Stone Princess

by Devney Perry

  My bike had been in the driveway when I’d arrived at my house. Presley’s Jeep had been parked in its normal space. I’d dumped my backpack at home, then rushed to her door, taking her hand and dragging her outside the moment she’d answered my knock.

  I’d put her on the bike and shot out of the driveway, her yelp of delight ringing in my ears. My plan had been to stick to the roads in town, ride for thirty minutes, but she’d pointed at the sign to the highway and away we’d gone.

  Fifty miles away from town, we’d crested the top of a hill with a wide, gravel pullout. I’d parked us here, the kickstand down, and we’d watched the sun make its way toward the horizon.

  Her hair was blown away from her face, like mine. Next time, I’d put her in a helmet, but for today, neither of us seemed to care about safety. Tonight was about adventure and the wind and the open road.

  On nights like this, I wasn’t sure why anyone would want to live in the city. The plains spread below us and the mountains rose in the distance. Above us, a few stars glinted in the vast, sapphire sky. We had at least an hour of light left, but as the evening turned to twilight, the magic of Montana found its way into my heart.

  Or maybe it was Presley.

  “I was dying to kiss you today,” I whispered into her ear. “I almost did.”

  Her eyes dropped. “Shaw, we—”

  “I know. I’m temporary. You don’t need the gossip. I get it, but that doesn’t make me want to kiss you any less.”

  “If people knew, if the guys knew, it would only make it more complicated.”

  I suspected the guys at the garage already knew, but I wasn’t going to burst her bubble. “I’ll keep this quiet, but when we’re alone, you’re all mine.”

  She grinned and let me go to swing her leg off the bike. I expected her to walk to the edge of the bluff and take in the sunset from her feet. Instead, she turned her back to the view and straddled my lap, looping her arms around my neck. “We’re alone now.”

  My mouth fused to hers, and I kissed her like I’d wanted to kiss her all day. Our tongues collided in a messy, wet duel that we both won. As the sun continued to fade, my need for Presley surged to a fire even a dozen showers wouldn’t cool.

  “We gotta slow down.” I broke away from her mouth, panting. “Otherwise I won’t be able to stop.”

  Her hands came to my face. “What if I don’t want you to stop?”

  My jaw dropped. My cock, already hard, wept. Please let me have heard her right. “What are you saying?”

  “We only have a month.” She looked up at me with those blue eyes, matched by the sky above our heads. “You’ll leave and we’ll both let go. But for now, when we’re alone . . .”

  “Let’s make the most of it.”

  “Yeah.” She smiled and dipped her lips to the underside of my jaw, peppering it with kisses.

  I growled, my cock begging to be let out of my zipper. I hauled her to me, holding tight, and I lifted us both off the machine.

  I would have liked nothing more than to fuck her on the bike, but it was brand new and this was going to be hard and fast. I didn’t trust my balance that much. There was a picnic table in the distance, shielded partially from the road by two cottonwood trees.

  Her legs wrapped around me as I walked us to the table, her mouth sucking and licking at the skin on my neck.

  I set her on the edge of the table and her hands went right for my jeans. I tugged on the strap of her belt, loosening its hold so her jeans draped over her hips, exposing creamy skin and the black lace of her panties.

  “Condom’s in my pocket.”

  She raised an eyebrow, digging into my pocket. “Expecting this?”

  “Hoping for this.” I chuckled, dropping my lips to hers. “So damn hopeful.”

  She smiled against my lips as she retrieved the condom.

  I put a hand in the center of her sternum, checking over my shoulder for any oncoming traffic. The road was empty—we hadn’t seen a car since we’d parked—and the trees shielded us along with the fading light.

  I flicked open the button on her jeans, dragging down the zipper, though I could have slid them free. Presley arched her hips, helping to shimmy them toward her knees. She toed off her shoes and those jeans pooled on the gravel by my boots. My fingers caressed her skin, dragging trails along the flesh of her legs.

  I started at the outside, then worked my way in, first to her knee, then up an inch. Down an inch, up two. Until my fingers were barely centimeters from the gusset of her panties.

  I dragged my thumb up her covered slit.

  “Shaw,” she moaned, squirming under my touch. “Quit playing around.”

  “I like to play.”

  Presley lifted up on one elbow, her chest heaving. “Play later. When we’re behind a closed door. Right now, I need you inside.”

  I loved the desperation in her voice. It shredded my control and I leaned over her, dragging my nose along the lace panties, inhaling her scent. I placed kisses up her belly, over the top of the white Clifton Forge Garage tee that molded to her flat stomach and firm breasts. I found her lips with mine and kissed her as I undid the zipper of my jeans and set myself free.

  Taking the condom from her hand, I rolled it over my shaft and slipped my tongue out of her mouth. I leaned back, and with one yank, I shredded those lace panties.

  Presley laughed to the sky. “I always wanted to know what that felt like. A man ripping off my panties.”

  “Yeah?” I leaned in to whisper against her lips. “What other fantasies do you have?”

  “Keep going and maybe you’ll find out.”

  I chuckled, savoring every shiver and hitch in her breath as I let the stubble on my jaw scrape against her chin and the cool breeze wash over the wet I left on her lips.

  I reached between us, gripping my cock to drag it through her entrance. She moaned, the sound loud and long because there wasn’t a damn soul out here to object. Presley could scream at the top of her lungs and only the birds would hear.

  I’d love to hear her shout my name.

  I inched forward, stretching her. It took every ounce of control not to thrust in deep and feel the pulse of her slick, wet heat, but I worked us together with patience.

  She shifted each time I went deeper, her breath gasping as she adjusted to my size. “You’re big.”

  And she was tiny. I’d known this was going to be a snug fit, and I gritted my teeth to keep from exploding. I wanted to make this good for her, for both of us.

  My fingers splayed between us, holding her wet folds apart as I rocked us together, until finally, I was seated as deep as she’d take me. Presley’s eyes were squeezed shut.

  “Good?”

  She bit her lip. “Move.”

  Fuck, yeah. I took her knees, holding up her legs as I withdrew. She hissed a breath when I drove forward, grinding the root of my cock against her clit. Her hands gripped the table.

  “You feel fucking incredible, baby.”

  “So do you.” One hand reached for mine.

  I took it, lacing our fingers together, and thrust in again. My jeans fell farther down.

  God, I wanted her naked. I wanted that T-shirt gone and Presley spread out beneath me so I could watch her rosy nipples. But we were scratching an itch. We were letting loose and fucking under the sky.

  Tomorrow, or maybe tonight, we’d take the time to explore.

  My pace picked up and I slammed into her time and time again until she writhed on the table. White spots broke in my vision as I took her hard, loving the clench of her around me.

  “Shaw.” She gave me a warning gasp.

  I planted deep, hard, and dropped her leg. I found the bundle of nerves between us and stroked, three times before she shattered, her back arching off the table and her mewls fading into the coming night.

  When her cries subsided, I began stroking again, this time in short, hard thrusts. It didn’t take long for the build, the pressure to consume me, and I let go with Pre
sley’s hand still in mine and her scent floating on the night air.

  I collapsed on top of her when we were both spent. “Damn.”

  The fingers of her free hand dove into my hair. “Damn.”

  I didn’t want to let her go, but I did. I stood, sliding out and picking up her jeans, brushing off the dirt. As she stepped into them, I yanked up my own jeans and took care of the condom, tossing it in a trash bin a few feet from the table as Presley cinched her belt.

  We didn’t speak as we made our way to the bike. I climbed on first, steadying the bike as she straddled me from behind.

  Then she sighed, wrapping herself to my frame and holding on tight.

  “See?” I kissed her temple. “I don’t grunt.”

  The sound of her laughter rose above the roar of the engine as we rode home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shaw

  I shook Luke Rosen’s hand. “Good to see you.”

  “Thanks for the beer. You change your mind about ditching work and going fishing again, give me a call.”

  “Wish I could.”

  Luke was taking a vacation, his first since becoming chief of police, and spending two weeks on the river. He’d camp out at night and sleep under the stars. No cell phones. No showers. No schedules.

  The trip sounded like bliss, but there was no way I could leave. We were in the thick of shooting and every available second I wanted to spend with Presley.

  Maybe I’d come back one day. Luke and I had bonded over police talk and beers at The Betsy, a seedy bar that reminded me of a spot me and some of the SWAT guys in LA used to hang out in. He’d also taken me fishing one afternoon, giving me a taste of something to look forward to.

  “Rain check?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I’ll hold you to it.”

  “If you’re ever in LA, let me know.”

  “I’ll do that.” He slid on his sunglasses, then turned for his truck, waving as he rounded the hood. “Take care, Shaw.”

  “You too.” I waved back, then walked to the Escalade on the other end of the gravel parking lot.

  My phone had five texts when I took it out of my pocket. All were from Shelly. She was in full-fledged triage mode, trying to figure out how to rework the filming schedule to account for our recent delays.

  We’d been doing so well, staying on track. Dacia had left long ago, which had been a blessing for the on-set vibe. The cast and crew were getting along. Cameron had been happy. Shelly had been constant smiles.

  Then everything had gone to shit this week.

  It had started with a cold traveling around the crew. Cameron had caught it first, constantly coughing and sneezing. He’d passed it along to the cameramen next. From there the virus had raged.

  People were miserable. Every scene took twice as long to shoot because Cameron was so unhappy. Nothing was good enough. The script morphed to accommodate the changes, and I held my tongue, trying not to make it worse.

  These types of things happened on all movies, things evolved as you shot, but this was becoming extreme. I’d rehearse one set of lines in the morning and the afternoon’s delivery would be entirely new.

  The only thing I had going for me was that I wasn’t sick, because I was staying the hell away from the infected motel. I ate my meals separately and went home at night. Well, not home. I went to Presley’s house, my destination as I pulled away from The Betsy.

  Shelly had finally convinced Cameron that we should delay today’s scenes and let everyone take a day to recuperate. He’d reluctantly agreed.

  I’d spent some time today catching up on emails and phone calls. I’d spent half an hour on the phone with my mom, then checked in with each of my sisters. They’d updated me on all aspects of their lives and had made sure to tell me about Dad.

  I didn’t talk to Dad. I wasn’t going to talk to Dad.

  But my mom and sisters refused to let that rift grow. They fed me information about him, and I was sure they did the same in reverse.

  After family calls, I’d talked at length with my agent and manager, reminding them no matter how hard they pushed for this or that audition, once Dark Paradise was over, I was taking a break.

  They still pushed.

  By early afternoon, I’d been done with the phone and texted Luke to see if he wanted to meet up for a beer. He’d been off work already, packing for his trip and getting his boat ready, so we’d spent a couple hours bullshitting at The Betsy while I watched the clock, waiting for five to roll around, when Presley would be on her way home.

  The past week with her had been one of the best. Time was passing too quickly and there hadn’t been enough hours in the day to spend with her. The ones we did have, we’d made the most of. The second I was in her house and the door was locked, her clothes were off.

  We’d spent a week mauling one another. Inhibitions went out the door as we went after one another with abandon, clawing and biting until we were both breathless and passed out in her bed.

  Earlier this week, I’d managed to make it in and out of a gas station without being recognized to replenish my stash of condoms. Thank God for baseball hats and sunglasses. I had one in my pocket, waiting for the moment Presley opened the door, took a fistful of my shirt and dragged me inside.

  I grinned as I drove across town.

  Presley Marks was an explosion.

  She’d destroyed the plans I’d had for Montana. My focus hadn’t been on the movie like it should have been. Besides one afternoon fishing with Luke, I hadn’t done any exploring of the area. My attention had been on my petite neighbor, as it would be for the next two and a half weeks, before I was scheduled to leave Clifton Forge.

  None of us wanted the movie to run past schedule. That cost money and frustrated crew members who were itching to get home to their families. But if it did, I wasn’t going to be broken up about it. I’d take the extra time with Presley.

  Could I delay my commitments for October? I should have asked Laurelin when we’d spoken earlier. There were some scenes we had to shoot on location, but after they were done, could I come back to Montana? I was supposed to attend a children’s charity fundraiser at Halloween and had some press engagements to promote an upcoming movie—one I’d shot eighteen months ago. If I asked Laurelin, she’d grumble and tell me to get my ass back to California.

  My phone rang and I chuckled at the name on the screen. “Speak of the devil. I was just thinking about you.”

  “Shit,” she muttered. “You already heard.”

  My grin dropped. “Heard what?”

  “Oh, uh . . . you haven’t heard. So, there’s a picture floating around.”

  “What kind of picture?” My stomach dropped. There were a lot of pictures of me out there. Ones taken by the paparazzi. Ones taken by fans. I did my best to always wear a smile when I was in public because with today’s technology, no place was safe.

  “It’s of you and a woman. Shaw, you’re supposed to tell me when you start seeing someone, remember? Do you not recall what happened with Dacia?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone,” I lied. There was no way she could know about Presley. “What’s the picture?”

  “TMZ just bought it and posted it on their website.”

  “Details, Laurelin. What’s the picture?” My mind instantly jumped to the worst. To another Dacia incident. Who was the last woman I’d been with? A travel agent in New York. We’d met at a hotel bar and hooked up that night. But that had been, what, nine months ago?

  Not that the tabloids cared about the time stamp.

  “It’s nothing bad. It’s you and a woman on a motorcycle, but TMZ is speculating you’re dating someone.”

  The air rushed out of my lungs. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Presley was going to lose her shit. “More. What else?”

  “I don’t know what else. She has short blond hair. You’re at a stoplight or something. You’re looking back at her and smiling. She’s got her arms wrapped around you.”

  “Damn it.” How many stop
lights had we hit on the way out of town when I’d taken Presley for a ride? One. Two, maybe? Just my luck a tourist or local with a cell phone had snapped that photo at the right moment.

  If the paparazzi started digging into Presley, she’d be a target. That was the last thing she needed just weeks before we were all out of her life. “Bury it, Laurelin. Buy it from them. I don’t care how much it costs, but get it down.”

  “I already did, and you got lucky, it was cheap. I told them that she was your assistant on set, and that you were just testing out a motorcycle you were using for a film.”

  “Good.” There was enough truth to that statement that if they started asking about the movie, they’d find out we had a whole crew in Montana, if they didn’t know already. “What else?”

  “Nothing else. You know how these things go. Some photos go viral. Others die. Don’t be seen with her again and you should be fine.”

  Repeats of the same woman were when the paparazzi began to drool.

  “Send me the picture,” I ordered.

  “It’s in your inbox. Who is she, Shaw?”

  “A woman I met here.”

  “No shit.” I could practically hear her eyes roll. “Is this something I’m going to need to explain later? Or will I need to get an NDA sent over?”

  “No and no.” I sure as hell wasn’t having Presley sign an NDA. My secrets were safe with her and I didn’t need a piece of paper to prove it. Besides, after I left Montana, there’d be nothing to explain.

  “Are you sure? Because—”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll let you know if something else comes up.”

  “Okay. And, Laurelin? Thanks.”

  “Just doing my job,” she said and ended the call.

  Fortunately for me, she did it well.

  Laurelin had assumed the role of my manager and didn’t stifle her opinions. For the most part, I listened and took her advice. She was peeved with my decision to step away for a while. Laurelin feared I’d lose my position at the top.

  But it was time for a damn break, and the top was a lonely place to be.

  It was hard to trust that people didn’t befriend you because of your fame. Most had ulterior motives, wanting to use me in hopes of springboarding their own success—which was why being around Presley was so refreshing.