Page 6 of Broken Strings
He probes my lips open, tasting me in defiant strokes before his hands are on my skin, eating up the distance between my hips and my breasts, never quite touching where my body is begging for his caress.
“Wouldn’t you rather know how cocky I am right now?” His words hold a teasing lilt, and his eyes sparkle as he taunts and teases me.
He makes me want to buckle like a damsel in distress only to be caught in his muscular arms. He bites his bottom lip as he watches me, like a starved wolf, and I’m the little rabbit he wants to take a chunk out of.
“Mind telling me your name now you’ve had your body and lips plastered against mine?” I ask, mustering my steeliest glare. I want to be infuriated. I want to slap his pretty, smug face. But the bigger part of me wants to have that body and lips on me again until I forget everyone and everything and melt into oblivion.
“I don’t enjoy telling people my name.”
“Well, I don’t like to kiss strange men,” I lie, because I do like to kiss this man, perhaps a little too much.
“It’s Gunner Shaw, but my friends call me Gunner.”
“Well, Gunner Shaw, I can’t imagine you’ve ever kept a damn thing to yourself, despite what anyone else has to say about it.” I catch the door handle behind my back, pushing it open and ducking into the cool night air.
“Can’t decide if I like you comin’ my way or walkin’ away better.” He catches me in his arms, spinning me until I’m pressed against him again.
“What are you, the Shakespeare of cavemen now?”
“Me, Tarzan, you, Jane?” His words make me laugh before his grip on my elbows presses me tight against the slab of his well-built physique.
This time, I feel all of him. And he’s hardeverywhere.The man isn’t lying; he puts the cock in cocky. I should be outraged, but the truth is, I’m far from it. I’m so turned on that I’m willing to suck his dick in the alley and thank him for the opportunity. Better yet if he turns on that Tarzan charm and drags me there screaming by my hair.
With the ridge of his thick monster cock pressed against my belly, I nearly come unglued in the bar parking lot. Something about the naughtiness of it makes me squirm.
“I’ve never banged a groupie before,” I pant like a cat in heat.
I’ve spent a lot of lonely nights on the road and never dreamed of sharing a minute off-stage with anyone—too much drama banging a band member and way too much publicity banging a fan. That was one reason I hired professionals. Money traded hands, and I purchased a service. It was clean with no lingering complications.
But Gunner Shaw makes me crave all the obstacles he could lay in my path.
“What a coincidence. I’ve never banged one of my mom’s groupies, either.” His large, tattooed hand moves up my body and curls behind my nape, pulling my head back. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Now, why don’t you stop fighting and let me take care of you?”
“News flash, Tarzan… This Jane has been taking care of herself for a long time. Your services aren’t needed.” I want to kick myself as soon as the words pass my lips. Mostly because his grin deepens with every word, and spirals of desire twine through my stomach like a vine of rose thorns until I’m dizzy with the proximity of his vast form.
“You’re a real piece of work, Gunner Shaw.” I’m so frustrated that I want to scream. This guy has been teasing me all night, and my slut vagina is weeping from lack of attention.
“And still”—he lifts his arm in the air, tipping my phone back and forth in the moonlight and swiping to myinformationscreen—“got your number.”
“You’re so arrogant,” I stammer, my eyes shifting between Gunner and my phone. “How did you get that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His grin deepens as he takes a quick picture with his phone before sliding mine back into the ass pocket he found it in. “I learned to pickpocket for shits and giggles as a teenager. Never actually stole something; I just played around to see if I could do it without getting caught. Cheap Thrills.” He smirks, highlighting the deep dimples on his perfect face. “First lesson: never trust a bartender.”
“You mean men,” I scoff. “Maybe you’re a psycho stalker, and I’m not interested in giving you my personal information.” He doesn’t have to know that I was thinking of giving him more than my phone number.
“That’s a lot of damn thinking, Sparrow.”
I clear my throat, choosing to ignore his stubborn-ass grin.
His tone lowers. “You forget I’m a bartender, darlin’, and my job requires me to read people like a book.”
I swallow. “What did you read about me? That I think you’re an insufferable ass?”
“Nah. What I think you need is someone to take control. To dirty up this princess facade you’ve got going on and make you beg for a little satisfaction.”
His words hit me like a blunt force trauma because every syllable is the truth. I’ve been trying to stay in control of my whole life. The truth is, I’m tired. I don’t want tothinkordo. I just want to mindlesslybe. Sex allows me to do this, if only for a few hours. Sweet relief that lets me shut out the world and all my issues. With sex, I can be worthless. Somewhere along the way, the sex I crave has left my skin bruised and my muscles tired. I enjoy being chased, thrown around, and having my hair pulled so hard it’s almost ripped from its roots. I long for a man to use me, to push my limits, and take whatever he wants. The more aggressive the sex, the more undone I become. But most of all, I want to be called names— dirty, horrible names. Names that would make most of society clutch their pearls and think I was nothing more than trash.
The whole point of coming here is to escape the pressure and desires burning inside me. I love music. It’s embedded in the fabric of who I am, but my career is stripping me of my sense of self, causing me to lie and force my desires into the shadows. This trip is about re-discovering myself and learning to fuel my passions without worrying about anyone else’s needs. To get away from it all: the pressure, the leaches at my door waiting for their next story, and the endless work schedule. This trip is about finding my music again, not satiating my sexual cravings. But with Gunner standing in front of me, perhaps a little pleasure wouldn’t be the end of the world.