Loose Ends

by Kristen Ashley

  “Arms over your head, Hap,” she warned.

  “Go faster, you’ll get what you want.”

  She leaned into him, face to face. “Arms over your head, caro.”

  He stared into her turned-on eyes in her smug face, knowing she was playing with him, and thought, fuck it.

  He rolled her and drilled her.

  “Hap! No fair!” she cried.

  “Wrap your legs around me.”

  She was taking his cock hard, so now biting her lip, her nails digging in his shoulders, liking what she was getting but not about to admit it.

  She pulled herself together, slapped his arm and repeated, “No fair.”

  What she did not do was wrap those long legs around him.

  “Right,” he replied, pulled out, knifed up to his knees and felt his cock jump when she cried out in a way he liked after he flipped her to her belly then hauled her up on her knees in front of him.

  That ass.

  Damn.

  He thrust hard and deep.

  Her head reared back, hair flying everywhere.

  Fuck yeah.

  “Ride that now,” he grunted.

  “Yes, darling,” she gasped, slamming back into him.

  He mounted her, hand in the couch at her side, other hand slipping over her belly down and in, going at her clit.

  She started panting and bucking.

  Wild.

  “Yeah, baby, fuck me,” he encouraged, meeting her moves, the wet, sweet noises of their connection fucking music.

  She started rippling around his dick.

  Her warning.

  “Don’t come,” he ordered.

  “Hap,” she breathed.

  “Don’t come, Luciana.”

  She exploded, trembling under him, her pussy clenching, milking his dick, her hot little noises spurring him on.

  Fuck, she was awesome.

  He pushed back up, grabbed her ass on both sides and watched his slick cock take her, fucking hot, totally beautiful, until he arched into her, shooting hard and deep, his eyes closing, a guttural noise bursting from his balls, hurtling up his chest and out his mouth.

  He came back to the world and fucked her gentle, watching her take that too. Moving his gaze, he saw the softness of her face in profile with her cheek to the couch, tendrils of her hair obscuring his view she didn’t bother pulling away.

  So Hap reached out and did it for her.

  She made a mew of gratitude, and again he wondered if he liked this better than what she just gave him. That look on her face. Knowing he did it for her and how much.

  When he started losing it, he pulled out, nabbed his tee, shoved it under her so if she leaked, she leaked on his tee and not the couch, and rolled her before he lowered himself to her.

  “Good?” he asked, but he didn’t need to.

  Her expression was still soft, sated, partially dazed, and her fingertips were moving over his skin lightly, like he had braille stamped everywhere and she was fascinated by what she was reading.

  “No fair,” she replied, trying and failing to assume a pouty face.

  He grinned at her.

  “That isn’t our deal, Hap.”

  “Baby, do not even try to tell me you didn’t get off on that.”

  “I was getting off on what I was doing before.”

  “You got off harder taking me on your knees. You love getting fucked on your knees.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Yeah, she loved it.

  “If I used my hands when you told me not to, what would you do?” she asked.

  “Pull you over my thighs and spank your ass then probably fuck you on your knees.”

  She squirmed.

  He fought his grin at feeling it and put his lips to hers. “You want that, use your hands next time I’m doin’ you like that.”

  Her gaze slid to the side. “Ugh.”

  He pulled back an inch. “How hard you come?”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “That hard?” he teased.

  She glared into his eyes. “You’re annoying.”

  “I love you.”

  Her body went still under his.

  He’d never said it straight out like that.

  She knew.

  But he’d never said it.

  “Though, just shot inside you with two handfuls of your ass, so I’m feeling sentimental.”

  Her eyes got big.

  Then they squeezed shut as she busted out laughing and finally wrapped him in all her limbs.

  He grinned down at her as she did.

  Nope.

  This . . .

  Luci laughing hard.

  This was the best it could get.

  When she was done, he asked, “You want me to clean you up?”

  “I’ll do it, amore.”

  He kissed her, long and wet, before he helped her to her feet.

  He gathered her clothes first, handing them to her, before he pulled on his jeans and sweater.

  He was flat out on the couch when she returned, dressed, and collapsed on him.

  He curled his arms around her and tangled his legs with hers.

  She burrowed closer.

  She passed out halfway through the fourth quarter.

  He carried her to bed.

  He was never so happy to miss most of a game.

  The music was pumping, the flashbulbs were popping, and Hap felt his gut drop when she came out on Massimo’s arm.

  The dress was shocking red. All lace. A complicated top. It fit her beautiful body like a glove to her knees where it bulged out and trailed behind her five feet in a wide swell of delicate red lace.

  She led with her hips, smiling big and white, her hair huge, her makeup heavy, her hand tucked in the crook of Massimo’s elbow, her head turning side to side as she worked it down the catwalk.

  That was his woman.

  That was his girl.

  That was his Luci.

  She came abreast of him, looked right at him and lifted her elegant hand with its blood-red fingernails to her ruby red lips and blew him an exaggerated kiss before her smile went wired, and he would swear to his dying breath she lit up that whole damned place.

  Bulbs popped in his direction, but he didn’t care. On her way back, when she leaned slightly in front of Massimo to catch his eyes again, he jerked up his chin.

  She threw that huge head of hair back, and even in that massive place that was filled with thunderous applause at the finale of a show even he thought was the shit, you could hear her loud, throaty laughter.

  That was his woman.

  That was his girl.

  That was his Luci.

  She was two inches taller than him, trailing a spread of heavy red lace, some of which was now gathered and hooked to a button at the back of the poof at her knees, her fingers wrapped tight around his arm, when they strode into the party.

  People clapped, gasped, shouted, and two came up immediately, impatiently taking turns to kiss her cheeks.

  It was the proudest moment of his entire goddamned life.

  “This is First Sergeant Hap Cunningham, my man,” she murmured.

  Handshakes.

  Chin lifts.

  “Please meet George. George Cunningham,” she introduced.

  Nodding heads.

  Clapping of arms.

  She was eventually swept away.

  Hap didn’t mind.

  He got to watch her in her element.

  It was an amazing show. There were hundreds of beautiful people in beautiful clothes there, at least fifty other models, male and female, several of them famous, like Luci, but she reigned supreme.

  They loved her.

  Worshipped her.

  He knew that feeling. Though his devotion was a different kind, it was still all about Luci.

  And anyway, the minute she was gone, they descended on him like he was a rock star, gushing how Luciana looked fabulous. How she seemed so very happy. How they hoped she was back. How the
y made such a handsome couple. How deeply they thanked him for his service.

  And shock of shocks, all of that was genuine.

  It wasn’t until a half an hour in when he was alone for the first time that he heard a meant-to-be-overheard, sniped, “Well, she definitely has a type.”

  He was in his dress uniform, at Luci’s request.

  He started to turn his head to find the woman who’d said that when he heard, “Of course she does. Gorgeous, muscled, red-blooded American heroes are everyone’s type, dahleenk, if you have any taste at all.”

  Hap didn’t know who’d made the first comment.

  But a tiny old woman who was in the most ridiculous outfit he’d ever seen said the last.

  She squinted through a massive pair of insanely ludicrous glasses at a thin woman in black with a streak of red lipstick on reedy lips and went on, “You shouldn’t be wearing black. Although Massimo stamped next season indisputably in scarlet, it seems to me you should be wearing green.”

  The woman in black got red in the face and scuttled away, the woman she was with following her.

  The old lady stopped in front of him and peered up at him.

  “I’m glad you turned out not to be a schmuck,” she announced.

  “Let me guess,” he replied. “You’re Pearl.”

  She did a mini-bow, straightened and said, “I see, yet again, my reputation precedes me.”

  “Luci thinks you’re the shit.”

  She did. Pearl Bazer was the person in New York, outside Massimo, she most couldn’t wait for him to meet.

  “That’s because I am,” she retorted.

  “I like your outfit.”

  “Liar. You hate it.”

  “It’s interesting.”

  “I’m old as dirt. Interesting is all I got left, sonny.”

  “I feel the urge to spot you. I’m afraid your necklace is gonna send you flat on your face. How much does that thing weigh?”

  “I’m too old to work out and too stubborn to die so I gotta stay in shape somehow. I do it by accessorizing.”

  Hap started laughing.

  He wasn’t done when she declared. “Luci was right. I like you.”

  He wrapped his arm around his stomach, his other he laid at the small of his back and returned her bow.

  “However, you’re in the presence of a lady who lacks champagne. I don’t know what the Army thinks of this, but it’s my notion you’re dishonoring your uniform.”

  He gave her a grin, a salute, and asked, “You want me to bring two glasses? You seem like a woman who knows how to double fist.”

  She busted out laughing, reaching up to grab hold of his biceps as she did it, her shoulders shaking, her head hanging, and he decided Luci was right.

  She was the shit.

  Suddenly, her head came up, she appeared all serious, even if her eyes behind those crazy glasses were still dancing. “I invented the double fist.” She shooed him with her hand. “Run along, soldier. A citizen is in need.”

  He didn’t run along.

  If there was any human in the world he’d do this to, outside his woman, it was this old broad.

  So he bent down, kissed her cheek, and muttered, “At your service.”

  Then he shot her a wink and moved to find a bar.

  He’d given his order when a man said, “You survived Pearl. You’re ready for battle.”

  He looked to his side to see a dark-headed, good-looking, tall, fit guy in a really nice suit, nice shirt, no tie, standing there.

  “I’m considering recruiting her,” Hap returned. “I have a feeling even with those glasses she’s an excellent shot.”

  The man smiled and offered his hand. “Henry Gagnon. Devotee of Pearl, friend of Luci’s.”

  Hap took his hand and shook it, replying, “Hap Cunningham. I like Pearl and I’m just Luci’s.”

  The man broke the connection, muttering, “Just Luci’s.”

  “Yup,” Hap confirmed, then asked, “Henry Gagnon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dude, friend of mine has a coffee table book of yours. You got talent.”

  Gagnon inclined his head.

  Classy fucker.

  “That probably doesn’t mean a lot coming from a grunt,” Hap noted.

  “I think that’s something people have trouble understanding. Anyone who enjoys your work, and shares that, it means a great deal. More than you can know.” The man’s lips curved. “And it doesn’t hurt to know I received the royalties from your friend who bought the book.”

  “We’ll start a library of them,” Hap joked.

  “Obliged,” Gagnon replied.

  Hap turned to the bar to gather Pearl’s glasses and his beer, a beer he’d ordered to stay in the bottle.

  “Old fashioned,” Gagnon said to the bartender and looked to Hap. “You hold on a second, I’ll help you with those.”

  “Thanks,” Hap murmured.

  Gagnon got his drink, took one of Pearl’s champagne flutes and moved away from the bar beside Hap.

  “No way to take the awkwardness out of it,” Gagnon began. “Pearl put Luci on the spot with me as her audience, and Luci shared about you two the last time she was in New York.”

  “Fantastic,” Hap mumbled.

  Gagnon stopped, and Hap stopped with him. “She’s radiant. You did that. I haven’t seen her like that in years. If I was that kind of guy, I’d hug you.”

  He did not know this man.

  But still, that felt fucking good.

  “Glad you’re not that guy because I’m not that guy either,” Hap told him. “But nice you noticed, better you give a shit.”

  “And I’m glad the stars aligned.”

  Hap cocked a brow “Come again?”

  “For you two. I don’t need to know the story, but warning, Pearl will force it out of Luciana and share to a small, select cadre of those she feels deserve the information, and since I was there that night at dinner, I’ve no doubt I’ll be one. I’m just glad the stars aligned for you to find each other and the story didn’t end at Cipriani three months ago.”

  “We hooked up during the day.”

  Gagnon smiled small, but still all class, and they started walking again as Gagnon said, “Don’t kill the dream. The stars always shine somewhere.”

  “Don’t kill the dream?”

  Gagnon looked at him. “You almost fucked it up with Luciana. I did fuck it up with the woman I loved. You two surmounted a big obstacle. You’re giving me hope. Don’t kill it.”

  “Gonna try to win her back?”

  “She married someone else. I have to start fresh.”

  Rough.

  “The sun is a star, brother.”

  Gagnon halted a lot more abruptly that time, a look of shock on his handsome mug.

  Then he shook his head and muttered with open disgust, “I’ve been shot at while taking pictures of ISIS and I’m having a conversation out of a romance novel with a virtual stranger at a post-show Fashion Week party.”

  “Time to go, bro,” Hap advised, starting them walking again. “I’d suggest arm wrestling, but we might get champagne on our clothes.”

  Gagnon laughed.

  “What’s funny?”

  They’d made it to Pearl and Luci was with her.

  “Baby,” he murmured, moving in to kiss her cheek.

  When he shifted back, she gave him bright eyes then she gave the flute in his hand the same. “Is that for me?”

  “Pearl is double fisting. I’ll go back and take care of you.”

  “I’ll just have some of this,” she said, taking his beer, putting it to her red lips and sucking back a draw, full throated.

  Fucking fuck, but he loved this woman.

  He grinned at her as she handed back the bottle.

  “I now want beer,” Pearl announced, holding the glass Gagnon obviously gave her.

  Hap offered her the second.

  She shook her head then tipped it to Luci.

  He gave it to hi
s woman.

  Once she had it, she leaned into his side, tucking her hand around his arm.

  Second proudest moment of his life.

  Serious.

  “Okay, she’s taken care of,” Pearl declared, eyes on Hap and Luci. She turned to Gagnon. “Now what are we going to do about you?”

  “Mm?” Gagnon asked distractedly over the rim of the glass that he had raised to his lips, his attention aimed over Pearl’s head.

  Pearl twisted to look behind her.

  Luci craned her neck to look.

  “Who is that vision?” Pearl breathed.

  “I don’t know,” Luci whispered.

  Hap caught sight of the blonde everyone was looking at and leaned toward Gagnon. “Dude, hup.”

  It looked like it took a lot of effort for Gagnon to give him his attention.

  “Sorry?”

  “Old broad and former supermodel matchmaker radar just pinged, brother. You’re up shit’s creek,” Hap said under his breath.

  Gagnon took in Luci and Pearl then mumbled, “Fuck.”

  “Who is she?” Pearl demanded.

  “I don’t know,” Gagnon answered smoothly, his gaze straying back to the cool, curvy blonde in a dress Luci would tell him later was made of blush satin and bugle beads (the fuck?).

  Pearl waited a beat.

  Then two.

  Then said impatiently, “Well, my boy, find out.”

  “You better go,” Luci advised.

  “And now would be a good time,” Pearl pushed.

  “Let him play his game, women,” Hap grunted.

  “Bluh,” Pearl forced out.

  Luci rolled her eyes.

  The blonde went on the move.

  “Excuse me,” Gagnon murmured.

  Then, without saying good-bye, he moved with the grace of a big cat through a room crowded with uppity people.

  All Hap could think was he’d be good in the bush.

  Then it happened.

  The blonde tripped, spilling champagne everywhere, crying out, as did the others that were around her.

  Gagnon had made it close enough to catch her, full body, with just one of his arms, before she hit the deck, not spilling a drop of his own damned drink.

  Agile, suave and gallant . . .

  As.

  Fuck.

  Hap was impressed.

  “You have got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” he stated, trying hard not to bust out laughing.