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ing, saturating her panties with her juices as he held her head tighter.
“Rogue, baby. I’m going to come. Damn. ” He grimaced, his expression tortured as his breath became rougher. “Pull back. ”
He pulled at her hair as defiance flashed through her. She wasn’t pulling back. This was hers. She had waited, fantasized. She had studied, ached. He wasn’t stealing this from her.
“Sweetheart. Damn you. I’m going to come, Rogue. Straight down your damned throat if you don’t pull back. ”
She wasn’t pulling back. Her tongue worked beneath the thrusting shaft, her mouth suckled, drawing him deeper between her lips.
“Fuck. ”
She felt his cock flex. He stilled, then dangerously tightened before a low groan preceded the first hard spurt of semen from the heavy cock head as it sank nearly to her throat.
Oh God. She felt herself shaking, trembling. She was coming. She could feel it. Her thighs tightened as her clit vibrated and throbbed and a lash of heat seared her body as he held her in place, growled her name, and spilled more of the heated, silken release to her mouth.
“Ah fuck,” he gasped. “Rogue. Son of a bitch, your mouth. ”
His groan was followed by a slam. The slam of a door, a moment of surging tension.
“Oh hell. ” A youthful male voice squeaked. “Oh fuck! Hell!” The door slammed again as Rogue’s eyes widened, staring up into Zeke’s harsh, granite expression as he stared across the room.
At the door straight across from them. The outside door. The one that would have given a clear view to exactly what the hell was going on. That someone being Zeke’s son.
If mortification could kill.
Rogue drew back and stumbled to her feet, her horrified gaze turning to the door, then to Zeke. He was still hard. Sweat sheened his chest and icy fury marked his expression.
“Well. ” She swallowed. She could still taste him. She still burned for him. “I guess I can forget this going any further, huh?”
His gaze sliced to her silently.
Yeah. That was what she figured.
“Go talk to your son, Zeke. ” She picked up her clothes from the floor when she really wanted to sink to the tile and sob. “I’ll get dressed and head home. Maybe I’ll see you again . . . sometime. ”
She turned away from him. She wanted him to say something, anything. To blame her, to rage, whatever. After all, his teenage son had just caught him getting a blow job in the kitchen. It had to be a major catastrophe in any man’s life. It was sure as hell a major catastrophe in her life.
“Go home,” he told her, his voice hard despite its very softness. “We’ll talk later. ”
Uh-huh. She just bet they would. Like never.
She glared at his retreating back as she jerked her bra on and hurriedly clipped it. With shaking hands she pulled her shirt over her head and jammed her arms into the proper holes. She held back her tears. She held back her anger.
Until she backed the Harley out of the garage. She hit the gas, spun enough gravel to leave a trench, and raced for the main road.
Fuck him. Fuck it all. She’d had enough.
EIGHT
Shane was slightly in shock. He paced the backdeck, ran his fingers through his hair, and mumbled another curse. Hell. Some things a guy didn’t need to know about.
Sometimes, a guy needed to be a little more careful.
Hell, he’d seen the Harley in the garage; he just hadn’t thought. His dad never brought women home. It was just something that never, ever happened. Especially in the middle of the day.
Sheriff Zeke Mayes didn’t do “nooners. ” Shane almost laughed out loud. Hell, he didn’t know if he should be mortified or laughing. Because he’d wondered if his dad was some kind of fucking monk or something. At least now he knew that one wasn’t happening.
But hell, walking in on him? Him and Rogue Walker?
