The Moonshine Task Force Series

Chapter 2

Renegade

Fun fact: All of the material from my teenage spank bank is sitting in my truck next to me right now. Whitney Trumbolt (thank God she took back her maiden name) was the star of every fantasy I'd ever had when I'd been a young, horny guy. Back then I'd been skinnier and much less confident in myself, and if I'd ever been able to get inside her, I probably would have lasted all of three seconds.

Now, I go by the nickname Renegade and I'm a member of a specialized task force, along with my regular job as a cop here in Laurel Springs, Alabama. My job is sometimes dangerous and allows me to put my military training to good use. I get to use my hands, brain, and best of all, I get to arrest dumbasses that love to break the law. All in all – it's a win-win. We're not a large enough town to have to worry about crime, but Jesus do we have a booming illegal moonshine business. Even though it's not illegal to make anymore, it's sure as f**k illegal not to pay taxes on it and not keep it below the maximum alcoholic volume.

“You still live over here on Magnolia?" I ask. I want her to think I haven't been keeping track of her, but the truth of the matter is – I have. The fact that Tank is my best friend lets me keep tabs without seeming like a f*****g stalker. I simply like to know how she's doing.

“Yup," she giggles. “That's the one thing the motherfucker didn't get in the divorce."

My eyebrows raise to my hairline as I hear the words coming out of her mouth. Wow, her tongue has loosened. Normally Whitney is the epitome of a true southern debutante. She wears her pearls, her blonde hair is curled just so, and you won't catch her skirt over her knee or those words ever being spoken. Maybe I should get her drunk more often. So far it's been a revelation. “We'll be there in a few minutes." I look over at her, realizing she's leaning against the glass of the window. “Don't pass out on me now."

She doesn't say anything and I wonder if maybe she's rethought what she offered. Since we got into the truck, she hasn't turned towards me, she hasn't tried to touch me, and if I didn't know better, I'd say she's almost gone for the night. Part of me expects to hear soft snores coming from her side of the truck. Turning on my blinker, I pull into her drive and let it idle there for a few moments before turning it off. “If you've had second thoughts about this…" I start. I'm nothing if not a gentleman and truthfully, I don't want there to be any weirdness between us. I spend holidays with the Trumbolts. Maybe time and a little bit of sobering up has changed her mind.

God I hope not. When I walked into the bar tonight, I couldn't believe my eyes. Tank had a date, and I hadn't wanted my own company, so I'd decided to go have a beer. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw Whitney holding court over almost every man there. I'd shot them all looks of death and then taken the seat next to her. When I realized exactly how drunk she was, I made it my mission to find out what the hell was going on.

I steel myself against the realization that this is probably going to backfire in a big way. Allowing myself to glance over at her, I'm surprised as hell when she meets my eyes, offers me a saucy smile and lifts her hips off the leather of the seat. My d**k, which has been a good guy throughout all the talk of treasure coves and n****e play, makes itself known at that moment as it punches against the denim encasing it. I reach down and palm the hardness laying beneath the hard ridge of my jeans, hoping to find a more comfortable position for it to lay. When you're faced with your teenage dreams coming true, you man up and do whatever it takes to make them happen.

“Change my mind?" I watch as she pulls her shirt down, flashing me a little skin. “Not a chance, Renegade. Tonight I'm gonna do things I've never done before." She lifts her hands up like she did at the bar, making finger guns as she pew pew's me again, laughing so hard she lets out an unladylike snort.

With that, she's shrieking and jumping down from my truck, running into her house.

It takes me all of five seconds to follow her. When she playfully slams the door in my face, I wonder if she's going to lock it, but I test the knob and find out that I can easily turn it. As soon as I enter the darkened house, I'm on high alert. This is what I do for a living, chase people. My hearing is exceptional, my night vision is incredible, and I can sense where someone is, usually within a few inches. This woman has nothing on me. Tilting my head to the side, I hear her, she's breathing – not as hard as she will be later, if she lets me follow through, but it's loud enough that I can hear it.

I turn my body to face hers, let my eyes adjust, and see her standing just inside the hallway with her back pressed tightly against the wall. It's almost like she's trying to blend in, but Whitney's never been able to blend in. She's always had a spark about her, always stood tall and beautiful in the face of any storm. Why she thinks she'll be hiding in the dark right now is beyond me. Stalking over to her, I box her in by placing my hands on either side of her shoulders and lean forward so close that our lips are almost touching. I tilt my head sideways, almost capturing the kiss I want. We're sharing breath we're so close, but I don't take it. I want the decision to be hers and hers alone.

“Last chance to back out. Otherwise, prepare to have everything you told me about in the bar come true," I give her five seconds, because that's all I can wait. It's all I have the patience for. Teenage me is seeing every one of his wet dreams come true, while adult me is ready to show this woman what I have in my repertoire. “What's it gonna be, Whit?"

Whitney

His words taunt me, his body tempts me. There are so many voices telling me I shouldn't want this, that this won't end well, but f**k those voices. Those same voices told me that my marriage would last forever and that I'd be a mother by now. They told me that it was my responsibility to be a good wife. I was and the asshole ruined me – he completely broke my heart – and I'm doing everything I can to get a little piece of the old Whitney back. Is this my best idea ever? Probably not, but damnit, I want this, I need this.

Sober Whitney would be telling Ryan to take himself somewhere else, that he's too young and I'm too damaged, but Doormat Whitney isn't in charge right now. This Whitney wants everything she's never had. She wants to experience all the things she's heard about. Giving myself up for the night is exactly what I want. It's only one night…right? After this, I can go back to being the woman who makes dreams come true for everyone else. For one night, I can feel like a real woman. I can feel like someone who's wanted instead of someone that was thrown away and forgotten about.

My voice is breathless. “I don't want to back out. I wanna know what you taste like, what you feel like, how your fingers grip me when you're f*****g me. Tonight, I want it all."

Truthfully, I don't even recognize my own voice, I don't recognize the decisions I'm making. These are the desperate decisions of a woman who's been pushed too far – a woman who's been told too many times that she's not worth it. I want to be worth it. I want to feel worthy, even if it's only once.

“Relax," he whispers as his hands come off the wall and bury themselves in my hair, making me glad I wore it down and loose tonight.

His fingertips massage my scalp in a motion that lulls me into a sense of security before he tugs slightly, tilting my head back so that I expose my neck to his lips. His mouth is hungry, his tongue wet as it laps at the skin there. I can feel the rasp of his five o'clock shadow, the sharpness of his teeth as he scores the flesh, and then the warmth of his tongue as he soothes the burn.

My arms go around him, holding onto his neck and pushing my fingers up into the short hair on his head, threading them through so I can hold him closer to me. I want him to inhale me, I want him to eat me up and not make any apologies about it. If there's anything he could give me, it would be the wild rush into passion. I've never felt that before. I've never had one of those movie love scenes where the two people just can't keep their hands off one another. I want that tonight, more than I've ever wanted anything in my life.

His hands move from my hair down my shoulders, grasping the edges of my collar. The plaid button-down I have on is only held together by snaps which easily release when he pulls roughly on the seams. Pushing the useless fabric from my body, he devours me. I can feel his gaze on me, but I'm not happy with that. I want to see it, the hunger, the way he looks upon me. Prying my eyes open, I take in the look on his face and hold it tightly. His face says it all; this is a man who enjoys what he's looking at. His gaze is hot and hungry. It makes me self-conscious and it takes everything I have not to cover myself up. I've never felt this exposed before. While it's frightening, it's also a huge turn on, especially when I look down and see the hard-on tenting his jeans.

“I'm not young like you're used to," I make the excuse, diverting my gaze. So far he hasn't given me any indication he's not turned on by me, but some men can get it up no matter who they're with. “But I work out four times a week," because I have to, otherwise my anxiety ramps up too much and I can't even live with myself.

His hands cup my hips, curling in at my waist, squeezing the firm skin before moving them up, towards the material that holds the heavy weight of my chest up. His hands don't stop as he uses his fingers to push my flesh up over the lacy tops before he leans in and swipes the hard tips with the edge of his tongue. I slap my palms back against the wall, grasping for something to hold onto in order to anchor myself. If this were a movie, it would be Top Gun, you know that scene where all you see is tongue in the moonlight as a shadow? I always loved that damn movie, and I always envisioned having that very s*x scene.

“You're gorgeous."

I want to believe it, because the way he says it, makes me want to. His voice is raw, the words raspy and gravelly as he breathes them out. They make me want to revel in them. If I were brave, I'd thrust my t**s out, spread my legs a little, and welcome him into the cradle of them. Unfortunately, inviting him in here has taken up all my bravado tonight.

“I bet you say that to all the women," I give him a shy smile, not fishing for a compliment. I'm not used to them, and I have no idea how to react to them. Something tells me that Ryan Kepler is a very generous lover with a totally silver tongue.

“No," he shakes his head, face serious. “Normally, I just tell them to flip over, stick their ass up, and prepare to be f****d. You," he stops, running his tongue along his bottom lip as he steps closer into my personal space. “For you I'll make an exception."

All of a sudden I'm scared to death, but this fear is something I'll never run from.