Pretty Shameless, page 11
part #2 of Deputy Laney Briggs Series
And I longed for him to take me further.
My pulse quickened. He wrapped a hand around my wrists, trapping them in his firm grip. Sliding my legs wider in an effort to give the bullheaded man ample room to fuck, I let out an indulgent moan at the absence of his, delectable finger.
“Please. Oh, fuck.” He plucked at a nipple. And now I’d resorted to begging. I must’ve had one helluva sexual itch.
Warm, wet, and slick precum glided over my revved-up entrance. “You don’t have to ask me twice,” my sinfully tainted Texas Ranger whispered in the dark.
And then he slammed his cock inside me, jolting my body forward on the seat. I pushed back, drawing him deeper and reveling in the delicious pain. His other hand latched on my hip as he pumped and thrust to drive his dick home at a maddening pace. Again he withdrew so he could tease my throbbing entrance a split second more, only to rear back and ram his cock up to the hilt, causing a tidal wave of bittersweetness to tingle through my entire body.
“Shit!” I moaned. “I’m gonna come, Gunner.”
He yanked my head back by the hair. And God, I loved when he took charge. “You wanna come, sweetheart?” He thrust his cock again, rotating his hips against my ass cheeks. “Tell me who makes you come?”—thrust—“Who fucks you until you’re screaming for release?”—his balls smacked my sweaty thighs—“I want to hear you, Laney,” he demanded, hand firmly holding me pressed down into the seat. And then he fucked me in one smooth motion…hard, controlling, as if I was an addiction he could never outrun. And before I could revel in the powerful sensations rippling through my body, he pulled his cock out to tease my quivering lips with its head.
Fuck, he could be a demanding asshole.
I arched my back in the hopes of purposely running into that mind-blowingly scrumptious dick of his. “You, Gunner. You’re the only man that can make me crazy one minute and madly in love the next.”
He hissed, pleased, and slid back inside me. “I’m about to ruin you for any other man.”
A second later he drove his point home by awarding me a screaming orgasm as he allowed me to milk him dry.
Chapter Nine
I’d never considered a cold bed much comfort. Yet, here I was again experiencing Gunner skipping out on me before the crack of dawn, a Post-it note stuck to his pillow filling me in on why he’d be pulling an overnighter in Odessa, again. These past two days had been an eye-opener, but still I found the distance between us growing wider than the Rio Grande.
After thirty minutes of tossing and turning, I gave up the stupid fight and rolled out of bed. I lumbered downstairs and crossed into the kitchen. Sunlight burst through the lace curtains, which to a morning person I figure is quite pleasant. I flicked the coffeepot on and lounged against the countertop, soaking in the quiet. I had just reached inside a cabinet for a mug, imagining a day without pesky little shits trampling all over my turf, when I heard the screen door creak open, blasting a hole through my easygoing morning. Maybe today would need some minor adjustments. Then I turned around, coming head to head with the eye of the storm. No it couldn’t be…that spoiled son of a bitch! I slammed the cabinet door shut and continued to pour a cup of coffee. It would take an act of God for me to allow that prick the pleasure of knowing that him barging into my house ate at me. I casually sipped at my coffee while walking across the kitchen toward the storm door. He leaned a hip into the doorway and crossed his arms about his wide chest, stretching the white T-shirt around his bulging, muscular biceps. Apparently Gunner hadn’t pounded me as good as he thought he had, because things down there in my panties got hot all over again when my eyes caught hold of those tight Levi’s slung low on his hips. With a frog in my throat and my ass glued to the kitchen sink, I watched as the man behind that sinful swagger pushed away from the door and approached.
He stopped in front of me and leaned in, placing his hands on my arms. Fantastic. First, I was getting all revved up again. And now the icing on the cake was that I had found myself barricaded between a pair of narrow hips and a jagged-edged countertop.
“Good morning, Laney,” Luke said, rubbing my arms up and down. “Doesn’t this remind you of old times? You and me here in the kitchen drinking coffee in the morning.”
He was flipping off his rocker. Old times my butt. I poked a finger at his shoulder. “What are you doing in my house, Luke? And think carefully before you answer. My gun is within arm’s reach.”
“You can stop with the threats, cutie.” He inched closer. “We both know you’d never harm a fly.”
I gave him one of those looks my elementary teachers used when they caught me about to do something stupid.
He cocked a weary smile. “Okay, fine. I’ll let you have that one.” He reached into his back jean’s pocket and pulled out a folded-up newspaper. “Seen the morning news, Laney?” Luke shoved the paper into my hand. “That’s some front-page news article, if I do say so myself.”
“Do you mind?” I looked him up and down, snatching the paper. “You’re sort of in my personal space, and frankly I don’t remember offering you an invitation into my home.”
“You’re grouchy this morning.” He patted my head. “Somebody didn’t get enough beauty sleep.”
“Well, you’re not entirely wrong there.”
And then I gave the paper a once-over and practically face-planted into the sink. The front-page article was addressing Danny Redbud and the scandalous affairs that take place at his annual barbecue fund-raisers, except there wasn’t a single picture of the man. Damn strange. All these years and numerous illicit rumors, and still he escaped a public persona. I’d seen Redbud once when he came into the Whistling Wind to grab a cup of coffee. It’d been raining, and I was having breakfast with Luke, when in walked a tall, blond, blue-eyed man dressed to kill in a tailored business suit. Quite a sight in Pistol Rock. When he caught me staring, Redbud had given me a terse nod, then paid for his coffee and left. That was the only time I’d ever crossed paths with the man. Until now…
Luke took a seat at the table. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Maybe,” I said, hiding behind my coffee mug, “but it isn’t your concern now, is it?” I took a sip of my coffee and rolled the paper up in my other hand. “What do you know about Redbud?” I asked, making sure to keep a close watch on Luke’s face for any signs of a half-truth.
He shrugged. “Not any more than you, cutie.” Twirling his toothpick in his mouth, he smiled, saying, “Except the man enjoys melons and orgies.”
Yep, directed that question toward the wrong guy.
“How’d things end up with you and Gunner the other night?” He gave me an odd look. “Y’all were shitfaced when I left Rusty’s.”
“It went okay,” I answered, avoiding eye contact.
“You had sex with him, didn’t you?” he said, a slight look of disappointment on his face.
“Again. It isn’t your concern if I did or didn’t.”
“You let him screw you, and I’ll bet he’s already trying to find a way to skip out on you again.”
I sank down in a chair. He’d pretty much hit the nail on the head. “Gunner has his asshole moments,” I said, “but I have my bitchy moments, too.”
Luke’s expression softened, and I could see the compassion come over his eyes. “What if this asshole in your kitchen right now comes bearing good news for a change?”
Yeah, I had to hand it to him. He’d done it again and reeled me in, but I’d rather work the night shift with Elroy than let the sorry man in on that little secret.
“I could use some good news for a change,” I said, sitting down next to him at the table. I took a drink and said, “Let’s hear it, Wagner.”
His blue eyes immediately ran dark and hazy. He could be sweet at times, but he could just as quickly turn ornery. I began to calculate his next move.
“I want you to promise me something.” His voice was sharp and rough as he closed the deal, coming way too close for comfort. I set the coffee cup down and placed my hands on the tabletop, gearing up for a fight.
“Sorry,” I said, “but I’m done making promises. Best be on your way now.”
A slow, clever smile pulled at his mouth. Trouble was brewing, but hell, it was too late to break and run. If he tried anything, I could take him. On second thought, I’m pretty sure he had me by a mile. He reached a hand across the table and tenderly touched one of my own.
“Now hang on. You didn’t even let me say what it was,” he countered.
“Exactly. And I don’t want to know what it is.”
There was a slight pause.
“What’s the problem here? You’re acting like you don’t even trust me.”
“I don’t,” I fired back. “And as it turns out, I can’t trust anybody lately. Not even myself.”
He shrugged and continued to stroke the back of my hand. “You’ve got to stop letting that man hurt you.”
“What makes you think Gunner hurt me?” I responded, slumped back defeated in my chair.
We sat there quietly, staring at our coffee cups.
“We’re talking about Gunner Wilson here, Laney,” Luke told me. “That man has so many secrets I’m surprised he hasn’t found oil with how deep he’s had to bury them.” He picked up his coffee and pulled the cup to his lips.
I did the same, taking a long, satisfying draw of heaven’s nectar. “So I reckon it’s time you explain why you stopped by,” I said, tapping the table with my mug and swiping the coffee froth off my mouth.
Luke took a long, hard swallow, then slid the cup on the table and leaned forward on his elbows, giving me that damn-it-babe-don’t-you-know-me-by-now eye. His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “There’s been some chatter about a party that went down at Danny Redbud’s place a couple of weeks ago, and word about town is that Wyatt has gotten himself locked up again out in Lubbock,” he said. “So I made a call to Uncle Kent.”
I nodded. “How does Uncle Kent play into all this crap with Wyatt?”
“Well, not only does Uncle Kent indulge in a lifestyle Dad would cap himself over,” Luke said, adding, “he’s pretty deep into the kinky shit around town, if you catch what I’m saying.” He tossed me an indiscreet wink.
It pained me that it’d only been meant to get his point across.
“I think I get where you’re going with this,” I answered.
Luke grabbed an apple from the bowl on the table and bit into it. “With his ‘alternative’ lifestyle, I’ve got a damn good feeling that my uncle Kent could give us some insider info on what, or who, Wyatt seems to have gotten mixed up with.”
I raised a finger. “Still not following you, Luke…”
“I think you owe me a kiss for all that investigative work I did for you, Laney Briggs.” He set the apple down on the table. “On second thought, I want an invitation to tour the insides of those delicious jeans hugging your ass,” he said, smirking as he gave me a body-melting once-over.
I clearly wasn’t anticipating that remark, because it felt like those blue eyes had lit a match right up under my ass. I practically choked on my own spit, which, I might add, didn’t taste anything like brewed coffee.
Luke dropped a shoulder and continued to stare.
A quick swallow followed by a stiff guzzle of coffee and this cowgirl was back in the zone.
“When I take them off to shower in a minute, I’ll leave them outside my door. That way you can sniff them and do whatever else you need to do to feed that imagination of yours,” I fired back.
He plopped a toothpick in his mouth, stretched his massive arms above his head, and twirled that damn toothpick around his tongue, prolonging my cowboy gazing. Then he scooted to the edge of the chair, dropped both arms, and hunched over on his elbows, rolling and tipping the toothpick between his chapped lips, and added, “I don’t need much of an imagination to know what you’ve got loaded up inside those sexy jeans of yours.”
“And how’s that?” I asked, leaning on the table with my elbow as I sipped my coffee.
He flung his hat on the table and shifted in his seat. Whatever he was about to say, I knew it was going to be good.
“I doubt you have much recollection of this, but on the night Gunner turned twenty-one he went up to the strip club in Odessa, and you came over to my place sauced up on whiskey and pissed off like a grizzly bear getting pelted with a BB gun.”
“I think I remember something close to that,” I said, having a terrible feeling where this was headed.
“Well, you did not like it that he went to go watch some strippers, so you made it a point to prove to me that you could get as naked and sexy as those sluts he was looking at in Odessa. You might’ve drank all the whiskey, but I got to see all of you while you put on a strip show in the bed of my truck that I’ll be hard-pressed to ever forget.”
“You’re a damn liar, Luke Wagner,” I exclaimed. All he did was laugh before sticking the knife in deeper.
“You kept saying while you were up there buck naked, ‘My shit’s better than those whores.’”
Luke’s story flipped a switch in my clouded memory, and pieces of that night came to light for the first time in ten years.
“Now that was a night,” I said, laughing at the illicit memory. “We played truth or dare, and I got you to show me that scar trailing down the right side of your stomach.”
His face saddened.
“I almost got you to open up about Christmas Eve junior year. You know it wasn’t your fault. No one blames you for what went down that night,” I told him, then paused a minute before pressing the matter more. “I could’ve been there for you, Luke. I’m still here for you.” I scooted my hand across the table, reaching for him.
He straightened, denying my friendly touch, his wide shoulders stiff and the tick in his jaw growing rougher with each passing second.
The light in his eyes had grown cold. Before I got a chance to calm him down, my phone went off, and Pistol Rock’s very own goody-two-shoes sheriff was on the other end of the line. More than anything, a morning spent relaxing on the porch swing was at the top of my Christmas list—but it seemed such a sweet little present would have to wait until I attended to a disturbance over at Mule Canton’s garage.
I set the phone down, eyeing my unhappy morning guest. “Wanna hit up Mule Canton’s place with me?”
He shrugged. “Not like I have anything better to do. The vet can’t come out to Four Spurs and check on our cattle until Friday.”
“Then it’s a deal,” I said with a smile. “Give me a sec to change, and we’re out of here.”
Chapter Ten
A town with two hundred people can’t be real choosey about the scraps it takes in, but still, Mule Canton was a hard price to pay for living in Podunk hell. He’d chased after his dreams¸ setting up shop as a high school teacher out in the big city of Lubbock. It didn’t take long for the good old country boy to come crawling home with a rumor circling that he had a hankering for allowing his dog, Rascal, to lick peanut butter off his asshole. The pathetic boy didn’t have a chance. Personally, I ain’t one to trust the gossip mill as far as I can throw it, but I ain’t denying it, either.
Mule had opened the five-and-dime repair shop ten years back, after the dust settled on his illicit affairs. Now just about every engine in Pistol Rock had been tuned by the mechanic. It took some time, but Mule had blossomed himself a new reputation. The man was more infamous now for his chronic weed habit, rivaling my cousin Wyatt’s, than he was for his daily dog enema back in the day. Even though this was Pistol Rock, stomping ground of shit-kicking scuzz holes, rotten-gummed meth addicts in secondhand Larry the Cable guy T-shirts, and mullet-headed rednecks driving jacked-up pickups with rubber bull sacs on their trailer hitches, Mule made my skin crawl every time he opened his mouth.
My brown hair was stuck down the sides of my cheeks. I’d pulled my hat low, shading my eyes from the midmorning’s piercing sunrays. After sitting for a considerable time, I’d come to the conclusion that this stakeout bullshit sucked worse than deep throating in a hot tub. I blew out a sigh as I squinted behind the visor, trying as hard as I could to get a better view of the yard and the front window of the duplex unit. For the most part, the past three hours had been spent watching a metal shack and listening to Luke crunch and spit through a bag of sunflower seeds while whistling Creedence Clearwater’s “Bad Moon Rising.” If I didn’t get my hands on Mule’s squirrely neck soon, I was either gonna shoot Luke or myself.
“Can you stop whistling?” I finally asked, taking another drink of my Big Gulp. “Or at least whistle something else. I’m trying to work here.” I finished another long swallow of Dr Pepper. “And haven’t you had enough sunflower seeds?” I added.
He glanced my way, smiled, and then plopped another handful of sunflower seeds in his mouth, making damn sure to take his time with each mind-numbing suck and chew before he began whistling again.
I gnawed on the straw. “God, you are so annoying.”
Pulling his white cowboy hat down past his deep blue eyes, Luke chuckled with satisfaction as he slumped farther into his seat, snapped another sunflower seed between his teeth, and chomped down on the shell in painfully slow and deliberate fashion to prove a point. I was about ready to voice my complaints again when he spoke before I got a chance.
“You know, it would’ve been nice of you to fill me in on how boring a stakeout could be.”
“Trust me, you’re not the only one suffering here. And if you remember, I’ve already knocked on the door and Mule didn’t answer. So now we have to wait until he shows up or decides to stick his head outside,” I said, taking myself a satisfying look at his crotch, gulping upon noticing the significant bulge beneath the zipper fly of his tight-ass Levi’s. Staring at that package of his was one way to pass the time, although I wasn’t quite certain as to whether or not that Mr. Happy had ever had my name on it. I caught myself staring too long, and when I noticed the whistling had stopped, I realized he had, too.
