The Bare Bones (The Bare Bones MC) (5 page)

“What will you do?” Madison asked.

Ford had to pause. He’d never really thought about that. “Life goes on, I guess. I’m eighteen and I don’t want to live with my daddy anymore. So I guess when you split I’ll split too.”

Madison shoved him affectionately. “Yeah, but split
where
?”

Ford shoved her back. “Well, who’s going to run the new trucking company?” There was an old army airfield out of Pure and Easy up toward Mescal Mountain. The flat mesa, the hangars, and the seclusion made it ideal for Illuminati Trucking. They were also going to rent out excavators, flatbeds, and loaders to heavy construction companies to take the attention off their trucking activity.

Madison raised her eyebrows. “
You
are? How awesome for you, Ford! You’re totally going to lean right?”

“Well, not absolutely, of course.” One of the many things Ford loved about Madison Shellmound was that she didn’t frown upon the lifestyle.

He’d only taken Madison by the Bum Steer once, though. She had unfortunately been wearing her Dr. Martens boots, jean cut-offs, and that infernal push-up bra under a practically transparent wifebeater T-shirt. Riker had staggered out of the back rooms with his fly open, a clear plastic enlarging pump hanging from his dick.

Riker’s eyes had practically turned to giant whirlpools, steam had almost come out his ears, and he may as well have been saying “a-ooga!” when he got an eyeful of Madison. Ford had whisked her out of there quicker than you could say “cock and ball torture.” For the first time in his life he’d actually been a bit ashamed of his club, and he could have kicked himself for that. Madison never said anything against it. It was all his own shame.

“Of course,” Madison agreed now. “I can’t see you absolutely getting out of the lifestyle. It’s
you
, Ford. Like you always say. You love the man, you learn to love the club.”

What? Why was Madison saying that? Ford was confused. She couldn’t possibly be saying she loved
him
. She must be talking about Cropper and Ingrid, although their relationship was more skulls and daggers than hearts and flowers.

So he did what he usually did when confused. He treated it as a joke.

He kicked up water and even leaned forward to scoop up handfuls to toss at Madison. He wanted to soak her bra again so he could see the outline of her areoles through the white cotton.

“You asshole!” she shrieked, and splashed him back.

Madison wound up leaping back into the water to get away from him. She furiously did the crawl to the deep end of the pool, but Ford followed. He was by far more athletic than her and he’d caught up to her by the time she was attempting to climb out, fisting both rails of the ladder.

It happened spontaneously, and it was something he’d never regret. Without forethought, he covered her back with his torso. He pinned her squirming body to the steps with the force of his pelvis. He got a toehold in the cement and fully rubbed the length of his erection against her pliant ass.

There was no mistaking what he was doing. There was no joking, no getting out of it now.

To Ford’s surprise, she submitted. She was such a tough-as-nails hard chick, in his wildest imaginings he’d never thought she would just submit to him.

But she did.

She clung to the rail, barely daring to look at him over her shoulder.

While he dry-humped her nicely rounded ass under the water, Ford snaked a palm up her ribcage. He thought he’d shoot inside his jock when he slipped his middle finger under her bra’s underwire and finally, after all these months of longing, swept it along the pert, creamy orb of her fat tit.

“Woman,” he breathed into her ear, “you drive me crazy. I’m about to go out of my fucking mind and lose control the way you flaunt your stuff around me.”

She even wiggled her ass now, making Ford gasp. Was it his imagination, or did she arch her back like a teasing pole dancer? “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

That was it. That last little “I’m sorry” just sent Ford over the edge, and he took a big bite from the side of her neck.

She lolled her head back on her shoulder like the slinky, sexy feline that she was, giving him more room to bite, suck, and lick.

He yanked up her bra to completely bare her juicy tits to the gauzy spring sun. Leaning totally around her like a madman, he lifted a boob to his mouth, slathering his tongue all around the erect nipple. Now she uttered feminine little moans, little kitty cat gasps for air as she squeezed a handful of his hair. His thighs locked around hers, and he felt if he just thrust once or twice more against her ass, he might come.

Ford was in the process of flipping her around to face him so he could get one mouthful and one handful of tittie when a stern growl came from the house’s back door.

“
Get the fuck over here. Now.
”

Conditioned to obey Cropper, Ford’s spine snapped to attention. His mouth left Maddy’s nipple with a popping sound, and he swiveled his head around to view Cropper in the doorway, frowning a fierce Cro-Magnon frown. Was that guy always lurking around, just waiting to pounce on the best moments of Ford’s life?

“Oh,” panted Madison, trembling in Ford’s hands.

Cropper pointed at the ground.
“Now.
”

Ford didn’t have a fucking choice. As long as he continued working for his father he’d never be out from under his thumb. As the Prez of the Bare Bones, Cropper’s word was law.

Now it was Ford’s turn to apologize. “I’m sorry, sugar,” he meant to say as he helped Madison cover her boobs with the wet elastic of the bra. But it came out like, “I’m sorry, sugar cookie,” maybe because he wanted to put some more fucking emphasis on how strongly he felt.

“It’s okay,” she said breathlessly. “You’ve got to obey your dad.” Her face was beautifully flushed and she had that same innocent, stunned deer look he’d seen on her so long ago, the day they’d met. She swam away from him like a quick polliwog.

The word “obey” rubbed Ford the wrong way, and he resentfully hauled himself up the pool ladder. He didn’t care if Cropper got a good gander at the swollen cock that bulged in his jock. Brothers were always going hard at it in front of each other. Hell, he’d even done a few father and son tag teams with Cropper. Why the fuck not? Pass-arounds loved the forbidden aspect of doing a father and son at the same time. It was a sure and easy lay.

Ford hitched his thumbs under his waistband and tossed his wet mop of hair from his eyes. “Whassup.”

That wasn’t the right thing. Cropper reached out and snatched Ford by the arm like a venomous snake striking. If Ford had worn shoes, they would have been left behind on the cement as Cropper hauled him into the living room like a fucking little kid.

Like a fucking little kid.

Cropper whipped Ford around in a half-circle until his back slammed up against the living room wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. In one long stride, Cropper was completely in Ford’s face, breathing Jack Daniels and cigarettes all over him.

What. The. Fuck.
Cropper had only given him a beatdown once in his life—when he’d gotten drunk and blabbed to some cartel beaner about a shipment of AKs, which the beaner had proceeded to intercept.

He had deserved that. He didn’t deserve this, when he’d just been putting the moves on a smoking hot woman.

Cropper even stuck his fat index finger in Ford’s face as he growled, “You listen to me, and listen good, sonny. Hands off that fucking used-up cunt. You’re in for a world of hurt if you keep hitting on her. I don’t care what sort of a fucking fighter you are. You are riding for one seriously hard takedown.”

Suddenly it was as though he was in the ring. Ford’s instinctual survival instincts kicked in, and his hand shot up to wrench Cropper’s finger so completely he heard it crack. At the same time he kneed Cropper in the gut. The air was expressed from Cropper with a big “ooph” that was extremely satisfying.

With Cropper doubled over airless, it was sorely tempting to deliver a double-fisted blow to the back of the neck, but Ford settled for throwing him. Cropper splayed on his back like an old man, actually surprising Ford with how easy it had been to get the best of him. Now it was Ford’s turn to loom over the fallen warrior and make some pronouncements.

“Never
ever
stick your finger in my face again. And unless you come up with a damned good reason why I can’t continue playing with Madison, I’m gonna keep doing it.”

Cropper reached a hand up as if to ask for Ford’s help. Ford was suspicious but couldn’t deny an assist. Sure enough, when he reached down to help Cropper, Cropper threw him too. It wasn’t vicious—it was almost as though all the energy had been sucked from Cropper, and Ford languidly rolled with the punches. They both lay side by side panting like drunk cowboys looking at the stars.

“Give me your reason,” growled Ford. “And don’t say ‘she’s your sister’ because she’s not.”

“She’s Ingrid’s daughter.”

“So? We’ve tag teamed girls before.”

“She’s going away soon.”

“So? It’s not like I’m going to make her my old lady.”

“I just don’t like it. Stick to the sweetbutts, boy.”

Like a striking death adder, suddenly Cropper was straddling him. All Ford later remembered was a giant fist coming right for his jaw, then a different kind of starry night that sucked up all memory and sensation, like a black hole.

Cropper’s voice came distantly as though from the end of a long tunnel. “Get your ass down to Mesa. Ruben Ochoa’s moving some serious iron today, so see him in his Superstition Springs mall store. Take little Bobby with you. And don’t you ever grab my finger, son.”

Different hands helped him up. Ford was too dazed to resist. It was Robert Shellmound, June’s twin brother, and he guffawed in admiration as he led Ford to the couch.

“Wow, that was some badass fight,” marveled Robert. Robert was a goofy, gangly boy, but his saving grace was his enthusiasm for the lifestyle of the Bare Bones. He took off his shirt so Ford could mop up the blood on his face with it. “He wants me to come to Mesa with you. Awesome!”

“Okay, first rule,” said Ford. “Don’t say ‘awesome.’”

“Cool, dudes.”

“No ‘dudes’ either. We’re brothers now.”

Robert’s eyes opened as wide as the sea. “Are you saying…”

“I’m saying nothing. Just saying if you keep your nose to the grindstone and do right by us, we
might
let you prospect for us. Now get ready. You can take my Glock. No one goes unarmed. You can take my old Dyna. We’ll have to pick it up at the Bum Steer.”

“
Awesome
—I mean, seriously badass, Torino.”

Ford imparted a last lesson before he went to the bathroom to wash up. “There’s no ‘badass’ either, Bobby. You know why? Because when you’re a Boner you’re much too cool to be amazed by anything.”

One weird thing stuck in Ford’s brain as he strode down the hallway. When Cropper had flung him back against the wall, he’d had a hard-on.

As though he’d been getting off looking at Madison’s rack.

MADISON

A
fter Ford kissed me, things got strange between us.

Even though Cropper had pulled him away to go on a run, I held out huge hopes that we’d continue down that sexual path.

I was constantly wet. My pussy literally trembled with desire almost every waking moment. It made it very difficult to focus on my studies when I was trying to read six feet away from Ford. His long legs would be stretched out as he read his books—he almost always preferred reading to watching TV—and if he wasn’t wearing his cut he was shirtless, or worse, lifting weights.

He lifted a lot more weights after we kissed. I took a lot more quick showers, to the point where Ingrid had the nerve to yell about the water bill. I wondered if Ford was working out some frustration too. If he saw me watching as he did bench presses in the backyard, it seemed as if he worked even harder. I knew it was just a matter of time before we brushed up against each other in the hallway and Ford pressed another big, wet, open-mouthed kiss on me. A kiss full of love, with his juicy, fat dick humping up against my pussy mound.

Two weeks passed and Ford didn’t bring up the kiss. He couldn’t possibly know how worked up he’d gotten me. It was better than my craziest imaginings when he humped that long, fat cock against my ass. I lifted my ass to him because I wanted nothing more than for him to spear me with that dick. I wanted him to take me like an animal from behind, I wanted to feel his dick spurt cum deep inside me—jism, his beloved Miller always called it.

I wanted to be the receptacle for all his bodily fluids. I wanted every tease of my hips, every clutch of my inner pussy to bring him joy and more joy. I quite literally wanted to feel his manhood, corny as it sounds, buried deep up against my womb, wanted to feel his thickness pulse, hear him cry out in ecstasy.

I wanted to watch him fucking me in the mirror.

Ford was carved like a turkey, his body a sublimely sculpted work of art. I wanted to watch his glutes contract as he swiveled his hips into me. His tattoos would undulate with each pump of his pelvis.