Page 25 of Broken Strings
Her eyes sparkle with mischief as she gazes up at me, all soft and sweet and thoroughly fucked. “I’m at a loss for words, Gunner Shaw.”
“Good.” I yank her hips closer to mine. “Step one of my plan to make you addicted to my dick is complete.”
She shakes her head as her laughter echoes off my bedroom walls. “This sounds like a ride and a half you’ve got planned…”
“Buckle up, baby.” I spank her bare ass cheek. “This ride’s about to get wild.” I kiss her deeply then, already obsessed with the taste of this woman on my tongue.
Her hands trail over my cheeks, eyes hovering on mine as our breaths mingle. “You don’t realize what you’re in for with this. I’m so fucked up.”
“You’re not fucked up, Cash.”
“It’s not normal to have these urges.”
“Rape fantasies? Being degraded? Hate to tell you, Sparrow, but those things are popular with women. It’s just that most are too scared to ask for it or don’t have anyone they trust enough to fulfill them.”
“It’s not just those two. There’s another one.”
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrow and coax a smile from her lips.
“Do you know what free use is?”
Fuck, yes, I know what it is, and so does my dick. It rises to full mast as if nestled in her pretty pink cunt. “Um, yeah.”
“I want that. I want you to fuck me any way you want, where you want, and I want absolutely no choice...”
I smirk. “To be my fuck toy.”
She nods. “Yes. I want to be treated like your fuck toy.”
I smack her round ass cheek again, enjoying how it bounces and makes my dick throb like it has its own heartbeat. Everything about this woman seems hard-wired to my dick. I’m not complaining, but it makes conversations like this more difficult. I can treat her like a fuck toy, bang her brains out, and have her coming back for more. But I don’t want that to be the reason she wants me. Which is why I’d need to take it out of the bedroom if I have any hope of getting this woman addicted not only to my dick but to me.
I nudge her legs apart and push my dick into her as I place kisses on her face. Her pussy hugs my cock, and I groan, fighting back the need to thrust. This isn’t about me fucking her body right now. It’s about using what she loves about my body to win her damn heart.
“I want to sleep like this, with me inside you.”
She smiles, dragging her leg over my waist to pull me closer, and drifts off.
Chapter 12
Cash
Iwake up in Gunner’s bed, cocooned in his blankets.
I smile, remembering last night and how we talked into the early hours. For the first time in a long time, I’m happy.
Sitting up in bed, I take in the space in the morning light. Gunner has good taste. A few photos hang on the walls, mostly of him and his mother over the years. She’s beautiful. It makes sense since Gunner is a stone-cold fox. The man oozes sex appeal, and his face is a chiseled work of art.
My eyes land on his collection of guitars, all Fenders and Gibson’s, but one in particular catches my eye—a famous Gibson played by John Lennon. I’m shocked to see something so expensive sitting in the corner of a bedroom. It must be worth at least two million dollars.
“My mom gave me that when I turned twenty-one. I think it was her way of apologizing for all the fucked-up shit she did in my childhood.” Gunner’s voice breaks me out of my shock.
I turn to see him leaning against the doorway, holding a breakfast tray. A pang of sympathy jolts my heart as I approach him. If anyone understands messed-up mothers, it’s me.
I pluck a raspberry from the tray and put it in my mouth. “Hundred thousand plus records in a bar office and two-million-dollar guitars in the corner of a bedroom, and here I thought you were just a small business owner.”
Moving past me, Gunner places the tray on a side table. His fingers glide over the neck of the guitar lovingly. “It was the only way my mother knew how to apologize. She threw money at anything she wanted to make right, usually with random stuff unsuitable for a kid. In her heyday, she gave me a bottle of fifty-year-old Scotch.” He shrugs. “I was fifteen. I think in her drunken haze, she forgot I was a minor.”
Sadness lives in his eyes as he turns to look at me. It’s the same sadness I see staring back at me in the mirror.