Gunner's Flame

by Lynn Burke

  He’d ended up kissing and licking every inch of “his” skin immediately afterward, and the memory of surrender on his face when he’d finally buried himself deep inside my body sent a rush of warmth through me. Yes, he owned me, but I owned him -- every damn inch.

  The music overhead cut out, and a voluptuous bleach-blonde woman came onstage with a mic, her curves and smile killer enough to drop any man to his knees. I glanced at Gunner to find his gaze on my face.

  “You’re hot as fuck,” he mouthed and winked.

  Face flaming, I turned back as the woman introduced Angel before slipping back behind the curtain.

  Bass thumped, and Angel sashayed her way toward us, lust-filled gaze locked on the man two seats over, every sway of her body, every toss of her hair for him -- and no other. She scaled up that pole easier than a bird takes flight, contorting her body, angling upside down, and hanging sideways while spinning with a strength I hadn’t expected.

  All muscle, glistening skin, and pure sex, Angel held the audience captive.

  Before she finished, even I found myself warmer between the thighs -- and I wasn’t attracted to women.

  She crawled across the stage, hips swaying, long blonde hair a tumbling wave, stick-on tassels covering the tips of her pert breasts. Gaze locked on Bowie, she moved right into his face as he leaned forward, and at the crush of their mouths, I bit back my groan.

  They were hot together -- badass biker and celestial angel.

  Gunner squeezed my hand, his own eyes taking on a look I’d become well acquainted with. My body hummed, my thoughts consumed with cradling him in my body once more.

  Another dancer took the stage, but Gunner led me backstage on Bowie’s heels. Austin stood sentry by the door leading to the back and offices, and he dipped his head in greeting as I passed by.

  Bowie pushed in a door without knocking, and I followed Gunner into the dancers’ dressing room. A handful of women sat in states of dress before lit mirrors, fluffing hair or smearing makeup on their faces.

  I felt like an unpainted barn beside them, but Angel’s smile, her genuine happiness -- and Gunner’s squeeze around my waist, wiped my insecurities away.

  “You came!” Angel said with a laugh, dancing her way toward us.

  Bowie snagged her as she went to move around him, pulling her into his chest, claiming her mouth once more. They sucked face for a few seconds as a couple girls grumbled from their chairs.

  “Get a room,” the smiling, topless redhead said, and I glanced at Gunner again to see if he checked her out.

  He studied me, a hint of a smile on his lips, and I tried not to scowl. Another redhead at his disposal -- I knew he must have had her a time or two. Jealousy slithered in my stomach again, and I shifted, ready to leave.

  Chuckling, he pulled me close, his nose brushing against my ear. “No, I never fucked her, and no, I’ve never wanted to.” He squeezed my ass, reheating the fire inside me. “I wouldn’t mind taking you upstairs to one of the private rooms, though.”

  I feigned a smack on his arm. “Behave yourself.”

  “Never.”

  Shaking my head, I turned back toward Angel who peeled herself off Bowie. “Sorry about that,” she said with a giggle. “He always gets worked up watching me dance.”

  “You were amazing up there,” I said. “I can’t believe you suggested I could do what you do.”

  We shared a laugh as the memory of my trying to dance with her and a few other old ladies at the compound’s club the night before flitted through my mind. Gunner had claimed I couldn’t wiggle my ass to the beat of music to save my life, but assured me he didn’t care about that kind of wiggling. As long as I knew how to move beneath him, on top of him, surrounding him…

  Another rush of warmth settled between my thighs.

  Angel slid on a silk robe and grabbed her cell off her makeup table. “Drink, baby?” she asked Bowie, lacing her arm through his.

  He tipped his head toward the door, and Gunner led the way, his fingers laced through mine.

  “You were so goddamn hot tonight,” Bowie murmured, and Angel giggled.

  The door in front of us burst open; Austin strode toward us, scowling, his hand wrapped around a blonde bombshell’s forearm. A sob flew past the woman’s lips as her gaze flitted over my shoulder.

  “Cadence?” Angel pushed around us and wrapped the young woman in her arms. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Someone found out -- fucking hell, I’m done for!”

  “Shit.” Angel’s lips pursed as she focused on Bowie.

  “Fuck.” The word spewed from Bowie’s mouth with a harshness that made me cringe.

  “The fuck is going on?” Gunner asked, his gaze flitting from Cadence to Bowie, to Austin, who stood, hands fisted at his sides, focus honed in on Angel’s friend.

  “Cadence and Senator MacGillroy have been fucking for two months,” Bowie said.

  Cadence jerked back, her eyes widening. “You told him?”

  Angel shrugged. “No biggie.”

  “No biggie?” Cadence stepped back farther, bumping into an unmovable Austin who grasped her upper arms to keep her from stumbling. “I told you not to tell anyone! He’ll kill me if word gets out!”

  “No one will lay a goddamn hand on you,” Bowie promised, glancing at Gunner.

  Gunner nodded his head and pulled me toward the exit.

  “Do what you have to do, Bowie,” he said over his shoulder as we walked away, but I found myself glancing back once more -- to watch as Austin stared, looking like he had fallen hard and fast for the senator-fucking stripper he held in his arms.

  “Oh, and Austin?” Gunner hesitated, his hand on the door’s handle. “Cadence is your responsibility.”

  I bit back my smile and followed Gunner out into the lounge.

  “Pretty sure that boy is fucked,” he said, grinning.

  “He’d like to be,” I said with a laugh.

  “Let’s get out of here, sweet thing.” Gunner pulled me along, and I waved over my shoulder at Brewer standing sentry in the entrance way as we stepped out into the night.

  “Somewhere private where I can strip you down and taste every inch of your skin.”

  “You did that a couple hours ago,” I reminded him as he crowded me against the lounge’s brick wall, the cool air teasing strands of hair across my face.

  “And I’m not nearly satisfied,” Gunner said, his lips brushing over mine. “I’ll never get enough of you, Shelby. Never.”

  I melted into his kiss, flames licking at my skin as he swept all thoughts from my head but showing him how much I loved him, how much I needed him. I’d found a new beginning with Gunner, and regardless of the violence our relationship had sprouted from, I’d never felt so cherished, so at home.

  Lynn Burke

  Lynn Burke is a full-time mother, voracious gardener, and scribbler of hot romance stories. A country bumpkin turned Bay Stater, she enjoys her chowdah and Dunkin Donuts when not trying to escape the reality of city life.

  Lynn Burke on Changeling Press: changelingpress.com/lynn-burke-a-209