“Go, go,” she said, waving her hand toward the front of the car and casting another glance toward the War Zone.
I did as she said, my tires kicking up gravel and dirt as we headed for the exit. We drove in silence for a few minutes, her cleaning her hands with sanitizer, me glancing in the rearview mirror to make sure we weren’t being followed by a pack of crazed juveniles with paintball guns.
“Ugh,” she said, squirting more sanitizer in her hands and rubbing it all over her arms. “After being inside that suit, I feel like I need a bath.”
“We can definitely put that on your to-do list. I’m happy to help you get all the tough spots clean.”
Harlow smirked. “So generous of you.” When she was done, she offered some sanitizer to me, and I gave her my hands one at a time so she could clean them. It was such a small gesture, but sweet. Something a girlfriend would do for her man. Something that was normal between a couple.
After she put the bottle back in her purse, I reached down to twist my fingers between hers, and she let me. I lifted our hands and kissed the backs of her fingers, just like I had the night I met her.
“I remember when you did that in Vegas. What are you? My knight in shining armor? Kissing my hand, taking a bullet for me…” She smiled and shook her head.
“Two actually.” When she gave me a confused look I said, “I took two bullets for you. One in the back and one in the chest.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Both of them feel like they’re on fire.”
She frowned. “Really? It’s that bad?”
“Not as bad as what you did to Bobby. You shot him in the dick.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “No, I didn’t!”
“Close enough.” I chuckled. “It was definitely below the belt.”
She scrunched her nose. “I was aiming for his chest.”
I shifted again, the seat rubbing against the welt on my back. “That would have been only slightly better,” I said. Still holding on to her hand, I reached forward to turn the radio on.
“Does it really hurt that bad?”
I glanced at her, raising my eyebrow. “Does Buzz make you come?” I countered.
She rolled her eyes. “Not in a while, thanks to you,” she muttered. “And here I was going to be nice and offer to fix you up when we get back to my place.”
“Is that a naughty nurse offer? I’m up for that. But only if you have a nice skimpy uniform to wear.” I ran my thumb across her palm, and she shivered.
It was her turn to laugh. “You wish. You get just a regular nurse. A little Neosporin and a Band-Aid and you’ll be good to go.”
“Not even a kiss? You know a kiss makes everything feel better.”
“No time for that. We have homework to do.”
I lifted her hand again and ran my tongue along the dip between two of her fingers. When I reached her fingertips, I drew them into my mouth and sucked. I glanced over to see that her mouth was hanging open and her eyes were glazed over as she stared at me. I released her fingers, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. “We’ll see about that, Cricket. As far as I’m concerned, something’s getting kissed tonight.”
— HARLOW —
15. AS YOU WISH
October 8, 2016
HARLOW RANSOM IS DATING? By Harlow Ransom
Harlow Ransom went to school at the University of Maryland in the city of College Park. Her favorite pastimes were writing stories in her head and tormenting the boy whom she married in Vegas. His name was Tracey Lawrence Stone. But she never called him that. Nothing gave Harlow as much pleasure as ordering Tracey around.
“As you wish,” was all he ever said.
She was amazed to find that one day when he said, “As you wish,” what he really meant was, “I love you.”
Yeah, right. In her dreams.
This isn’t a movie, there isn’t a kindly grandfather reading her life story, and Harlow Ransom is not Princess Buttercup. She doesn’t have a farm boy who has braved pirates, sword fights, giants, Sicilians, and being mostly dead to prove his love to her. What she has is an accidental husband and a whole lot of sexual frustration that’s going to get her into trouble if she’s not careful. Trace Stone is a man with a charming smile and very kissable lips. A man, who she knows, can give her the orgasm she so desperately needs.
Harlow’s defenses are crumbling, and she can’t deny anymore that Trace is becoming important to her. The question is, when the time comes to make her choice for her future, will she just break his heart, or hers too?
=========================
I dropped my keys three times trying to open my front door. Trace stood so close behind me, I felt like I was suffocating. He never actually touched me, but he didn’t have to. After all the weeks of sitting on my couch studying with him, the dirty comments he constantly made, and the kissing in the car today…I was aware of him in every way. And thanks to the kidnapping of Buzz, this awareness had just piled up with no outlet, and now I felt I might go crazy. There was no relief to be had. My hand couldn’t satisfy me at night after he went home, and to be honest, at this point Buzz probably wouldn’t be able to satisfy me either. I was afraid there was only one thing that could make the empty neediness go away, and it was the one thing I had vowed not to indulge in again.
The one thing that was now sitting in my bathroom, shirtless.
Trace was perfect, like a Greek statue. But instead of smooth marble, his body was warm tan skin and hard cut ridges and perfect muscles and oh my God…so very, very tasty looking. The only imperfections were the two wounds from the paintball battle. The one on his chest was a round wound about the size of a quarter. There was bruising around the edge, and it was very angry and raw looking. I pulled a washcloth out of the drawer and ran it under warm water, getting it soapy.
I turned to Trace, the cloth poised over the wound. “Ready?”
“Just get it over with, Cricket.”
I touched the cloth to his skin and carefully cleaned it. He didn’t make a sound, but I could see the muscles in his chest flinching with every touch. “I’m trying to be gentle.”
“I’m not breakable,” he said, echoing my sentiment from earlier. His voice was low, and his words stirred my hair. And my hormones. A chunk of hair had blown across my face, getting caught between my lips. He reached up to free it, and his fingers trailed along my jaw as he tucked it back behind my ear.
At his touch, everything inside me that had been so solid and sure seemed to dissolve into ash. I moved to the sink to rinse the cloth and regain my composure. I dabbed at the wound before tending to the one on his back. I worked in silence, cleaning the marks, covering them with Neosporin, and then taping gauze over the top. I could feel Trace’s gaze on me even though I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.
“Okay, all done.” My voice was weak and reedy, like I hadn’t used it in years. I cleared my throat and started putting the supplies away. “Let’s get you some Advil and ice packs. You can rest on the couch while I order something to eat.”
Trace stood up and ran his hands up and down his front as he arched his back, stretching. I tried not to look, but failed miserably. Those hands were doing exactly what mine wanted to do. “It’s a date,” he said.
He moved past me to walk out of the bathroom and when I went to follow him, he stopped and turned abruptly, causing me to bump against his chest. His hands caught my face, and his lips pressed down on mine, sweet and warm. The kiss wasn’t demanding, it was barely there. A tease. And when a fraction of space opened up between our lips, separating us, I leaned into him so they were touching again. The tiniest bit of tongue, the smallest pressure, a promise.
“Maybe I should have let him shoot me a few more times,” Trace said against my mouth. “I really like having your hands and mouth on me.” There was one final press of his mouth against mine and then he was gone, wandering into my kitchen. And I was frozen in the doorway, my body begging for more.
I was such a goner. It was ridiculous to think I co
uld ever resist Trace Stone.
***
I tossed my notebook on the coffee table, annoyed that I was so distracted. That I couldn’t do what normally came so easy to me.
Trace looked away from the television, which was muted so that I could keep working. He was watching The Princess Bride, which he said he knew by heart and therefore didn’t need the sound on to watch. I’d stolen a few covert looks at him over the course of the last half hour to see that he was often mouthing the words. The covert looks couldn’t be helped. He still hadn’t put his shirt back on, but I wasn’t about to remind him. That’d be like buying a Monet and then covering it up with a sheet. Just criminal.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I’m trying to do some brainstorming for my next article, but I just can’t come up with anything good. It’s like my brain is on pause or something.”
He folded an arm behind his head so he could twist around and see me better. The new pose just made him look like a lounging piece of half-naked art. “Maybe you just need a break. Come on over and watch the movie with me.”
“But my article…” I leaned over to rub my temples. See? This was why having Trace around wasn’t a good idea. He turned my brain to mush. He was just too tempting…to look at, to listen to, to kiss…
“If I come up with a good idea, will you take a break?”
I gave him a wry smile. “I’m not writing about sexual positions.”
“Oh. Good one, Cricket. I wasn’t even thinking about that. Do that. Yes. I’ll even help out with the research. I could be your expert opinion and test subject all in one.” He winked at me.
“I’m serious here, Stone. I’m on deadline, and I have no idea what I want to write about.”
He pushed up into a sitting position, and all of his muscles were rippling, causing my thoughts to go haywire. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You write opinion and lifestyle columns, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah, like the movie versus book one.”
“That one was really good, I liked it.” He looked relaxed on my couch and as much as I didn’t like how untethered I felt around him, I liked that he looked so right on my couch. In my life.
“You read it?” I sat back in the chair, pulling my knees up against my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I don’t know why I felt the sudden need to protect myself from Trace, but knowing he read my article felt like he’d gotten a piece of me I hadn’t intended to give to him. Yes, I knew that thousands of people on campus read the paper, but they didn’t know me. He did. And him reading my writing felt…personal.
He frowned. “Come on, Cricket. Of course I read it. You wrote it.” I opened my mouth to respond, to tell him it wasn’t necessary to read everything I wrote, but he spoke first. “Why not do an article about unique date ideas? You know, things to do instead of just going to the bar. Write about some really cool things to do in and around campus. Stuff that’s unique to DC or Baltimore. The University is within half an hour of two incredible cities. There are tons of cool things to do. People would eat that shit up.”
A laugh tumbled out of me. “Are you crazy? I’m the last person who should be giving anyone dating advice. I mean, I wouldn’t even know where to start! I haven’t been on a real date since high school.”
“We went on a date this afternoon,” Trace joked. “And what about the night of your birthday? That counts, too.”
I flattened my mouth in displeasure, and he grinned.
When I didn’t answer, he tilted his head and gave me a curious look. “You really haven’t been on any other dates?”
A quick jerk of my head was the only reply I gave him. There was no way I was confessing my parade of one-night stands to him.
For once his face was serious as he stared at me and processed what I’d said. Finally, he shrugged. “That settles it. You can call it “The Perfect Date” and I’m going to help you with the facts. You owe me dates anyway, and I owe you a good story. Research starts tomorrow.”
Despite my fears, I had to admit, it was a good idea. He’d already come up with a catchy title. My arms loosened from around my knees and I readjusted myself until my legs were folded into a cross-legged position. I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said on an exhale. “As long as you come up with ideas that aren’t so dangerous.” I looked directly at his bandaged wound. “For you I mean.”
Trace pointed at his chest. “This is all your fault, you know. You wanted to play. You’re the one who shot our teammate. In the dick.”
I scrunched up my face. He was so right. And he’d taken a bullet for me to save me from retaliation. “Yeah, sorry about that. I owe you big time, don’t I?”
“True. Which is why you’re going to come over and watch the rest of this movie with me.” He picked up the remote and pointed it at the television to turn the volume up.
“I can see from here.”
“But I require that body,” he said, gesturing at me, “on this couch so I have some place to rest my head while I heal.”
I huffed and rolled my eyes, pretending he was asking a huge inconvenience of me. But when I sat in the corner of the couch and he reclined across the cushions to put his head in my lap, I was content.
***
The movie was over, and Trace was asleep. He’d been that way pretty much as soon as he put his head in my lap. My fingers were buried deep in his hair, and I didn’t even remember putting them there. One of his hands was tucked between my knees, and he had a stupid, satisfied smile on his face. I hated to move him and possibly wake him up since he looked so peaceful and comfortable, but nature called.
I gently wiggled out from underneath him and was glad when he didn’t so much as stir. Oddly, it reminded me of the morning after my birthday when I was frantically rushing around his room getting dressed before he could find me there. He’d slept soundly that time, too.
As I made my way to the bathroom, I noticed his messenger bag leaning against the couch. On a whim, I lifted the flap to look inside and was surprised to see Buzz still shoved in the bottom of his bag. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter because I found it hilarious that he’d been walking all over campus with my sex toy. I cast a nervous glance toward him, and when I was positive there was no chance of him waking to catch me, I took it out of the bag. I’d have to find a better hiding place than the nightstand or he’d just come and reclaim it once he realized I’d taken it back.
I shuffled to the bathroom to do my business, and as I was washing my hands, I figured I’d wash Buzz before finding him a hiding spot. But as I was running my soapy hand up and down the toy, I got an even better idea. I rinsed everything off and peeked out of the door and down the hall. Trace was asleep in the same position, still gloriously half-naked.
I could be fast. After a week of abstinence and visions of a bare-chested Trace, it wouldn’t take me long. I hurried to my bedroom and quietly shut the door behind me. My yoga pants were off, and I was on the bed so fast it was almost inhuman. I didn’t even bother to take off the thong or tank top. This was a quickie, two minutes tops. Just something to take the edge off all this sexual frustration.
I leaned back against my pillow and closed my eyes, spreading my legs as I reached down to push the small triangle of fabric to the side. I ran the tip of Buzz down my center, and I sighed as I realized my body was ready. I pushed the tip in and then eased it out, rubbing it around before pushing it back in. Just a little deeper.
I could lie to Trace and tell him that I didn’t want to have sex with him. I could lie to myself and resist all his flirting. But behind my closed eyelids, it was him teasing me. His fingers, his body sliding inside me. Not Buzz.
My hand started to move faster, Buzz driving deeper into me. I lifted my hips, rolling them, capturing every sensation I could. My hand plunged down, over and over again, dragging my pulse into overdrive. In my mind, it was Trace’s hips slamming into me. It was his hand pulling down the tank top, grasping
my breast, rubbing my nipple into a hard peak.
With a flick of my pinky finger, Buzz came to life, and the vibrations were like a shot of adrenaline into my heart. I bit my lip to hold back any sounds, to force myself to be quiet, but it was getting harder do as I felt the first fluttering sensations cresting inside. I held my breath, thrusting my hand down once more to meet the arching movement of my body. When the first wave of my orgasm broke over me, I released a sigh that sounded very much like a word.
“Please tell me that was my name you just said.”
My eyes flew open in horror to find Trace standing just outside my room, the door swung wide open. His hands were on either side of the door jamb as if he was holding himself back.
With a screech, I grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it up over myself. I was covered, but it couldn’t stop my humiliation, because Buzz was still on, and with a full view of Trace’s naked chest, my orgasm tore through me like a hurricane. I tried to speak, to tell Trace to get the hell out of my room, but all I could do was take shuddering gasps as my body twitched beneath the blanket as I came and came and…fuck. Where was the goddamn off switch?
“I want to come in,” Trace begged. “Please tell me I can come in and play.” He almost sounded like he was in pain.
I finally got Buzz switched off, and I yanked the blanket further over my head. “Go away. Please,” I mumbled from underneath the fabric.
There was a groan, followed by a thunking sound that could have been his head hitting against the door jamb. “I literally can’t. Not after what I just saw.”
I shoved the edge of the comforter down to glare at him, and found him leaning against the edge of the doorway. Yup. The thunking sound had been his forehead.
“I’m begging you to leave,” I whined. “This is mortifying. I was embarrassed when my hair got stuck to the bottom of the couch, and my cat was chasing my dildo around the living room. This is a million times worse.”
“Worse?” He released his grip on the door frame and took a tentative step forward. “No. It’s a million fucking times better. Do you know how many times in the last week I’ve imagined this very thing? How many times I’ve jerked off to this image in the morning?”
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 15
