by Jodi Linton
“Please, Gunner.” I couldn’t believe my own ears. Begging was so against my nature.
The corners of his mouth quirked up, and laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. “Ask me again,” he demanded in his deep cop voice that drove me wild. His finger stroked—in, out, in, out. “I want to hear you beg. I need those red lips to say, ‘pretty please, fuck me, Gunner Wilson.’”
“Pretty please—” But before I uttered another word my mouth was silenced by callused fingers lathered in my own arousal.
Wide-eyed and tasting the saltiness, I pulled his finger between my lips and indulged.
“Shit, Laney.” He pumped two fingers in and out of my mouth. “God, you smell amazing.” He inhaled sharply, rolling that damn mind-debilitating package at my stomach. “Taste good, darling?” He peered down at me, longing to hear my surrender.
He hissed out a breath. And then teeth sank into my inner thigh, igniting a brush fire along the tender flesh, leaving behind a bad case of goose bumps when I felt the disappearance of those soft, heated lips. He peered up at my dazed face, his mouth still poised between my thighs, murmuring, “Baby, tonight I’m gonna teach you just how bad I can be…and all the reasons I’m worth the trouble.” Then he got to work on unhitching the belt buckle that kept his skintight Wranglers in place. Slowly drawing it through the belt loops, he let the leather tip dangle a minute from his hand, and then it slid to the floor on a thunk. “All the reasons why you belong to only me,” he said on a smile as he unzipped the fly. Either he intended on screwing me senseless or driving me mad. It was a toss-up. I heard the thud of denim hitting wood. Wide-eyed and feeling desperate to have him claim me, I spread my legs farther apart. As if on cue, he stepped up to play, thumbs hugging the elastic band of his black boxers. “Wanna taste?” He laughed, low and heated, then popped the boxer briefs, letting them drop a hairline lower around his narrow hips.
Heat flushed my cheeks as the need to have his thick cock filling me drop-kicked my adrenaline like a caffeine rush. Wrestling with the cuffs, I pathetically tried to move closer. When my efforts failed, I stretched a foot and grazed a toe across his hard length.
He immediately stiffened.
“Show me the goods.”
That did it. The boxers disappeared and were replaced with a cock, hard and purply, veins stretched tight and balls drawn beneath. Before I had time to demand a taste, I felt the wide head of his dick pushing and stretching and filling me whole. And boy, it felt heavenly.
Gunner dug a hand under my back and arched my hips upward. “Take me, Laney,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “All of me.” He thrust. “I want you to beg for more. Beg for release.” He pumped in and out, thrusting his dick hard and fast. His mouth a wicked grin, daring me with a dangerous promise, Gunner drove deeper, quickening the pace. And he fucked. Fucking ravished me. Then I felt his big, strong hand cup my behind, and my eyes flickered wide open at the firm yet gentle touch of his thumb sinking midway into my backside. He’d never denied his attraction to my ass. Lord, I loved this side of him: uncontrollably sexy and kinky as hell. Pressure mounted into pleasure as he pushed a little more at the forbidden entrance.
“God, that feels good.” I pushed back against his hand.
He moved inside me, burying deeper. Teeth clanked, and we panted out of breath as he tortured us both with slow, steady thrusts.
I wrapped my legs around his bare thighs and lightly feathered a kiss across his mouth as I said, “I love you. Always have.”
His sweaty forehead pressed into mine. “Never in a million years have I doubted your love.”
Then he drove forward, muscled pecs slapping against breasts as he filled me. And I wanted it harder. No, I needed it harder.
His movement tensed, and his thighs flexed as he shifted above me.
“Feel my cock owning your body.” He thrust so hard my back slid across the desktop. Warmth blossomed in my belly, and I was on the edge of an orgasm. “God, I love watching you unravel at the seams, knowing that it’s me causing you to lose control.”
I looked at him, my deadly obsession glistening in sweat and lust. He’d always been mine. Gunner Wilson was mine.
“Yes…” I breathed. “Yours.” He slanted his mouth over mine and kissed me hard, covering my lips in the intoxicating taste of sweat and beer. “Shit, I’m coming,” I moaned against his lips.
“Let me hear those sweet cries.” His mouth grated against my neck. “Now.”
Eyelashes fluttering, I sealed my fate in the hands of one problematic cowboy when I felt the first sputter of heat fill me from the inside out. “Oh my god, Gunner.”
Chapter Sixteen
Gunner
Moonlight sprinkled across the tattered patchwork quilt, leaving an afterglow on her gorgeous bare skin. Her breathing had finally steadied into a shallow hum I’d grown fond of over time. When I bailed to Houston—spineless decision making on my part—it’d taken months before I was able to settle into a full night’s sleep. Empty bed syndrome, I guess.
The sheet had fallen to mid-hip. My fingers twitched, all needy to reach out and touch her. Damn, when did I become a nervous man? Well, idiot, right after making a deal with the devil. The blanket shifted, and her naked ass showed in all its amazing glory. For a long moment, I held her sleepy body in my gaze and debated telling her all the sordid details. Really, I couldn’t blame Laney for taking her anger out on me, or for calling in Colt Larsen to lend a helping hand. Knowing that all my lies were the cause for a fellow lawman getting shot, well, the guilt was burning a hole big enough to fit the Great Divide in my gut. Maybe she’d take pity on my sorry ass.
Yet then again, this was Laney I was talking about, and she loved just as hard as she held a grudge. I pulled a piece of her silky auburn hair cascading down her slender back through my fingertips and decided to bury such dumbass thoughts. What’d transpired between us in the very home I prayed she’d claim as her own meant something more than all the lies, all the backstabbing, all the years of regret. It meant the two of us were willing to finally forgive. Don’t get me wrong, she tasted like pure heaven, but the uncertainty hung over us like a thundercloud. And once Pistol Rock caught wind of the shit storm blowing in…no one would be safe. Not even our love. Heads would roll.
Laney stirred at my side.
I let my hand fall from her shoulder and leaned in, brushing some hair back so I could gain access to that sexy mouth. “I promise everything will be all right,” I whispered against those tempting lips. “I’ll right every damn wrong, sweetheart.”
Then my phone buzzed on the floor. I eased off the cot, snatched up my phone, and padded out into the hallway, glancing sideways over my shoulder at Laney one last time before pulling the door closed on our first real heart-to-heart in ages.
“Wilson,” I answered, voice a low bark.
Static flowed through the line, screeching into an annoying rumble.
“We need to talk,” Luke grumbled.
Running a hand through my hair, I paced a few feet from the bedroom door. “It’s late,” I said. “Shouldn’t you be getting some shut-eye?”
“Taking a coffee break.” The irritating chuckle beat at my eardrums. “Not sleeping too well, big guy.”
I clutched the phone in a stranglehold, fighting back the urge to drive a fist through the wall. “God damn it.” Remember, Wilson, you’re the one with a badge. “You better have something pretty damn impressive to say.”
“Oh, you’ll be impressed, asshole.” The smug tone swallowed up the scratchy connection.
I peered back at the door and listened, only hearing the sweet sounds of my girl’s deep breathing. Simplicity tugged at my tired soul, but like always, a case won out over love. “Give me a sec.” Hustling downstairs, hand sealed over the phone, I rounded the stairs and stepped back into the office. I quickly picked up the box housing all my case files, then snagged my coat off the wall peg next to the kitchen door, stepped into my boots, and then pushed through the scr
een and jogged across the icy lawn, boxer briefed, covered in only a coat, and worried as hell.
The old barn held better cell reception, and it had become a habit of mine to regularly take business calls out there. Sleep was an unmerciful bitch. On a nightly basis, I’d been passing the hours until daybreak shuffling through the old files on my parents’ cold case in the office at the new property until it was time to drive back over to Laney’s place and lumber into bed before waking my lover with a good-morning kiss. Wishful thinking to believe I could sleep away my demons. They’d been outrunning me for the better part of fifteen years.
“Not like I have all night, Wilson,” the voice on the phone said.
I pulled open the barn doors and wandered inside. Wind howling and the light flickering, I quietly wrenched it shut. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.” I stepped over to the tiny, fogged-up window and stared back at the old farmhouse. A place that should’ve made me totally at peace, though most of the time I felt as if I was the only one entirely out of place. The yellow rosebush, now a mere bundle of thorns, swayed against the rotting white siding. I’d planted it back at Laney’s home the day we found out she was expecting, and when I’d bought the new property I’d taken great care in moving it, but like a doomed past of regret the roses faded and the bush withered away into a spindly bastard that on the best of days bloomed a single flower. “She knows,” I said, my voice dead as the midnight sky. “I told her everything about Redbud and how he’s been blackmailing Mitch. How we need him to proposition me when I’m undercover this Friday night to run drugs for his organization, so we can bring down his ass.”
“Guessing Laney took everything in stride.”
“There were a few hiccups, but she’s on board.”
Luke grumbled. “What about the plan?”
Biting back a curse, I added, “We move forward with the original plan.” I flipped open the cardboard box sitting on the workbench. Secrets. Every single one of them mapped out a trail that wove us all together. Each photo housed an old memory that would bleed us all dry. And a fortnight ago, when Laney had asked about the photographs of her father—the night that shithead Willie King tried to kill my woman—I’d concluded she wasn’t buying into my bullshit anymore. If I didn’t love Laney, then why would I be protecting her? It was just like she’d always said—love was a goddamn backstabber. “I know you didn’t call to just pull my chain, Wagner.” I found my ground again and slowly started to play the part of the Texas Ranger, the only persona that ran thicker than blood within me. “I need you to stay put out at Bristol Mills, you hear me?”
“You try staying out in the middle of nowhere with a horny, wounded marshal.” He grumbled, “The guy doesn’t understand the meaning of personal space. Larsen has his own goddamn trailer but keeps stumbling into mine.”
“And here I thought the ladies loved you.”
“I’m pretty sure the marshal’s poked his pecker in places he doesn’t even remember.”
“Have you thought that maybe Larsen’s just doing his job by keeping tabs on our main witness?” I replied dryly.
Muttering under his breath, he replied, “I’m going nuts, Wilson.”
I rubbed my mouth, the weight of the whole goddamn situation falling heavily on my shoulders. “Stay put, Wagner. I don’t need another man’s blood on my hands. Redbud sent that guy to kill you, so for the love of god, please don’t give me anything more to stress about.”
He let out a humorless chuckle that always set my nerves on edge and made me want to throat punch him. “I thought you and stress were old friends by now,” Luke responded. “Besides, after branding me a murderer to the whole damn town, you should feel like you’re on a beach sipping mai tais.”
“You’re not a murderer. You’re just a spoiled rich boy who got stuck with a motherfucking shit bag as a father.”
The wind whistled outside, breaking apart the static on the line. “Tell that to the front-page news.”
“Cut to the chase. Why did you call so late?” I asked, waiting to hear the ball drop. “Did you nail one of Kenny’s girls or put a bullet in the federal marshal’s head?” The thought of Luke making Larsen squeal brought immense pleasure. “If it’s Larsen, I’ll give you a pat on the back before hauling you in.”
“Found out what that goddamn tattoo means. You know, from the pictures in the files you gave Colt and me to look over. It matches the one in the picture of Laney and her dad. Take a look.”
Everything spun on its axle. I shoved around a few pics in the box and finally found the one I was looking for. Floyd Briggs perched on a dirt mound, rifle in hand, and a blue double-cross tattoo inked on his right ankle. Well, hell. And the shit storm rages on. The photo fell from my hand, and the bedroom where Laney blissfully slept unaware glared menacingly back at me through the fogged-up barn window. Tugging at my jaw, I asked the one question I never really wanted to find the answer to. “Means prospect, right?”
“Yep. While drinking coffee with Colt out here in my own personal prison, I passed the time by shuffling through that damn file you gave me. Colt recognized the tattoo as a match to the Dirty Southern Mafia tag. He’d worked a case a few years back on the gang, and when I pointed out the picture of Laney’s dad, we put two and two together.”
“I’m guessing that led to the infamous tattoo.”
Shit. Fuck. Shit. My worst suspicions were coming true.
A dead, hollow laugh thundered over the phone. “And guess what?”
The lump in my throat tightened, sticking like chewed gum in my chest. “Mitch sports the same tattoo?”
“Redbud also has the same blue cross on his ankle.” He grumbled, “One night after a bout of drinking, the shit bag asked to see mine. When I told him I didn’t have one, he laughed, saying he must be Mitch’s favorite son.”
“I’m starting to appreciate this midnight phone call a lot more.”
“Don’t leak a damn word about any of this to Laney,” Luke said.
I scrubbed the back of my neck, nerves slowly getting the best of me. Once word got around that I was working with Luke to bring down Laney’s father, well, normally taking out your girlfriend’s old man never settles too well. Shit, I was a dead man walking. Revenge had clouded my judgment at the idea of finally getting justice; I’d gone and gotten my hands dirty with the biggest liar in this neck of the woods. “I’m not in the market to stress out my girlfriend.”
Luke snorted. “You could’ve fooled me, big guy.”
“Fucker.”
“Sorry, easy blow.”
I placed a hand on the workbench, needing a moment to process the new information. Information that months ago I’d probably have killed a man to get my hands on, but what was justice? I glanced out the window, trying to feel the satisfaction in my deeds. Nothing. Across a bare-assed lawn littered in old tractor parts slept the woman of my dreams. And here I was holed up inside a barn, discussing plans with a man who would no sooner steal my girl right from under my nose than toss back a few cold ones. Damn, hadn’t my life thrown me one helluva curveball?
“Patience. One shit bag at a time, Wagner. First, we get Redbud and put a lid on his damn swinger party murders,” I replied, the tiredness of the day gaining on me. “He knows something about my parents’ and your mother’s death. We just need to bring him in on charges that’ll stick.”
Luke grumbled. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen years. I’m done standing by, knowing the man that killed my mother is walking the streets free.”
“How do you think I feel, huh? I was going to ask Laney to marry me, and now fucking look at us.” Tossing the lid back on the box of pictures, I eased toward the barn doors. “Get some rest, Luke. Tomorrow I need you to meet me at the Broken Barge Bar.” I flipped off the overhead rafter lights as I disconnected the call, then headed back into the chill.
Every goddamn problem in my relationship pointed at one person…me.
Chapter Seventeen
Laney
I’d snuck out before the crack of dawn.
Although I’m pretty sure Gunner dropped me a finger wave as I scooted out the bedroom door. And yeah, him mouthing, “Thanks for last night, sweetheart,” kind of put a damper on the whole getting-an-early-start-without-the-boyfriend-knowing idea. Truth be told, I couldn’t have been fucking happier. We were good again. Maybe he was testifying against Wyatt today. But heck, this was my dipshit cousin, and however the cookie crumbled was his own damn fault.
I swung by my farmhouse—the one I’d be staking a For Sale sign out front of in the weeks ahead—to make a quick change out of my smelly hooker attire and place a call in to the sheriff station. Elroy Sampson, local sheriff and all-around disgruntled boss, wasn’t too damn pleased to hear I’d need a few more personal days, but hell, if I wanted to use my vacation time then I could.
Half an hour later, I rolled into Bristol Mills. Situated out on a small spread of weed-infested land was the trailer I’d left Colt in a few days ago. Yet this December morning I had another man whom I intended on waking up bright and early.
I pulled the old cruiser down the long dirt path, past the trailer where I’d dropped Colt off two days earlier, and parked next to Luke’s Ford pickup. My hair stuck to my flushed cold cheeks, and my red cowboy boots sank into the muddy ground. There, inside a license plate–decorated double-wide, sat Luke Wagner, and hell, he was fixing to hear my two cents on the matter of going behind my back and dirtying up my Texas Ranger’s hands. I stomped across the barren property and walked up the slanting wooden porch, catching a drop of rainwater on the brim of my straw cowboy hat as I stopped in front of the door. It was time to fill in a couple of the puzzle pieces to this Redbud sex-party case. With a hand hugging my 9mm, I reached out to give the dingy door a beatdown. But then someone giggled, followed by, “You bad, cowboy.”