Trick (9 page)

I gather Harlow in my arms without another word and feel a smile on my lips when she laughs loud and long.

“Gunner Hunt, you can dance! Holy hell, you sure can dance.” She looks down at my boots like she’s wondering if maybe I switched feet with someone else.

“I can’t hold a candle to you,” I say. Fuck, she feels good in my arms, warm and right. “My mama taught me while she cooked dinner. Said I’d meet a pretty girl one day, and it’d shame her if I didn’t know how to dance properly.”

The smile that curls on her lips makes me catch my breath in my throat. “I would have so loved to meet your mama,” she says, holding me tighter as we whirl across the floor. “She sounds like an amazing woman.”

“She would have loved you.” I blurt the damn words out before I really have a chance to think things through, before I realize that I’m opening up old wounds best left closed.

Harlow stops us on the dance floor, grabs my face, and kisses me full on the mouth. Her lips go close to my ear and she whispers, “She would have been so damn proud of you.”

The sad thing is, Harlow means it. She means it from the tip of her little toes to the top of her gorgeous head.

And she couldn’t be more wrong.

My mama would be appalled if she knew what a coward her son turned out to be.

The song ends and another picks up. Harlow bites her bottom lip and grabs onto my hands expectantly.

I know I’m going to regret this tomorrow. I know this is a
train wreck going out of control, but tonight, instead of the devil whispering in my ear, I feel like it’s my mama. And she’s telling me to keep this amazing girl close. So that’s what I plan to do.

“Come do a shot with me, and I’ll dance
till my feet bleed,” I vow.

Her entire face lights up, and it doesn’t make me feel good at all. I feel like a prick. Just agreeing to dance with her has her lit up bright, and I’ve never offered to dance with her before. Up till now, all I was doing was pushing her away or getting my rocks off with her.

It’s not just my mama who would be disappointed. I’m disappointed in myself. It’s a feeling I’ve numbed away the last few years, and I can’t say I like the way it fits very much.

“Can we do a shot of Southern Comfort?” she asks.

“Baby, we can drink any damn thing you want,” I say. I take her by the hand and pull her to the bar, pushing her in front of me so I can keep an eye on her.

Why the fuck did I decide to take her to such a shady shithole?

I give some asshole a look that communicates I’ll kick his ass in when I catch him licking his lips at Harlow. Meanwhile, the douchebag bartender catches sight of her and rushes over.

“What can I get for you, angel?” he asks.

Before she can say a word, I growl out, “Two shots of Southern Comfort and make it quick.”

The guy glares at me and gets the drinks ready. Harlow turns to me, her eyes perfect wide circles. “That was really rude, Gunner.”

“He was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, kitten,” I said, my mouth close to her ears. “And there isn’t a man I wouldn’t beat the piss out of for looking at you like that. You’re mine to eat, and I plan to do it tonight until you come in my mouth.”

She presses her lips together and her delicate
hand shakes when she lifts the glass. I slap a bill on the bar and stare down the bartender, who stalks away.

Harlow holds the glass out to me. “To our mamas. Two of the best damn women who walked the earth, gone too soon.”

My throat goes tight, but I clear it and clink glasses. “To our mamas.”

It’s a strange toast, but it makes sense for the two of us. The first time we met, Harlow told me about her mother and how much she missed her. I remember thinking that this loved, petted, perfect rich girl and my lowly, stinkin,’ wrong-side-of-the-tracks self had one thing in common at least. Once I got to know her, I found out we were actually more alike than I thought possible.

It’s a damn shame that with all the things we had in common, a few differences destroyed any chance for us to be together. But that’s life. It sure as hell isn’t fair, and Harlow and I both learned that when we buried our mamas as kids. Sometimes life kicks you when you’re down just for the fun of it. That’s why you gotta get tough or get your ass handed to you.

“C’mon, gorgeous.” I tip her chin up with my finger and kiss her, the sweet of her mouth even sweeter against the bite of the liquor. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed, the lashes so long, they brush her cheeks. “I promised you a dance. Don’t make a liar out of me.”

The music picked up since Harlow fed the jukebox and started the place hopping, so we get to do our fair share of quick two stepping before the tempo slows down. As soon as it does, Harlow nestles close, her head leaned on my shoulder, her arms around my neck. If I dip my head, I can smell the amber and pomegranate.

Snooping around her room years back, I found the little bottle of perfume she wore. A few months after I walked away from her, I had a moment of weakness and bought myself a bottle of it, just to try catch the smell of her.

Didn’t fucking work. Straight out of the bottle, it smelled cold and heavy. I realized it was the smell of the stuff on Harlow’s skin that drove me nuts. To this day, it’s the one and only smell that can make me instantly turned-on.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt so damn good,” I tell her, stroking her soft hair.

She glances up at me, her smile so wide and happy, it sets off every alarm bell in my head. I shouldn’t be leading her on. One shot of Southern Comfort sure as hell isn’t enough to get my tongue stupid-loose like it’s being.

“It’s dancing,” she says, pointing down at our feet. “It releases endorphins and they make you happy.”

“I don’t know about endorphins,” I say. “But I know a little bit about being happy. And I think I’m feeling it because I finally have you in my arms again.”

She stops again, mid-dance and her lips tremble. “I have never felt so right, Gunner, as I have these last few days. I feel like I’ve been holding my breath, waiting for you to come back to me.”

“Here I am,” I say, cursing the words the minute they leave my mouth.

As if I’m not already headed for enough damn trouble, I start to whisper in her ear, things I want to do, and exactly how I want to do them until she’s shaking in my arms, begging me to take her home.

I shut down my last few working brain cells, the ones that are screaming that I’m sinking myself deeper into the kind of trouble I’ll never be able to get out of.

Maybe I don’t fucking want out. Maybe I want to go back to that time, three years ago, when it felt like I had a chance with Harlow. Maybe I want to make good on the promises I made to her, then broke. Maybe I want to finally make my mama proud and fight for the right girl.

She holds on tight while I take her home, back to my house, a few hundred feet from the barn where we fucked like crazy when we were hardly more than kids.

I can’t get her in the house fast enough. She walks in and sits on the stairs, crooking a finger at me. I shake my head and scoop her into my arms.

“Gunner?”

“I’m taking you up to my room. To my bed. I’m not going to stop touching you until your throat is raw from screaming my name. Because you’re about to come until you can’t come anymore. And then we’re going to start from the top.”

“Gunner!” she cries, shock in her voice.

I nod. “That’s a good start. But next time, I want it louder. And I’d prefer to be buried in that sweet pussy while you holler.”

I kick the door of my room open and drop her on the bed. She scrambles off before I get a chance to climb on top of her, and I think for a second she’s going to leave me.

Which is good, much as it
flat lines my heart. She needs to turn and run before I decide I’m not letting go of her.

“So I had this dance professor who was very, um, creative.” She fumbles with her phone, docking it on the station near the bed. “She had us learn to...strip.”

The music starts and it’s like she sheds any uncertainty. The way she moves is the perfect mix of sexy and confident. She looks me right in the eyes, and I wonder how I ever thought those blue eyes were innocent. She moves to the music, her hips and ass shaking to the rhythm as she pulls her dress up a few inches, slides it back down, then pulls it up a few more.

The softly rounded bottom of her bare ass peeks out, and my breath sucks in. She’s wearing a thong that’s nothing more than a bunch of ribbons tied together. Bright red. Like she’s a Christmas gift wrapped up in a bow, only for me.

She turns her back to me. The music pulses in my ears, and I can’t take my eyes off of her. She pulls the little zipper down in the back of her dress, and the white lace slinks to the floor. All she’s wearing is a lacy red bra, that tiny thong, and her black stilettos. I know for a fact the next time I watch her dance out in public, this is the image I’ll have in my head.

I’m not sure I’m ever gonna be able to watch her dance in public for long.

The minute I’m alone, I swear I’m gonna get on my knees and thank God that I get to keep this image of her in my head forever.

The way her body moves makes my dick throb hard. She runs her hands up and down her body, slowly, in time to the sexy song, and hooks her thumbs in the waist of her thong, tugging down an inch.

“I want to watch you, too.” She nods her head my way. “I want to watch you touch yourself, Gunner.”

I swallow hard as she dips low and rocks back up, teasing me with a quick flash of her nipples and a shake of her ass.

“You’re so damn hot, baby,” I say, unbuckling my pants and tugging down on my zipper. I fold my boxer briefs back and take my dick, already rock hard, in my hands.

She sucks that bottom lip in and bites down, then dips a hand between her legs, rubbing the exact place where I want to rub my fingers, slide my tongue, press my dick.

“I love your dick, Gunner,” she says.

She shakes her hips as she heads closer to me, letting the straps of her bra fall down over her creamy shoulders.

“Feel free to come touch it if you want, sweetheart. Or lick it. Or ride it. It’s all yours to do whatever you want with.” I fist my hand around it and pull slowly, from the shaft up to the head. Her eyes follow my hand.

The way she moves convinces me she’s some kind of beautiful witch putting me under her spell. Her body is still rocking with the music, but her eyes are flicking over my body. She reaches up and unsnaps her bra. Her big, sweet tits swing out, heavy and gorgeous, the nipples already hard and ready for my mouth.

“Come let me suck those, baby,” I say.

“Let me suck that first,” she says, pointing to my dick.

I let go of it and lay back as Harlow climbs onto the bed and pulls my pants and boxers off with one excited yank. I throw my shirt to the side, and she licks her lips.

“Perfect,” she hums. Her tits press on the muscles of my upper thighs and her tiny, soft hands grab onto my dick. I love that she uses both hands. She spends a few minutes rubbing the shaft up and down, drawing her fingers over the head, and cupping my balls, but soon she can’t keep her mouth away.

“Gunner, I’ve wanted to suck on you so bad,” she moans. Her lips part and she takes my dick in, her tongue licking in circles like she’s trying to taste it all at once, her lips tight around my width. She slides me deep in, until I feel the back of her throat. She’s sucking slow and hard, her hands running along my thighs and up over my abs.

I’m happy as hell I took up boxing and got back in top shape. Watching her dance made me realize how perfect she really is in every single way, inside and out. My heart may be a rotten black lump, but at least I can please her with my body.

With that thought in mind, I sit up and tug on her shoulders. Her mouth pops off my dick, sucking with extra eagerness on my head and making me groan. She looks let down, like I stopped her getting the last sweet licks of a sucker.

“What’s the matter? Did you want it different?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

I lay her back on the bed, reach for the bedside table and pull a black satin box out of the top drawer. I take out handcuffs. The gleam of the silver catches her eyes.

“You trust me?” I ask.

She nods, her eyes big as dinner plates. I take her wrists and hold them over her head, slide the cuffs through the bar in my headboard, and watch her bite that lip as I snap the metal links closed.

“I like this.” I draw the back of my hand down her body, watching her gasp in and out. “Yeah. I like this a lot.” I flip my hand over and press up from her hips to her tits, squeezing softly, then hard enough to make her gasp and moan. “I love this sweet little body.”

I rip her thong to the side, the waistband biting into her skin before it tears. I bend my head down, lodge my tongue against her clit, and lick up hard, dragging my tongue over her stomach, between her tits, along her neck. She yelps. “Nice. Next time, louder. And crazier. I said I wanted you to scream, didn’t I?”

I dip my head down and draw her left nipple in, sucking and biting gently while I squeeze the right. Her hips lift off the bed, and I cram my thigh between her legs, letting her rub hard against me. I feel the wet slide of her on my skin, and it makes me suck and squeeze harder. She matches my pace, jerking her hips hard against me. I switch off, giving each gorgeous tit the attention it deserves. Harlow moans and pulls her arms, making the cuffs clank against the bar.