As soon as her taillights turned the corner, Big Country went back into his house, took a quick shower, brushed his teeth, grabbed his keys, set the alarm, and made his way to his pickup parked on the street. To reward himself for getting through this clusterfuck of a night he vowed to call Sylvie with the blood-red hair, porcelain skin, and eyes so bright green they gleamed like Irish flames. Though she was pricey to keep, Sylvie had a mouth strong enough to suck the devil out of the damned.
Yes, Lord, Sylvie—above any of his other women in the area—was skilled enough to erase the memory of tonight’s foolishness.
With a plan in place, Big Country sped toward Mama’s House, vowing never again to break the rules he’d created to control his dealings with women.
Tonight never would have happened if he hadn’t witnessed Zeus and Sabrina wallowing around in some type of shared delusion everybody in the Brood termed “a freaky love thing.” Whatever it was, wouldn’t likely last. He’d been a fool to believe he could find the peace they shared in the arms of a beautiful stranger.
Reaching for the half-smoked cigar in his shirt pocket, he lit it, puffing until the burn held, breathing the smoke deep into his lungs. Slumping comfortably in his seat, he navigated his big truck along the narrow road.
No sir, he thought, Zeus and Sabrina could indulge in that happy-ever-after bullshit called love if they wanted to. He was going to continue to put his eggs in the basket reserved for straightforward, transient, noncommittal sex with a variety of well kept, highly skilled women who agreed that when a good time wasn’t a good time, they’d go their separate ways.
Chapter 1
“Stormy, get down off that table or I’m telling your daddy!” Reign yelled over the music, laughing so hard she almost fell over. Stormy smiled down at her cousin and pulled the hem of her dress higher while rolling her hips suggestively to Muddy Waters’ “Mannish Boy.”
Turning slowly on the table she figure-eighted her ass defiantly in Reign’s face, bringing on a wave of catcalls and laughter for the group of women celebrating with her, as well as some of the men scoping out their group from a distance.
With each undulation of her hips, Stormy wound down lower and lower until she was crouched less than a foot above the table’s sturdy wooden top. She bounced up and down, attempting to put an end to the notion that a woman of nearing forty couldn’t drop it like her shit wasn’t pure fire. Of course, within seconds, that fire was burning its way through Stormy’s thighs, making her question her ability to wind her big ass back up again. The refrain ofI’m a man, the guttural guitar riff, the driving drum beat, had her popping her hips from left to right, rising steadily as if lifted by the hands of ancestors come down to celebrate with friends and kin during this alcohol-abundant revival.
I finally did it, she thought with a smile, moving with unadulterated pleasure.
After over fifteen years of working for the county, she’d stepped away from the job that supported her through a master’s degree to her license in clinical social work, only to suck the life out of her as repayment ever since. Releasing herself from the last piece of toxicity plaguing her life, she was not only committed to being more than a silent partner in Red’s Pleasure Boutique, she was striking out into the world of clinical consultation and private practice.Finally free,she thought as Muddy Waters declared he was “a man.”
“I’m a woman!” Stormy sang loudly, overriding Muddy’s gravelly tones.
The seven women surrounding her joined in, jumping up and down as if electrified by the power of her declaration. She was a fucking woman, and she was tired of feeling like she didn’t matter in this world. That’s what working at her old job had done, that’s what years of marriage to her ex-husband had done, and she wasn’t allowing that bullshit anymore.
Her group danced around the sturdy table, obviously bolted to the ground, because Stormy Redmond was nothing little or light. Standing five foot ten in her bare feet, she’d succeeded at reclaiming her curvy size-fourteen body after years of burying alive the active, vibrant woman she’d once been. Although her breasts had always been big, she’d once again had the defined curvature of her hips and ass.
Last week, even the pastor at her daddy’s church had done a double take, but the sad truth was that men always looked, but they never stepped up, never engaged, allowing their gaze to pass right over her without a word.
Except for tonight.
Tonight, the men there saw her and she didn’t mind being seen.
Throwing her head back, she laughed and danced until the song wound down and switched to a less energetic R&B tune. Stepping from table to chair to floor, she eyed the expanding number of men watching her group, as if dazed by the presence of women.
Before the bar had opened, Stormy, her best friend Lou, who’d come up from San Diego, her other best friend and business partner Jules, her cousin Reign, and her niece Octavia had arrived early to help the owners—Mama and Terry—move the few tables at the center of the bar to the periphery where the tables were bolted down. They’d decorated the bar in the primary colors of Jules and Stormy’s sex shop: bloodred and lavender. The explosion of balloons and streamers were in opposition to the bar’s dark interior.
Always aware of marketing opportunities, Jules had brought a slew of party bags—filled with items sold in their boutique—to give to the patrons of Mama’s House. What none of them anticipated was the overwhelming number of men…very deadly-looking men…patronizing the bar.
Besides the women there to celebrate with Stormy, there were less than ten other women in the bar. It was an almost unheard-of ratio for the Bay Area, one that had the potential to turn their event into a wasted effort because men patronized Red’s Pleasure Boutique on a limited basis. Still, Jules reminded Stormy that men had wives, sisters, mothers, and significant others who could definitely benefit from the gift bags. Already, a woman named Sabrina had taken her bag and her man through the riveted metal door that readEmployees Onlyhours ago. Stormy had yet to see them return.
Hugging her cousin Reign to her side, damned near holding her up, Stormy spoke into her cousin’s ear. “You know you’re drunk, right?”
“I know!” Reign screamed. “Oh my God, I know!”
The normally introverted and highly anxious Reign danced off and latched onto Lou who nodded once, letting Stormy know that she’d take care of Reign. Since college, Stormy and Lou had an unspoken agreement to always watch over Reign in social settings. The one time Stormy hadn’t…
Looking through the throng of dancers, Stormy located her niece Octavia—Tavi to family and friends—in the arms of a man who looked like he could be on both the FBI and DEA’s most wanted lists. Maybe in his mid-twenties, he wore a beat-up black leather vest with no shirt. Tattoos ran rampant over every surface of his exposed skin, save his very hard and unfriendly face. The man looked like he was well on his way to becoming a lifer in some Aryan motorcycle gang. Stormy wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility that he wasn’t just because he was dancing with her brown-skinned, kinky-haired niece.
Cursing her hypervigilance, Stormy made her way over to Reign and Lou and they all began to do the bump, Lou at one hip, and Reign, who stumbled and laughed each time their hips met, at the other. Stormy watched Tavi and the ex-con press their bodies together. Her niece wrapped her arms around the Aryan’s neck and his thick forearm pinned her against his body as his other hand slowly massaged Tavi’s ass. Tavi said something in his ear and he grinned dangerously before dropping his head and biting her niece’s collarbone. Tavi grabbed his head and pressed her mouth against his in an all-consuming kiss.
Acutely aware of the lack of intimacy in her own life, Stormy looked away.
Beyonce’s “Partition” blasted around the room and her crew went wild…no, wilder. Hell, as hyped as they got, you would have thought the singer herself had walked into the bar. Every womanexceptStormy had found a man to grind on. Even the bar’s namesake, Mama, was moving brazenly against her co-owner’s body as if she was a descendent of Salome. They had to be lovers the way Mama was tying that man up with invisible veils of seduction.
What was it about this place that stirred something wild and primal, she wondered, watching Terry’s features take on a feral quality, his eyes narrowing on the much smaller woman before he threw his head back and howled like a wolf…like an actual wolf.
