Outlaw Women

The Grand Tour

Ashlyn’s POV:
As soon as we got into the house, Becky left Brantley and I in the living room while she headed back to the kitchen. Based on the smell that filled the house, pot roast was on the menu. As I stood in the living room, I found myself comparing my place to this one. While I had tried to make my home feel like a ‘home’, nothing compared to walking into a place that made you feel invited and welcomed upon entrance. And that's just how I felt standing in the middle of the living room in Brantley’s childhood home. From the pictures on the wall to the knick-knacks sitting in shelves, everything spoke of the love that this home has seen over the years. Once again, the feeling of all that I had lost washed over me. Brantley must have been able to tell that I was feeling slightly emotional because he closed the distance between us by wrapping an arm around me and pulling me tightly into his side. 

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I will be.” I said reassuringly. “Just thinking about my parents.” 

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. 

“Maybe later.” I replied. “Right now, I want to get to know your mama. I think she likes me.”

“I told you that she would.” he smirked. 

“Yeah, yeah. Now be a gentleman and show me around.” I said sassily.

“With pleasure.” said Brantley as he grabbed me by the hand, tugging me along behind him. 

The two of us ventured from room to room, his pointing out family heirlooms and portraits of family members who had passed away. It amazed me how strong genetics could be. In one of the photos Brantley pointed out of his Grandpa in his military uniform, I inhaled sharply with just how much Brantley and the older man favored.  

“You could be his twin babe.” I said, lightly running my finger over the frame. “Those genes on your mama’s side sure are strong ain't they?” 

“That they are.” Brantley said softly as he lifted the frame and looked at the man in the picture. “Hard to believe he has been gone all these years. He was the first to encourage me to learn to play guitar. I think I was 5 or 6 then.”

“Did you ever think of joining the military?” I asked.

“I did. But back when I was thinking about enlisting, I was too busy poppin pills and drinking. I knew I would have had to quit to join and at the time, I wasn't ready to quit.” said Brantley, reminiscing. “In hindsight, I should have joined. Would have saved me and my family a whole lot of trouble and heartache.”

“Is that why you're so supportive of the troops?” I asked. 

“Partly yes. Our military catches a lot of shit. There are a bunch of people who support our troops. But for every person that supports them, there are 2 that don't. Our troops often come home with PTSD from the things they see, hear, or have to do while protecting our freedoms. Oftentimes they sacrifice their lives to make sure that the American people can live in a free country. And what happens when they get home? Some end up homeless. Some end up jobless. Can't function in society because of their years being hypervigilant. The whole system is fucked up.” said Brantley, placing the framed photo back onto the table it had been sitting on and pacing the room. “After everything that they do for us as Americans, the least I can do is show my support to them. That's why I buy my coffee from Black Rifle. They are a company owned and operated by former military men and women. I may not be able to do a whole lot for our troops, but I do what I can.”

“I know you do. And I love you for that.” I said. “My dad was a Marine. Ended up getting hurt during a training op causing him to lose his hearing in one ear. Received an honorable discharge when I was 3.” 

“I would have loved to have met him.” Brantley said softly, pulling me into his arms. 

“No more than I would have loved for you to meet him. He really was an amazing man. Little strict but that's a given considering he was a Marine. Also why my vocabulary as colorful as it is.” I said adding a little lightness to the conversion. 

“And your mama?” Asked Brantley. “She had to be tough as nails too to be married to a Marine.”

“Believe it or not, Mama was kinda reserved.” I said.

“So they balanced each other out?” said Brantley. 

“Yeah, in a lot of ways.” I replied. 

The two of us settled into a contented silence then, me reflecting on my parents, Brantley no doubt thinking about his grandpa.  For the first time in I don't know how long, I had been able to talk about my parents, even if it was just a miniscule amount without tearing up or becoming a blubbering mess. It actually felt good to talk about them. The only other person that knew everything about my parents was Chase. Then again, he had seen me at my worst too many times for me not to have confided in him. Even Miranda didn't know how they had died. Hell, she didn't even know their names. All she knew was that they had passed away and that I didn't like to talk about them.

After the two of us had pulled ourselves from our thoughts, I asked Brantley to continue the tour. When we made it to the hall that had all of Brantley’s school photos still hanging on the wall, I stopped dead in my tracks. From the looks of it, Becky had every photo of Brantley from the age of 5 all the way to his senior year hanging on the wall, each one a little more awkward than the next. But the funniest of them all was a picture of Brantley wearing a puka shell necklace, his bead buzzed.

“Oh my god Brantley. You used to wear puka shell necklaces?” I asked, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. “And here I was thinking you were a bad ass biker. Looks like you used to try and channel your inner Kenny Chesney when you were a teen. All you need is the cowboy hat and the deep tan.”

“I ought to give you a spanking for comparing me to Chesney. He’s about as pop as The Backstreet Boys.” said Brantley, wrapping his arms around me from behind and pulling my ass against his front. Digging his fingertips into my hips, he circled his hips making me feel his cock pressed against my ass. 

“Bet you were a Backstreet fan back in the day weren’t you?” I asked sassily. I knew I was playing with fire but I just couldn't help it. The reward for being sassy made it that much more fun. 

“I don't care if he buys you nice things
Does his gifts come from the heart?
I don't know, but if you were my girl
I'd make it so we'd never be apart
But my love is all I have to give
Without you I don't think I could live.” sang Brantley. I'd be the first to admit that I was a huge Backstreet Boy fan back in the day but there was something about hearing Brantley’s gravelly voice sing the lyrics that made the song so much better. And to have chosen a lyric that was sung by my favorite without even knowing it? Made it all the more better. 

“Well that just confirms it. You're a big ol softy aren't ya?” I said, leaning back into him.

“Only for you baby.” he whispered close to my ear, causing goosebumps to pepper my skin. 

Running a hand from my hip and across my stomach, Brantley the waistband of my leggings. Slipping his hand in slowly, I arched into him, craving his touch and not caring that we were literally in the hallway with his mama in another room. With each inch lower, I anticipated that first touch of his guitar calloused fingers on my clit. I was just about to be rewarded with his touch on the tight bundle of nerves when Becky hollered from the kitchen to tell us that lunch was ready. I moaned in frustration as Brantley growled about his mama still cockblocking him at 36 years old.

“You just want until we get back to my place. I’m going to fuck you on ever damn surface of the place. May even do it more than once. And if anyone comes knocking, baby girl, they are just going to have to watch the festivities.” said Brantley, my pussy clenching with desire at his promises. 

“Promises, promises.” I sassed.

“You damn right it a promise. I suggest you eat up. You're going to need all the energy you can get.” said Brantley, spinning us so that we were headed back to the kitchen. Just before we walked through the arched opening, Brantley slipped his hand between my legs, hitting my piercing. The feeling had me tripping over my own feet. Long, tatto clad arms kept me from falling. But his words at my ear damn near had my knees giving out on me and a whimper escaping my lips. “I wish you had worn a dress. I could have played with that pussy while I ate my lunch.”