Page 43 of Kandie Shoppe

Withdrawing, he squeezes my throat. “You’re mine.” Harder this time until he bottoms out. “Mine.” He bites his lip, grinding hard and deep against my pussy, making me quake. “Mine.” Harder. “Say it, wildcat. Tell me this is my pussy.” He slams home, fucking me with deep punishing strokes that make my teeth click and my breath tighten in my chest.

“Yours.” I can’t catch my breath enough to speak. He’s literally destroying me on my ancestral land and all I can do is let him. “I’m yours, U.”

His crazy grin is back as his hips pummel me, slamming, grinding taking me relentlessly.

Arching my hips to take more, I snatch his ass closer by the hair, dragging his face to mine. “I don’t share either, motherfucker.” Fucking him back, I pump my hips in time with him watching ecstasy walk across his grave. He has to grit his teeth to keep from coming. Sweat prickles his brow, then drips, splashing onto mine.

I clamp my muscles around his dick, making his eyes roll back. He buries his face in my throat, fighting for his life. He bites, throwing me off. I relax my hold in reflex. Sucking my flesh hard, he leaves his mark. His hips pistoning, hitting my spot, I feel the first bursting spasm. Holding me steady, making me take every punishing thrust, he reaches between us, his fingers playing with my clit.

“Come on my fingers and my dick, wildcat. Yeah, that’s it, grip my dick like a good girl,” he growls in my ear, fucking me. My treacherous body binds to his will, his naughty words doing exactly as he demands spiraling beyond my control. My muscles grip and pulse around his dick like it’s a life force, while my essence spills over his fingers, giving him the answer he wants.

Hips snapping from his loss of control thrust into me over and over, driving me into another climax of toe-curling bliss.

“Kandie,” he shouts, coming right behind me, his hips driving in a relentless rhythm.

For long minutes, we stay lying together. His heavy body pressing me into the grass, the night surrounding us, animals scurrying from all the noise we were making moments earlier. Honeysuckle and camellias tickle my nose.

I can hear his breath sawing in and out. His dick is still hard and pulsing inside of me. I’m staring at sweat slicking his chest. I’m pressed so close I can smell his deodorant and the cleanscent of his flesh, mixed with the musk of his exertions from chasing me.

Slowly, he withdraws. Up on his knees, he tucks his still hard dick back in his pants. Eyes unreadable on me, he stitches my shirt closed back over my breasts.

“Get up,” he snarls. Grabbing my elbow, he snatches me up. Stopping to pick up his shirt, I’m curious when he doesn’t immediately put it back on.

When we get back to his truck, he puts the shirt on the passenger seat before shoving me inside, not so gently. He grabs another shirt from the back seat, buttoning it up, his gaze hard and troubled like he’s mad he fucked me.

Several minutes later after driving the whole way back to town in silence I turn to him when he passes my bakery. “Where are you taking me?”

“Jail. Kandie Love, you’re under arrest for arson,” he says, not even bothering to look my way.

It’s so latewhen we get there. He at least had the decency to cover me in this oversized sheriff’s flack jacket.

“I got it, Lydia,” he tells the deputy on duty who’s doing her best to catch a glimpse of my face. If she notices the dirt and grass stains all over us she doesn’t say anything.

“Who’s on patrol?” Ulysses asks, pulling the roster. “Never mind, I got it.” Then he pulls out a radio. “Garcia,” he waits for a response his hand tightening on me rather unnecessarily in my opinion.

“Yeah, Sheriff,” comes the voice over the surprisingly clear line.

“Where are you? You were supposed to relieve Lydia.” Ulysses waves Lydia off before going to lock the main door.

“The assistant pastor had a blowout, and I was giving him a pull back to town,” he says, clearly worried about being in trouble with the sheriff.

“Ah, okay then. When you’re done, I need you to do one more favor for me. Go out to county line road eleven and haul Pa-Pete’s truck back to their house.” Surprised, I look at him. He didn’t have to do that. He could have just left my stuff out there. It’s not like someone from the family would mess with it other than haul it back to my grandaddy’s house.

“Thanks,” he says, clicking the comm off.

“Don’t fucking move,” he grits out, dropping my arm. He goes over to lock the main doors with a key he pockets.

“What happens if people get arrested or need help?” I ask as he grabs my arm again.

“Scared you won’t be able to escape with the new locks in place?” I almost laugh that they felt like they had to change the locks on the jail to keep me from walking out of the place when I get ready.

I know better than to say anything — that doesn’t stop me, though. “What are you going to say when they start spreading rumors that you keep me in here all night to yourself?”

Ignoring me, he drags me further into the small admin wing of the jail. We walk past the darkened offices and head down a short flight of stairs that opens up to a gym. Workout equipment lines the walls. We walk through the room to the back double doors. As many times as I have been arrested, I’ve never been in this part of the building.

“This equipment is new?” asking, I look around at the still gleaming apparatuses.

“Maybe a year. No excuses not to meet the fitness requirements,” he grumbles with a tug. “C’mon.”

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