Hard Hart: The Harty Boys, Book 1

by Cox, Whitley

  He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  She opened the door so he could come inside. “You look really great, too.” And that smell, oh lord, she was ready to skip the date and just get to the naughty parts of the night.

  “These are for you.”

  She accepted the gifts, then started to climb the stairs. Was she supposed to invite him up? It was his house. This was weird. But he followed her and took a seat in his chair.

  “Can I … can I offer you a beer?” After all, it was his beer.

  He shook his head. “No, thanks, I’m driving. Reservations are for seven thirty. Are you about ready to go?”

  He made reservations? She was busy bumbling around in the kitchen looking for a vase. Could she ask him where he kept the vases in this little role play of theirs? Or was that against the rules? Were they even role playing?

  He found her in the kitchen looking mighty frazzled. “What are you looking for?”

  “A vase,” she murmured, opening cupboards and drawers, even though she knew damn well a vase couldn’t fit in a drawer. The man and his romanticisms were throwing her completely off guard.

  “Oh. I don’t have any.”

  She shot him a look. Then where were the flowers going to go?

  He must have read her mind and the slight bit of frustration radiating off her; abandoning his role as suitor, he knelt down on the floor next to her feet and opened the cupboard beneath the sink.

  His head still buried in the deep recesses of the cabinet, an arm came snaking out. “Here, will this work?” He thrust a beautiful old glass pitcher into her hands. It was rather heavy and had floral etchings on the sides. Something that would go perfectly with an afternoon brunch, carrying cool, crisp pink lemonade. So why on earth did he have it?

  “Why do you have such a lovely pitcher?” She began to fill it with water. He went to the job of extracting his monstrous frame from the cupboard, joints snapping as he stood up.

  He shook his head dismissively. “I think my mother may have given it to me or something.”

  She hastily put the flowers in water, looked longingly at the chocolates, promising them she wouldn’t be long, that’d they’d be together soon, grabbed her coat, slid into her ankle boots, and they were out the door.

  “So, a date, eh?” She couldn’t stop herself. It was like a giant elephant between them.

  Why had he all of a sudden asked her out? He held her door open, and she leaped up into the cab.

  He slammed his own door a few seconds later and turned on the truck. “It’s about time, don’t you think?”

  She smiled, a sweet warmth settling into her belly and across her cheeks. They were on a date. “Yes.” She nodded. “It’s about time.”

  As far as first dates went, this one was one of the better if not one of the best she’d ever had. Dinner was delicious. Gourmet handmade pasta in a decadent saffron and cream sauce with seafood, peppers and fennel. And then dessert—if she wasn’t already falling in love with the man, the dessert would have sealed the deal. A chocolate ganache tower with raspberry coulis and fresh raspberries, topped with Irish Cream whipped cream and gold leaf.

  They chatted about life: baby-proofing, their upcoming prenatal classes and the next midwife appointment. Besides the first appointment, where he hadn’t even known he was a father yet, Brock had been at every one without fail.

  The entire night was weird and wonderful, and she felt herself falling deeper and harder for the man the longer they sat there.

  He was trying.

  He said he was going to try to open up, and he was. She could tell it wasn’t easy for him to let his walls down, to answer her questions without deflecting them, but he tried, and the more he tried, the easier it became.

  After dinner, they still had some time to kill before the movie, so they wandered into a grocery store to buy candy and popcorn to smuggle them in Krista’s purse and under her coat. She was already pregnant, so with the giant bag of M&M’s, she just looked like she was ready to pop.

  They were snuggled up in the back of the theater, and Krista decided that what she wanted to do more than anything was rest her head on his shoulder. But she was nervous. And then she mentally chastised herself for being nervous.

  You let the man do far dirtier things to you, but yet you’re nervous about putting your head on his shoulder? Well, that’s ass-backward.

  She shifted closer to him, their arms sharing the armrest, and then slowly, almost timidly, she let her head fall to the side of his arm. He was warm, and the smell of him—leather and … Brock—it was perfect.

  He glanced down at her, and at first, she thought he was going to shrug her off because he pulled his hand from the armrest where their wrists were touching. She had to lift her head, and a sudden flood of disappointment raged through her, but he lifted his arm up and wrapped it around her shoulder, pulling her close.

  Ah.

  Krista snuggled in and closed her eyes, letting her other hand rest on his chest.

  The movie sucked. It was boring and corny and in places where they were trying to be funny, it was just plain awkward and uncomfortable. About halfway through, Krista found herself restless and frisky. The night was going so well and she was falling so hard that all she wanted to do was get home and get the man next to her naked. But then the wild child in her started to whisper things in her ear.

  “This might be your last night out for a while. Make the most of it. The theater is practically empty. You’re all the way up at the back in the corner. You know what people do in the back corner. You’ll regret not taking a chance.”

  She tried to tell the voice to shut up. That she was a cop, a respectable woman and a mother-to-be. But that bitch was loud. And the more she told her to be quiet, the louder she yelled. And before Krista knew it, her hand drifted down Brock’s belly and made its way into the front of his pants.

  His free hand landed on hers. “What’s the plan?”

  Sassily, she glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. “No plan, just bored.”

  A huff of a laugh escaped his nose. “This is dangerous.” But then his hand lifted from hers, allowing her to continue her quest.

  He was already starting to rise to the occasion.

  “What’s life without a little excitement?” she asked with a feline purr, beginning to stroke him, reveling in the soft skin and the way he grew harder and harder in her palm. She got a serious high knowing she could rev his engine so easily.

  “So, uh … should we just get out of here?” His tenor was a little shaky. Krista grinned. Men were so easy.

  “Of course not. Let’s finish the movie. Just watch.”

  His hand fell back on top of hers. “Krista … ”

  But she was too into the moment, too into him, into the date, into the romance of the night, and instead of answering him, she lifted her chin and went in for a kiss. It started out sweet and innocent at first, the soft brushings of lips against lips, but soon it turned heated and frantic, driven by more than just the passion of the night. They were both geared up and ready for more. His mouth was firm and his tongue seeking. Brock Hart definitely knew how to kiss. She took him in, returning the kiss and wishing she could press her body against his, into his warmth and strength. Feel his power. When she was with Brock, everything feminine inside her rushed to the surface—soft and powerful all at once, sending a craving though her that almost hurt.

  She rolled her neck to the side, and his teeth scraped up the tendon. He breathed her in, sucking on that sweet spot just behind her ear, the spot that drove her wild and brought out her inner beast.

  She thought for sure he was going to scoop her up and whisk her away, tossing her into the back of his truck and ravishing her just to feed the craving until they got home. But instead, he wedged his hands into her pants and began to rub wet and rough circles around her clit.

  She continued to pump him. He was rock hard now, and the way he thrust into
her hand, she knew he wasn’t far off. But where would it go? Could she drop to her knees? Her inner wild child wanted to straddle him in his chair and ride him like a pony.

  His fingers picked up vigor, and before long, Krista was bucking into his hand, eager for the orgasm that hid just beyond the bend.

  “You’re going to destroy me,” he whispered, his teeth catching on her ear, his breath ragged and strained.

  She nipped his chin. “That’s the plan.”

  His hand fell back down to hers to halt her efforts. “You can stop … I can wait.”

  They locked eyes, his own digits tirelessly tormenting her inside her jeans. “B-but.”

  “Come for me, Krista. And then we’ll go home and I’m going to fuck you properly.”

  She swallowed. What a promise.

  “Come for me.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Once they got back to the house, Brock grabbed a black fabric bag he’d deliberately left hanging on the coat hook and tossed it to Krista. “Put this on.”

  She snatched the small bag midair as they stood at the bottom of the stairs.

  She opened up the bag to peer inside, and Brock had to work hard at keeping a straight face. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide.

  He didn’t so much as blink. “I’m in charge tonight, but that doesn’t mean you can’t look the part of little Miss Authority.”

  A smile tugged on her lips.

  He nodded, spun on his heel and headed downstairs. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the study.”

  Now he had to get things ready. Most of it already was, but he wanted to light a fire, dim the lights and double-check he had everything he needed. The night needed to be perfect.

  It didn’t take his woman long to get dressed. She was probably just as eager as he was.

  He was already sporting a raging hard-on just thinking about her in the getup he’d found for her to wear. Now he was finally going to see it.

  “Come in,” he commanded after she’d knocked on the door.

  Slowly, almost painfully so—no, definitely painfully so, his dick was practically throbbing in his jeans—the doorknob turned, and there she was. The sexiest sexy cop he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Even though the date night had been all his mother’s idea, Brock thought up and executed the “sexy police officer” costume all on his own. Thankfully, the adult novelty store next to his dry cleaner had exactly what he needed, and Krista wore it perfectly. She’d braided her hair into a single plait down her back before fixing the big costume officer’s hat on her head. The way her breasts filled out that navy and brass-buttoned crop top made his balls ache and his cock jerk. And of course, what officer’s uniform wasn’t complete without a miniskirt, black thigh-highs and black stilettos? He hadn’t included shoes in the bag, so she must have found a pair of her own. He loved that she was into this as much as he was.

  Brock had never role-played before, but the way Krista was so open to things, and the fact that she constantly battled him for control, made him all the more eager to really get his sassy little officer on her knees. He’d ditched his leather jacket and sweater and now just sported his white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons at his neck undone.

  “You’ve been bad, Constable Matthews,” he said, causing her eyes to fly up to his.

  She swallowed. “Have I? How so?”

  “You’re supposed to be an officer of the law, and yet you choose to act above it. Behaving the way you did in public, in a movie theater no less.”

  Her long, sexy throat undulated.

  “Those are grounds for some serious punishment.”

  She swallowed again and then nodded, her sapphire eyes glittering as an amused smile tugged at her lips. Slowly, she made her way across to the room to stand in front of him.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

  He nodded. “You still need to be punished, though.”

  The pulse along her neck picked up and she licked her lips. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  Oh, she was good.

  But he couldn’t lose his cool. Gruffly, he murmured, “Safe words.”

  He waited until she nodded.

  “Stop will make me stop. Slow will make me ease up. And more, well, that speaks for itself. Do you understand?”

  She nodded again.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “What was that?”

  She fought to stow another smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now suck my cock, you dirty little thing. You got me all riled up earlier with nowhere to finish. On your knees.” He began to unzip his jeans.

  She dropped to the floor in front of him, bringing him out of his boxers and licking her lips as he continued to grow in her palm. Her plump lips encircled the crown, and then she immediately took him to the back of her throat, letting him bottom out until sexy tears sprung out at the corner of her eyes. He pulled her hat off, chucked it across the room and fisted her braid. She took all of him. Only she could satisfy him.

  He was close in seconds, but he didn’t want to finish this way. He needed to be deeper inside her. Using her braid, he pulled Krista’s mouth off him with a wet pop and helped her to her feet, angling her over the brown leather ottoman he’d placed in front of the fire. Without any further ado, he impaled her. Two quick, growl-fueled pumps and he was coming, biting her shoulder blade as he dug his fingers into her hips, claiming her, marking her.

  His.

  She was his.

  When he was finished, he stood up and tucked himself back into his jeans. A firm hand on her back told her he wanted her to stay there. He reached to the mantle and grabbed his weapon of choice.

  “Do you know what this is?” he asked, circling in front of her.

  “A flogger, sir.”

  “And how do you feel about it?”

  Her legs trembled as she looked up at him from her willing but also vulnerable position on the ottoman “More, sir. Please.”

  “Good. How many spanks do you think your little ‘public display of affection’ has earned you this evening?” he asked, bending down until his mouth was right down next to her ear. He reached below her and inside her shirt, fishing out a nipple. He tugged hard enough to earn that delicate little squeak.

  Chuckling softly and removing his fingers from her breast, he stood up and circled around behind her, lightly dragging the flogger across her exposed flesh.

  Her ribs expanded and released quickly. She was panting. “H-however many my sir thinks I deserve.”

  He grinned. “Good answer. Well, I think you’ve earned twelve.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you want me to stop at any time, just say ‘Stop.’ ”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He decided to ease her into it. The first one came sweet and innocent and light against her back. Like a gentle tap with a sting at the end. Krista twitched slightly on the ottoman and her breathing quickened.

  The next few flogs were a little harder and faster, landing closer to her butt. He couldn’t wait to flip up that slutty little skirt and get her ass good and pink, watch her pussy drip down her inner thighs as he made her wetter and wetter with each flog.

  “You okay?” he asked. She’d been surprisingly quiet. Barely an inhale of breath or a squeak.

  “More,” she breathed. “More.”

  A big, satisfied smile stretched across his face. Fuck, she was perfect.

  He got down to business.

  Hard smacks landed across each cheek and the backs of her thighs until her whole body trunk region was bright red and screaming at him for more.

  “Your skin is so beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of where her leg met her buttocks. “Pink and soft … and … mine.”

  She was his.

  His.

  “How are you feeling?”

  A sob caught in her throat. “M-more, sir … please.”

  “Then more you shall have.”

  And more he gave her. Flog
after flog came down, and with each one Brock felt his brain slipping into a euphoric state of bliss. The redder her ass got, the slicker her pussy lips became, the more entranced he grew. His cock was already rock-hard again in his jeans and aching to be let free, but a part of him was enjoying the torture. Krista was being punished, then so could he be … just a little.

  “Sir,” came a faint whisper. “Sir?”

  Brock shook his head, clearing his mind and halting his efforts. “Yes?”

  “Fuck me … please.”

  Well, she didn’t have to ask him twice.

  He’d lost count of how many flogs he’d done. All he knew was that his dick was raging, and he’d never seen anything more beautiful than Krista’s bright pink ass and dripping pussy. Within seconds he was back inside her, taking her at his will.

  Taking her.

  Because she was his.

  * * *

  Inch by luscious inch, he took her with a deliberation she felt in every nerve, every cell. A faint growl behind Krista had her craning her neck to look. Brock, a big beautiful force inside of her, was taking what he wanted, what he needed and giving her so much in return. The entire evening had been perfect, from his adorable pickup at the front door down to the sexy cop outfit and flogger. The man thought of everything.

  Her ass and back burned with a slow, decadent sting as Brock’s skin slapped against her with each primal thrust. She’d be feeling those flogs tomorrow. For sure.

  His hand wrapped around beneath her, and he cupped her breast roughly, taking a nipple between his finger and thumb and tugging it until her breath hitched and her pussy clenched around his length.

  She felt the orgasm. It was slow to ascend and sweet and beautiful in its release. A decadent crescendo that took her almost by surprise. His pounding was so raw and rough that for something so sweet and beautiful to come of it nearly brought a tear to her eye.

  Just as that orgasm ended, a bigger, more intense one took its place, shocking her system and making her whole body explode into a million little pieces. Her eyes flew open, as if looking for those pieces so she could collect them later, but it was impossible. And Brock held the biggest piece of all—her heart.