Page 68 of Kandie Shoppe

He grabs my neck so fast, I swear he’s close to snapping my neck.

I don’t even think as my hand comes out, connecting with his hard jaw, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake. Time seems to stop as he reaches up and rubs his fingers over the scratches I made over the already scared side of his face.

“Look at you, letting me rile you up.” His other hand squeezes, cutting off my air flow. My pussy floods. His nostrils flare like he can scent me. He’s like a wild animal right now, so I wouldn’t doubt it.

“I bet that pussy’s wet as hell, lil mama.” He bites his lip, his gaze snagging mine as he brings his bloodied fingers to my mouth, pushing them past my lips, making me suck them clean.

“There she is,” he murmurs, seeing something in my eyes.

Dragging me to my feet, he turns me facing away from him. “Spread,” he commands, nudging my feet apart.

“Touch your toes, push that pussy out for me.” His low word instruction makes my body weep. Slick thighs push back, exposing everything he wants for his view. “Hell yeah, wildcat.” Running long fingers from slit to ass, he rubs my wetness over my already drenched flesh.

A shiver runs up my spine when I feel him lining up this time. My breath catches as he thrusts. And this time he doesn’t stop until he finds his home inside of me.

“U-lys-ses,” I scream his name as the delicious agony of his touch nearly liquifies me.

“I got you, baby.” Long arms circle my waist as he holds me in place. His touch is not a caress, it’s a possession. He holds me in the cage of his arms, driving into me with a precision I can imagine he used as a Seal on a mission. Methodically, he fucks me. Toes lifting with each drive, I’d have flown off the roof were his strong arms not holding me in place. Mercy is a mystery with the drive of his hips. I know his grip is going to leave marks on my hips from the force and pressure of the intensity of the pleasure he pounds into me.

Cries impossible to muffle spill from my lips as I curse him, praise him, beg him for more.

“Fuck me, U,” are my words as my muscles clench around him, pummeling my spot to putty. His answer when my legs fail is to pick me up, turning me to face him as he slides his dick into my still spasming pussy. “I’m going to keep splitting you open until you know who you belong to and learn some fucking loyalty,” he grunts, slamming me down on his thrusting dick, making me take every delectable inch of him.

Our gazes lock. His face is a mask of granite, and he takes me again and again. His dick rasps against my lips, brushing against my clit with every pass.

No words come from either of us as we are caught in the cataclysm of pleasure we alone are locked in on the roof of my loft and bakery.

In silence, we fuck and fuck and fuck until I feel his body stiffen and mine answers quaking in response. I can’t stand to look at him, nor do I want to let him go. I take the coward’s way and bite him as I come and he kicks inside me.

Chapter

Twenty

Kandie

“Silly rabbit, tricks are for kids,”I murmur, taking the pliers, twisting the thick rubber working and working it until the final piece gives. The ankle monitor drops to the floor with a heavy thunk. The alarm starts and there is an incessant beeping. Ignoring the officer’s voice coming through the device, I step over it, heading out of the loft, not bothering to lock the door. No need to have them break the door for a second time like their sheriff did last night.

I still can’t believe he did it. Ignoring the lancing pain in my heart, I press on like a good little soldier. Taking the back entrance to my shop, I let myself head straight back to the kitchen. Going into the walk in, I pull out the third middle shelf that opens into a dark passageway.

I hear them entering the bakery just as I pull the hidden door closed behind me. The great thing about old towns like ours, especially those that had an active freedom network, is there are many secrets, some forgotten, many not. People often assume everyone wanted to leave, but some people chose to stay forfamily and various reasons. Those networks remained but were kept secret in families and communities like mine, especially when faced with roving bands of terrorists and corrupt officials and getting on the wrong side of a powerful family like the Shelbys meant your life.

Taking the path lit only with the flashlight I brought with me, I look at the smooth walls marred only by the names of those who came this way many years before me and the marks of those who were never allowed to learn to read. I touch every Love I see but there are more; Carrington, a few Spencers even, and one or two Shelbys.

After more than a mile, if the ache in my thighs thanks to Ulysses from last night is any indication, I stop. There is a fork in the tunnel. One heads north, one east, and one west — I’m coming from the south. Taking the west tunnel, I walk another two miles. This town isn’t big, so when I emerge from the tunnel a mile outside of town disguised as a dried up covered well to the darkened truck, I don’t have to worry that any lookie-loos are about to call the law.

This is Love land anyway, so they’d better have a good ass reason to be out here.

“Hey, cuz.” Nikodemus blazes a blunt as he leans against the side of the midnight black Ford F-250 with Love Distillery Emblazoned on the side door.

“Hey,” I huff, and he stalks over to me, taking my satchel and slinging it over his broad shoulder. He grins down at me and winks. “This is escape number fifty what?”

“Umm, two?” I really don’t know. Leave it to my family to keep the tally. Me leaving places that I don’t want to be is not a surprise to anyone. Daddy said Kerania and I were climbing out of our pack-n-plays before we could even crawl.

“I think’s it fifty-four, I’d have to asked Joi. I think she has the right tally out of everyone.” Rolling my eyes, I wait as he opens the passenger side and helps me into the cab.

“Thanks,” I say when he folds his tall form into the driver’s side. My male cousins are as tall as the girls are short. They loom over us all, but rather than ever try to bully us, they are protective almost to a fault, which is why we don’t tell them anything.

“So, the good sheriff put you on an ankle monitor, thinking he was going to keep you locked down?” He gives a mirthless chuckle. “I guess he forgot they tried that when they accused you of burning that children’s home down.”

---