Badd Ass (Badd Brothers Book 2) Read online

  Badd Ass

  Jasinda Wilder

  Contents

  BADD ASS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Also by Jasinda Wilder

  BADD ASS

  A Badd Brothers Novel

  By

  Jasinda Wilder

  Chapter One

  Mara

  It took me a few moments of blinking in the darkness to pull my thoughts together and figure out where I was. I stared around me, my breath coming hard and fast, my chest heaving, sweat dripping down the small of my back. The walls seemed close and the ceiling low. Out of the small window I could see moonlight reflected off the rippling water…Alaska.

  Right. Alaska.

  Shit…why was I in Alaska again? And where was I, exactly? Think, Mara, think.

  Wait…why was I naked?

  I twisted in the bed and hung my feet off the side, touching the floor—the carpeting was thin with a tight pile. I heard a noise behind me and turned to peer over my shoulder at the bed—and nearly screamed.

  A man.

  Big. Huge. Massive. And fucking gorgeous. He was on his back, an arm thrown over his forehead. Buzzed brown hair that showed signs of being allowed to grow out from a standard military high-and-tight. Muscles upon muscles, and more muscles, lean and hard and shredded, as in maybe eight or ten percent body fat at the most on a six-foot frame…and the muscles he was packing put him at two hundred pounds easily, if not two-ten or two-fifteen.

  He was sleeping, but somehow I just knew he had a pair of brown eyes that looked like shards of polished mahogany. I’d tossed aside the blankets upon waking, so they were bunched down over his thighs, and the moonlight in the bedroom was bright enough that I could clearly make out every inch of him, and Jeeeeee-sus, there were a lot of inches. The man was hung like a horse, and this was when he was limp as a wet noodle. Hard? My throat tightened and my stomach flipped, and my hoo-ha ached, because erect he’d be jutting a monster cock so big he could be a porn star.

  Come to think of it, I was achy and sore down there, and I was naked in this guy’s bed, and he was naked in his bed…two plus two equals four, Mara. Ding ding ding! You slept with another stranger, you hopeless slut.

  How shocking…not.

  My head ached, and my mouth was dry, which explained my difficulty in remembering things. I’d gotten hammered.

  So, think.

  Remember.

  I remembered his eyes. Somehow, those were seared into my memory, mainly because I could remember his eyes searing into me as he moved above me. Oh, yep, here we go. The memories were bubbling up—guess all I had to do was think about fucking this gorgeous god of a man and the details would come back all by themselves.

  I remembered the way he’d picked me up in the kitchen, carried me in here as easily as if I were a rag doll, and then tossed me onto this bed. And then…he’d shoved my legs open, spread my pussy apart with a pair of big, callused, but gentle thumbs and his tongue had performed some kind of sorcery on me, bringing me to a thrashing orgasm so fast he had to have made a deal with the Devil to acquire oral skills like that. Within seconds I was biting back screams. And he’d just gotten started. He’d licked and sucked and fingered me to orgasm three more times, and then he’d crawled up to kneel over me, reached into the drawer of his nightstand and produced a condom. Rolling it on, he gave me a look that had asked me if I was ready, or if I wanted to back out. I’d taken a long gander at his cock, and had almost backed out, because yeah, goddamn, that thing was a fucking club.

  Just kidding. I hadn’t almost backed out. A man as gorgeous as Zane? With a body like his, a face like his, and a cock like his? You don’t back out of that, even if you are a little scared of what his Godzilla dong might do to your poor little lady bits.

  There had been no need to be scared, though, because he was clearly no novice at making sure he didn’t hurt me. He’d gone slowly, easing in gradually, and his mouth had been doing exciting things to my nipples, and I was all loose from the multiple orgasms, so it almost hadn’t hurt at all. Then he’d pushed all the way in, and the ache and the burn as I stretched to accommodate him had turned to rapture, the like of which I’d never felt before—and then he’d started moving, and rapture had turned into something else so crazy hot I had no descriptor for it. Like, literally, he’d fucked me so good I didn’t have adjectives for how good it felt, and I’m pretty decent with my words.

  Just then I remembered his name: Zane Badd.

  I scrubbed my face with both hands, letting out a soft sigh as more details flooded back. God, he’d been incredible in bed. Normally after a one-night stand, I was gone the moment I woke up. I’ve made an art out of sneaking out of men’s beds, and it’s not a walk of shame if you don’t feel shame, right?

  Yeah, who am I kidding? Not myself, that’s for damn sure. I was going to do the walk of shame in about three minutes. My record time for going from waking up to out the front door is ninety seconds, and I’d only managed that because I’d stuffed my bra and underwear into my purse and run out the door wearing my LBD, purse in one hand and shoes in the other. The guy I’d slept with hadn’t been entirely honest about his relationship status, it had turned out, which had gotten him a black eye, his girlfriend a sincere apology from me, and myself a month-long case of self-recrimination, and a feeble attempt to answer the question: what the hell is wrong with me?

  Today’s walk of shame is brought to you by the letter D, for damn, do I wish I could stay and ride his D one more time.

  But no. I don’t dare. I remember very clearly the conversation we’d had, how I’d been the one to insist this was a one-and-done. I hadn’t missed the stubborn look in his eyes, though, which meant I had to make myself scarce before he charmed, flattered, flirted, and seduced me into sticking around for another round of mind-blowing sex. Which, no, didn’t sound bad at all. If I was honest with myself, I was kind of longing for some sober sex, especially with a Don Juan of this guy’s abilities. The part that sounded like hell was the sure-to-come fallout, the part where he’d turn out to be a complete ass-bag, and I’d get attached and then end up with a broken heart.

  I cast another long, appreciative glance at Zane, at his acres of lovely man muscle, and his California Redwood of a penis.

  Still asleep, thankfully, both the man and his dong. I mean, if he’d gotten morning wood, it might have been—ahem—harder…for me to leave.

  Chicks can make dick jokes, too, you know.

  I slid carefully out of bed, scrounging on the floor for my bra and underwear. I stepped into the underwear and tugged them up, hooked the bra in front, slid it around to shrug into the straps and into the cups. The jeans were tricky, because those bitches were tight, necessitating me doing the tight pants shimmy until my big ass finally squeezed into the skin-tight denim. Shirt, shoes, purse, and done.

  Now the hard part: leaving without looking back. It was an especially challenging operation this time, because Zane Badd was the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on, and he had, by far, the most talented mouth I’d ever felt, and the most perfectly sized, well-proportioned and aesthetically pleasing cock I’d ever had the pleasure of being pleasured by.

  Stop thinking about his dick, Amarantha Quinn, I scolded myself.

  Sigh.

  Fine. Time to go.
/>   The doorknob didn’t squeak when I turned it, which was helpful, and nor did the hinges. A few quiet, careful, tiptoed steps and I was out of his bedroom without looking back or getting sucked back in by his goddamn ridiculous body and face and dick.

  Damn it, damn it, damn it—stop thinking about his penis!

  That was hard, though, because his dick was just so damn pretty. And that penis pun was unintentional, FYI.

  I literally palm-slapped my forehead in a futile attempt to dislodge all thoughts, puns, and images of Zane’s cock, hard or otherwise.

  The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. Coming from the kitchen, however, was an aroma that made it nearly impossible to keep walking: the smell of brewing coffee.

  Damn it. Don’t stop to steal a cup; don’t stop to steal even a sniff.

  I paused at the door, which would lead me down into the bar, longingly inhaling the scent of coffee.

  “Thought you could just sneak out, huh?” a deep, gruff, sleepy voice murmured behind me.

  I was proud of myself for not jumping, even though he’d come up behind me without so much as a sound. “Yeah, that was the general idea.”

  “What about a goodbye kiss?”

  I refused to turn around. “Not a chance.”

  “Goodbye fuck?”

  “Nope.” Steady on, Mara—stick to your guns.

  “How about a goodbye blow job?” His voice was close to my ear, buzzing, rumbling, amused. Teasing, mostly, but also partially hopeful—you know how guys are about that, laughingly suggesting a BJ as a joke, but also hoping just maybe it’d actually happen.

  “Let me think…no.” I twisted the knob. “Bye, Zane. It was amazing.”

  “You know what was amazing?” he asked, his hands settling on my hips. “Watching you trying to get into those jeans.”

  I whirled, pressing my back to the door in an attempt to get away from the heat and thrill of his proximity. “You were watching?”

  “Navy SEAL, remember? I sleep light and wake easy.” He gestured at the coffee pot on the counter a few feet away, behind us. “Plus, I wake at four regardless.”

  “I wondered about the coffee,” I said.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck me. He was naked. And hard. Like, hard enough to hammer nails.

  He saw me looking, and smirked. “So. We’ve ruled out goodbye kisses, fucks, and BJs…how about some goodbye coffee?”

  “Will you be wearing pants?”

  “Probably not. I like forcing you to look at what you’re walking away from.”

  “Then no goodbye coffee.” I frowned at him. “And you have a pretty high opinion of your cock—and my attraction to it—don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “Can you tell me it’s misplaced?”

  I couldn’t, actually, but I’d be damned if I’d admit that. “Bye, Zane.” I turned back to the door, my hand on the knob.

  He sighed in irritation, and let me get the door pulled open before he grabbed me by the wrist, yanked me back, spun me around, kicked the door closed, and pressed me back up against it.

  His face was right in mine, his breath on my lips, his hands on my hips.

  “Um…Zane?”

  He nipped at my lower lip with his teeth. “Hmmm?”

  “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t make this awkward?”

  “You’re telling me this is awkward?” He whispered into my ear, his hands descending to cup my ass, and then his mouth was on my neck, and I was having trouble breathing.

  I was paralyzed; head tipped back, breath caught in my chest, feeling his mouth descending from the side of my neck to my jaw and then to the dip of my clavicle. Shit, shit, shit, this is exactly what I was afraid of.

  Because now his mouth was on my skin, and my brain was going doolally—as my dear Irish Gran would say—and I was having trouble remembering why I was supposed to walk away.

  Wait…what were my hands doing? Where were my hands?

  Goddammit! The stupid, traitorous wrist appendages were drifting up and settling between our bodies, and then I felt his cock in my hands, sliding through my fists, because apparently I couldn’t be this close to that magical organ of his without putting my hands on it.

  “Um.” This was a young-sounding male voice, from behind us. “You know, they have these really cool inventions we kids like to call bedrooms. They have doors you can actually close, too. Just…you know…saying.”

  I gasped in surprise, peering around Zane.

  Eighteen at most, he was tall and rangy, hair in a messy undercut, the sides shaved to the scalp, the top long and curly and deep brown, almost black. He was wearing a pair of Stanford sweatpants, the cuffs tugged up above his calves, and his torso was bare, displaying lean muscles and tattoos on his forearms, a bunch of interlocking, interwoven geometric shapes and higher math symbols. He looked enough like Zane that I was fairly sure this was one of the seven brothers I vaguely remembered Zane mentioning.

  “Oh, hey, Xavier, didn’t know you were awake.” Zane backed away from me and turned around to face his brother.

  The younger brother cringed away. “Holy shit, Zane! Do you go around clubbing baby seals with that thing? Jesus! Put it away, man!”

  Zane laughed. “Baby seals? No. Who would want to club those cute little things? I have been known to club…other things, though.” He lurched toward his brother, waggling his hips to make his dick sway back and forth. “Like you, for example. I could club you with it.”

  Xavier scrambled away from Zane with alacrity, hurling himself over the back of the couch and tossing a throw pillow at his brother, shouting “NO CLUB ME! NO CLUB ME!” in a faux accent.

  I couldn’t help cackling, because Zane was still jumping around, buck ass naked, chasing his brother, his massively erect dick bobbing and swaying back and forth like the mast of a sailboat in choppy water.

  “Prepare for a clubbin’, kid!” Zane said in voice even deeper and gruffer than his own natural rough bass, climbing onto the couch after his brother, taunting him.

  “I swear to god, if you don’t get that fucking monster out of my face I’ll make you a Grindr account and give all the horny gay boys your phone number,” Xavier threatened.

  That worked.

  Zane hopped backward off the couch, holding the pillow over his anaconda. “You wouldn’t.”

  Xavier scraped a hand through his messy mop of curls, brushing it back out of his eyes. “Try me, commando-boy. You’ll be drowning in gays faster than you can say power bottom.”

  This was as good a chance as any to make my escape, I realized, since Zane was facing off with his kid brother. I snuck out the door while Zane was counter-threatening Xavier. I tiptoed down the stairs and into the darkened bar.

  I made it to the dead-bolted entrance of the bar before Zane noticed my absence. “Goddammit! She’s getting away.”

  “What is she, a prisoner?” I heard Xavier ask.

  There was no verbal response from Zane, but I heard his footsteps on the stairs as I flipped the dead bolt. “Mara, wait!”

  I didn’t wait, because if I did, I’d end up with my hands around that cock again, and then I’d never leave.

  Something important to note about Navy SEALs: they, by definition, don’t have a give-up-easily setting. I was outside, and a good twenty steps down the street, shuffling through piles of discarded red Solo cups, bags of trash, overturned folding tables, carts full of folded chairs, a garbage bin full of empty beer bottles…all the detritus of a hell of a party. They’d cordoned off the entire block around their bar and were planning on cleaning up this morning. Although, as hammered as some of Zane’s brothers had been, it’d probably be several hours yet before the street was back to normal. Not to mention the fact that they needed to deal with the brother who had gotten injured last night—Baxter I think his name was. Someone had taken him to the hospital to get stitches in his leg after he and Zane had fallen on some glass. As far as I knew, Zane was none the worse for wear ‘cause he sure hadn’t complained when we wer
e having sex last night.

  I made it to the Ketchikan Public Works barrier when Zane caught up with me—wearing a pair of basketball shorts, thankfully. They didn’t really do much good, though, because he was still sporting a hard-on big enough to tent the shorts, although it did seem to be subsiding a tiny bit.

  He hopped over the barrier and put his hands on my shoulders to stop me. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

  “Why are you so determined to make me stay?” I demanded. “It was great sex, Zane, but…” I trailed off with a shrug, hoping he’d accept that as a non-verbal explanation.

  “But what?” He demanded.

  So…no, he wasn’t going to accept it.

  I sighed. “But I’m leaving. It’s what I do.”

  “What if I just flat out asked you to stay a few days?” There was no guile in his dark eyes, no hint of any kind of nascent assholery.

  But then, in my experience, the asshole tended to crop up when you least expected it, often without warning, and it wasn’t until you had the benefit of 20/20 hindsight that you finally noticed the warning signs you should have seen before. Thus, I leave before the assholery has a chance to emerge.

  I ducked under the barrier, being too short to be able to step over like he’d done. “Nope.”

  He growled in frustration. “You’re difficult.”

  “You have no idea,” I said, still walking.

  “Maybe I’d like to have an idea.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. My brand of difficult is…not something I’d let anyone sign up for.” I kept walking, ignoring Zane as he kept pace with me, barefoot, shirtless, and too fucking sexy in the pre-dawn moonlight for anyone’s good, least of all mine.

  “You know,” he said, finally stopping, “people accuse me of being arrogant, and now I think I’m finally getting a taste of what they mean.”

  I halted in my tracks, whirling on him. “I’m arrogant? Really? You’re a jackass.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” He used my pause to close the space between us. “But at least I’m honest.”