

“They can’t see us,” the gargoyle informed her. “They see you as you were. We are completely masked.” His hands came to rest on either side of her head, trapping her against the wall. “I fought for the right to have you, and you will be mine.”

****

Cadfael couldn’t believe his good fortune. As soon as the call had come across the seas, he had known this was the one for whom he had waited centuries. All of his clan had heard her call; all had wanted to answer. He had to face no less than fifteen challenges to claim her. And claim her he would. He couldn’t go another second without doing so.

Cupping the delicate chin of his human mate, Cadfael lowered his lips to her. He licked the seam of the soft, full cushions, moaning at the exquisite taste. He nipped them, sucking the lower, fuller lip into his mouth. Such an addictive mouth! His tongue dived, entwined, retreated, and dove again. Ah, how he would spend millennia exploring this mouth! But his need was urgent, and he could not put it off any longer.

Without breaking the deep, sensual kiss, his hands traveled down the mouthwatering curves of her body. Thank the Fates she was wearing a short little nothing of a dress, allowing one hand to quickly pull down the top enough for one full, perfectly formed breast to fill his waiting palm. The other hand snapped the tiny scrap of cloth she was wearing underneath.

“You will no longer wear anything to keep your quim away from me.” He’d lifted his lips only long enough to snarl the words before taking her mouth again.

He pinched her distended nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it, wishing he had more than one mouth. Soon. He would taste soon. His other hand found her dripping wet sheath, and Cadfael couldn’t help but moan. She was so deliciously tight around his finger; she would choke the living daylights out of his cock. But first, he really needed to taste her completely.

Dropping to his knees, Cadfael lifted both legs over his shoulders, determined to make love to his mate with his tongue. He didn’t hesitate, engulfing her most intimate place in an all-devouring kiss. His tongue dipped deep inside her channel, curling to catch every drop of her sweet honey before retreating again. She was intoxicating. She was delectable. Even the sharp pull of her hands buried in his hair turned him on. He could feel her desire as if it were his own. Soon, after the initial bonding, she would feel his. It would only a matter of time.

Moving upward, Cadfael suckled her clit into his mouth, twirling his tongue over the sensitive nubbin.

Ah, cariad, you taste so very sweet. He spoke directly into her thoughts, shocking her if the stiffening of her body were any indication. That would just not do at all. Moving back down, he alternated between fucking her with his tongue and tormenting her clit until her body was quaking.

“Oh, holy crap! Oh, shit!” Despite the loud, booming music, he could hear his mate as clear as a bell.

Her grip tightened on his hair, her body going rigid. Cadfael determinedly drank every drop. Only when her body melted again the wall did he rise, taking her hips in his hands.

“Later, I will love you slowly, completely,” he rasped in promise. “But I have to have you now, ’m cara, or I will go mad with wanting.”

She gave a bare perceptible nod, but it was enough. Freeing his aching, throbbing cock from the cursed modern leggings he had been forced to wear to appear in these contemporary times, he thrust into her, hissing at the clenching of her sheath. Sweet Goddess, but she was tight! He could feel every tiny spasm, every quiver caressing his shaft. He hadn’t yet begun to move, but already she was milking him insistently. His cock moved out once, the rammed back inside. Then again and again, so slowly he thought he would surely die from the torturous pleasure. Her legs wrapped themselves around his waist, her hips meeting him drive for drive. He had heard stories, he had dreamed, but never had he imagined it would feel like this!

His balls drew up impossibly tight against his body, but he would not allow himself relief—not even when her nails dug into his shoulders and her body clamped down on his. He just didn’t want it to end!

“Mine!” he snarled with a fierceness that surprised even him. “All mine! Say it!”

“Yours!” Her whimper was feminine and sweet, causing his chest to expand with pride and possessiveness. “All yours!”

“Ah, anwyliaeth, I never knew it would be this sweet! You are so tight, so good.”

Keeping the slow pace in which he’d started was out of the question. His hips thrust quicker and quicker as her channel became flooded, naturally lubricating his way. He held her as tightly as she was wrapping herself around him, determined to become one the only way possible.

“Yes, just like that. Faster, harder!” his woman demanded, fucking him back just as surely as he was fucking her.

“Come for me now, cariad. Come all over your cock!”

She actually bit down on the muscled cords of his neck, spasming around his pulsating dick like a small suction hose. With a definitive roar, Cadfael came with her, emptying his seed into the womb of his woman. His woman. The thought had him hard again, ready to take her over and over until she acknowledged their mating. But not here. Already she was looking around as if horrified by what she had done. A small smile tugged at his lips as he kissed her along that stubborn little jaw line of hers. She was feisty. He had read about human women like her, women with spirit and bravery. He couldn’t wait to get to know every little facet of her personality.

“Come, Rebecca, new bride of the House of Carega Rhyfelwr,” Cadfael murmured, easing her anxiety with his mouth and hands. Soon her body was warming once more, really for her mate. As it should be. The mating heat would be strong for at least seven full nights. “We will go to your dwelling where we will complete our bonding.”

He didn’t wait for her approval, but carried her out of the annoying little club, launching to the sky with his precious cargo in his hands. The night was still young, and Cadfael was going to take full advantage of it.

****

As soon as the massive man had trapped her against the wall Rebecca had known what was coming. The gleam in those sapphire-colored eyes had been clear as they’d swept slowly from head to her feet and back up again. Goose bumps had broken out all over her body at that searing look. She’d felt sexy, bare, and vulnerable all at the same time. Any thought of struggling against him had fled at the first touch of his lips. He’d conquered her with sensual lips, a devastating tongue, and oh, damn those hands!

The crowd, the noise, everything had melted away until there was nothing but the two of them. She couldn’t explain it, but she suddenly needed this man. She’d needed his kiss, she’d needed his hands, she’d needed him inside her. She should have been running away screaming. They were in a crowded club up against the wall, but Rebecca couldn’t care less. All that had mattered was the way he was kissing her, the way his hands molded her curves.

Heat had swamped her in waves. Her skin had felt too tight for her body. What had he been doing to her? Her body had accepted his without question, solidifying what she’d already known. He was not human. No human man could have her panting like that. Kisses alone could have never made her that wet, that needy. And oh, good heavens, was this man masterful. One incredibly thick digit had traced the seam of her slit through her panties, setting off tiny shivers from the top of her head down to her toes.

“You will no longer wear anything to keep your quim away from me,” he’d growled to her.

Rebecca had felt his voice surrounding her, stroking her every bit as much as his hands and mouth. With a snap her panties had been gone. The cool breeze that had flitted across her fevered core had done nothing to cool her off. She’d been gagging for him at first sight. Nothing else had mattered but the ravenousness appetite he had awakened deep within her. There had been no words for it, just feeling. Her hips had jerked, questing for something more. The hand on her breast had pinched her throbbing nipple, sending spikes of electricity through her. More! She’d wanted more!

Then he’d dropped to his knees, his mouth taking her dripping sex in a greedy, all consuming kiss.

“Yesssss,” she’d hissed, her head falling back to the wall.

Oh, damn he was so good! He’d French-kissed her pussy as he’d had her mouth, taking, demanding, stroking her higher and higher. With her legs draped over his broad shoulders, she’d ridden his face, pushing her crotch as close as she could to that marvelous tongue. Once, twice, three times he’d driven her over the edge, attacking her pussy like a mad man, drinking ever drop she’d had to give.

Her body had been languid as he’d slid back up, his lips trailing over her heated skin. The dress she had so carefully selected earlier that evening ended up bunched at her waist. She’d been on full display and she couldn’t care less. He had said no one could see them; and despite the absurdity of the claim, she’d believed him. Worse, it had no longer mattered if anyone could. He’d lifted her as if she weighed nothing at all, pinning her against the wall. She’d wanted to weep when she’d felt the broad head of his cock brushing against her slit.

Yes, yes! Now!

The thick, full invasion had been as much of a relief as it was a torture. She had been so full, so complete, it had bordered on the edge of pain. Each thrust had been like kindling to a fire already threatening to blaze out of control. Her legs had locked around his waist, pulling it in with all the strength she’d had left.

His voice had purred deep and rich in her ear. It had been a voice that held endless unspoken promises, mixed with a lyrical accent she couldn’t place. He’d demanded all she had to give, and she’d given it to him, allowing him full access to all she was.

“Yes, just like that. Faster, harder!” She hadn’t been ashamed or hesitant to demand. He could give it to her, she’d known it.

And he had. He’d driven into her with such force it had shaken her to her soul, shattering her from the inside out.

“Come for me now, cariad. Come all over your cock!” he’d growled.

How could she not? Her body was his, and she’d willingly surrendered.

~ Her Gargoyle ~

The night was blessedly warm as Rebecca snuggled into the chest of her new lover. In the rational part of her brain, she knew she should have been hysterical right about now. Being flown home in the arms of a man with huge wings was not something she had ever imagined.

Yes, it is, she reminded herself. Since Aunt Bonnie had first shown her the spell she had cast a week ago, in Rebecca’s secret heart of hearts she had imagined this moment, waited for it, wanted it. Aunt Bonnie had emailed her tidbits of information about the mythical creatures. Rebecca had soaked in every word. Oh, she hadn’t taken any of her aunt’s calls; she had studiously avoided Bonnie since that embarrassing night, but she had hoped. Growing up in a house of an Oshun priestess, Rebecca had witnessed too many odd occurrences for her to be closed off to the supernatural. She had wanted this to be real.

And it was. Her heart soared with the knowledge of the gift she had been given. As a mate of a supernatural being, she had been blessed with more than love, and there would come love—later. She had been given a passion that would not die, loyalty that would never fade. And to think, she had envied Anne her mortal man!

All too soon they arrived at her isolated little cottage. She didn’t ask how he knew where she lived. There were far too many other more important things they needed to discuss.

“So, you know who I am,” she said, and ended the silence, opening her home and inviting in her future.

“I am Cadfael, of the House of Carega Rhyfelwr.” His voice really was that deep. If she had been wearing her long-gone panties, they would have been drenched. “Cadfael means ‘battle prince’; Carega Rhyfelwr means ‘stone warrior’. Your Aunt is the beloved mate of my uncle, Siôn.”

“That’s Big John’s real name?” Not the most inspired thing to say, surely, but it had shocked her. “So, you are from the same, uh, place.”

“Wales.” He smiled, transforming his face from a fierce warrior to a heartbreaking dream.

Rebecca pressed her legs together as she plopped down on the couch. The man was lethal. Her heart did a little somersault right in her chest. She wanted to climb on him again and have her wicked way with him.

He smiled as if he knew what she was thinking, raising one brow as he sat right next to her. Too close. Her body was heating just by his nearness.

“I do know what you’re thinking,” he murmured, moving in even closer until his lips were right next to her own. “And if you concentrate, you can know what I am thinking.”

Images of her riding him, of him between her legs, of her on her knees in front of him assailed her mind in a rush. A soft moan escaped her lips right before he claimed them, drinking her in as if she were a libation. It was impossible not to get swept up in his passion. But they needed to talk.

Pushing at his massive chest, Rebecca gulped in air, trying to calm her throbbing need. Talk. They needed to talk.

“So, what happens now?” she asked to distract him. Really, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She would go wherever he took her.

“Would you?”

The question caught her off guard. Had she really just thought that?

He was watching her carefully. Too carefully.

“Why would we have to go somewhere?” she asked instead of answering the question. A tiny sliver of fear slid up her spine. “Aunt Bonnie and her gargoyle live here. Why can’t we?”

“We are a territorial race,” he answered, still watching her face as if she would try to run away. “We do not live in close proximity of one another. There is one gargoyle per territory, to watch over and protect. There are not many of us left. I was trapped in stone until you cast your spell. I must return to my given territory, and I cannot go without you.”

Rebecca sat back, rubbing her arms. She really didn’t want to know, but she had to ask. “Where is your territory?”

“Wales.”

Rebecca blinked and swallowed harshly. Wales? That was so far away! And cold! She was a Southern girl; what the hell would she do in Wales?!

“What would happen if you chose to stay here?” Her voice was weak, her heart heavy. Deep down, she knew they couldn’t stay.

“Siôn and I would have to fight to the death for the right to this territory.”

Asking why would be idiotic. From what she had read, gargoyles were just hardwired to protect. It was their thing.

“We can speak more on it later,” Cadfael soothed, rubbing his hands down her suddenly cold skin.

When he brought his lips to her own, all thoughts of leaving Saint Mary’s was quickly forgotten as Rebecca was caught up in her gargoyle and the things he was making her feel.

****

“Come away with me, Rebecca, my bride,” Cadfael whispered in her ear, the full length of his hard, hot body pressed against her back.

She felt the wet tip of his cock against her ass, the burning shaft rubbing against her soft, yielding flesh. She stretched, rocking backward, undulating against him. Two days in bed and still he could set her ablaze with his touch. With each passing minute, she found her will to stay in her beloved hometown wavering.

“I will care for you, cariad. Always.”

And she believed he would. Too bad she couldn’t quite talk right now. Not with his hands cupping her breasts, massaging in slow, firm circles. Ever so gently, she shifted so she lay on her back, his head descending upon her hard, engorged nipples. His tongue traced around her areolas, teasing until her back was arching in search of fuller contact. He didn’t take them into his mouth despite her physical plea. Instead, he took first one then the other between his teeth, pulling tenderly, and then going back to licking.

He was too far away! He was doing it on purpose, she knew. Every time he brought up leaving, she would change the subject. Time was getting short; she could feel it. Cadfael was getting antsy. And each passing moment they spent together, it was getting harder and harder to say no.

“Cadfael, please stop playing with me,” she groaned in torment. “I need you!”

He lifted his head to stare down at her. His sapphire eyes gleamed with intent. She wouldn’t be getting off lightly this time. She shivered with anticipation. Cadfael was a consummate lover, taking her higher than she had ever been before. How could she ever live without this?

You will not! Cadfael’s voice filled her brain, stroking her as surely as his hands would soon.

“Rebecca, I need you! I cannot survive without you!” he said out loud. “You cannot show me a slice of heaven, then snatch it away!”

Pain vibrated in his voice, making Rebecca feel small and petty. She had cast the spell bringing him here, and she was acting like a spoiled little brat.

“I wouldn’t do that.” She reached up to caress the side of his face. Two days. She had known him for two days and already she felt everything he felt. He was entwined deep around her heart. But then, that was magic.

Her eyes closed as his lips traveled down the hot skin of her body. His tongue bathed down her torso, stopping to pay homage to her concave belly button; and then went on to her hips, were he sucked and bit into her sensitive flesh. Her body undulated under his tortuous ministrations, but he held her down, not letting her grasp him to pull his head where she wanted it to be.

“Tell me you will go with me,” he growled. “Say it!”

His head dipped between her legs, his teeth raking the inside of her thighs. Rebecca groaned, frantically trying to wriggle just a little closer. It wasn’t working. Cadfael was determined to drive her wild, and it was working.

“Please Cadfael?” There was no disguising the plaintive whine and she didn’t give a damn. The man drove her to submit on an elemental level, straight Neanderthal style.

Hot breath blew across her blood-engorged clit, making no move to go closer. There was a slight pull on her vaginal lips, more hot breath, and still no relief. With her hands pinned down to her side in an unbreakable grip, there was nothing she could do to alleviate the burning need. He wasn’t going to accept anything but complete surrender.

“I’ll do anything,” she conceded. “I swear! I will go home with you. Just please!”

His head snapped up, blue eyes pinning her as surely as his hands still were. “Why?”

Rebecca saw the fear; hell, she felt it. He thought she was only saying it in the heat of the moment. Cadfael, this massive stonework of perfection, was afraid of losing her. His need was palpable. No one had ever wanted her like this. And she wanted him back just as fiercely.

“Because I don’t want to live without you!” Simply truth—it was what they both needed.

All the years Rebecca had spent holding on to her hometown like a talisman was not merely because she didn’t want to leave her family. It was her defense. She’d never left because what she had been looking for, what she had yearned for, was something far more than what she had always known she would find out there in the great big world. She’d wanted more. More than love, more than marriage. She’d wanted, craved, the magic. And she had finally gotten it.

With a growl far from human, Cadfael fell back between her legs, attacking her drenched core. His tongue, impossibly long and a mixture of hard and soft, stabbed inside, fucking her, licking her. His fingers pinched then flicked at her clit, then pressed the nub down and rubbed against it. Rebecca’s hands entwined in his silky locks, bringing his face closer.

Rebecca dug her feet into the bed and lifted her pussy into the sweet torment, riding his face until her body seized, crashing over the edge.

“Oh, fuck! Oh, yes! Cadfael!”

He didn’t give her even a minute to come down. Spreading her wide open, he plunged his entire, thick, long cock deep inside her, stealing the very breath from her lungs. She could feel the veins on his shaft against her vaginal walls with every stroke. The bulbous head hit her G-spot over and over again as he rocked into her body with a force that should have hurt. It didn’t; it felt divine. Her hips slammed up against his stroke for stroke, over and over again. Rebecca felt her body climb to an impossible height, every nerve tingling with awareness. Her mate, her home. She was complete.

“Give it to me, cariad. Now! Come all over my cock; drench it with your sweet juice!”

Rebecca shook, her orgasm hitting her so hard she saw bright spots of light.

“CADFAEL!” she screamed, her nails biting into his bulging arms.

She couldn’t see; she could move. Giving herself over completely to her preternatural man, Rebecca passed out.

~ Just the Beginning ~

The damn seagulls were screeching again. Rebecca moaned, putting her head beneath her pillow. She was going to have to get up and close the damn window; but her body was so sore she didn’t want to move. How the hell she could be sore from a dream she would never know. Gargoyles. Yeah, right. Why the hell was her window open anyway? She hadn’t opened it when she’d come home from the club last night. In fact, she couldn’t remember how and when she’d even gotten back.

Her body jackknifed off the bed, her eyes whirling to the window in question. Right beside the curtains billowing from the wind was a stone sculpture, standing at least seven feet tall, of a gargoyle. Rebecca just stared at the creature, mouth hanging wide open as her phone rang, and rang. She couldn’t move. Finally, the answering machine picked up.

“Becca? This is Anne. What the heck happened to you last night? Someone said you left with some white guy. Hello? Becca? Look, call me and let me know you all right, okay?”

“Casting Spells”, Coming to you soon….

Next

Door

Favor

Next Door Favor by Jeanie Johnson and Jayha Leigh

To all of the crazy-azz families we are part of and to Dréa who has dibs on Sebastian’s kitchen…and Sebastian.

Part I

Even though he had a five thousand–square foot luxury log cabin sitting on five acres of premium real estate, Sebastian Ryan was a man of simple needs. His four-bay garage held his chopper and his ancient Dodge Ram; his walk-in closet stored his stash of faded jeans, T-shirts, and steel-toed boots; and his past was littered with women who knew how to say the word “yes” and screamed it even better. Yes, Sebastian was a man of simple tastes…except when it came to food.

What his garage, closet, and past relationships lacked, his kitchen more than supplied. A bastard by birth and an asshole by choice, Sebastian was a certified public accountant by trade and a cook at heart. In a home that boasted a media room with a spectacular view and a bedroom with a bed big enough to fit him, the kitchen was his room of choice. Twenty by twenty, his kitchen had copious cabinets, two industrial-sized freezers, and five doors. The first door led to the garage; the second led to the rest of the house; the third led to the walk-in pantry; the fourth led to his state-of-the-art walk-in freezer; and the fifth led to his deck, which opened out to a grilling area that would’ve made the most devout tailgaters speak about it in whispers-laced reverence.

His kitchen had almost everything except for sandwich bread, peanut butter, cold cereal, Ramen noodles, and any type of lunch meat. Growing up poor, he’d lived off of sandwiches, Ramen noodles, and cereal (with water because they’d rarely had milk). During his climb from poverty, he’d vowed many things, including to never again consume those items. A combination of stick-to-it-iveness and that trademark Ryan relentless assholishness had enabled him to keep that vow and all of the others he and his older brother Sendoa had made.

While those traits had garnered them wealth, education, and a modicum of respectability, those same traits had also garnered them space. No one fucked with those Ryan boys—not the hardasses that lived in his neighborhood or the privileged boys who’d overrun their high school. Oh, those spoiled punks made a varsity sport of picking on the Ryan boys, but no one had dared put his hands on the Ryan boys…not after that one time. Husky kids, he and Sendoa had been six-one in middle school and had topped out at six-seven by the time they’d reached high school—with the attitude to back that size up. Everyone with the title “Coach” had wanted them to play for him—whether it was dunking the round ball, running the rock, or hitting the long ball—but they hadn’t played sports. It wasn’t that they hadn’t liked athletics; it was that a.) they’d gotten jobs so their mom could work one job instead of three; and b.) even if they hadn’t needed to work, they never would’ve played a fucking thing for their high school, not after the way the administrators had made a habit of looking at their mom like she’d been trash and talking to her like she’d been even worse.

His mom hadn’t had the prerequisite accoutrements to earn respect from the tea-and-crumpet crowd. That was, she didn’t have a college degree from an Ivy League university or a prestigious women’s college; she didn’t have membership at the country club; she wasn’t part of the coffee klatch; she didn’t have the husband, the house or the white picket fence that went with the two kids she did have. Bree Ryan didn’t have any of those things; but even more egregious was the fact she didn’t want any of those things—especially the husband. The only thing she’d ever wanted was to do right by her sons. And damn it, she’d done that…and then some.

He and Sendoa had attended one of the best public schools in the nation. That hadn’t been luck, but rather the sheer wily “bastardness” of their mom working three jobs and saving enough money to move their trailer just inside the district lines drawn to keep “trash” like the Ryans from attending school with kids who’d spent the entirety of their academic careers shunning them.

If their home had been a body, its pinky toe had settled on the border that allowed the Ryan boys to attend Prosperity Elementary, Junior High, and Senior High Schools. Of course, calling their trailer (that was always one something broken away from being condemned) a home was close to being a damn lie. And it would’ve been a damn lie if not for their mom, who had done all within her power to make it otherwise. They might not have had any extras, but their trailer was always clean, food was always in the refrigerator, and the electric was always on.

Sebastian’s mom had made him a man—and not just any kind of man, but a man who had definitive goals, who knew how to say “no” without guilt; “yes” without conditions; “I don’t know” without shame; and “it’s over” without remorse. A man of action, Sebastian knew what he liked, what he didn’t like, and what he absolutely had to have; and when he decided that he absolutely had to have something, he went after it full throttle, no holds barred—just like his mom had taught him.

As always, thinking of his mom caused everything hard within him to soften. Sebastian smiled, imagining the hell she was raising out in the wilds of Rabershell, Alaska with her best friend Selah Harper-Jendayi. And thinking of Alaska caused him to remember that Sendoa and his best friend Yukon were here visiting him in the untamed mountains of North Carolina instead of in Alaska where they could work on perfecting their asshole personalities.

Referring to Sendoa and Yukon as assholes wasn’t mean; it was the straight out truth. Yukon had been voted Alaska Territory Asshole of the Year for fifteen straight years. That’d all changed three years ago when they’d trekked up to Rabershell to take their mom to the famous Jendayi Lodge. Sendoa had decided to stay; and ever since, he and Yukon had shared the title of Asshole of the Year.

Their presence had intruded on his mission. His mission was one Lightning Garaile—his lush and feisty next-door neighbor. She’d rented the cabin next to his, which was close enough to see but far enough away where they weren’t on top of each other…yet. Unknown to her, the cabin belonged to him. Also unknown to her, she belonged to him.

Normally, he wouldn’t have rented it to a woman, but his realtor had talked him into it by saying the lady needed a quiet place to unwind after finishing her master’s degree. A graduate of West Point and a veteran, he couldn’t say no to that…or to Zuri Summers. Hell, no one said no to Zuri. He’d been expecting a straight-laced, no-nonsense woman with crisp clothes and a tamed hairstyle to match her tamed personality, yet Lightning was anything but. With a riot of natural hair that fell down her back when it wasn’t poofed up thanks to the humidity, she was all cut off–jean shorts and T-shirts wrapped up in a whole lot of unpredictability.

Currently in his impeccable kitchen, Sebastian finished stirring the sauce for the pit barbeque that was slow cooking out back. He smiled, wondering what he’d ask to borrow next from her. Ever since she’d moved in, he’d found excuse after excuse to go next door. First, he’d needed to borrow a cup of sugar. Then some milk. Then a veritable grocery list of items after that: oatmeal, molasses, a vine of tomatoes, white onions. Soon, he’d run out of ordinary items to borrow and had gone for non-grocery items like duct tape and exotic grocery items like arugula. She’d given him the duct tape, but asked what the hell arugula was. Just this week, he’d gone over in the guise of returning the duct tape and had asked to borrow some beetroot. The look on her face had surpassed incredulity. She hadn’t said a word. Not one. Instead, she’d snatched back her neon-colored duct tape and slammed the door in his face, all while calling him a bastard. Normally, he didn’t cotton to anyone calling him such; but when Lightning said it, it did something to his insides…and his cock.

Lightning was his and as soon as he got rid of the leech that was his brother and the leech that was his brother’s only friend, he would get right back to his pursuit of her. Having spent the last few months warning off everything with a dick, he knew it was time to step up his game. Lightning was getting finer by the day and the natives were getting tired of his warnings, especially since he hadn’t staked his claim. That would soon change—as soon as he got rid of Sendoa and Yukon. And he had to get rid of them, else he was going to kill them.

***

Getting out of the shower, Lightning imbued her skin in shea butter and slipped on a pair of sherbet orange lace underwear. The mention of sherbet reminded her she hadn’t eaten since last night. Slipping into her lime-green silk robe, she slid her feet in her prized fuzzy dragon bedroom slippers her dad had bought her the last time they’d gone snowboarding. Opening the freezer to dig out her sherbet, she remembered she was out. Sebastian had borrowed it…along with her maple syrup, her fresh-off-the-vine tomatoes, and her duct tape. If they hadn’t been out in the middle of fucking nowhere, she would’ve told that asshole to take his triflin’ self to the store and get them his damn self, but they were out in the middle of nowhere so she didn’t say that…and she wouldn’t say it until she was sure he didn’t have a basement or freezer full of people who’d pissed him off. Plus, he always returned what he borrowed. Actually, he always returned more than he borrowed…and left her house smelling like him.

Bastard.

Sighing, Lightning poured herself a glass of juice and stepped out on her deck, thankful that being in the middle of nowhere meant she could forego the whole putting-on-some-clothes thing. All set to relax and enjoy the late-morning sun, a familiar scent hit her nostrils. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply. She knew that scent like she knew the path to her g-spot. It didn’t matter she couldn’t see it; she didn’t need to see it since she was Southern. She wasn’t pseudo-Southern, sorta Southern, or part Southern. Lightning was one hundred–percent Southern. Her momma was Southern, her daddy was Southern, her maternal and paternal great-grandparents were Southern; her best friends were Southern. Having those types of Southern roots meant she knew her barbeque. When she declared (not said, uttered, or announced, but declared) she knew barbeque, she wasn’t simply bragging. She’d done her master’s thesis on barbeque (yay for going to college in the South!) and was currently the vice-president of the national barbeque association. That was why she not only knew the four types of barbeque (vinegar and pepper, mustard, light tomato, and heavy tomato), she recognized their scents too. Right now, it smelled like the barbeque was in its last hour of cooking, which meant she was going over there and getting her some.

She wasn’t embarrassed to go asking. Hell, she shouldn’t have to! Sebastian should’ve had his gorgeous fucking ass over here yesterday telling her he’d bring her a plate. Fucker. She didn’t know how he grew up, but Sebastian was Southern, so there was no excuse for this mess. There were things Southerners grew up knowing. First—one did not badmouth Jesus unless one was ready to get a whole lot of foot broke off in her behind; second—if one didn’t have a one-syllable name, it was going to get massacred; third—tea should have the consistency of forty-weight motor oil; fourth—never start a fight in a country bar because everyone was somebody’s cousin; and fifth— one was neighborly even if it fucking killed him. And being neighborly meant one could not barbeque without sharing. It was standard to keep a supply of aluminum foil and quality paper plates (or a stock of whipped cream containers) on hand to offer visitors and neighbors food.

Fixing her face in a frown, Lightning walked back in the house. Pulling out a stack Tupperware containers, she filled two cloth grocery sacks with them. Sebastian was going to feed her all week and that was that. Oblivious to her state of undress, she grabbed Basher—her favorite baseball bat—and made a beeline for his digs.

Part II

Yukon Mann was shoveling potato salad into his mouth as fast as he could. His speed wasn’t due to a lack of time; he simply wanted to waste Sendoa in their silent eating contest. Okay, there was also the fact that the faster he ate, the more he could consume. The vat of sides should’ve been enough…and it would’ve been if Sendoa’s kid brother had been cooking for anyone else but them. Between him and Sendoa, they could put away a week’s worth of groceries in two or three sittings. Good thing Sebastian always had a well-outfitted kitchen and a penchant for cooking.

It was also a good thing that Sebastian could cook so well; otherwise, Yukon would smash him in the face every time he saw him. Sebastian was a certified asshole, but he was willing to overlook that fact as long as he kept making that barbeque sauce. He smiled, recalling the moment he’d met the Ryan brothers. As always, he’d been in the mood for a fight, and Sendoa had been there to give it to him, heedless of the fact most of the patrons in the bar had the last name “Mann.’” Everyone always left two-thirds of the bar to Yukon, but Sendoa hadn’t known that or given a damn.

The brawl had been brutal, but not as brutal as it could’ve been if they’d lived in the South where a barroom brawl was a family affair. Accustomed to Yukon’s fuck you up for no reason attitude, the regulars had simply moved themselves and their drinks to the far side of the bar and watched as he and Sendoa had traded blows. Sendoa had given as good as he’d gotten too. When they’d finally grown weary of fucking each other up, they’d dragged themselves to the bar and shared a pitcher. That had been when Yukon had met the other Ryan brother. Sebastian had stepped in the bar, taken one look at them, and then had spoken to his brother.

“Ahh, it’s good to see that you’re making friends,” he said before summoning the barkeep.

“I should have fucking smothered you when we were young,” Sendoa had replied.

It was that comment that had made Yukon realize he and Sendoa cut from the same cloth. Sendoa’s little brother, however, was a different story, considering he’d ordered ice water. Thinking Sebastian would fashion a makeshift icepack for his brother’s face, Yukon had been surprised when the man had actually drunk the ice water. Yukon had smirked then. Here Sebastian was in the best bar north of 60⁰ (he’d never bothered travelling south of that latitude because there simply was no need to) and he’d ordered water. Being in his usual good mood, Yukon had called him a pussy. In return, Sebastian had kicked over Yukon’s chair before finishing his ice water like he hadn’t had a care in the world.

There had been no telling what Yukon would’ve done in retaliation if Sebastian hadn’t pulled out the biggest damn sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on. As soon as Sebastian had unwrapped it, the aroma of goodness had had Yukon reaching for his wallet. Though he hadn’t known what the sandwich was, his shifter senses had told him it was worth the fifty bucks he’d offered Sebastian. Sebastian hadn’t even blinked when he’d demanded fifty more. Mumbling, Yukon had given it to him and snatched the sandwich away. He’d bitten into that sandwich and in return the flavor had made love to his taste buds. If Sebastian had been a chick, he would’ve called for Reverend Harper (who had been on the other side of the bar reading the Journal and enjoying a bourbon) and married him on the spot.

That sandwich had been the impetus of an acquaintance that had the townspeople referring to them as friends—and had Sebastian referring to him as an idiot for calling barbeque between slices of bread a sandwich. Regardless of how many times he and Sendoa had declared they weren’t friends, no one had bothered listening to them. Sebastian always would take it a step further and refer to them as each other’s bitches. Fucking asshole. If Sendoa would get off of his lazy ass and beat that secret barbeque sauce recipe out of Sebastian, they could go ahead and drop him off of a glacier. Their momma wouldn’t even miss Sebastian as he and Sendoa looked enough alike to be twins.

Amping up his grumbles, Yukon made a move to grab some more of the divine potato salad when his shifter senses picked up stomping coming this way. Whoever was approaching was also muttering under his breath. The speech consisted primarily of “motherfucker” and “barbeque.” Though he wasn’t sure what was going on, Yukon knew whoever was coming was damn angry. Rising to his full seven feet, he prepared for battle. There was no way in this hellhole they called the South he was going to allow some interloper in here. He wasn’t worried about being hurt; after all, the cabin was filled with three males who could hold their own in any kind of battle. Even though Sebastian’s primary weapons might be a non-stick spatula and a sauce brush, he was a Ryan, which meant his second favorite past time was beating the shit out of deserving people. So, no, Yukon wasn’t worried about the fight coming to the door; he was worried about the empty stomach this person was bringing with it.

Southerners life had this funny way about it. Scratch that—Southern life was naught but funny ways, and most of those ways centered around hospitality. If one made it to the front porch, one received a glass of sweetened iced tea or lemonade with a “hey y’all!” If one made it over the threshold, one received dessert; if one made it to the kitchen, one was definitely getting a plate. And since this person had made to the front porch, Yukon concluded the visitor was a guest. Though the counter was loaded down with baked beans, grilled corn-on-the-cob, glazed sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese, chicken, ribs, and barbeque, the scent of woman overpowered all of that.

As soon as it had hit his nostrils, Yukon had perked up. How could he not as this one smelled like sex on a stick—yay for him! Yukon liked the ladies almost as much as he liked his food and he liked his food, almost as much as he liked fighting. Wiping his hands, he made his way to the front door just in time to watch it fly open and welcome a neon-encased hottie.

Yukon was stunned. It wasn’t everyday a stranger simply rolled up in someone’s place. The woman didn’t simply enter; the spitfire barged her way in and stood in the middle of the living room like she owned it. Her demeanor caught him off guard, but not as much as her state of dress (or rather, undress) did. Clad in a silky robe, he couldn’t help but notice her more-than-ample cleavage and her well-developed thighs. Nor could he ignore the orange sherbet–colored panties that were revealed as she walked to the kitchen. With her hair tumbling across her shoulders and all of that hot, little body exposed, one might think she were here for sex…until he looked at her feet and paid attention to what was in her hands.

On her feet were dragon slippers—not slippers with dragons embroidered on them, but slippers in the shape of a dragon, complete with silver horns and silver-edged wings. In her hands was a big-ass bat. Yukon wasn’t worried about the bat, even though it was clear the bat was for busting heads in rather than homeruns. Then, she pointed that bat at him. Being a shifter, he’d heal from whatever damage she did. Still, if she caved in his jaw with it, it’d be an hour or two before he could finish eating, which was just enough time for those Ryan boys to finish off the potato salad and everything that went with it. Though he liked to fight; he didn’t fight women. Realizing that the best course of action was to stand down, he did so.

“Where’s that motherfucker!?” the little spitfire demanded.

She might’ve been a little thing but damn if she didn’t give off that I’ll fuck you up and don’t need a reason to vibe like he usually did. Yukon almost took a step back at the fury in her question; and if that step wouldn’t have taken him further from his food, he would have. Saving himself the trouble he knew she was bringing, Yukon pointed towards the kitchen. Nodding curtly and mumbling something that sounded like thanks, she headed to the kitchen. Smiling, he announced her.

“Sebastian, you’ve got a visitor!”

Reclaiming his seat at the dining table, Yukon watched the woman turn her bags upside down. The cascade of food containers spilling out on the tabletop had him cringing. Dammit, he was going to have to share, he thought a moment before he watched her swing that bat at Sebastian’s knees. Knowing there was a good chance she’d take Sebastian out, he grinned. Even if she filled all of her containers twice, she’d still eat less than Sebastian, which meant more for him and Sendoa. And he could always sneak up on Sendoa and cold-clock his ass, which would leave it all for him.

Sendoa’s warning interrupted his plan. “Don’t even think it,” he said as if he could read Yukon’s mind.

Asshole.

Digging back into his food, he saw Sendoa grab the bat and step in between the woman and his brother. Dammit, Sendoa was always doing shit like saving Sebastian from an ass whipping. It usually worked; but then again, there wasn’t anything usual about this woman dressed like a neon fruit salad. Stomping on Sendoa’s instep, she snatched back her bat.

“Touching a woman’s bat is like touching her vibrator. Keep your fucking paws off of it!” she yelled as she pushed Sendoa out of the way with her ample hips and got all up in Sebastian’s face.

Yukon didn’t even try to suppress the laughter that bubbled out of him. Knowing that he was bested, Sendoa simply shook his head, grabbed his plate, and moved it closer to him. This was going to be so good. Popping the top on his cola because that pansy-ass Sebastian didn’t drink, he and Sendoa clinked cans and watched the entertainment unfold. Sendoa tried to push Yukon away from the bowl of potato salad, so he was distracted for a moment…but just a moment. Settling the score by stabbing Sendoa in the back of the hand with a spoon, Yukon returned to watching the most interesting display of anger he’d seen since he’d caught a glimpse of himself in the bar mirror during his weekly brawl.

“You bastard!” she yelled as she poked Sebastian in the chest.

***

Finishing the barbeque with a heavy sprinkling of his secret-recipe sauce, Sebastian thought of next week’s menu in order to keep himself from outright killing Sendoa and Yukon. Between the two of them, he was damn near close to committing homicide—fratricide especially. Damn, they were assholes—who never stopped demanding. He stayed in the kitchen making food in the hope that if their lips were wrapped around some ribs, they couldn’t be wrapped around speech. Just as experts had to sit before a board and prove they were worthy to practice their specialty or put “Dr.” in front of their names, those two should have to sit before a board and prove they were fit to be around sentient beings. If Sebastian were on that board, he’d give them a “hell no!” They took being an asshole to a whole new level; and the series of “fuck yous”, “bastards”, “assholes”, and grunts they called conversation should be outlawed.

He thought of lacing their food with something unpleasant, but he had too much respect for his craft and too much passion for his food to do such a thing. He could, however, put sleeping powder in their drinks. If they were knocked out for a few hours, Sebastian could slip over to Lightning’s house and borrow something. Knowing she enjoyed her chocolate, perhaps he’d ask to borrow some cocoa even though what he really wanted “borrow” was some pussy. Namely hers. Permanently. He wondered how Lightning would react if he asked her to lend him some chocolate pussy. Knowing her, she’d bitch slap him before telling him to come back when he could handle her mind, her mouth, and her pussy.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile while imagining handling all of her. He loved her mind. Her intelligence was as much a turn on as her body. He loved her mouth. Watching her ask him “what the fuck he wanted” always made his cock hard. Of course, merely walking in the direction of her cabin made his cock hard. He hadn’t made her pussy’s acquaintance just yet, but he wanted to; and when he did, he was sure he’d like it.

He was just getting to the very good part of his fantasy when he heard Asshole Number Two bellow his name. That was it. He was going to bludgeon them to knocked-the-fuck-out. Yanking his cast iron skillet from the stove top, he was about to make good on his threat when the source of all of his fantasies stormed in…wearing almost nothing except for her anger.

Sebastian could see Lightning’s lips moving; but for the life of him, he couldn’t hear a damn thing. He might not be able to hear shit, but wasn’t a damn thing wrong with his vision. Later, he’d get on his knees and offer up thanks for that. Seeing the silky material working overtime in an attempt to cover all of Lightning’s good parts caused a plethora of reactions. He could barely think a thought as all of his blood raced to his cock. While having a hard cock to fuck Lighting with was a good thing, having only a few brain cells left to do the rest of the work slowed down his reflexes. If it weren’t for his brother grabbing Basher, he’d be recovering from some kind of injury. He knew that for a fact, for he’d seen Lightning at the batting cages. She’d played two years of softball at West Point and two years at North Carolina, and had three batting titles and two NCAA championships to go with that power swing.

For a moment, Sebastian felt sorry for Sendoa, who didn’t know never to touch Lightning’s bat, but only for a moment. He enjoyed the sight of Lightning telling him off. He even enjoyed it when she came to tell him of, her finger poking him in the sternum even though he was sure he’d feel that for the next day or two. He thought about grabbing her hand and sucking on that finger, but she still had that bat in her hand. So instead of touching, he looked his fill. And damn if there weren’t a lot to see. Lightning was stacked, and her breasts were playing peek-a-boo with the vee of the skimpy robe she wore.

Her sharp command wrenched him out of his fantasy, followed up with a jab of her bat.

“Stop looking at my tits!” she thundered.

Stop having them on display then, he thought. Sebastian wasn’t stupid enough to say it, regardless of how much of his blood had centered in his groin. Lightning would’ve had him lying in a pool of his internal organs so fast, it wouldn’t have even been funny.

“Now, I know you did not fire up the grill and think you weren’t going to share with me!”

Sebastian was unsure if that was a question or a statement, but he needn’t have worried because Lightning cleared it up.

“I’m sure your mama is a wonderful lady who did all she could to turn you into a decent human being, so I’m not going to blame her for this. I’ve known you long enough to know you’re just damn hard-headed! Even though you’re an asshole, the least you could’ve done was send one of the life couple,” Lightning paused and gestured with her head towards Yukon and Sendoa, “over with a plate for me. Did you think I wouldn’t know what you were doing over here? I’m Southern, Bas. You can’t slip the smell of barbeque past me!”

“Hey!” the “life couple” protested upon hearing her comment. “We’re not like that!” they simultaneously yelled.

Lightning turned around and leveled them with a look. “Okay, maybe you’re not a couple, but I bet you’re some damn good interior decorators.”

“We’re not interior decorators,” Yukon growled.

“Whatever. Broadway dancers, then,” she countered.

“We are not dancers, either!” Sendoa snarled.

“Well, you know what, I really don’t give a flying fuck what you are. You’re both interrupting; and if you don’t want teeth full of maple, you’ll sit back down and mind your own damn business! Better yet, why don’t you take your Yankee asses back across the Mason-Dixon Line and stop cluttering up the South with your bullshit?! You might not give a damn about anything, but you’re giving the gay community a bad name!”

Though he was being told off good and proper, Sebastian was having a hard time holding in his laughter. It wasn’t every day someone dared to talk to Sendoa and Yukon, much less talk that much shit to them.

Lightning’s fist tangling in his shirt interrupted his silent mirth.

“Well?” she snarled up at him, and Sebastian allowed the smile to slowly form on his face as he stepped forward into Lightning’s breathing space.

“I was coming over to bring you a plate,” he whispered as he gently grabbed her wrists and kissed her. Pulling back, he finished his statement. “Now, I’m just going to come…in you,” he said as he slipped his tongue in her mouth and kissed her like he’d been daydreaming about.

***

Lightning had been two seconds away from beating the shit out of Sebastian’s guests. The life couple was just an unsolved case waiting to happen. Unleashing her Southern, she’d let them have it; and after she’d given it to them, she’d paused, waiting to see if she would have to give them some bat to the face with her words. When they’d settled for silence, she’d turned back to Sebastian and had gotten an armful of hot-ass man. Suddenly, she’d been aware of how very fine he was…and how very close…and then she’d been kissed.

Oh, damn. Bas could kiss like the colonel could fry chicken. Surprised he could use those full lips for something other than asking her for shit, she allowed him to continue. All set to let him keep the lead in their kiss, she decided not to slap him. And then his taste hit her tongue and her taste buds screamed out “Hot damn!” Just as she knew the smell of barbeque, she knew the taste of good sauce. There were sauces and then there was the kind of sauce one kept in a safe…and then there was the sauce Sebastian had been eating. That was the kind of sauce that should’ve been in Fort Knox. Fuck the gold standard or the good faith standard, the nation’s economy should’ve been based on that sauce.

Dropping Basher, she jumped up in Sebastian’s arms and slobbed him down.

Pulling back, she demanded. “Where is that sauce?”

“What?” he asked.

“Where is the fucking sauce?” she asked again.

“Sauce?” he asked.

Turning from Sebastian in pure frustration, she damn near tore that kitchen up looking for that sauce. She was about ten seconds away from fucking something up when she heard the sound of a throat clearing. Looking up, she saw one of the life couple handing her a mason jar. Smiling, she snatched it from him.

“Where’s Sebastian’s bedroom?” she asked, not even pretending she wasn’t about to spend the rest of the afternoon fucking Sebastian Ryan. Grabbing Sebastian’s hand, she dragged him off to his bedroom. Well, she attempted to, anyway.

“March your fine ass to the bedroom, now,” she commanded.

“And if I don’t want to?” he asked with a smirk.

She really hated smirky-ass men—even those who could cook their fucking asses off. “Well, then, you don’t have to, but know this: I’m going to spend the afternoon and maybe part of the evening licking this sauce off of someone. It can either be you or one of the life partners in there. For that matter, it can be both of them. I’ve always wanted a threesome,” she said.

Turning to the life couple, she sauntered up to them. If she weren’t so interested in that sauce, she might’ve taken time to appreciate how fucking fine they were with their silky black hair, bronzed skin, and fuck-me-then-fuck-me-some-more-fuck-me-to-sleep-then-wake-me-up-and-fuck-me-again bodies, getting between them and reaching for each of their hands. She placed the emerald-eyed one’s hand on her ass and the blue-eyed one’s hand on her breast.

“All of this is real, boys. Can a heterosexual woman tempt you into a threesome?” she asked while looking at Sebastian with a smirk of her own.

***

Caught up in the kiss, Sebastian hadn’t been surprised when Lightning had taken over the kiss. He had been, however surprised, when she’d dropped her beloved Basher. Feeling her damn near crawl up his body had had his cock on high alert. Oh, yeah, from the feel of her hard nipples, the ragged sound of her breathing, and the desperation in her touch, he knew Lightning wanted him. Good, because he more than wanted her. Still something in him had wanted to hear her beg for his touch. Okay, it wasn’t “something”—it was his ego.

Reluctant to have a woman sharing his mountain, Sebastian had been knocked for six the first moment he’d seen her. Never had a woman intrigued him like she did; never had a woman affected him like she did; never had a woman tempted him like she did; never had a woman challenged him like she did. After spending nights with her starring in his dreams and days with her intruding upon the solitude he’d always preferred, he’d had to admit, there had never been a woman before Lightning. Oh, he’d had sex and lots of it, but he’d never wanted anything past that. With Lightning, he’d wanted any little scrap of affection she’d give him. He’d take her “hell no” over any other woman’s “yes”; he’d take her raised brow over any other woman’s crooking finger; he’d take her laughter over the sound of any other woman’s pleasure. He’d take her…if only she’d let him.

Before Lightning, he’d never needed…anyone. Or perhaps it was that he hadn’t wanted to need anyone. Lightning changed all of that. She reached into his chest and did something to his heart. She made him feel, and he was helpless to stop it. Having spent the past few months longing for her with a passion he’d reserved only for cooking, he needed her to want him the same way. That was why he’d played hard to get. That was what had prompted him to act like the sun didn’t rise and set with her. If he’d known asking “what if I don’t want to?” would result in him having to cut off Sendoa’s and Yukon’s hands he would’ve kept that question behind his teeth. But since he hadn’t known, now Sendoa had a handful of his woman’s breast and Yukon had a handful of her ass.

Running across the room so fast their fingers had barely made good contact with her person, he ripped Lightning from their grip.

“Mine!” he roared and hauled her in his arms.

“Then act like you want it, motherfucker!” she spat.

Act like he wanted it? Act?! Was she fucking kidding? He didn’t have to act like shit—he wanted Lightning and he was going to spend the rest of the day proving that!

“I don’t have to act like I want what’s mine. I’ve wanted it since I laid eyes on it,” he drawled in her ear.

“Well, then, come big or stay at home!” she challenged.

“I am at home,” he returned as he backed her into the counter and acquainted himself with her curves.

“Then there’s nothing left for you to do…except for come,” she said as she lifted her pelvis into his.

Having his arm full of his fantasy felt right, but Sebastian still needed more. Pulling her closer, he reached down and caressed her sex, reveling in the way she opened for him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, dragging the scent of her arousal deep into his lungs. He couldn’t help but feel arrogant knowing he was the reason for the dew that soaked her scrap of panty. Feeling her wrap her legs tightly around him, he thrust his jean-covered crotch against her mound, mimicking sex.

“Sebastian,” she moaned. “Sebastian.”

The sound of his name on her tongue almost broke him. He’d never heard his name said like that. He’d heard his name said with contempt, apathy, textbook pronunciation, anger, fear, lust, even maternal love, but he’d never heard his name come out of anyone’s mouth the way it had from Lightning’s. She said his name so good, so honest, so feisty, and now he wanted to hear her scream his name with all of that passion. Hefting her in his arms, he made his way to the bedroom.

His trek was interrupted by the star of his fantasies. “The sauce, Sebastian. Don’t forget the sauce.”

Grabbing the sauce on his way, he made a beeline for his bedroom.

Part III

Sebastian was all-hot motherfucker. Okay, he was always all-hot motherfucker, but right now he was all-hot motherfucker with sauce in his hand. Not even bothering to do more than spare the bedroom a glance (and that was only so she could locate the bed), Lightning snatched the sauce from his grip. Opening the jar, she dipped a finger in and tasted…and shuddered in pleasure. Setting the jar down on the nightstand, she kicked off her dragon slippers and shimmied out of her robe. Throwing a glance over at Sebastian, she noted he watched her like he was security and she fit the description. Smiling, she cupped her full breasts, pinching the hard nipples. When his eyes dilated, she hefted them and licked her own nipples, knowing that little trick would turn him on.

“Strip, Sebastian,” she demanded as she continued to pleasure herself.

Either Sebastian moved in fast-forward or she blinked really slowly, because the words had barely left her mouth when a very naked Sebastian was all up on her, yanking her hands from her breasts and covering her nipples with his mouth. Throwing her head back, she moaned in pleasure. Sebastian knew his way around breasts. A moment later, she amended her statement. Sebastian obviously knew his way around the whole female form, for he was working her body right. Filling her with his thick fingers, he set a world record for making her come. It was as if he had a map to her G-spot. No sooner had he thrust his fingers in her, she was digging her fingers into his biceps and riding out the waves of her first orgasm.

“Sebastian,” she panted.

He didn’t respond to her moans; instead, he backed her against the wall. Ripping her panties from her body, he dropped to his knees. Spreading her thighs, he inhaled deeply before bending his head and lapping up her honey. Tangling her hands into his hair, Lightning thrust her hips up and fucked his mouth.

“Harder! Lick me like you mean it!” she demanded as she ground her pussy against his lips.

He didn’t lick her harder; he licked her more gently, more slowly, more deeply. He used his teeth to tease her clit and used his fingers to set the rhythm. What a rhythm it was. Tossing her head from side to side, her body undulated in time to his fingers and tongue. Damn, he ate pussy so good, but she wanted more. She needed more.

“Sebastian,” she moaned as another wave of pleasure overcame her. “Sebastian, please.”

“Please what, Lightning?” he asked as he latched onto her clit and stroked her to orgasm.

Emitting a medley of moans and ahhs, she held on to Sebastian knowing his strength was the only reason she was still standing. Taking a moment to catch her breath, she breathed in the scent of her man—yes, her man, she’d decided; and if Sebastian had a problem with that, he could simply get the fuck over it—and kissed him. He still tasted good. Her honey went well with that sauce, which reminded her that she had a whole mason jar of it she needed to put to use.

Pushing Sebastian on his back, she reached for the jar. Opening it, she drizzled a line down his smooth chest. Capping the sauce, she bent and followed the line with her tongue. She took her time, enjoying the taste of Sebastian and sauce. Though she’d licked off all of the concoction, she was in no way finished licking him. No way, not when there was this much fine motherfucker beneath her. Crawling down his chiseled body, she paused at his cock. Wrapping her hands around it, she stroked him, accustoming herself to the feel of him. He felt good in her hands and she knew he’d feel spectacular in her body. There was no way he could be anything less than spectacular considering the way he approached cooking. Just as he put some “hmm” up in that sauce, she knew he’d bring some “hmm” to their lovemaking.

Bending her head, she took him in her mouth. She didn’t rush it; she savored him, stroking him slowly as she made her way down his length. Sebastian felt good on her tongue and in her hands. He especially felt good in her life. She wasn’t sure how it’d happened, but it had happened, and she wasn’t about to question this good thing—especially when her time as a soldier had showed her so many ugly things, so many inexcusable things.

Focusing on the man beneath her, Lightning reveled in his sharp inhalations, his ragged exhalations, in the way his big hands tangled in her hair. She reveled in his strength and the way that rasped her name.

“Lightning,” he moaned. “Please.”

Lifting her head, she threw his own words back at him. “Please what?”

“Let me love you,” he pleaded.

There were a lot of ways Sebastian could have answered that question. There were an infinite number of sexual acts he could have inserted; and, truth be told, about ten of them had come to mind. She’d gotten hot thinking about what he’d say. Ready to accommodate his wishes, knowing that he wouldn’t ask for something she wasn’t willing to give (if one didn’t count the beetroot), she’d been in no way prepared for that response. When she’d heard it, she could do nothing but love this motherfucker more.

Taking a moment to get herself together, she looked into his eyes and answered. “I already have.”

She followed her confession with a challenge, because that was what she did. “Whatcha gonna do, now?”

***

Sebastian couldn’t believe how good Lightning made him feel. She’d reduced him to begging. When he’d uttered his please, he’d known she’d toss his words back at him. What did surprise him was his response…and hers. What was he going to do, now?

Smiling at the minx’s challenge, he flipped them over. Gaining his feet, he pulled her up and tossed her on the bed. The sight of her there made him pause for a moment, noting how right she looked on it, which was a good thing since she was going to be in it for a long while. Stalking her, he stroked his cock on the way to her. Her reaction didn’t escape his notice. From the way her eyes glazed over and the way she bit her lip, he knew she was turned on by his display. Good.

Crawling on the bed, he spread her legs. Bending, he kissed her insteps and proceeded to nip his way from her ankle to her mouth. He took his time, ensuring the journey was a pleasurable one for her. She was already primed for his lovemaking, but he wanted her desperate for it.

Rubbing his hard body against hers, he caged her in. Never had Sebastian felt more male than in that moment. Bending, he whispered in her ear.

“You want to know what I’m going to do now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she moaned.

“I’m going to tear this pussy up. I’m going to fuck you like you want to be fucked, like you’ve been begging me to since the moment you stepped foot on my mountain…unless, of course you, think you can’t handle it.”

He threw that last bit in knowing it would enrage her. He liked her feistiness. Having seen it and heard it, he now wanted to taste it.

***

Lightning had been enjoying the feel of Sebastian when she’d suddenly found herself smack dab in the middle of his bed. Before her mouth could form a protest, her eyes had been filled with the sight of him stroking that glorious cock of his. Licking her lips, she’d trembled in anticipation. When he’d knelt at her feet and kissed his way up her body, she’d trembled from pleasure. He’d touched her so good.

Surrounding by his strength, Lightning had felt claimed. When he’d asked her if she wanted to know what his next move would be, she’d felt a heady rush of eagerness. When he’d told her how he was going to fuck her, she’d felt like she was his fantasy. Damn, this motherfucker knew what she wanted and he was going to give it to her. She couldn’t wait! First, though, she had to let him know he was going to have to prove it.

“You talk a good game, but did you consider that perhaps I will be the one to fuck you the way you need to be fucked?”

He answered her question with laughter. A low tone, it slid through her. His laughter was erotic, promising pleasure upon pleasure. Before she could wonder about the type of pleasure, he reared back and slammed his entire length into her.

Feeling his cock plunder her body was the biggest shock of her life. Never having experienced anything that had come close to this pleasure, she wasn’t sure how to react. She couldn’t even form words. All she could do was inhale sharply, dig her nails into his back, and take it.

Sebastian stopped and kissed the gasp from her lips. “Are you okay?”

She still couldn’t speak, but she could answer him with her body. Looking him in the eye, she thrust her pussy onto his cock, meeting him stroke for stroke. She was setting a pretty good rhythm when his hands stayed her hips.

“I am fucking you, so lie back and take me,” he demanded.

She wasn’t even about to hear that. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop her from fucking him back. Clenching her pussy around his cock, she used her hips to fuck his cock with her pussy even as she used her hands to tease his skin with her touch. Over and over she thrust. There was telling how long they would’ve continued their silent battle if Sebastian hadn’t changed tactics. Spreading her thighs as wide as they’d go, he pressed his weight onto her, holding her in place. Satisfied she was going to stay put, he worked her pussy with a combination of slow, deep strokes that had her begging for him to fuck her harder and faster. Of course, he didn’t listen. He simply took his time, working her pussy at his own pace as he roughly palmed her breasts and leisurely sucked her nipples into his mouth.

Moaning out her pleasure and her frustration, she finally managed words. “Fuck me harder! Fuck me faster or—”

The ‘or’ was as far as she got in that sentence, because in the next moment, he was pistoning in and out of her so fast she wasn’t able to talk. All she could do was hold on and pant in time to his thrusts. She tore his arms and back up with her nails, not that he seemed to care. Looking into his eyes, she saw pure determination. Lifting her thighs onto his shoulders, he put all of his weight behind his thrusts. Never had she felt so exposed. She could hide nothing from him in this position—not her body, not her pleasure, not her soul. With him hitting her spot every time, her pants changed to loud keening.

Using strength she didn’t know she had, she pulled him down to her and flipped him over. Settling herself back onto his cock, she rocked her hips into him, demanding his surrender in the same way he had demanded hers. She didn’t fuck him fast; she fucked him with finesse, making sure to squeeze his cock tight with her pussy. He held onto her hips, but she wasn’t having that. Grabbing his hands, she placed them on her breasts and continued her slow, decadent ride on the finest example of man she’d ever encountered.

Sebastian didn’t simply lie back and take it…nor did she expect him to. Flipping her over, he arranged her on her hands and knees and slid into her from behind. Throwing her head back, she moaned out his name and thrust back against him. He felt so good, so good, so right, as he drove her across the bed with his strokes. Feeling her legs tremble, she moaned out her thanks when he turned her back over. Leaning down, he kissed her. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a kiss of possession.

“Say my name, Lightning,” he demanded.

She didn’t even think of refusing him. “Sebastian.”

“Damn right,” he said as he stroked her to a final orgasm right before giving into his own.

EPILOGUE

Ten months later…

Sebastian indulged in his favorite activity—watching his wife and twin girls. Unable to help himself, he leaned down and brushed his mouth against Lightning’s before kissing his daughters’ foreheads. He could’ve stayed in that moment forever, and if not forever, at least the next few hours. And he would have, if his fucking phone hadn’t rung. Stepping out of the room so he wouldn’t disturb his females, he barked a greeting into the phone.

“What?!”

“We need your help,” Sendoa said.

“Why?”

“Car trouble,” Yukon called out in the background.

“Why is that my problem?” Sebastian snapped.

“Because we’re on our way to your house,” Sendoa explained.

“You just left here last week…after three damn weeks!”

“We forgot something,” they said.

“Yeah, an ass whipping,” Sebastian returned.

“We’re going to tell Lightning. She loves us,” Yukon said.

“No she doesn’t. She simply hopes you’ll decorate our house.”

“Shut up and come get us so we can see our babies.”

“My babies,” Sebastian corrected.

“No, they’re ours.”

“Come look at their birth certificates and see whose name is listed as the father,” he threw back.

“They might’ve been ours if you’d gone ahead and let Lightning had that threesome with us,” Yukon said.

“That’s it! I’m coming to get you so I can beat your ass!” Sebastian declared. “Where are you two bitches?”

“On the main road about twenty-five miles outside of town,” Sendoa said.

“Prepare to have your asses whipped when I get there,” Sebastian warned as he scribbled a quick note for Lightning before heading to his truck.

If he’d been paying more attention, he might’ve noticed the rental truck barely hidden by the corner of the house.

***

“I told you it would work,” Sendoa said as he punched in the security code and entered the cabin.

“You don’t have to be such a bragging bitch. Just hurry up so we can get to our babies,” Yukon grumbled.

Familiar with the layout of the house and Lightning’s preference for a good view, they made their way to the sunroom. Just as they thought, Lightning was curled up on the sofa and their babies were in basinets on either side of her. Instinctively, knowing which twin was theirs, they made their way to their nieces and picked them up.

“Let’s just hope that asshole’s gone for ages. That way we don’t have to share with him,” Sendoa whispered.

***

Lightning Garaile-Ryan was awake the moment the phone rang. Why Sebastian thought he could whisper was as much a surprise to her as Sendoa and Yukon thinking they could “sneak.” They’d been arguing from the moment they’d set foot in the house. Hearing their argument, she knew they’d stirred up some new shit with Sebastian; and as soon as he got back, there was going to be some name-calling, some “assholes” slung back and forth, and a fight. She’d let it go on for a few minutes, and then she’d step in and all of them would be in trouble.

Snuggling deeper into her blanket, she listened to Sendoa and Yukon make their way through the house and waited for the inevitable. As soon as they spotted the babies, they came over and picked them up, uncaring she’d just put them down for a nap. The minute they had the newborns in their arms, they started arguing over whose baby was the best—as if a.) they’d carried them for nine months, three days and six hours and b.) as if either of her daughters was anything but perfect. Closing her eyes tight, Lightning bit her lip in an effort not to laugh out loud.

“Are you kidding me? My baby can kick ass,” Yukon “whispered” angrily.

“There’s no way! My baby could kick your baby’s ass in a cage match!” Sendoa “whispered” right back.

Leave it to them to pit her three-week-old daughters against each other in a freaking cage match. If they didn’t love her and her daughters so well, she’d brain them both; but as it was, they loved them just as fiercely as Sebastian did. Ever since she’d discovered she was pregnant (damn sauce), they’d been fixtures in their home. She could hardly take a step without a BMF (big motherfucker) making sure she was okay. Sebastian had tried his best to run his brother and his brother’s best friend out of North Carolina, but she’d put her foot down. Despite their motherfucker-ishness, Sendoa and Yukon were part of their family.

Though she’d meant what she said, Lightning didn’t know they’d use her words like a presidential pardon. Every argument ended with “Lightning said.” Being that all three of them were assholes, there were a lot of arguments.

She’d thought they’d settle down, or at least go into a lesser stage of assholishness once the babies were born, but that didn’t happen. They constantly fought over their percentage of “cuddle time”, even going so far as to bribe her for more. She smiled, thinking of the closet full of stuff she had as a result; and then she frowned, thinking of the closet full of stuff her daughters had from their constant spoiling. Not even a month old, they already had enough toys to start a franchise. Getting mad all over again, she was about to get up and tell them off when she realized the big men were fast asleep with an armful of baby. Smiling, she closed her eyes and joined them in slumber. Having babies was hard, but not as hard as raising assholes.

***

Sebastian hadn’t gone more than five miles when he’d slammed on brakes. Those two assholes were up to something. They didn’t have cell phone reception twenty-five miles outside of town. Hell, they didn’t have a town to actually be outside of. Turning the truck around, he headed home, knowing those assholes were there trying to take over his babies.

Entering the house, he was all fired up ready to kick some Sendoa and Yukon ass. Stepping into the sunroom, he stopped cold at the sight before him. All of them were sound asleep; yet even in sleep, they looked menacing. Who better than the original asshole and the asshole’s best friend to watch over his family? Sebastian was still going to whip their asses later; but right now, he was going to enjoy his family. He slid next to Lightning and drifted off to sleep as well.

**J & J**

For more information on barbeque, check the article ”A Very Brief History of the Four Types of Barbeque Found in the USA”, written by Lake E. High, Jr., President of the South Carolina Barbeque Association. It can be accessed at: http://www.scbarbeque.com/History.html.