Unbreakable s8-2

by Stephanie Tyler

  “It doesn’t sound crazy at all,” Avery whispered. “Will you tell me about the first one? Everything and anything you know?”

  Billie sighed, pointed to the beers. “You’re going to need more of these.”

  * * *

  Four hours, several beers and a full dinner later, Avery said good-bye to Billie and decided to walk back to the apartment she’d rented in this quarter to clear her head. She only had a couple of days left before the new owner took possession of Gunner’s place, and she still had some packing up to do there. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep there since the day he’d left. Too many ghosts.

  Her conversation with Billie spun through her mind as she clipped along the darkened streets, the revelers just starting to come out for the night.

  She’d forgotten it was a Saturday. Date night, she thought bitterly, as men and women—and men and men—walked by her, hand in hand. She stuffed her own hands into the pockets of her jeans and tried to picture a younger Gunner, running around New Orleans.

  The rumors were plentiful, the gist too similar to be denied despite a few disparities. Gunner had been married young—most mentioned nineteen—and he’d come home one night and found his young wife had been murdered while he’d been gone.

  “Some people say it happened here, in Louisiana,” Billie had said. “But I don’t think that’s true at all. How could he come back here and no one recognize him?”

  Because people change, Avery thought, but she hadn’t said it out loud. Thought about the tattoos covering him. That protective armor would’ve taken years, was still a work in progress. But a nineteen-year-old could turn into a warrior with the right training. Gunner had certainly had more than his share.

  And more than his share of tragedy. She’d thought having Richard Powell as a father was the worst thing that could’ve happened to him. Now she realized that might’ve only been the beginning, because Billie had also shared the information that the police had liked Gunner for the killing. Billie refused to believe that—Avery couldn’t either, but she was still furious that he would leave instead of confiding in her.

  “Dammit, Gunner,” she bit out. A random couple turned to look at her and she couldn’t help smiling back at them, especially liking when they scurried off.

  She was more than halfway home when she had a suspicion she was being followed. With a block to go, she was sure of it. She wound around the streets several more times, popping in and out of shops, going out back doors and finally sliding into her building past a man headed out with luggage who held the door for her.

  Perfect. She hit the stairs instead of the elevator, went inside and breathed a sigh of relief when the buzz of the alarm greeted her. She turned it off as she locked up behind her. She leaned against the wall for a brief moment, listening to see if she heard footsteps.

  Nothing.

  “You are extra paranoid tonight,” she chided herself. She ran her hands through her hair, stopping to massage her temples. She’d pay for those few drinks tonight. Time for ibuprofen and sleep.

  She stripped her shirt off on the way to the bathroom. She’d spilled hot sauce on it. She kicked off her shoes too, and stopped, because a shiver went through her body.

  She turned around quickly, but no one was there. Because no one could be there. The place was locked down tight. It was all the stories from Billie. The superstitions she’d talked about too. The lore and the bayous were enough to make anyone a little loopy.

  She shimmied out of her jeans, went into the bathroom, the tile cool under her feet. She leaned over the bathroom sink to splash cold water on her face. She held on to the sides of the sink after she did so, letting the water run off her face, down her neck. She splashed the water a few more times, grabbed the towel and blotted herself dry.

  When she looked into her reflection in the mirror, Gunner was standing behind her.

  Gunner.

  Here.

  Gunner.

  Following you.

  Her mind raced, but anger was the strongest emotion. She grappled for something to hit him with, but he was fast. Strong. He’d pinned her body to his, even as she struggled.

  “That was you behind me.”

  “You need to learn better E&E.” God, his voice sounded deeper, the drawl thicker, sliding across her skin like a caress.

  She had it bad, dammit. And she didn’t want to. “I don’t need to learn anything from you.”

  His laugh vibrated through her. She’d spent the past weeks wavering between hating him and missing him, and now that she had him, she didn’t know what the hell to do with him.

  He was obviously more prepared, seemed to know exactly what to do with her. At least, what he wanted to do. His hand was on her breast and she was conscious of being half naked in front of him in a way she had never been.

  Her nipple hardened under his simple touch and he knew, because he rubbed his palm against it lightly while she tried to pretend it didn’t affect her. “Let me go.”

  “Just remember, this is what you wanted,” he murmured, moved his hand from her breast to her tattoo. “Am I wrong?”

  She couldn’t breathe. His hands were like ribbons of fire on her skin. She closed her eyes because the room was spinning. Gunner’s arms weren’t enough to steady her or stop that. She wanted to ask, What do you want? but she didn’t, not when he carried her into the bedroom and placed her on the mattress.

  He proceeded to tie her arms above her head and to the headboard while she watched, unsure of what he would do next.

  He stared down at her before he pulled his KA-BAR knife out of his pocket, ran the cold edge of it over her skin and then slit the front of her bra open.

  “Oh, fuck,” she breathed. His lips quirked a little, and he did the same to her underwear. And she was naked in front of him, completely, utterly stripped in a way she’d never been before.

  His eyes just took her in and there was nothing she could do but let him. She wanted to ask him why he’d pushed her away when she’d kissed him, but she didn’t.

  And then his mouth was on hers and she couldn’t think any longer. His tongue played along the seam of her lips before he became more demanding. When she opened her mouth to him, his tongue licked hers. It was sensual. Hot. Exactly the way she’d imagined it would be. It made up for him standing like stone when she’d kissed him.

  God, she’d missed him. And all of this she’d missed out on while she’d been living in his place, eating his food, sharing his weapons. She hadn’t known exactly what she’d wanted, besides this man. But she’d assumed him unattainable.

  She’d assumed so wrong, if his kiss was any indication of his feelings. And she wanted to touch him so badly, strained her wrists against the T-shirt ties. But he pulled back, shook his head and then his mouth was on her breast, tugging at her nipple. His hand on her bottom, his fingers stroking the wetness between her legs, and she was rubbing against him instead of pushing him away, cursing him, telling him that he’d ruined her.

  He’d given her no quarter. She was bared to him and all she could do was whimper at the strokes of his fingers. She stopped thinking and just let it happen. If this was all the time she’d have with Gunner, she’d make it her best memory. Burn it into her brain.

  “Spread your legs for me,” he murmured. She did, and his hand moved between her thighs, stroking her. Between the beer and Gunner himself, she was completely drunk. Her body soared. She would open for him, do anything he asked of her. Because he’d come back. For her.

  She was sure of it.

  But he was angry too. Knew she’d been asking questions. Or maybe he was angry that he’d recanted and come back to see her.

  She would let him lead. Do what he asked.

  His finger brushed her bare cleft and she moaned, trapped between his body and the mattress. There was no place to go. No place she’d rather be.

  “I want to fuck you nine ways from Sunday,” he growled.

  “Only nine?”


  “You’re pushing your luck, Avery.”

  She was actually hoping, praying, it had finally run out if it meant Gunner making love to her.

  “Like that, baby?” He circled her clit, light pressure and then heavier until she was moving her hips to his rhythm. She could come from that alone. She leaned up and bit his shoulder a little and he shuddered above her. She heard him groan her name and she smiled against his skin.

  “Need to taste you,” he told her, and she nodded as his head dipped between her legs, put her thighs on his shoulders and ordered, “Watch me.”

  Oh, God, oh God . . . he licked her cleft, his gaze daring her to look away. She didn’t, couldn’t. He was in total control, something she’d never thought she’d want in any way, shape or form.

  She wanted. He licked her slowly, maddeningly so. Grabbed her hips and stopped her when she tried to get him to increase the pressure. But he was intent on torturing her, his blue eyes grabbing hold of her, the orgasm building so slowly in her womb that she swore she couldn’t take it.

  “Gunner . . . please . . .”

  She could tell he was smiling, and then he plunged his tongue into her, burying himself in her sex. He tongued her sex, stopping to press her clit hard. She nearly jumped off the bed, clutched the air and then fisted her hands as she tugged at the binding around her wrists.

  He wasn’t stopping. Held her hips, buried his mouth against her sex and took her more thoroughly than any man ever had.

  Her body arched, skin goose-bumped as she tried to make the sensations last. But her belly tightened, her womb constricting, and the orgasm hit her like a freight train. She didn’t break his gaze as she climaxed against his mouth, and he didn’t stop licking her, even when she grew too sensitive and tried to pull away.

  She was climbing toward another orgasm. She stopped resisting, let her body do what it wanted to. Its natural inclination was to climax again, far more quickly than she’d ever thought possible. He played with her nipples as he continued to pleasure her, his tongue deep in her, his fingers alternately flicking and squeezing the sensitive peaks. She watched the pink nipples roll in his tanned fingers, his hands so big they covered her breasts . . . his eyes watching her from between her legs as he gently brought her down from the second orgasm that made her cry out his name in a frantic chant.

  “Taste so freakin’ sweet, Avery . . . knew you would,” he murmured against her neck as he entered her. “Could stay between your legs all damned night, just tasting you.”

  Gunner kissed his way up her rib cage, tracing the ink with his tongue. Marking her again.

  Every kiss was a good-bye. She was helpless to pull away. Because if this was all she’d ever have of him, she wouldn’t regret it.

  She didn’t ask him why he didn’t just stay away, why he was making this harder on both of them. She’d regret the words instantly and they’d change nothing.

  All she could do was offer herself to him, drag him back to her reality, one kiss at a time. And then, he began shedding his clothes, and she watched intently. She’d seen Gunner strip down when they were prepping for the battle against his father.

  But having him in bed, where she could take time to explore his ink was a whole different matter. She noted that he was only partially tattooed on his chest, but his back didn’t seem to have any skin untouched. He’d also started a piece on his right hip that wrapped around his thigh. Intricate symbols in grayscale.

  She wanted to ask the hows and whys behind each tattoo. Instead, she planned on making it her mission to touch or kiss all of them when he freed her hands.

  I’m going to make you remember me forever.

  He rolled on the condom quickly. Her thighs remained spread and they were already trembling, but she wanted this, wanted him so badly she didn’t care. Wanted to make him come as hard as she had, and would again if the tightening in her womb was any indication.

  His cock was big, pierced with a bar that went through the head of it. “How’s that going to feel?” she asked.

  “You tell me.” His fingers and tongue had already made her slick and open for him. He eased himself inside her, his girth making her gasp. But although he went slow, he never stopped sliding forward, filling her. Making her squirm against him.

  “You like that?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He moved his hips and she felt his cock bury deep inside her. He pulled back, let the piercing tease her folds, the metal hot and hard against her. When he plunged inside her again, she wrapped her legs around him and held him there, contracting around him.

  The angle he used hit her in all the right places, and her body simply blossomed for him. There was no other way to say it. “Please, don’t stop,” she told him.

  “No . . . intention . . .” he grunted as she held on for the ride.

  Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking around his back. This pushed him farther inside her, filling her womb, making her quiver with pleasure. He rocked them both with a rhythm that drove her crazy. She wanted faster and harder, and he seemed intent on making her work for it.

  He released her arms from their bindings but then pinned her hands over her head on the mattress instead, held them there with one hand by her wrists and didn’t break eye contact with her. That was maybe the sexiest thing ever, because he didn’t hide the enjoyment on his face.

  His body was slick with sweat. She smelled like him, didn’t want to ever wash that off. She held him tightly, her toes curling, her sex contracting so hard she wasn’t sure when the orgasm would stop.

  “Gunner!” she cried out as she came, climaxing hard enough for her to see stars, her body shuddering through both their orgasms. Because he came when she did, his body stiffening as he growled out a groan and stilled, the two of them locked together in pleasure.

  * * *

  Gunner’s stomach growled. Avery was half dozing and he didn’t bother asking her what she wanted, just ordered one of everything from the nearest place that delivered and was waiting by the buzzer to head down and grab it from the delivery guy half an hour later.

  But then he didn’t want to wake her. He figured if the smell of the food wafting over her didn’t do it, nothing would. So he ate and alternated between watching her and the street below the hotel. The French Quarter hadn’t changed much— damage from the hurricane hadn’t touched here, leaving it eerily a “before” to most of the city’s “after.”

  He hadn’t been sure what he’d find left of the bayou when he’d returned; he’d been overseas when Katrina hit. He remembered watching helplessly with the rest of his team as the levees broke and the devastation that followed. He’d always consider Louisiana to be his home, since he’d first found peace here.

  He’d left that peace behind each and every time he left the state. This time had been no exception.

  “Hey, are you eating without me?” Avery asked in a sleepy voice. She looked tousled and flushed in that way only good sex could make you look. And it was a good look on her.

  “I saved you some. You looked too comfortable to wake.”

  She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. He handed her some of the plates of the late-night snack food so she didn’t need to get out of bed and she ate happily.

  And still, she hadn’t asked him a single question about where he’d been, why he’d left. Unlike the Avery he knew, and that sat uneasily in his gut.

  After several minutes of silence, he felt her hand on his arm. She was tracing some of his tattoos. “You told me once that tattoos can be like a résumé.”

  “Should be,” he corrected. “A lot of them are just people doing it for the wrong reasons.”

  “So what are the right reasons?”

  “They’re supposed to be a map of your life. Where you’ve been, where you’re going,” he explained.

  “So all of yours are personal?”

  “Yeah. Very.” He waited for the interrogation to begin, but instead, she simply continued to trace dow
n his arm with her finger and then, after a long moment of staring at them like she was trying to memorize them, she turned back to her food.

  * * *

  Avery was still drunk—partially on Gunner—and everything was all jumbled in her mind. All the questions she wanted to ask mixed with the fact that she wanted him to stay, needed him to stay.

  She stared at him while he watched the city out the window.

  Had he come home to his wife dead? Was he accused of murdering her? Who set him up? And why?

  Billie knew none of the answers and she’d admitted that she’d never had the courage to bring it up to Gunner. She’d wanted to make him feel safe, which meant not bringing up the past, and Avery understood that.

  It made Avery think about her mother, who’d also loved a dangerous man. Darius had brought nothing but pain and eventually grave danger to both her mom and Avery herself.

  But if she regretted it, she never actually came out and said that. She’d smile, probably without realizing she did so, whenever someone mentioned that New Orleans made people do crazy things.

  It certainly had made Avery do crazy things, and looking back over the past several months, she could honestly say she had no regrets, especially none trying to find Gunner.

  “You’ve been okay?” he asked. That certainly made more sense than her questions about his tattoos. At least he must’ve thought so, and she steeled herself from saying anything stupid like “not without you” and instead forced out “Keeping busy.”

  He nodded, a small frown furrowing between his brows. She didn’t mention the sale or the fact that she’d packed his clothes and put them in storage. Didn’t ask where he’d been or what he’d been doing.