The Wayward Sister (Wayward Sons Book 5) Page 9

  Home. I laugh to myself. No wonder Adrian had been quick to say we were staying. A stable home was something we hadn’t had in a while. We all know staying with Sierra is temporary—even she isn’t staying for long, but it’s been nice.

  I get to the house and see her Jeep in the driveway. She’d been gone when we left that morning—off to breakfast with Katie. I park and climb the front steps, tugging on the door. It’s locked. That’s good. We’d all told her to keep the doors secure when she’s out here alone. I run my hand under the window ledge, looking for the key mounted underneath. I pull it out and slide it into the lock. The door opens but doesn’t go far, jerking to a stop.

  She’d chained the door. That’s unusual.

  “Sierra?” I call. I hear footsteps on the hardwoods, and a flash of dark hair in the crack between the door and the wall. When she looks at me her eyes are red and swollen. Fear grips my heart. “What happened? What’s going on?”

  The crack closes, and she unlatches the chain. The door opens and she’s already halfway across the room, climbing onto the couch to wrap herself in a blanket. The TV is on but paused.

  “Hey,” I say, dropping my backpack on the floor, “talk to me, what happened?”

  She swallows. “I saw Reid downtown.”

  “Bastard,” I swear under my breath. I didn’t like him the day I met him, and what happened with Smith only confirmed it. “Did he do something to you?”

  “He’s just a fucking asshole.” She takes a deep breath. “He came up to me like he wanted to apologize. Really he just wanted to intimidate me and let me know it was my fault for sending mixed signals.”

  I’m standing above her, thinking about how I want to rip his fucking balls off. This guy is a total asshole. I don’t like hearing that he’s harassing anyone, but especially not Sierra. I’m one second from driving into town and finding him, when I look back down at her and see how much she’s struggling.

  “Can I sit down?”

  She nods, pulling away the blanket.

  “I’m really sorry this is happening to you. You don’t deserve it—no one does.”

  “I hate how he makes me feel helpless.”

  “You’re not helpless—that’s why he does it. Guys like him hate seeing strong, capable women. You intimidate him, and he feels like has to prove himself.” I shake my head. “He’s weak and pathetic.”

  “Thank you,” she says, giving me a smile. “I’m really happy you guys are here. Not just because I’m not alone all the time, but because it’s nice to have people here to talk to.”

  “I’m happy to talk whenever you need it.” She relaxes a little, leaning into the arm of the couch. “I have the afternoon off. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “Want to watch TV with me?”

  “I’d love to watch TV with you. What’s on?”

  She gives me a look and rolls her eyes. “Supernatural, obviously.”

  “Obviously.” This girl and this show. I’m not sure what it is, but she loves it.

  She presses play, and a few moment later offers me part of the blanket. I take it, spreading it over my legs. Her knee brushes against mine, and I worry I’ve encroached on her space. The absolute last thing I want to do is make her uncomfortable. I relax when she doesn’t move, and in fact, shifts a little closer.

  My heart flips in reaction.

  For the next four episodes we sit like this, side-by-side, sinking into the leather couch. Through it all, Sierra tells me all the tiny details of the show, the background and histories of the characters, why something is funny or what makes another situation sad. We’re in the middle of an episode about shape shifters when I realize her commentary has slowed, and she’s leaning against my side. Her eyes are shut and she’s breathing evenly.

  My heart pounds at her closeness, the weight of her next to me, and I shift, lifting my arm. Quietly, I say, “Sierra.”

  She hums softly, and wraps her arm around my stomach, settling in.

  Brushing her hair off her cheek I decide to let her stay, and slouch next to her, letting my own eyes flutter shut.

  21

  Sierra

  I wake slowly, pulled from a deep, foggy sleep, blinking at the late afternoon light streaming through the living room windows. The couch beneath me is warm—hard, but warm--and I shift, looking down at a familiar white-T shirt.

  No wonder the couch is so hard. It’s a man. Holden.

  My movement wakes him and there’s no way to hide the fact I’m completely sprawled across his body.

  “Hey,” he says, through squinty eyes.

  “Hi.”

  I place my hand between us, looking for leverage, and instead of the couch, grip the flesh just above his shorts. He jerks, laughing. “I’m ticklish,” he says, grabbing me by the wrist.

  “I see.”

  I also feel—him—underneath me. I raise an eyebrow and his eyes pop open wide. Neither of us move.

  His cheeks turn pink. “Yeah, um, sorry?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No. Not after everything you went through, you should be able to take a nap without being violated.” He swallows. “It’s just—"

  “Nature. Got it. I have an eighteen-year-old brother, you know. Raised four boys. It was morning wood and spontaneous erections all the damn time.”

  He laughs, and I think his cheeks turn even redder.

  “You’re something else, did you know that?”

  I shrug, and my hair falls over my shoulder. It’s the second time I’ve been on top of a man today. I consider how this should make me feel. Slutty? Lucky?

  He pushes the hair off my face, warm fingers trailing against my skin. I feel him swell beneath me.

  “Thank you for being with me today.”

  “You’re welcome.” His voice is raspy, his eyes soft.

  I bend over and brush my lips across his. He seems startled, and that makes me smile, because Holden is so sweet, so easy, that now I feel like the one taking advantage.

  We part, and he admits, “That’s not helping the state of my erection, you know.”

  I consider offering to help him with that. Truly, really consider it, the way he helped me through my crisis that afternoon, but the sound of an engine barreling down the dirt road shatters the moment. Holden’s eyes flick to the clock on the mantle.

  “Shit.”

  “What?”

  “I’m on gate duty in thirty minutes.”

  I nod, sliding off his body, catching a sight of what I’d felt underneath me. The bulge between his legs, and the grimace on his face as he stands. He drops a kiss on the top of my head and walks to the back of the house. A moment later he’s in the shower, and I’m left to face the man I slept with the night before and the other man I’ve kissed once.

  I knew inviting three handsome men into my house would be interesting.

  I didn’t realize it would also be this exciting.

  Smith and Adrian are filthy when they come home, covered in dirt and sticky tree sap. They’d spent hours cutting up a large tree blocking some trails. They’d showered, eaten, and both headed to bed not long after they arrived.

  Leaving them to sleep, I collected the leftovers and loaded them up in my car, heading to the East Gate. Holden had rushed out of the house after his shower, hair damp and smelling of soap, trying to get to his shift on time. After being so supportive this afternoon, literally, the least I could do is take him dinner.

  It’s been a few weeks since I’ve taken this road. It’s only recently reopened. Not many people come to the park at night, but hikers arrive at all hours, pitching tents by lantern light.

  I pull up to the little wooden shack. Holden leans out the window and smiles in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

  “I brought you dinner.” I lift the containers.

  “Thank you.” He thinks for a moment. “Want to hang out with me while I eat?”

  “Is that allowed?”

  He shrugs. “It’s the night
shift. Whatever we can do to stay awake is accepted.”

  He points to where I can park my car—there’s a small ranger station just ahead with bathrooms and maps. I park my car and grab the food before walking back to the gate house. When I walk up, he opens a door on the opposite side of the window. I walk in, and it’s immediately obvious how small the room is, although there is a small sitting area.

  Holden doesn’t hesitate to take the dinner from me, open up the containers, and grab the silverware I brought. “Hungry?” I ask, half kidding. He’s already shoved a roll in his mouth.

  “Starving,” he says around the bread. “Thank you. Seriously.”

  “I owed you one.”

  His eyes lock with mine. “You don’t owe me anything, Sierra. You’ve given us a place to live, you make amazing meals, you’re fun and awesome to be around…we’re lucky you let us in your life.”

  His words warm my heart.

  “I told you, it’s nice to have people around.”

  “Well,” he says, starting in on the green beans, “I hope you mean that, because they told us today we can’t move back into the park housing for another three weeks or so.”

  Three weeks?

  That’s all?

  I’d known it would be temporary, but hearing it said out loud brings it home. “Three weeks is fine,” I say, over the lump in my throat. “Maybe I need to set a similar deadline for the house.”

  “You think we can get it all done by then?”

  “I’m up for it,” I say, not wanting to think about all the work that needs to be accomplished before putting it on the market. The list is long; painting and sanding and cleaning out the garage. “That is, if you guys are?”

  He holds my eye. “I think we’re up for almost anything.”

  My skin prickles, and I think about how he felt underneath me that afternoon. Hard and ready. I blink first, looking away from his intense gaze, my eyes landing on a deck of cards. I lean over and pick it up. “Want to play a game?”

  “That may not be a challenge you’re ready for,” he says. “I’ve had countless hours of card playing experience sitting in this box.”

  I pull out the cards and expertly shuffle the deck, rolling them over my fingers in a flashy way. Holden’s eyebrow raises and a curious grin tugs at his lips.

  I spread them across the small table and look him in the eye, “Challenge accepted.”

  An hour later, he’s beaten me three times in War. I may have quick hands, but he’s had hours of boredom to perfect his card-playing skills.

  I toss the cards on the table in defeat. “What else do you do in here to pass the time?”

  I look around the small shack. We’re sitting at a tiny table with two chairs. There’s a counter with a coffeemaker and sink. A huge first aid kit hangs on the wall. On the opposite side of the small space is a stool next to the window that slides open to greet visitors at the gate. A small shelf juts from the sill of the window, giving a place for maps and a clipboard. Only one car drove up while we were playing cards—the driver looking exhausted from a long day of travel. Holden greeted him cheerfully, handing him a map and directing him to the lodge nestled in the middle of the park. Occasionally, the walkie-talkie crackles, and another ranger’s voice carries over the speaker. They alert one another about bear sightings, a lost hiker who is found a few minutes later, and a car broken down on the side of the road.

  “Not much.” He stands and opens a cabinet against the back wall. It’s filled with paperbacks, puzzle books, and magazines. “I think I’ve read ninety percent of those. Twice.”

  “No phones?”

  “Service is spotty out here.”

  Holden stands and raises his arms over his head, stretching in the small space. There isn’t much room, and his hands touch the ceiling. My eyes fixate on the sliver of skin showing where his shirt rises up, on the scattering of hair that trails beneath his belly button. He’s wearing loose-fitting hiking shorts with a belt strapped to hold them up. Tiny flutters fill my stomach. It’s like being with Adrian the night before awakened a dormant fire deep inside. The nag of consciousness that should make me want to stay away from another man is nowhere to be found. Just the lick of desire traveling up my spine.

  We look at one another and the room is too small to hide the fact my ears are burning from my dirty thoughts or the twitch of his fingers as he coils them into a balled fist.

  “Oh shit,” he says, looking out the window.

  “What is it?” I ask, drawing my eyes from his body.

  He looks over at me, slightly panicked. “My boss, Brent. I’m not supposed to have anyone in here with me.”

  “What? You said it was okay!”

  “I didn’t want you to leave,” he says, sheepishly. In the tiny space, he manages to move in a series of directions, trying to figure out what to do with me. An idea flickers in his eyes. “Over there. Hide beneath the shelf, against the wall.”

  He points to the ledge that hangs from the window sill.

  “Seriously?”

  “Please. It will just be for a minute. I’m sorry.”

  I move quickly, ducking low and crawling on my knees until I’m under the flat surface. I press my back against the wall. Holden steps in front of me, hips at eye level, and I hear the slide of the window.

  “Hey, man, everything okay?”

  “Just doing a check before I head home. I went out to check on the group with the broken-down car. They just needed a jump.”

  Holden’s hips rest just below the ledge, level with my eyes. I’m feeling mischievous, ridiculous, hiding down here like this. I reach out and graze his ankles with a light touch of my finger-tips.

  “You got the car working?” Holden asks, shifting his feet, but I continue, skimming up his legs, knowing his boss can’t see me.

  “I did, but I told them I’d get them the name of that garage that will bring in a new battery and hook it up.” There’s a pause. “Would you happen to have that information in here?”

  “Uh, sure,” Holden replies. “I think all of that is in this book.” I hear a thud overhead and the shuffle of papers. The flicker of troublemaking compels me to continue messing with him and I allow my hands to travel upward, running up his thighs. A hand drops beneath the ledge, swatting at me. I grab his fingers and hold them, kissing each tip, sparking a fire between us. His voice wobbles when he says to Brent, “I’m sure it’s in here…”

  His hand vanishes, and I focus back on his legs. They’re tan and strong, his calves muscular. I feel like I’ve lost my mind, but I explore each knee. On a whim, I pucker my lips and kiss each kneecap, one at a time. Feeling bold, I move upward, pushing my fingertips up the hem of his shorts, spreading them over his inner thigh.

  His legs wobble and I straighten, eyes landing on the taut fabric on the front of his shorts. That bulge, the one I’d felt earlier, is back. The tickle in my belly returns, and I can’t help but think about waking from our nap earlier that day—the way his body felt under mine. The hard, swollen arousal. The gentle way he’d kissed my forehead.

  “Here,” Holden says with a cough, “I think this is it.”

  “Let me see,” Brent replies, oblivious to what’s going on inches away. I hear the slide of whatever book they’re perusing cross overhead. “No, that one doesn’t do the delivery.”

  Holden exhales in frustration. I smile, knowing I’ve got more time to torture him.

  I’d wanted to take care of that need earlier today, and despite the risk of the moment, I want to take care of it now.

  I inch my fingers upward, grazing over the hard bulge. He startles, hips moving back, before settling again. I feel him, the heat pulsing through the fabric, wondering exactly how far I can push this. I feel like I know Holden. We’ve worked, and played, alongside one another. We’ve slept with one another on the couch. He’s comforted me, defended me. Is he the kind of guy that can handle an on-the-sly hand-job with his boss two feet away?

  I’m considering
this as he and his boss talk, when his hand slips under the shelf once again. This time he fumbles around until he finds my face. He strokes my cheek and grazes my bottom lip with his thumb.

  If that isn’t a green light I don’t know what is.

  Again, I kiss his fingers, then find his zipper, slowly tugging the pull over the swell of his erection. His hips sway, and I reach inside, surprised to find he’s bare underneath. One less obstacle to go through.

  I focus on the task at hand, ignoring Brent and Holden talking, along with the crackle of the walkie-talkie as they figure out how to help the park visitor. His cock is hot and hard. When I release him from the confines of his pants it bobs toward me eagerly. It’s the second cock I’ve touched in twenty-four hours. This one as impressive as the last. Holden’s tip is bigger, his skin darker. As much as I want to take my time, I’m already pushing limits. I run my hand down the shaft, feeling how big he is, and flick out my tongue, licking the tip.

  Holden’s body has gone full rigor, frozen in his spot. He speaks to Brent in slow, controlled words. I move at a similar speed, tasting the salty precum, and slowly stroking his length.

  “Did you hear the call about the bear?” Brent asks just as I reach behind his cock and fondle the soft, silky flesh of his balls.

  “Y-y-es,” Holden stutters, fingers gripping the ledge.

  “Huge motherfucker,” Brent says. “Jameson sent me a picture. Three cubs following it. Luckily the driver saw them on the road and let them pass.”

  I’m not brave enough to suck his dick while his boss is right there, but I can’t stop myself from touching him, licking him, kissing the velvety soft skin.

  “I found it!” Brent says, slamming down on the ledge with enthusiasm. “I’ll let them know. Thanks, Holden, do you need anything before I head in for the night?”

  “No, sir. I’m, uh, good.” I hear him swallow. “Really good.”

  “Excellent. Try not to fall asleep.”

  “I don’t think that will be a problem, sir. Goodnight.”

  He slides the window shut, but he doesn’t step away, Brent obviously still in sight. He waits a heartbeat, one where I’m not sure how he really feels about this moment. Pissed? Excited? Humiliated. He reaches over and he tugs a string, making a shade fall over the window in a rush. He shoves a sign against the glass that says, “Ring bell for assistance.”