Bound to the Bounty Hunter

by Hayson Manning

  Almost.

  They stood in a line for what seemed like forever, Sophie entertaining herself by people-watching. She grabbed his arm, pointing to someone who had won a jackpot. Did he see the old man with the girl who seemed young enough to be his granddaughter, but the girl sure wasn’t acting like a granddaughter?

  He smiled, not minding how her hand slipped into his, or how she got close to whisper something in his ear, her breast mashed against his arm, her fresh, fruity scent killing the high-end scent behind them.

  To Sophie, Vegas with all its glitz was one big, new, and exciting toy. He’d seen the real Vegas behind the sparkly lights, and it wasn’t pretty. Sophie’s face had grown solemn at the people hooked up to oxygen, sucking on cigarettes and feeding slot machines, forever hopeful Lady Luck would shine down on them. Since broke casinos didn’t exist, the odds weren’t stacked in the gamblers’ favor.

  Finally, they were shown to a table after having another fight about who would pay. Her hand had landed on her hips, her eyes flashing. She’d insisted on paying for herself since she’d be billing her client, then confessed she’d only bill Beth half because she had a baby to feed.

  Strong, tenacious, proud, and he’d bet she’d never invoice Beth for the job. Sophie tried to hide her soft center, but it burst on through. The more he got to know her, the more he saw her vulnerable side. Kind of reminded him of a teacher he’d had in elementary school somewhere. She was a great teacher in a shitty school. She’d come across as tough as balls, which in hindsight he figured she had to be, because if kids sensed weakness they went for blood. She’d always bring extra food for the kids who hadn’t had breakfast and books for kids who didn’t have any, and when he didn’t have the money for a class trip, he’d found out she’d paid for him.

  “If I eat another cream puff I swear I’m going to explode.” Sophie rubbed her stomach and drained the last of her glass of wine.

  He chuckled. They’d relaxed in each other’s company. With no threat of danger on the horizon, he’d sat back and surprised the crap out of himself by enjoying himself, enjoying her. Sophie darting between serving bowls and piling her plate high had been the night’s entertainment. He’d have to do a serious round of pushups to work off the butter-and-wine-soaked chicken.

  Twenty minutes later, they were walking down the strip. Vegas threw on her sparkly party dress and came to life at night. The air, still hot, dried his eyeballs. Taxis honked at jaywalking tourists, their necks craned, taking in the lights. A woman flicking small flyers tried to push one into Harlan’s hand so he could be loved a long time with cheap drinks. He shook his head and kept moving.

  When he had Sophie by his side, nothing compared.

  “That is so pretty,” Sophie breathed.

  They stood in front of the Bellagio fountains. The crowd swelled around them, waiting for the magic to start. Jets rose from the water, music filled the street, and the fountains swayed in time to the collective oohs and aahs of the crowd. He stood behind Sophie, his hands on her shoulders. He’d scanned for potential threats but with a crowd this size the only thing he could do was keep her close.

  She leaned back in to him, and his arm circled her waist. Her body molded against his perfectly.

  “Nightcap?” she said after insisting they stay and watch the fountains twice more.

  “Sure.”

  He could do a scotch before they headed upstairs. In Vegas terms, the night hadn’t begun. He had a bag of tricks he wanted to try, one in particular. He had plans of Sophie coming on his face like she’d done earlier. His body heated at the thought.

  He threaded his hand in hers, liking the way she squeezed his fingers. He steered them inside the bar. Sophie shuffled her feet, hemming and hawing about where they’d sit.

  A woman sang on a small stage, lost in the song, her Billie Holiday voice blending with a man singing scat beside her in the dim light.

  He pulled her toward a free table that had opened up.

  “No.” She frowned, then pointed to a spot at the back of the bar, and her frown cleared. “There.”

  He slid into the booth, leaned back on the leather, pulled her close until her curves were flush against him. His arm around her shoulders, he sucked back a mouthful of Johnnie Walker Blue. Sophie set down her margarita, glanced at him, blushed, then glanced away.

  “What’s up?”

  She turned and whispered, her lips sweeping his ear. “You know how you said not to wear underwear?”

  His body twitched. One part in particular.

  He turned and stared.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to flick up my dress.”

  Red crept up her face, and she started to worry her bottom lip.

  All night? He was seriously off his game.

  His fingers inched up her silky thigh, dragging her dress along for the ride. Right where cotton should meet her hip, his fingers met nothing but smooth skin.

  His lips swept along her collarbone. “Open your legs.”

  Why she’d chosen this table became clear. At the back of the club with minimal staff walking past, it offered privacy. With a hanging tablecloth, the part he wanted access to wasn’t on display.

  She opened her legs a fraction. Her back straight, she stared at the wall, looking all high school principal, but the hitch in her breath gave her away.

  His thumb found her clit.

  Already soaked for him.

  She took a sip of her drink, her hands shaking. She opened her legs wider.

  “I’m so hard I could fuck you right here,” he growled in her ear.

  She didn’t answer, but her breathing became labored.

  One finger dipped inside her wet heat. When she tilted her hips, his finger drew slow circles on her thigh, then back to her clit.

  He glanced around the club. People either had their heads turned toward the stage or were talking amongst themselves. Their night hadn’t kicked into gear, but his had, courtesy of the bewitching, gorgeous woman beside him.

  He murmured in her ear, loving her shiver. “You like that people might see?”

  She nodded, still staring straight ahead, her breathing increasing.

  He picked up his drink and took a sip, every muscle in his body wound tight. He stroked his fingers higher and smiled at her moan, his finger never moving from a slow circle on her clit.

  “Oh God.” She sucked in a breath, her body arching before she came with a long tremble, her body pulsing around his fingers, sweat slick on her skin.

  He pulled down her dress, lifted his fingers to his mouth, and licked her from him. He then bent his mouth to her ear. “If we don’t leave now I’m going to fuck you here, which I’m totally up for. I can lift you on my lap and you can ride me, or we can take it upstairs, as long as I’m inside you. Your call.”

  She slid out of the booth, and he followed.

  …

  “What’s that?” Sophie said, fairly certain she knew exactly what he held in his hand. Annie had a sizeable enough collection.

  “I’ve been dreaming of you using this on yourself.” His voice purred like he was a big, hungry tiger and had a startled gazelle in his sights.

  Her eyes widened.

  In front of another person?

  She shook her head.

  Like I did tonight.

  Tonight she didn’t know if she’d go through with telling Harlan she was sans underwear, but a part of her was turned on by the knowledge and power that at any time she could literally bring him to his knees. She’d been so turned on in the bar with Harlan’s hand between her legs, knowing exactly what she needed, when they were in full view.

  For the first time she could be herself. It was empowering, and she wasn’t afraid to tell Harlan who made her life so brazen, so intense, so liberating.

  He ran his knuckle down her face, his touch leaving a trail of sparks.

  Her nipples tightened into peaks, ready for his tongue. “I know you’re struggling with ho
w I like sex, Sophie, but I’m struggling letting you have as much control as you do.”

  Something hit deep and low in her belly. And it wasn’t just desire that rolled across her body in waves, nor the hunger burning in his eyes, but also how he compromised for her.

  She took the vibrator from his hand. She turned the base, and it hummed into life. She dropped on the couch, her legs unsteady, her heart pounding.

  “Lift up your dress,” he ordered. He stood across from her, his arms crossed, his face flushed. Her thighs widened at his roughly spoken words. She wriggled the dress up her thighs.

  “Higher, above your hips.”

  She swallowed and complied, shimmying the fabric to her waist.

  “Lean back and open your legs,” he said, his voice rough with need.

  Her muscles clenched in a tight spasm when the smooth metal touched her clit.

  “Wider.”

  A tremor vibrated deep in her belly. Moisture slicked her thighs.

  Oh God, this is so wrong, but so…nice.

  She complied again.

  Her eyes locked on Harlan whose gaze was fixed between her legs.

  “Oh, this is good,” she murmured, pushing the vibrator inside her, opening her legs wider until her inner thigh muscles shook.

  His eyes blazed. Sweat beaded his forehead.

  She stared at him. For the first time she held this man in her hand like putty. The power swept through her, the confidence making her bolder.

  Her hand dropped between her legs. She rubbed her clit. “This is really good.” The sleek but impersonal metal was definitely doing its job, though she missed his unique heat and their connection. “But you’re better.” She dropped the vibrator.

  He prowled to her, his hand on the sizeable bulge in his pants. He then dropped to his knees. When his tongue rolled across her clit, she arched off the couch, unable to breathe, her body a slave to him.

  Her brain short-circuited when he pushed his slickened thumb against her butt, stopping when she stilled.

  “Trust me,” he said, barely getting the words out, concentrating on her and listening to her body.

  He pressed his thumb into her.

  She’d do anything and everything he wanted.

  His expert tongue circled and flicked her clit, then played at her opening. Just when an orgasm grazed her core, he pulled back and started the whole dance again.

  “Please,” she begged, her hands digging into his soft hair, holding him prisoner, grinding against him, desperate.

  “What do you want, Sophie? Tell me.” He looked up at her, his face glistening, his gaze hungry.

  “You,” she gasped, pulling the dress from her body.

  Anything, she’d do anything.

  “Tell me.” He pushed her legs wider.

  “You, Harlan, I want you.”

  And she did. Wanted him with a hunger that scared her.

  Harlan reached into his back pocket and pulled out a foiled square. He ripped the clothes from his body and sheathed himself. With his eyes burning through her, he picked her up by her hips and backed them up until her spine was pressed against the floor-to-ceiling glass wall.

  She arched, taking him fully inside her, stretching her limits until every exquisite inch of him filled her.

  “Oh…” she breathed on a shudder.

  Her ankles locked around his hips, her fingers digging into bunched, slick shoulders. Hard muscle quivered under heated skin when she kissed the underside of his jaw. She breathed in his musky scent, and her body sighed.

  She gripped his sweat-slicked shoulders, her body strained and arched, digging for release, her stomach muscles twisted into a hot mess. Harlan thrust harder into her, pushing her to the brink, then stopped.

  “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop,” she begged in a frustrated growl.

  “Or what?” A tiny smile touched his lips, but his ragged voice gave him away.

  She milked the length of him with her internal muscles.

  He growled and thrust into her harder.

  The hot bubble of need burst. She cried out as the power of the orgasm ripped through her, shredding her, her body pulsing around him as he shuddered his release. If he hadn’t been holding her she’d have slipped to the ground in a puddle.

  He carried her to the giant bed, pulled back the covers, and deposited her on thick cotton sheets, brushing damp hair from her face with unexpected tenderness.

  Harlan walked into the bathroom.

  Happy tears threatened to fall and dangerous emotions like belonging danced tantalizingly within her reach.

  If they were having this much fun in Vegas, would it be the same when they got back home? Would they both be at each other’s throats going after the same jumpers? Would she catch him at Javier’s gym working out? Maybe he’d even step into the ring with her. She stretched then frowned.

  No, Harlan wouldn’t like it if she got in the boxing ring again.

  Then reality, that cold hard bitch slapped her, hard.

  Harlan wouldn’t like it.

  She avoided his gaze when he walked back to the bed, staring out at the Vegas skyline. A dark and nasty stone pulled her stomach downward. She concentrated on the red flickering helicopters that streaked across the neon sky.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  His finger trailed down her cheek leaving a trail of warmth. “Something’s troubling you.”

  Tonight she’d done things she’d never, ever done before, would never have done before. Had she done those things because she wanted to, or because deep down she’d turned into what he’d wanted her to be? If he’d asked her, she would have handed him herself on a party platter.

  And it scared the shit out of her.

  She didn’t have time to go somewhere in her head and analyze it. She gripped the sheet tighter to her body.

  Would she again disappear and turn into the woman he wanted? Miss Compliant who’d do every barked command without a thought or an opinion?

  She bit her lip.

  She turned her head to find him staring at her, his face unreadable.

  “Would you ever be in a relationship where you gave up control?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  Have you ever let someone in? Have you ever been too afraid to confess your biggest fear without judgment? Have you ever lost yourself to another person—become who they wanted you to be, because, at some base level, you didn’t want them to see the real you?

  He paused before answering, his eyes boring into her. “I don’t do that level of commitment.”

  She clutched at the tattered threads of self-control, turned her head, sucked back a breath, and held it deep in her aching chest, pushing her finger against a hard knot on her breastbone. Alone, later, she would analyze what had happened tonight.

  Alone.

  The word whispered across her soul.

  Harlan slipped into bed and pulled her back to his front, his arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.

  She slid out of his embrace and out of bed. Harlan moved with her.

  “Prayers,” she whispered in a shaky voice.

  He nodded.

  She murmured a long line of thanks for all she had. After she finished she stayed in the prayer position, gathering her thoughts around her like a coat that didn’t fit as comfortably as it used to, until her body shivered in the air-conditioned cold.

  When she slid under the covers, hoping Harlan had fallen asleep, he’d pulled her tight in to his body.

  She twisted in his arms and stared at the neon lights until the first rays of dawn yawned into life, Harlan’s deep and even breathing behind her.

  Tears fell down her face unchecked.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Harlan closed the door of the car and blinked at the heat that dried his eyes. Sandwiched between a small liquor store and a twenty-four-hour laundromat, behind saloon-style doors was the bar Danielle had directed them to, the name Hooders spelled out in white peeling paint.


  The place had “desperate” written all over it. He’d caught bail jumpers in places like this. Fraught gamblers would be wearing shiny suits purchased at Goodwill. They’d sit nursing a beer, convincing themselves that tomorrow would be their day.

  Everyone wanted cheap beer and a place to forget for a while, including girls who’d come to Vegas with hopes and dreams of landing in a show and hitting it big time, but who found out there were a lot of girls searching for the same dream. Now they worked in bars like this, trying to pay rent and earn their ticket out.

  “Let’s get this done.”

  He turned at the brittle nerves in Sophie’s voice.

  She caught him staring and flicked her glasses from her head to her eyes.

  When she asked if he’d ever give up control with a quiver in her voice, he’d answered honestly. He wouldn’t lie to her. Raw emotion had twisted her face for a second before she’d rolled out of bed to recite the longest prayer known to man.

  She’d slid back into bed, and he’d kept her close all night, waking once when he thought he’d heard a shuddering sigh, but she hadn’t moved when he’d whispered her name. He tucked that one lock of hair behind her ear, felt her flinch.

  Something had changed, and it turned his stomach sour.

  “Not every story comes with a happy ending. Most don’t.”

  “I know,” she said in a quiet, cryptic voice and walked into the bar.

  He followed Sophie’s ponytail bouncing on her shoulders, wearing what she always wore and always stunning. He chose a table at the back of the club. Bored-looking girls rode poles onstage. Occasionally Miss “Love Me Tender,” according to the handwritten sign propped next to her, would remember where she was and tweak her breast or gyrate against the pole before zoning out again.

  Men sat in a couple of groups, but mostly they sat alone, nursing cheap warm beers, their hopeful eyes trained on the stage. Ten feet to Harlan’s left a woman gave a lap dance to one of them. A tired twenty sat on the table. Stale beer and cheap perfume mixed with warm air trickling from a busted air conditioner.

  The real Vegas.

  He hadn’t missed the waitress who had perked up when Harlan walked in, then frowned when she’d caught sight of Sophie. Her interest had been rekindled once Sophie had walked away. The waitress now sidled up to Harlan, twisting her blond hair and pushing out her double Ds.