Gibson Boys Box Set

by Locke, Adriana

  Gulping past the red-hot lump in my throat, I have to tear my eyes from the sliver of creamy skin. When I look at her face, her eyes shimmer with amusement.

  Her tongue darts out, skimming her bottom lip seductively. Her chin lifts ever-so-slightly, her eyes smoldering with the promise of a tease.

  I’m only a man. A very virile, capable man that has limits and restraints just like the mortal I am. I’ve hit my limit.

  “Why don’t you come here?” I spread my legs, my cock clearly locked and loaded through the fabric of my pants, but I couldn’t give a fuck.

  She stands, the hemline of the dress toppling to the floor. The front dips as she stands, the roundness of her breasts on full display.

  I think I’m going to lose my damn mind.

  Taking her time, she strides to me, making a one second trip into about four. It feels like eighteen. Standing before me, her lips pursed together, she smirks. “I’m here. Now what?”

  Seven

  Blaire

  My heart is pounding as I look down at him. The moonlight sweeps across his features, the angles causing him to look even more devilishly handsome than before.

  Sitting in the dining room, just the two of us, he wore down my resolve. I was certain we’d share a meal and that would be that. After all, I don’t really even know this man. I barely sleep with men after three dates when I vaguely know them. Yet, here I stand, the excuse I came up with before that it is a vacation and I should live a little completely out the door.

  Quite frankly, I want to sleep with him. Vacation or not, logical or not. My brain has chosen this moment to let my hormones override any sensibilities and as I look at him looking at me, I don’t even care. Any regrets I have about this later will be mine. He’s given me a hundred ways out and I’m shoving my way in.

  His hands grasp my waist, his fingers biting into my hips. With a gentle, yet firm grip, he urges me to take a step toward him. To close the small distance.

  The scent of his cologne fills the void between us, swirling with the warm evening air. My thighs clench together, my legs sticky from my arousal, as a grin plays across his lips.

  “I’ve never had this problem before,” I gruff.

  Making a show of glancing at his lap, I drag my gaze up his chest until it settles on his eyes again. “Doesn’t look like you have a problem to me.”

  He bites back a laugh with a slight shake of his head. “There’s no problem there.”

  “I could find out for myself if you weren’t so chatty.”

  The chuckle comes now, as does a grin. “I was referring to knowing where to start, smartass.”

  “Have you never done this before?” I tease.

  “I’m confident when I say I’m certain I’ve never been with a woman like you before.”

  There’s a kick to his tone, an almost reverence, that takes my breath away. It’s swoon or seduce and I choose the latter.

  “Well then, let me show you.” Prying one of his hands off my hip, I hold his gaze. Bringing it to my throat, I let the back of his fingers trail down my skin, gliding over my sternum, between my breasts. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, fighting the urge to take over. But he doesn’t. He lets me direct the moment.

  My skin burns beneath his touch, a trail of unseen flames left behind his contact. My brain buzzes, almost drunk, numb to any thought other than him and me. The powerfulness coursing through my veins, that a man like this is responding to me in this way, beats any victory in a courtroom. It’s surreal.

  Twisting his hand so his palm is flat as it rubs down my stomach, he turns it at the apex of my thighs. Cupping my sex through my dress, the fabric sinks into the dampness under his palm.

  His eyes flick to mine.

  “Is that wet enough for you, Holt?” I ask, lifting a brow.

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, my dress is bunched up and held in place at my waist. The air brushes against my bared vagina and I feel incredibly exposed. The sensation startles me for a brief, fleeting moment. He erases any sense of bewilderment with his warm, cradling gaze.

  Grabbing the back of my thigh, he squeezes my leg. I try not to yelp because it doesn’t hurt, but a sound comes out as I reach my breaking point. He bites his lip to contain his amusement because he knows: I want him. I need him. But he’s not going to give it to me until he’s ready.

  My legs part at his nudging, his fingers trailing up the inside of my thigh. With each inch they go higher, my heartbeat spikes a little more until the tips of his fingers reach my opening.

  I suck in a hasty breath as I watch him feel, for the first time, how turned on I really am.

  “My God,” he groans. “You weren’t kidding.” Pulling me toward him, he reaches farther back and inserts one long, firm finger in the middle of my slit. I moan, my body turning to gelatin, as he drags it through the wetness.

  “Holt …” I gulp as my stomach clenches.

  Holding the finger in the air, my desire glistens off it. “There’s one question answered. Let’s answer another.”

  “Which is that?”

  Looking me dead in the eye, he wraps his lips around his finger. My jaw drops as his eyes light up. “You taste amazing.” He winks.

  Before I can react, before I can come up with a witty response, he’s dipping a finger inside me again. It goes in slow and even I can feel my body squeezing around it. He works it inside, his other hand gripping my bare ass, before sliding it out and inserting it again. With each stroke, the flame in my belly grows hotter.

  My fingers dig into his hair and tug his head back, capturing his mouth with mine. He strums my pussy, like a key to an ignition, as his tongue wraps around mine and strokes it to the same tune.

  He pulls back, giving my bottom lip a gentle bite, before burying his head in my chest. He kisses across the top of my breasts, before tugging down the neckline of my dress. My tit pops free of my bra, sitting atop the white lace.

  His tongue coats a budded nipple, working a small circle around the engorged flesh. As he sucks it into his warm mouth, his inserts a second finger into my pussy and it’s all I can do not to scream out in delight.

  I can’t focus on either sensation. Every synapse is firing, misfiring, and re-firing in such quick succession that I can’t make sense of any of it. All too soon, he pulls away from my chest and his fingers slow.

  My breath ragged, my sight fuzzy, I release the back of his head and stand straight. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m about to do you.”

  Needing a release, I swirl my hips against his hand. This only makes him pull it away altogether.

  “Take off your dress,” he orders as he unfastens his belt.

  “But …” I look around the balcony. “Here?”

  “I’m not waiting to get inside you.”

  His pants, shoes, and socks are placed on the chair, his shirt joining them. Holt Mason stands in front of me, a chiseled portrait of absolute perfection. His muscles are created, not swollen or pumped by a chemical, but designed … maybe by God and maybe by a trainer. I don’t know. But I’d like to thank them.

  He takes a condom and rolls it over the top of his swollen cock. While he does this, he watches me expectantly.

  Any hesitation I had about getting naked on a balcony is gone. I’d remove my clothes for him in the middle of the street if he told me to right now. This is completely ridiculous, I’m aware of that, but I. Just. Don’t. Care.

  My dress and bra join his clothes in a heap behind him. He takes a few, calculated steps my way.

  “From here on out, I’m in control,” he breathes. “I will take care of you in every way, but you need to trust me.”

  “I don’t know you well enough to trust you,” I whimper as he wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his chest.

  “Then give me a chance to earn it.”

  When I don’t respond, his eyes light up. He presses a gentle kiss to the middle of my lips, before turning me around.

  His breath
is hot against the shell of my ear, his cock heavy and hard at the small of my back. Moving a lock of hair fallen from my bun, he presses another kiss to the side of my neck. “Bend over and grab the railing in front of you,” he whispers.

  Looking over my shoulder, I’m silenced by what I see.

  Lust. Control. Consideration.

  A man in power.

  And, for the first time in my life, I’m okay with giving up that power for one night.

  As I grip the rail, my hands sweaty and threatening to slip, he positions himself behind me. The tip of his cock parts my pussy and hovers right at the opening.

  Before he slides into me, he pauses. “If you start to fall, I have you.” And then he presses into the wetness, parting me into two halves, and bringing me more pleasure than I’ve ever allowed myself to enjoy.

  Eight

  Blaire

  His breathing evened out an hour ago, but I couldn’t get out of bed. I laid next to him, his arm protectively around my abdomen, and watched him sleep.

  There’s been plenty of time for me to second-guess everything that happened today and I’ve tried in a very me-like way. I just can’t make it happen.

  Holt was rough yet tender, crass yet careful, smoldering yet sensitive, and I can’t make myself wish I’d made another decision rather than to be with him. Even so, I know the decision I have to make now and that’s to be realistic. Smart. Gone.

  Lifting his arm so it’s off me, I slip quietly out of bed. The silk sheets are decadent, and I have a notion to cancel the room my family got me across town and get another one here, but I don’t.

  My dress slips across my body, my shoes and purse in my hands in a couple of seconds flat. I tiptoe toward the door but stop when I see a notepad sitting by the little lamp on the table near the window.

  Holt,

  Thank you for a wonderful evening.

  Blaire

  I place the pen next to it and go to leave, but stop again. Fishing through my purse, I find the panties I removed inconspicuously during dinner and lay them next to the note.

  With a final look at a man I’ll never see again, I let myself out.

  The End

  For more on the Landry Family, check out Sway. Available on Amazon, in Kindle Unlimited, and on Audible.

  Keep reading for Nora & Kip’s short story, CRASH.

  Crash

  A Gibson Boy Short Story

  One

  Nora

  “I think I’ve learned more in the last half hour than I’ve learned in my entire life.” Machlan leans against the cooler, his large, muscled arms crossed over his chest.

  “Go with us tonight and I’ll teach you some more.” My friend Emily leans forward, her boobs resting on the bar. She flashes my boss, and one of my best friends, the sexiest smile she can muster.

  “He’s not the lamb he’s pretending to be,” I warn. “From the stories I hear, he could teach even you a thing or two, Em.”

  She laughs, her eyes shining. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  Holding Machlan’s gaze, she licks her lips with the deliberateness of a seasoned vet. My group of friends burst into laughter. Me? I just shake my head. This is simply a variation of every woman’s reaction to Machlan Gibson.

  I get it. I do. He checks off every box on the “what makes a man hot” list. Even though he’s practically a brother to me at this point, I can still see it. I don’t want it, or want to see it, but I see it.

  “How many panties were thrown behind the bar tonight?” I ask, demonstrating my point. “I found a pink one and a red one.”

  “Women really do that?” Emily asks. “I thought that was just something from movies.”

  “Oh, they do that.” I laugh, wiping down the bar. “Sometimes worse. And the notes women leave him on the bulletin board by the door are downright disgusting.”

  Machlan shrugs. “I can’t help it. Being this good-looking is a liability.”

  “Shut up.” The laugh I’m trying to hold back surfaces, causing my friends to giggle again. “And you two aren’t helping,” I say, pointing at them.

  “What can I say?” Emily asks. “Hot bartenders are my thing. My guilty pleasure.”

  “I thought penises were your guilty pleasure.” Lauren laughs.

  Emily shrugs. “I do like a good penis. I’ll admit that.”

  “Who doesn’t?” I sigh, thinking of my last romp with a well-endowed man.

  It’s been too long for me. It’s not that I’m promiscuous, exactly. I’m choosy about who I’m with and I don’t sleep around a lot. I have a few men, a handful, maybe that I can count on for a good time on a rainy Saturday night. But lately they’ve all been lackluster … all except the one I wish was so I could quit thinking about him.

  “Um, I don’t like a good penis.” Machlan shoves off the cooler, sticking his hands in his pockets. He looks at me, lifting a brow.

  I know what he’s doing before he does it because he does it to me all the time. He puts me on the spot. Tests me—for what, I don’t know. It’s like he’s toying with me to see if he can get me to crack. It could be because I don’t react to him like every other breathing female does. Whatever it is, I hold my breath and prepare to not, in fact, crack.

  “So, Nora,” he says, leaning against the bar. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

  “Probably something lame compared to yours.” I lean forward too, mocking his stance. He’s on one end of the bar, me on the other, with my friends in the middle. “Why don’t you share yours with the class?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.” Emily grins.

  Machlan looks at her with a wide, cheesy smile before turning his attention to Lauren. “You’re up. What’s your guilty pleasure?”

  “Well,” my soft-spoken friend says, “I’m married with a baby, so can I say showering alone?”

  “No one should ever shower alone,” Machlan teases.

  “Trust me. When you have kids, things like showering and peeing with the door closed is the guiltiest of pleasures,” Lauren sighs.

  “That’s so, so sad,” I lament. “And also, why I’m not sure I ever want kids. I don’t want to give up … me.”

  Lauren’s eyes sparkle, partially from the lemon drop martini she downed like a camel and partially from thoughts of her baby girl. “It’s so worth it. Every hour of no sleep. Every night with screams of colic. Every poop bomb that goes up their back—”

  “No kids.” Machlan laughs. “I’m getting on that train.”

  “Speaking of pulling trains …” Emily says, her eyes pinned on the back of the room.

  Peck strolls in, an Illinois Legends cap stuck backwards on his head. Blond, unruly locks peek out from under as he makes his way toward us.

  Machlan takes all but three seconds to stand upright. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothin’,” Peck says, stopping at the head of the bar.

  “And who are you?” Emily says, unconcerned with the look being exchanged between Machlan and Peck. “You look like a great time, baby.”

  “Em, hush a second,” I say, waving her off. My heartbeat strums a little too quick, causing my lips to part to catch more air. With this guy, anything is possible. His heart is pure gold, but his actions aren’t always logical. “What did you do, Peck?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” He squishes his face together. “Not really. Just if anyone asks, I’ve been here since eleven.”

  “Seriously,” I tell him. “Is this better or worse than the time you got thrown out of the skating rink?”

  “I was fifteen,” Peck deadpans. “But this is better. Or worse.” He side-eyes Machlan. “Bob Shaw’s tractor might be sitting in the middle of the road out by the water tower.”

  My head falls back as Machlan groans.

  “I didn’t do anything but borrow it,” Peck insists. “I was going to bring it back. I just kind of ran it out of gas.”

  “Did Bob give you the keys? Say, ‘here, Peck. Borrow my tractor at midnight
’?”

  When Peck doesn’t respond, Machlan punches him in the arm.

  “Um, Nora?” Lauren asks. “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything is great,” Peck says, brushing off Machlan. “What were we talking about?”

  “Guilty pleasures,” Emily chimes in. “Have one?”

  Peck’s boyish grin gets a sigh from Lauren. As dark and outright sexy as Machlan is, his cousin is the opposite. Tall, thin, with baby blue eyes, Peck’s attractiveness stems from his charm. He’s kind and sweet and a little goofy—totally Lauren’s speed if she weren’t married.

  As I look at Emily, it might be her speed too.

  “Back off, Em. You’d kill him.” I laugh.

  Peck scoffs, his lips pressed together to bite back a grin. “You underestimate me, Nora.”

  “Oh, do I?”

  “You most certainly do.” He folds his hands in front of him, leaning on the bar. His Nirvana t-shirt is a little washed out and smells like the outdoors as he moves. “My guilty pleasure, huh? I like s’mores.”

  “S’mores?” Emily grins. “I can get with that.”

  “I’m starting to think you can get with whatever comes through the door,” Machlan jabs.

  “You judging?” she asks.

  Machlan shakes his head, turning his attention to me. “Where do you find these girls?”

  “She actually found me in the bathroom of Court Pub over in Lancaster,” Emily groans. “Long story. Bad night.”

  “Great story. Entertaining night,” I offer. “I guess we see it a little differently.”

  “I didn’t look good with no pants to put on. It doesn’t matter how you look at it.” Emily gives me a pointed look then promptly affixes her attention on Machlan. “I actually look great with no pants, if you were wondering. Just not that particular moment in time. I can prove it.”