Reaper's Property(22)

“Fuck, baby, that feels good.”
Encouraged, I gripped him and started pumping up and down, faster and faster, until his hands tightened on my hips and his breathing grew ragged. I slid my hand down below, cupping his balls, rolling them in his sac, then drew them back up and squeezed him tightly around the base. He shuddered, grabbing my hand in his and jerking it up and down along his cock, way rougher than I would have done on my own.
“Fuck me…” he muttered, resting his forehead against mine. “Like that, babe. Keep going, don’t stop.”
I pumped him as fast as I could, savoring his little grunts of desire and satisfaction. Then I felt a throbbing deep inside his shaft. His seed shot out between us through the water, and he grunted violently as he came. I caressed him slowly as he softened until he pulled my hand away, drawing it up and around his neck.
“You’re so f*cking hot,” he whispered, lifting me and kissing the below my ear. “I can’t believe how hot you are. I hated thinking about you all slutted up and going out without me, letting some other guy hold you.”
“Well, I spent the night listening to Jeff moaning and barfing, so that was sort of a bust,” I whispered back. “None of them would have come close to you anyway. But I still wish I’d had more time to visit with Cara.”
He shrugged.
“Jeff did what he had to do.”
His words struck me as odd.
“What do you mean?”
“He needed you at home, so he asked you to stay even though he probably hated keeping you in, that’s all.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yeah, you’re probably right. He’s been so good to me, it was the least I could do.”
I laid my head against his shoulder and we sat there in the hot water, savoring the moment, urgency gone.
Then his stomach grumbled so hard I felt the vibrations.
“Hungry much?” I asked him, smiling.
“I ate breakfast six hours ago,” he replied. “Wanted to get here and see you. Would have come last night if I could’ve.”
“I hate to end this, but maybe I should feed you.”
“I won’t argue. Your cooking’s almost as good as your hand jobs.”
“Horse!” I sputtered, blushing. I leaned back and splashed his face. He dunked me and we wrestled a little bit before finally climbing out to get some food.

Fortunately it was in the nineties, so even sopping wet we weren’t too uncomfortable. It felt sort of strange sitting down to a picnic lunch in my panties and bra, but I figured it wasn’t much worse than wearing a bikini. Besides, my undies were pretty—black, with eyelet lace and polka dots, and just a hint of a push-up on top. The panties were boy cut, high in the back across my butt, and I enjoyed feeling Horse’s eyes on me as I set everything up.
It wasn’t anything fancy—just some chicken sandwiches, veggie sticks and watermelon, with cream-cheese brownies for dessert—but he seemed to appreciate it.
“Jeff’s lucky to have you around,” he said between bites. “I wish I had someone taking care of me like this.”
“You live on your own?” I asked, trying to sound casual. I didn’t think he had a girlfriend, but we hadn’t actually talked about it. Probably should have asked that before grabbing his dick in the pool.
Oops.
“Been on my own since I got out of the service.”
“Army?”
“Marines. Two tours in Afghanistan, that was enough. Came back, bounced around for a while, joined the club.”
I wanted to ask how it had been overseas, but it wasn’t exactly a question you just blurted out, so I just gave him a questioning look, hoping he’d volunteer something. He caught my eye and smiled, eyes crinkling just a little bit around the edges. Seeing those tiny wrinkles reminded me that I didn’t even know how old he was.
Hell, I didn’t even know his real name. Double oops.
“What’s your name?”
“Horse.”
“I mean your real name,” I replied, shoving his shoulder playfully. “I don’t know you at all, it’s weird. Tell me something.”
“My real name is Horse, that’s what I go by. That’s what the people who know me use. But if you want to see my driver’s license, have at it.” He reached over, snagging his jeans and dragging them toward us. He pulled out the leather wallet attached to his pants with a chain, flipped it open and slid out his license. I took it and giggled when I saw his name.
Marcus Antonius Caesar McDonnell.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he replied, grinning. “Mom had me while Dad was serving time. Wasn’t a long haul, but damn she was pissed at him for leaving her alone while she was knocked up. She loved history and was reading this whole big series about Rome, so decided f*ck it and named me after some Roman general. Worst part? She didn’t even get the name right. Marcus Antonius Caesar wasn’t a real guy. Dad shit himself, but by the time he got out it was a done deal.”
“I can’t decide if that name kicks ass or is the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said, giggling.
“It’s my name, therefore it kicks ass,” he replied gravely. “Seriously, though, I never used it. Dad’s the one who named me Horse, first time he saw me.”
“Wow, even back then?”
“Even back then,” he said, looking smug. “It stuck. Mom hates it.”
“So it says here that you’re thirty years old and live in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.”
“Correct.”
“And that’s where the club is based?”