Reprise

by C. D. Breadner

  Her chin went up. “Don’t fucking flatter yourself. I’d hardly say you’re a prize as far as men go. All you’re good for is fucking, Harlon Gray.”

  With that she turned on one heel, the steel spine receding and tears threatening to spring up in her eyes.

  She got to the front door just as a large hand slammed down on the wood veneer, trapping her in his apartment.

  Her pulse spiked.

  “All I’m good for is fucking?” That voice was low and sounded dangerous, but it stopped the threatening waterworks from rushing down her cheeks.

  No, something else got damp instead.

  “You heard me,” she whispered. “Good for you.”

  “You show up here and I’m supposed to believe all you want is a good fucking?”

  “What else would I want from an old man?”

  His hand went up to throw the deadbolt, even with her eyes, then in a flash she found her back to that door. Harlon Gray had her pinned in place, with one knee between her thighs, hands on each side of her shoulders. His body pushed against hers, and she couldn’t have gotten away if she tried.

  But she didn’t want to.

  “How often does that mouth get you in trouble?”

  Her heart quickened again, tilting her head back to look up into his dark eyes. They were heated. Very heated.

  She swallowed again. “Usually it gets me out of trouble, actually.” She hadn’t intended for that double entendre. She didn’t even recognize it as one until he barked out a laugh, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes.

  “You are so over your head you don’t even know which way is down.”

  Her hands had been stuck down at her sides, but now they came up, resting in the center of his chest. His head titled down to watch as she pushed both palms outwards, moving over the soft skin under its carpet of thick hair, the skin stretched taut by all the muscle underneath. He took a deep breath, and her hands moved lower over his stomach, with the limited room she had.

  “Mallory...” he growled, but that was all. She’d taken that condescending smile off his face, at least. Now he looked intent. And heated.

  “Too bad you’re not interested,” she mused, watching his face as her hands smoothed up over his skin again, running over both nipples at the same time. “I guess I could go find someone else to—”

  She was cut off as her head snapped back against the door. No, that was inaccurate. It was pushed back, Harlon’s mouth crushing hers so violently her entire body was rendered immobile. That tongue spiked into her mouth, taking and owning, making her moan and hook her hands on the back of his neck to keep him close. He tasted like dinner. Not that he was delicious, but she guessed he’d just finished dinner when she arrived. It was in his mouth, some kind of red meat. It made her mouth water.

  He kept his hands pressed to the door behind her, the strength of that kiss muscling her head into place. With every thrust and stroke of his tongue she felt him all over and throughout her body, the ghosts of that night in the truck overtaking her senses.

  Yes, this was what she wanted. This was why she’d shaved her legs and put on sexier underwear.

  She unclasped her hands and pushed at the neck of his open shirt. He moved his hands just to let the flannel hit the carpet, then they slammed against the door so roughly it shook.

  She wasn’t scared. She was more turned on. As her hands ran over his broad, silky back he leaned into her tighter, chest meeting hers so hard and rigid. She was burning with need to have his rough hands on her, clutching and grasping, but they stayed pressed to the door.

  Fine. She’d be the one to start progressing things.

  Fingers trembling, Mallory’s hands left his back, sliding around his ribs, dipping low over his stomach. The hair that led downwards was soft on the backs of her fingers as she pushed them into the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

  His only reaction was to move his hips back, mouth still covering hers.

  She plucked at the button until it came free, then pulled the halves apart. The zipper came down, giving her ample room to slide her hand inside...

  She groaned as he did. Her palm contacted the evidence of his arousal through the cotton of his underwear, straining upward at the elastic waistband. She pulled the elastic away from his drum-tight stomach and shoved her hand downward, palming that flesh and fisting tightly. His hips pistoned against the hold, then back into it.

  Damp warmth rushed between her legs. He was groaning, pumping into her grip with such force it made her knees weak. Made her body throb, particularly between her legs. She wanted him in her, doing just this.

  It seemed like it had been an hour, but the moment she parted their mouths she instantly missed the contact. He put his forehead to hers, face down, breathing heavy, eyes closed. And still those hips moved...

  Shoving him away, she dropped to her knees on the short-pile carpeting and took him in her mouth. She wasn’t intimidated by his experience anymore, not right then. She was running the show now.

  Mallory ran her tongue around that smooth head, then sucked it into her mouth, as far back as she could.

  “Fuck!” It was expelled on a gasp of air, her confidence swelling.

  He stumbled back, angling to the right, hitting the wall across from the kitchen entry. She went with him, not losing his cock from her mouth. He held his weight on bent legs, knees to each side of her. With one hand she grasped the thick root of him, the other braced again his hard thigh to keep her balance. And when both of his hands went to her hair, getting tangled and pulling to get her moving the way he wanted she moaned again. Not a whimper, not at all.

  With a grunt, just when she was sure he was close to finishing, he pulled upward on her with hands, and popped free of her mouth as she cried out. There was pain along her scalp but it heightened the arousal that was burning her up.

  With one dip and surge she found herself over his shoulder, suddenly looking at his back and the floor. She was dimly aware that she’d squealed from the suddenness of it, but as she strode off down the hallway the alarm wore off. The previous excitement ebbed back into place, especially as she realized they were in his bedroom.

  The world spun and she bounced onto her back, the springs of the mattress squeaking. The support and mattress were just stacked on the floor so the drop from his shoulder had been enough to make her stomach get that elevator jumpiness, but it was gone when he fell to the bed with knees to each side of her thighs, trapping her.

  That heavy cock still jutted out from his jeans, yet it didn’t get in the way as his hands went to the fly of her jeans. She wiggled to help him get them down her legs then off her feet, taking her tennis shoes with them. He left her panties in place again, eyes resting on the scrap of baby blue satin for long enough that she wondered how lame it actually was. They were just bikini-style bottoms, but the fabric was nice.

  He loomed over her, eyes running up her torso. Weight on one hand he worked the buttons of her blouse open, revealing the matching baby blue bra. Not padded, just satiny like the panties.

  Now his half-smile was slow. One hand ran down her side, over her ribs, and her back arched. Oh Christ, yes. That was what she wanted; those hands scraping her skin. That hand cupped her ass, snagging the smooth fabric. And that was erotic, too.

  Then his hand tucked inside to squeeze a cheek and she gasped. Something about his palm being inside her underwear was intimate, proprietary. “These are cute,” he growled, eyes coming up to hers.

  She didn’t know what to make of that. A slight chill raced over her skin, wondering if he was making fun of her for something.

  “You don’t need sexy underwear though, Mal. Just so you know. Naked really is the best turn on.”

  She swallowed as his mouth crashed to hers, brutal and rough. His hand clasped her ass so roughly it lifted her hips, and she wished she could get her legs open to rub against him, but they were still trapped together between his thighs. So she let the kiss work through her again, the
edge of arousal sharper now that she’d had his erection in her hands and her mouth. Jesus, she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t do something—

  A hand brushed over her bra, the roughness of his skin taking some of the delicate fabric with it. Then he squeezed, thumb brushing over her tortured and peaked nipple.

  Now she whimpered, and he moved so fast she couldn’t miss the heat of his skin. He yanked her up by her shirt, then pulled it up off her arms, unclasping the back of her bra as well before letting her drop back to the bed. His eyes were on her breasts as she did so, and her thrill at having him so focused on her was complete.

  He lowered his head to her chest, tongue sweeping over a nipple as his hand toyed with the other. Her legs trapped were another level of torture, and her hips writhed as he rained the best kind of attention on her chest.

  “Harlon,” she gasped, hands pulling at his hair. “Harlon, please. Christ. Touch me.”

  His hands were all over her, but he knew what she wanted. He repositioned his body, pushing a leg between hers. As his fingers pushed between her legs over the panties she purred, his attention on her clit light enough to keep her from finishing but firm enough to feel ever so fucking good. Then he returned his mouth to a breast, and within minutes she was mewing and crying out, nails digging into his hard, bunched bicep. Her other hand was flung over her head, pulling at the bedding.

  As she came down his weight left the mattress, and she tried to stop shaking. When she opened her eyes it was to see him crawling back up over her body, jeans gone, cock hard and wrapped. He yanked her panties off, tossing them over his shoulder, then grabbed one of her knees, pressed it up to her chest and plunged deep.

  They both grunted out “Fuck!” in near-perfect unison, then she had no words left. All she could do was dig in her nails and enjoy the ride.

  -oOo-

  Mallory pressed a hand to her chest, closing her eyes as she stepped away from the closed door of her father’s room. That was it, she knew it shortly after and she knew it now. That was the night that got her knocked up.

  As she flopped back into the recliner her father stirred, blinking and sitting up, slightly startled to find himself not alone. “Oh heavens.”

  “Dad,” she said softly, smiling. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “No, not at all. It’s good to see you, Ana.”

  Mallory’s smile faltered, just a little. But then she recovered. “Shall I open the blinds?”

  “Please.”

  She did so, then pushed the table closer to his bedside. “I brought you croissants, Dad.”

  “Oh, how kind. Thank you, love. Now, we should really discuss this whole mess.”

  Mallory felt weary. Truly worn out, all in the span of one flashback and her father mistaking her for her mother. “Sure. What should we talk about?”

  “Mallory, of course.”

  She closed her eyes and sat, head resting back. “Of course.”

  “She can’t keep the baby here. I can’t abide that. She has to go live with your sister until the baby’s born. Then place the child up for adoption. That’s the only option.”

  Mallory nodded. “Of course,” she agreed numbly. “That’s an excellent plan.”

  “I shall tell her, dear. Don’t worry. I don’t want her upsetting you.” And with that her father selected a croissant, and placed a napkin on his frightfully thin chest before biting into it.

  -oOo-

  After a stilted and strange visit with her father, Mallory turned right leaving his room instead of left. She knew where Mrs. Gray’s room was, had even dropped in a couple of times, shocked that the woman had recognized her for a minute or two.

  That’s where she went now. Her phone buzzed as she went, and she dug it out of her shirt pocket to check the screen. Text message from Hal. Gail got us 4 gigs week after next in CA. Two weeks of work.

  It was a group text, sent out to the whole band and their sound tech that had, on occasion, travelled with them. She ignored it for the time being, and as she came to the entryway on room number twenty-seven she was just bringing her head back up from putting the phone away as she was suddenly stopped. No force field or bad feeling; she was stopped because she ran into a brick wall.

  “Oh shit, I’m sorry.” A big hand, decked out with a few large, silver—but definitely masculine—rings came out to take her elbow and steady her, and as she looked up her mouth went dry.

  It had been right there, on the tip of her tongue, to say, “No problem” or “I need to watch where I’m going.” But instead she got a mouthful of dry wall mud.

  Harlon Gray had reared back from her as well. Her heart stopped, sounds became muted and distant, like she was lapsing into shock. Which was stupid. She’d seen him before, she knew he was likely around. His father just died, for Pete’s sake. Like he wouldn’t come visit his mom?

  “Harlon,” she eventually breathed. Not brilliant, but at least she spoke first.

  “Mal,” he grumbled back, and her toes curled up. Literally contracted like the tendons in her feet had cramped. He had a voice that sounded like it rumbled up right from his gut. Thrilling when he was flirting, enchanting when he was amused.

  Terrifying when he was pissed off.

  “I’m...so sorry.”

  He looked down at his feet, then back at her. “No damage done. I’m tough.”

  She frowned, no idea what she’d said. Had she asked? Oh. He was misunderstanding her. “No, not that,” she sputtered, fighting the urge to smile. “Your dad. I’m so sorry.”

  His face got another level of shut down to it. “Yeah. It’s...it’s a shit situation.”

  A throat cleared behind him, and they both seemed to realize that Harlon was standing right in the doorway, blocking the room. Without looking back Harlon stepped to the side and she realized how close he’d been the whole time. His arm brushed the front of her shirt, and she moved back two steps, ignoring the flutter in her chest.

  “Well, hey,” another voice chimed in, sounding beyond amused and curious.

  Mallory brought her eyes up to the face of a younger man, at least ten years her junior if she was being generous to herself. His ice-gray eyes were twinkling as he took her in, eyes running down to her chest. Before she could get outraged or indignant she had to take in his black jeans, combat boots, black leather jacket over a charcoal T-shirt, and the ink. Jesus, he was nearly covered. There were tats on the back of his hands, cartoon bones marking the backs of his fingers, a snake running up one side of his neck, the head sitting on the shaved side of his head. The top was long and greased back. He hand rings in his eyebrow, one in his lip. Lots of silver on his fingers that didn’t look ornamental. His beard was impressive; one of those things that ran well past the end of chin like a statue of a medieval knight. There was a spacer in one ear, smaller than a quarter but just. That was one thing she didn’t get, but everything else had a bad boy edge that she had to recognize and appreciate.

  “You like something you see, red?”

  And she was staring for too long. His smirk was bemused and interested, which got her back up a bit.

  Fucking kid was flirting with her?

  “Just wondering if there’s a pin the tail on the ass game inked on your back.”

  His grin broadened bright white. “I’d have to take my shirt off to check.”

  Little. Shit.

  “Knuck, fuck off,” Harlon snapped, and they both looked to him, surprised.

  Mal never would have believed the look that was angled at this leathered lothario if she wasn’t seeing it for herself. It was a warning of violence, like there was still some kind of possessiveness in there.

  “I’m Mallory Beck,” she said to her new friend, offering a hand.

  “Knuckles,” the kid said, all the smarmy charm wiped off his face.

  Hmm. Very interesting.

  “How’s your dad doing?”

  Now she turned to Harlon, even more surprised. “He’s in and out. He just mistook me fo
r Mom, so that was weird. Had a conversation about how corrupted I’ve become. Kind of like being a fly on the wall, I guess.”

  Harlon’s jaw set hard. “Fuck. I’m sorry. That’s rough. You still visit, though?”

  No one believed she could do that, actually. That she still, at least three times a week, went to the home and sat with the man who’d thrown her out of his house when she’d needed him most: twenty, pregnant, and scared shitless. Gave her enough time to pack one bag of clothes and literally removed her from her childhood home.

  No one understood how sad she was for him now. Without her mom around he was a shell. In the years that followed some of her darkest days he’d apologized profusely for all of it and she’d forgiven him; she honestly had. It didn’t mean she didn’t hurt when she remembered.

  “I visit. We’ve...made up since then, I guess. When mom died it was especially important to him that I knew how sorry he was.”

  Harlon nodded, and the silence got uncomfortable. Focused on the wall beside his left elbow her mind wandered back, but it was painful and she didn’t want to go there.

  “So...Mallory.” The voice was sardonic. She studied Harlon’s little friend, made all the more curious by the glint in his eye. “It’s kinda early, but we didn’t have lunch so we were thinking of grabbing some dinner. You should join us.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “She’s probably busy—”

  Knuckles cut them off by holding up his hands. “Old friends should sit down and catch up when they meet by accident. I truly believe in that.”

  Mal was uncomfortable. She wasn’t prepared to talk too much. This was way deeper than small talk, to be sure, but where she and Harlon Gray were concerned the depth of conversation could end up with them speaking Mandarin.

  “She’s likely busy, Knuck,” Harlon finally said when the group had grown quiet again.

  “Yeah. I have to go home and make dinner.”

  Knuckles frowned at her. “No you don’t. You’re just going to eat dinner with us. C’mon. What’s good around here?”

  Harlon sighed and Mallory bit back on a laugh. Okay, so the little shit was getting to her. “I don’t want to intrude—”