Bounty

by Aubrey St. Clair

  “Ah, shut it,” she says, and gestures to a back corner. There is what looks like a big metal oven, a lot of metal structures, long poles, and what I suppose must be raw blocks of glass material. I know nothing about glasswork, so I’m not totally sure what I’m really looking at, but it looks complicated.

  “I’m impressed,” I say, and it’s not a lie. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what? Blow? I can teach you.”

  I bark out a laugh. “I mean all of this. Afford it, I mean. Not to be nosy, but maintaining all of this must be difficult.”

  “I charge a fuck-ton for my work,” she says plainly, and laughs. The way she tilts her head back is so — focus, Copperhead.

  “That’s it?”

  “It’s not so hard to turn a profit when each piece is fetching a month’s worth of rent.”

  My eyebrows shoot up on my forehead. “That much?”

  “Yeah. Though it doesn’t all funnel back to me.”

  Ah ha, here we go. My heartbeat picks up.

  “Oh?” I try to sound only politely interested, instead of prying.

  “Yeah it’s…” her lips part, but no sound comes out for a moment. “You know, a cut goes to investors, a cut to my advertisers and salespeople.”

  “What salespeople? I’ve only ever seen you here.”

  “Well I have Nadine, my assistant. But my father and I also partner with art brokers, who send potential patrons our way. They ‘talk up’ my work in the art community and do a lot of other work. It’s a very complex process. So I’m making more than enough to maintain the place, and to buy new materials, and pay for rent at my apartment. But not a ton more. I’m not clearing as much as I’m making.”

  I chuckle. “I get the difference between gross and net profit.”

  Her cheeks flush pink. “Well, most people actually don’t!” She says defensively.

  “I’m not most people.”

  “Well that’s obvious,” she says, and then looks down at her hands again, and then back up at me, biting her lip.

  Fuck that’s appealing. Those lips, pressed against mine, nipping at me…

  I snap my eyes back to hers, trying to sound polite again. “And investors?”

  “Well, yeah.” She shrugs. “I mean, it’s embarrassing to admit, but I owe most of this to my dad. He believed in me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her eyes flicker back and forth quickly, and I can’t tell if she’s just nervous and embarrassed, or hiding something. “He doesn’t like it when I talk about him to strangers.”

  Oh ho, so he doesn’t want her to talk about it. Obviously because he’s hiding something.

  “I’m not a stranger,” I say.

  “Let’s just say he gave me initial funding to get things off the ground. Each stage of expansion, each time I’ve added a new set of tools or a new branch of clients… I’ve been very fortunate, that’s all.” She clearly doesn’t want to go into details with me.

  Interesting.

  Does she know something’s not right, or has she just been trained to never speak of such things?

  But then she grins at me, and the savage pride on her face is extremely attractive on her. “Though, I’m making back much, much more than we spent. I’m killing it, honestly.”

  “Fuck yeah you are. It’s clear you work hard and you’re passionate about the shop. I don’t think you have anything to be embarrassed about.”

  She stares at me, and then a slow, secret smile steals across her face. “Thanks, Liam.” Her voice is quiet. Something drops through my heart and my stomach.

  I almost can’t stand it.

  I should try to press her for more information but I’m out of words. Casting about the room, my eyes settle on the large glass-and-steel furnace.

  “Anyways. Wanna show me how some of this stuff works?”

  I try to stay concentrated on the details I need for my mission but it’d hard not to be distracted by watching her show off her process. She fires up the glass bellows for me, and as she blows her breath through a tube to a little bauble of glass, wrapping her lips around the end, effortlessly twisting, pumping, and twisting, until it begins to inflate and take shape. Watching her able hands, her lips, her throat working as she gently blows, I feel my cock stiffen in response, imagining those lips on me.

  “Wow,” I say dumbly. “That’s impressive.”

  When she’s done, she’s created a delicate spire of glass to serve as a clock hand.

  “I’ve been wanting to build something of a crystal palace clock for a while,” she says sheepishly. “All glass and metal. This’ll be a good start.”

  “Well, don’t let me stop you! Get to work.”

  I get to watch her use the welding rig, how her eyes light up like fireworks as sparks skitter across her vision. Her hands are so careful, so sure. Nimble, but strong. I watch her bend metal and breathe life into glass. I watch the cage I brought her grow into a spiraling crystal clock tower.

  It’s gotten late. I should excuse myself. April is packing up some power tools and grinning.

  “I never would have gotten to this pet project if you weren’t here,” she says, gesturing to the clock that she’s started to create in the last two hours. “Thanks for that. I think… I think you’re good for me, Liam.”

  “That can’t possibly be true,” I say, almost without thinking. “I’m not good people.”

  “Sure you are,” she says easily, as if it were completely obvious. I’m not as sure. I don’t feel like a good guy very often. I mean, I know I do good work for the city. I’m just not sure I’m a good person. It’s not like I can tell her, actually, I’ve been lying to you this entire time, and the only reason I’m with you is to get information on your father so I can capture him and turn him in to federal law enforcement.

  Yeah, that would go over really well. April looks right at me and repeats herself, again as if she’s reading my mind. “You’re a good guy, Liam.”

  Then she looks away, blushing, and goddamn if it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I should really leave, but instead I step closer to her and put a hand to one porcelain, perfect cheek.

  I can’t control myself around this girl.

  8

  April

  Liam puts his hand to my cheek, and I think my heart has melted into molten glass, ready to be reformed, shaped.

  This is like torture — he showed up here, yeah. Flirting. Brought me a gift, even, something thoughtful. But he’s such a mystery, and I, like an idiot, told him my real name. If my dad knew, he would be furious.

  He cradles my face in his hands as he pulls me in for a searing kiss. His lips on mine are fire, agonizingly intense, as his fingers flutter across my ribcage, just grazing gently across me. He’s utterly in control of this kiss and it’s hot sweet honey. My hands roam across the broad planes of his back, the thick, corded muscles, the places under his tank top I know he must have more tattoos. Tattoos that I want to see.

  His hands move to my ass as the kiss intensifies, and I find myself pressed against him. I can feel his cock, rock hard, straining through his jeans, pressing into my low belly. Heat begins to pool at that point of contact, and in my core, tightening and throbbing.

  I’m insanely attracted to this man, even though I’m still not sure if he’s the bad boy, trouble with a “T” type of guy I thought he was at first.

  I really don’t know anything about him. I don’t even know what he does for a living, how he has so much money, why his hands — now brushing up under my shirt and stroking my back, eliciting a fluttering in my nipples — are so rough and callused.

  Liam Copperhead is a mystery, and maybe that, more than anything, is what’s turning me on.

  It’s dangerous. He’s dangerous.

  I shouldn’t be letting this happen.

  And yet I can’t help but try to curl around him tighter, press my hips into his more tightly. I can feel his erection growing, twitching from beneath his zipper. I want to
feel it, but I don’t know if we’re there. We’re just kissing, after all, even if it’s massively clear that we’re both aroused out of our minds.

  I pull back for a moment. His face is flushed, and my heart is beating out of my chest.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  I’m in no place, emotionally. God, in the middle of my shop, too? And I told him my real name. My father will be furious. I’m not even sure how much Liam likes me, and it’s clear I like him way too much. I’m not ready for another rejection, my heart just can’t take it. I’ve already started to latch onto the small details that make me feel possessive — his one dimple, the way his canine teeth are just a little too pointy, the jagged arcs of vascularity across his forearms. His scars. Little things that make me think mine.

  I thought Alan was mine. At first, anyway.

  This is dangerous.

  “Liam…” But my voice fails me. I’m not even sure what I was going to say. We can’t do this, maybe? I want to fuck you, more like. I want to lick your tattoos. Too much.

  “April,” he says back, his voice throaty and low, and then my lips are crashing back into his almost without my permission, my hands wrapping around his belt, his hands in my hair, and then down my shirt, then up under it.

  Nodding, moaning, and kissing is all I can manage. The room is hot from the now-late-afternoon sunshine, the hot glass, the welding tools, but more than anything, the fire that’s been lit deep in my core.

  My palm presses against his cock through his jeans and it feels unbelievably huge. My clit is tingling just thinking about his size and I can feel my pulse pounding between my legs. Hovering my fingers right at the zipper, stroking along it, I can feel him getting harder and harder. A sharp intake of breath hisses from his teeth, and the sound makes me suddenly even more aware of my own desire. I’m so wet and he hasn’t even touched me.

  “Mmmm,” he rumbles, and for a split second I thought he was going to say mine.

  I really am crazy.

  So why not? I’m already in over my head, setting myself up for more heartbreak. Why not go for broke?

  I unzip his pants and let his cock spring out, tenting his boxer briefs. The sight of the bulge turns me on like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I reach into his fly and pull him out, and he is fucking glorious. I’ve never had a man so huge, so rock hard. I can just imagine his girth filling up my tight pussy, stretching me to accommodate it. How full I would feel, how overwhelming it would be.

  His eyelids have dropped, giving him the most insanely sexy bedroom eyes. His button-down is rumpled, untucked, the front of his pants undone, his erection standing at attention, the tip leaking precum. He looks fucking gorgeous.

  “I want you so bad,” I tell him plainly. It’s true. I’m aching for him, my arousal is so intense it’s nearly painful. I’ve never felt anything like it. “I want you to take me. Please. Can you feel how much I want you?”

  I take his hand and pull his fingertips to my wet pussy. I’ve soaked through my panties and my yoga pants. His fingers on my mound make me buck involuntarily into his hand.

  He presses his palm against me more firmly, and I start to moan.

  “Oh god, yes.”

  Before I know it he’s lifted me up by my ass, grunting only slightly as he presses his hard length into my throbbing clit through the thin fabric of my clothes. He staggers back onto the table until we’re both pressed against it, and I respond by grinding myself along him as his hips buck up to meet me.

  “More.”

  “Fuck.”

  He pulls at the waistline of my yoga pants, and I drop off him a second so he can tug them over my bottom and down my thighs to pool on the floor. As I step out of them, he picks me back up and places me back on his lap, and god his cock feels even hotter through just the thin layer of my lacy, flowery underwear.

  “The panties?” I ask.

  “I like them,” he says, and stretches them to the side to reveal my lips, flushed hot pink, poised just over the leaking tip of his cock. I’ve never been this wet in my life, I’ve never looked at an erection so hungrily, been so aroused by the mere sight of a cock, wanted it so badly inside of me.

  He rubs his thumb against my clit and I feel another deluge, hips bucking, inner walls clenching. I’m on fire.

  “Please fuck me,” I say. “Please. You’re so hard, I want you in me. I want you to hold me down and fill me up. Please. I’m begging for it.”

  His reaction is intense – his cock leaps against my outer lips, I can see it pulsating, and the moan that escapes him is animal. The deep, guttural sound makes my pussy twitch in anticipation, clenching around nothingness, just waiting for his sweet, thick, hard cock to stretch me. I want to milk him dry with my cunt.

  He positions the tip of his cock over my entrance, and feeling it there, just inches from plunging in, is sweet torture.

  “Please,” I moan.

  9

  Liam

  With this tiny, capable, sexy-as hell woman in my arms — no, bent over, actually begging for it — I’ve lost it. I’m hard as a rock for her, inches from her sweet depths, the tip of my cock just brushing against her wetness, her rocking back into me, begging for me to spear through her hot folds…

  But I can’t do it. As badly as I want to plunge forward, pump into her over and over until we’re both screaming in ecstasy, I can’t do it.

  I’m using her. This is wrong. There’s no need for me to have sex with her to get the information I want — I’ve already learned so much just flirting and hanging around her shop, bugging it. I’ll soon know the details of how her father funnels “patrons” to this establishment, how much money is flowing legally and how much is being laundered back out. I could get in touch with some of her clients, trace them. I will most certainly be able to get closer to Sullivan through her. I even know that April isn’t totally innocent – whether she’s actually in on it, or just barely cognizant that something’s wrong, I know she’s not 100% in the clear.

  I can get ahold of her cell phone no problem. Probably get her to invite me to her home, bug it, get my hands on her laptop.

  There’s no need to have sex with her to accomplish my goals.

  But with her tight lips pressing against my tip, wet and ready for me, with her moaning my name… how can I say no? I’d be lying if… I’d be lying.

  Her face swims before my mind’s eye, tears in the corners of her eyes. How would she look at me, if she knew I was only here to arrest her father?

  I pull back.

  “April…” I say, and she turns around, and yeah, that’s the face.

  Heartbroken.

  But if I fuck her over as well as fucking her, it’s just… it would be fucked up. My gut twists at the thought. I can’t examine those feelings too closely but I know I’ll feel like a sack of shit if I tap that booty today, and tap her phone tomorrow. I just will. Not because I’ve never done it before, but April is different somehow. Naïve. Or maybe it’s because I have feelings for her. Actual feelings. Shit.

  My breath leaves me in one whoosh.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and pull further back, tucking myself back in, painful as it is.

  “Oh,” she says, and straightens up, pulling her panties back into proper alignment. “God, no, I’m sorry, I’m an idiot –“

  “Don’t be, it’s my –“

  “So embarrassing –“

  “No, you were —“

  “I misunderstood,” she says, putting up her hands. She steps back into her pants, hitching them up around her hips. Wincing. At what I imagine must be the aftermath of arousal, at least in part. I know my balls are gonna be blue. But I’m sure she also feels some level of embarrassment at being rejected. “I’m sorry that I… I appreciate you, um, clarifying. Rather than taking advantage.”

  You’re a sack of shit Liam. Lying to her, and she’s thanking me? I don’t know what she thinks — that I’m just not into her? Yet I’m a good guy for not fucking her anyway?
<
br />   She said I was good people.

  She couldn’t be more wrong.

  “It’s really not a problem. Please don’t feel bad,” I say. I don’t normally try to talk women out of having sex with me, so I’m not sure how. I want to tell her that she shouldn’t get involved with me. That I’m bad news and only going to hurt her. “It’s not you at all. It’s me, I’m just –”

  “Oh, God. Please spare me.” She buttons up her shirt with furiously efficient motions, starts righting things on the table, keeping her hands busy. “Please just leave.”

  I wish I could explain.

  “April…”

  “It’s fine, but please just go now.” She still doesn’t look up at me.

  I linger a moment more.

  She turns her back on me and starts slamming wood blocks into place, putting on work gloves, grabbing a face mask and a power drill. Fiddling with the different bits.

  “I was on a good roll, and I’d like to keep working. Thanks for the materials, Liam, it was a good idea.”

  A dismissal.

  I watch her hunched shoulders and the back of her mussed up ponytail, the little dangling straps of her goggles flying as she checks back and forth between different pieces of her power sander.

  I guess that’s my cue to go.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I leave.

  10

  April

  I feel utterly pathetic.

  Tears blur my vision as I work the materials, build out my clocks. Stained glass pieces, wood, and curling black iron. A whole new line, more colorful, but less ostentatious in shape and size. The cage Liam brought me really was the perfect catalyst to make this come together.

  Liam.

  Twice in a row, I’ve been desperate for this guy, who I know is trouble, and twice he’s shot me down. This has got to end.

  My dad would know just the right thing to say to snap me out of this. He’s always been a great listener, always knows how to urge me towards being true to myself. I want to confess to him everything about Alan (which seems almost ages ago already, and it’s only been a little more than a week), that he was right all along.