Closer to You (Grindstone Harbor, #1)

by Cat Mason

  “Are you encouraging me, Tage?” I say on a breathy exhale. “Or flirting with me?”

  He blushes again. Glancing behind us quickly, he shifts his body, pulling us into a turn. Meeting my eyes again, he smiles nervously. “Flirting isn’t really my thing. I’ll win you over with my awkwardness.”

  “Tage?” I ask, moving my hands up his arms and resting them on his shoulders.

  “Yeah?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

  “Pretty sure it’s working.”

  Stopping us beneath the large spotlight, he captures my lips. The taste of his kiss has sparks igniting low in my stomach. The heat grows, spreading through my body like a wildfire. My heart stutters in my chest, my knees wobbling again; but this time, it’s from the intensity in his kiss. No doubt feeling my legs slip, Tage yanks me hard against him, lifting my feet from the floor. I don’t open my eyes, or break our connection, but I feel us moving until my ass is settled down on the concrete and cushion barrier.

  Positioning himself between my legs, he kisses a trail along my jawline until he reaches my ear. “Never had this happen during a couple skate,” he murmurs, gripping my ass and grinding his pelvis into mine.

  “Oh yeah?” I pant breathlessly. “I guess I can see how the whole dry humping thing would be frowned upon.”

  “Do you want me to stop?” he asks, halting his movements.

  “Hell no,” I reply, nipping his jaw with my teeth. Rolling my hips, I can’t help smiling when he groans.

  “Christ,” he grunts, sounding pained. Slipping his hand under the hem of my shirt, his fingers head directly for my chest. Tugging down the cup of my bra, he palms my breast. “I keep telling myself we’re not doing this here. But, when you do that I can’t think straight. It’s taking everything in me not to strip you down and bend you over this safety barricade right now.”

  “Mmm.” My lips brush his ear. “That sounds like a hell of a way to end a roller skating lesson.”

  “Careful what you wish for, gorgeous.” The heat of his breath on my skin does nothing but add to my frenzied need. “You’re crumbling what little resolve I have left.”

  “Good. That’s the plan,” I purr, smiling against his skin. Rocking into him again, my clit throbs when I feel his cock, hard and just begging for me to get my hands on it. Reaching between us, I cup the growing bulge in his jeans, flexing my fingers. “Let your inner beast out to play.”

  The hand on my breast loosens as he begins to pinch and tease my hardening nipple. Popping the button on his jeans, I tug at the zipper before slipping my hand inside. “Fuck,” he groans when my fingers wrap around his length, my thumb teasing the tip.

  “If you like that, wait ‘til you see what my tongue can do.” Sliding from the wall, I drop to my knees, forcing Tage to move backward. Looking up at him through my lashes, I lick my lips. He stares down at me, and I question for a second if he is even breathing. Tugging at his jeans, I pull them and his boxers down. When his dick springs free, Tage sucks in a breath. He is so on edge right now, barely hanging on to the control he believes he has.

  This is going to be fun.

  Wrapping my fingers around the base again, I lean forward, pressing a kiss to the head of his cock before teasing it with my tongue. Tage’s hips jolt, his thighs tensing. Running my fingers up his partially exposed thigh, I grip firmly as take him into my mouth.

  “Ah, fuck.”

  His hands dive into my hair, tugging at the strands. Releasing my grip on his shaft, I let Tage set the tempo, allowing his hands to guide me. Greedily, I reach around to his ass, digging my nails into his skin.

  “That’s so good. Shit. Don’t stop,” he pleads, yanking my hair almost to the point of pain. “Please, don’t fucking stop.”

  Goddamn. If I thought the awkward and flustered version of Tage was hot, then the filthy mouthed, begging me for more while fucking my face version, is off the charts sizzling. Hell, my panties could very possibly spontaneously combust from the heat this man is putting off right now alone.

  His taste is intoxicating. Each swipe of my tongue only making me hungrier. I want to strip him down and lick every inch of him. The noises he makes is like music to my ears, drowning out the classic rock playing through the speakers. They quickly turn into a beat, an erotic rhythm, I can’t begin to put words to. I have never heard something so sexy in my life.

  “I’m not gonna last,” he warns, his voice husky and thick. “Slower, Bristol. I don’t want this to end. Not yet.”

  His thighs tremble, that very bitable ass clenching beneath my hands each time he reaches the back of my throat. Reaching forward, he grabs for the wall to steady himself and rocks up onto the toe stops of his skates. His hips buck wildly, thrusting him balls deep. I gag in surprise, but quickly try to relax my throat and hollow my cheeks.

  Tage shouts, his body stilling as his release fills my mouth almost faster than I can swallow. His knees buckle, causing his still semi-erect cock to slip from my lips as he tumbles backwards, landing hard on his back on the wood.

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, scrambling on my knees over to him. “Tage! Are you okay? Tage?”

  Tage’s eyes roll back in his head. He groans long and hard. Holy shit brick and son of a bitch, did I just give him a concussion from a blow job? His skull could totally be cracked right now. Checking him over, I start feeling around for any bumps on the back of his head, praying to all that is holy and good that I don’t pull back my hand and find blood on my fingers.

  If I do, it’s safe to say, we are both screwed.

  “Fine doesn’t begin to cover it, gorgeous.” Propping his arms behind his head, he opens his eyes and gives me a lazy, but devastatingly sexy smile. “I guess my ass wasn’t safe in your hands,” he chuckles, “Does this mean you’re carryin’ my ass to the Jeep?”

  “It’s not funny,” I scold, slapping his thigh. “I thought I knocked you out. Or,” I shudder, swallowing around the lump in my throat, “made you bleed.”

  “Okay. I’m sorry. It isn’t funny,” he says, trying not to laugh. Reaching up with his hand, he brushes his knuckles over my cheek, before tucking my hair behind my ear with his thumb and index finger. “Next time you nearly suck my brain out through my dick, I’ll try not to let it knock me on my ass.”

  “Next time, huh?” I ask, arching my brow. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, hot stuff?”

  “Mhm.” Sitting up, he nods confidently. “Lots of next times.”

  Shaking my head, I start unlacing my skates, tugging them off my feet. “Or, next time, you could simply start on your back in the first place,” I shrug. “Safer for you; not to mention easier for me if I feel the need to multitask and ride your face.”

  “Noted.” Removing his skates, Tage stands to his feet, pulling his jeans back into place.

  The doors slam behind us, making me jump. My eyes shoot to Tage who looks as shocked as I feel.

  “Did you leave the lights on, Burleson?” a man shouts.

  “I’m not that old. Who the hell is playin’ the stereo?”

  “Me,” Tage blurts, grabbing my hand and yanking me to my feet. Spinning around, I see the two older men from the bar the other night. Both of them wearing big shit eating grins as their eyes land on us.

  “Tage,” the shorter of the two says, huffing out a laugh. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here today. I was showin’ Jimmy here the new rink flooring we had put down last week.”

  “How about that? I guess great minds think alike, huh, Bob?” Tage says, moving closer to me. “Bristol was so excited when I told her about us fixin’ up the place that she begged me to let her test it out.”

  “I did?” I ask, shooting him a glare.

  Tage answers, his smile nearly touching his eyes. “Like a kid unwrapping gifts on Christmas.”

  Bob and Jimmy both look at me. Bob’s eyes soften, his smile becoming more genuine. “Smooth as a baby’s ass, that floor,” he says, nodding his head. “You two kids plannin’ to hang ar
ound? I’ve got Brad Murphy comin’ in ‘bout an hour to price out what the damn paint and new carpet is gonna cost.”

  “Whole lotta nonsense if you ask me,” Jimmy says, shaking his head. “Not one kid gives a damn what’s on the walls. Long as their nachos are covered in cheese goop and the drinks are cold, they’ll lace up their skates every weekend.”

  “Yeah, about that. The concessions area is next on the remodel list,” Tage interrupts. “Fuckin’ soda machine is so old it was made before Dr. Pepper got his medical degree.” Grabbing our skates from the floor, he steers me toward the bench where we left our shoes. “We were just headin’ out. Bristol has work to do so I need to be gettin’ her back.”

  “Suit yourself,” Bob replies, waving him off. “Nice seein’ you, Bristol. You’re as pretty as Jo ever was.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat.

  The guys turn away, heading for the back of the building and a closed door that says office across it in white letters. “Tage?” Bob shouts, stopping just shy of the door. “Can ya do me a favor before you go, son?”

  “Yes, Sir?” Tage asks while replacing the skates on the shelving unit.

  “Be sure to do up your pants before you head out onto the street, lover boy.”

  The old men erupt into a fit of laughter as they disappear through the door and it slams shut. My eyes, along with Tage’s drop to his crotch. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I meet his eyes, trying my best not to laugh at the fact that he’s been carrying on a conversation this whole time with his pants wide open like a busted barn door.

  His lips twitch, a deep red blush filling his cheeks. “Not one word,” he says, zipping and buttoning before heading over to snatch up his sneakers.

  Heading his way, I drop down to the bench and slip my feet into my shoes. Looking up at him, I smile reassuringly. Unable to help myself, I give him a thumbs up. “Nice.”

  Chapter Eight

  Gold Star Flaps and Selfie Sticks

  Bristol

  When Tage pulls back into my driveway, I spot Evan pacing on the front porch, his phone glued to his ear. His face is unreadable from this far away, but something has him worked up in one way or another. “Does he always pace with purpose while on the phone?”

  “He’s probably on the phone tryin’ to smooth talk the panties off that waitress again,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Jodi and her gold star flaps left quite the impression on Evan. And it’s safe to assume, if Evan got his way, most of the flat surfaces in the house need sanitizing.” I shudder, reminding myself to be careful where I sit, or what I touch, until I use bleach wipes on everything.

  Climbing out of the Jeep, we make our way up the porch steps. “I fully understand the possible ramifications, Ms. Brandwell. However, that isn’t a possibility for Miss Lachlan at this time. No comments will be made, no statements issued on any platforms. I’ll let her know you’ve called. Have a good one.” Ending the call, E, tosses his phone to the lounger beside him. Looking up, he knits his brows together, his eyes moving between Tage and I. “What have you two been up to?”

  “Tage gave me a tour of downtown,” I answer, leaning my hip against the porch railing. “What was that about?”

  “Hateful bitch at the record label.” Rolling his shoulders, Evan pushes to his feet. “The media monster is hungry. You know how it is, B. Bastards aren’t satisfied unless they can get their hands on the whole pot. According to her, ‘Frayed Edge Records is exercising a proactive stance on the situation’,” he says, using air quotes. “I took care of it.”

  Great. Now what?

  A call from the label while on a break is never something I enjoy. Or rush to deal with if I can help it. It always means there is something to handle that has nothing to do with the actual music. No doubt, it’s some sort of bullshit demanding time that I should be devoting to writing the songs I need to finish.

  Exhaling roughly, I turn to Tage, wishing like hell we never got out of the Jeep. Pushing up on my toes, I press a quick kiss to his jaw. “Thank you for today. I’ll see you later?”

  Reaching out, Tage, tilts my chin, catching my lips as I start to turn away. His mouth moves against mine slowly. He uses just enough force to tease me, but doesn’t push the kiss further. Pulling back, he brushes his nose over mine. “Later.”

  I watch Tage as he makes his way off the porch, my eyes locked on his ass as he walks. The ass that, only an hour ago, I was squeezing like a damn melon. Once he starts backing out of the driveway, I yank open the door and look over at Evan. “Time for show and tell, Mr. Pahl.”

  Not waiting on a reply, I storm into the house, heading for the kitchen like a woman on a mission. Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I rip off the top and take a long pull from the bottle, preparing for whatever shit Evan is about to tell me.

  "It's not a huge problem," Evan says, stopping just inside the doorway. "The press knows about what happened in Missouri. That's public record, sweetheart. No hidin' that."

  "Okay," I reply, taking a seat on the barstool beside me. "I was prepared for them to report what happened. What's the big deal?”

  "Well," he continues, stepping further into the room. "It’s got scandal written all over it and the media gets a whiff of shit like that and runs with it. Once the story dropped, I guess there's been several attempts at contacting you for comment. The label took it upon themselves to reach out with a statement of their own saying you were 'unavailable at this time for comment'."

  "Would you quit making the damn air quotes?" I ask, rolling my eyes. "You look like a moron."

  "Then, Evan replied with a ‘fuck you’ smirk.” This time, when he does it again, he uses only his middle fingers. "Eat shit and choke on it, Bristol. I do what I want."

  "I'm going to punch you in the taint while you're sleeping and post the video on YouTube."

  He gags, his eyes widening. "Anyway," he says, clearing his throat. Reaching over, he swipes the screen on his IPad before sliding it across the counter to me. "Gotta give props on that headline. The play on words is funny as hell."

  Spinning it to face me, I scan the headline:

  Lead Singer and Song Writer of Absent Without Leave: Missing in Action.

  "Hilarious," I mutter, rolling my eyes as I continue to read the article.

  According to the St. Louis Metro Police, officers were dispatched to the singer's hotel suite after her security detail intercepted an intruder after the band's performance Wednesday.

  Reports say Christopher Payne, age thirty-five, gained access to the celebrity’s suite through her balcony by repelling down from the roof. Lachlan's longtime security, Evan Pahl, quickly subdued Payne by force and restrained him until authorities arrived.

  Payne was escorted by police to a nearby hospital for treatment of his injuries before being released into custody. Friday morning, bail was set and an emergency protective order was approved by Judge David Maher for the precautionary protection of Miss Lachlan in the event bail is posted before the case goes to trial.

  Payne, who lives in Granite City, Illinois, has no priors or negative criminal history. Documents show Mr. Payne recently filed for divorce from his wife of twelve years, with whom he shares three children.

  Victoria Brandwell, spokeswoman for Frayed Edge Records, said Lachlan was unharmed, but is unavailable at this time for comment.

  Since Lachlan has not returned to her Los Angeles home, the question remains, where is she hiding?

  "For the love of anal fucking," I groan, shoving the thing away. "I'm not hiding. I hate how everything gets so twisted. It's a vacation. I didn’t think I had to publish a press release to enjoy my time off away from the city. Those records may be public property, but I'm not."

  "Yeah," Evan says, nodding in agreement. "They'll find us eventually, B. You know that, right?"

  "I know that." Blowing out a breath, I take another drink of my beer. "There's a big difference between hiding from the world and inviting them for dinner. Shit." Shaking my head, I t
ake a deep breath and roll my shoulders. "I don't want them setting up tents in the front yard, but I can't see how me saying anything about that nut job is going to have any effect on how this story spins. You can’t win with this shit."

  "So what do you want to do?" he asks, leaning down and bracing himself on the counter with his elbows.

  "I'll call Vicki back tomorrow. Probably a good idea if I at least listen to her plan of attack before I shoot it down and do my own thing." Emptying my bottle, I toss it into the trashcan, silently congratulating myself for my wicked great garbage three pointer skills.

  "Alrighty." Standing to his full height, Evan laces his fingers, cracking his knuckles. "Your turn, fuckbucket."

  "What?" I ask, shrugging my shoulders.

  "You two looked awful cozy," he replies, clasping his hands together and batting his eyelashes dramatically.

  “We are not talking about this,” I say firmly.

  “How come? Would it help if I went first?” he asks, rubbing his hands together. “Seriously, last night I took the bang train all the way to anal penetration station. I doubt Jodi can even sit down today after the poundin’ I gave her gold star backside last night. By the way, I’ll replace the lamp and picture frames. She went a little wild when I rammed my –”

  “LA LA LA LA,” I interrupt, throwing up my hands and shaking my head. “I don’t want to know where your fuck stick has been,” I groan, shuddering. “Dammit! Now, every time Jodi waits on me at the bar, I’m going to be instantly reminded how your dick has been in her hands, mouth, and God fucking knows where else.”

  "Come on, lay it on Heavy E,” he teases, ignoring my rant completely. Waggling his brows, he grins. “Does he make you moist in the panties? Bet he asked you to call him Daddy while he spanks you like a bad little girl, didn’t he?”