Chapter 4

ChapterFour

Cash

“And that’s supposed to mean what…?” My breathy reply betrays my rattling heart.

His blue eyes watch me intently, making my stomach flip in the most obscene way. I’ve never been so irritated and turned on by another human being.

“You sing like a sparrow.” He slips strands of my hair between his fingers like he’s flipping the conversation, sending cartwheels cascading through me. “And are a helluva lot prettier than anyone I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Keep it together, Cas.

“So pretty that I can’t help but think of all the ways I’d like to unravel every perfect little inch of you, revealing all the ugly you try to hide from the world. I’ll make you belt out my name like it’s the last song you’ll ever sing.”

His lips hover a breath from mine, and his sexy blue eyes dance across the angles of my face. He pauses, licking his lips before a cocky grin turns up the corners of his perfectly full mouth.

“You’re one cocky son of a bitch.”

“I told you, darlin’, I’ve got cocky down pat. There’s so much cock that I don’t think your pretty little ass will handle it.” His fingertips blaze a trail down my waist, whispering under the edge of my waistband. I clamp my eyes shut. His other hand slips against my bottom before his lips connect with mine. “I’m giving you a sample, darlin’, and by the looks of you, you’re itching for more.”

He probes my lips open, tasting me in defiant strokes before his hands are on my skin, eating up the distance between my hips and my breasts, never quite touching where my body is begging for his caress.

“Wouldn’t you rather know how cocky I am right now?” His words hold a teasing lilt, and his eyes sparkle as he taunts and teases me.

He makes me want to buckle like a damsel in distress only to be caught in his muscular arms. He bites his bottom lip as he watches me, like a starved wolf, and I’m the little rabbit he wants to take a chunk out of.

“Mind telling me your name now you’ve had your body and lips plastered against mine?” I ask, mustering my steeliest glare. I want to be infuriated. I want to slap his pretty, smug face. But the bigger part of me wants to have that body and lips on me again until I forget everyone and everything and melt into oblivion.

“I don’t enjoy telling people my name.”

“Well, I don’t like to kiss strange men,” I lie, because I do like to kiss this man, perhaps a little too much.

“It’s Gunner Shaw, but my friends call me Gunner.”

“Well, Gunner Shaw, I can’t imagine you’ve ever kept a damn thing to yourself, despite what anyone else has to say about it.” I catch the door handle behind my back, pushing it open and ducking into the cool night air.

“Can’t decide if I like you comin’ my way or walkin’ away better.” He catches me in his arms, spinning me until I’m pressed against him again.

“What are you, the Shakespeare of cavemen now?”

“Me, Tarzan, you, Jane?” His words make me laugh before his grip on my elbows presses me tight against the slab of his well-built physique.

This time, I feel all of him. And he’s hard everywhere. The man isn’t lying; he puts the cock in cocky. I should be outraged, but the truth is, I’m far from it. I’m so turned on that I’m willing to suck his dick in the alley and thank him for the opportunity. Better yet if he turns on that Tarzan charm and drags me there screaming by my hair.

With the ridge of his thick monster cock pressed against my belly, I nearly come unglued in the bar parking lot. Something about the naughtiness of it makes me squirm.

“I’ve never banged a groupie before,” I pant like a cat in heat.

I’ve spent a lot of lonely nights on the road and never dreamed of sharing a minute off-stage with anyone—too much drama banging a band member and way too much publicity banging a fan. That was one reason I hired professionals. Money traded hands, and I purchased a service. It was clean with no lingering complications.

But Gunner Shaw makes me crave all the obstacles he could lay in my path.

“What a coincidence. I’ve never banged one of my mom’s groupies, either.” His large, tattooed hand moves up my body and curls behind my nape, pulling my head back. “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Now, why don’t you stop fighting and let me take care of you?”

“News flash, Tarzan… This Jane has been taking care of herself for a long time. Your services aren’t needed.” I want to kick myself as soon as the words pass my lips. Mostly because his grin deepens with every word, and spirals of desire twine through my stomach like a vine of rose thorns until I’m dizzy with the proximity of his vast form.

“You’re a real piece of work, Gunner Shaw.” I’m so frustrated that I want to scream. This guy has been teasing me all night, and my slut vagina is weeping from lack of attention.

“And still”—he lifts his arm in the air, tipping my phone back and forth in the moonlight and swiping to my information screen—“got your number.”

“You’re so arrogant,” I stammer, my eyes shifting between Gunner and my phone. “How did you get that?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” His grin deepens as he takes a quick picture with his phone before sliding mine back into the ass pocket he found it in. “I learned to pickpocket for shits and giggles as a teenager. Never actually stole something; I just played around to see if I could do it without getting caught. Cheap Thrills.” He smirks, highlighting the deep dimples on his perfect face. “First lesson: never trust a bartender.”

“You mean men,” I scoff. “Maybe you’re a psycho stalker, and I’m not interested in giving you my personal information.” He doesn’t have to know that I was thinking of giving him more than my phone number.

“That’s a lot of damn thinking, Sparrow.”

I clear my throat, choosing to ignore his stubborn-ass grin.

His tone lowers. “You forget I’m a bartender, darlin’, and my job requires me to read people like a book.”

I swallow. “What did you read about me? That I think you’re an insufferable ass?”

“Nah. What I think you need is someone to take control. To dirty up this princess facade you’ve got going on and make you beg for a little satisfaction.”

His words hit me like a blunt force trauma because every syllable is the truth. I’ve been trying to stay in control of my whole life. The truth is, I’m tired. I don’t want to think or do. I just want to mindlessly be. Sex allows me to do this, if only for a few hours. Sweet relief that lets me shut out the world and all my issues. With sex, I can be worthless. Somewhere along the way, the sex I crave has left my skin bruised and my muscles tired. I enjoy being chased, thrown around, and having my hair pulled so hard it’s almost ripped from its roots. I long for a man to use me, to push my limits, and take whatever he wants. The more aggressive the sex, the more undone I become. But most of all, I want to be called names— dirty, horrible names. Names that would make most of society clutch their pearls and think I was nothing more than trash.

The whole point of coming here is to escape the pressure and desires burning inside me. I love music. It’s embedded in the fabric of who I am, but my career is stripping me of my sense of self, causing me to lie and force my desires into the shadows. This trip is about re-discovering myself and learning to fuel my passions without worrying about anyone else’s needs. To get away from it all: the pressure, the leaches at my door waiting for their next story, and the endless work schedule. This trip is about finding my music again, not satiating my sexual cravings. But with Gunner standing in front of me, perhaps a little pleasure wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Why does he make me want impossible things? Gunner isn’t part of the deal. I didn’t come here expecting to find a handsome stranger to get lost in. Then again, I’ve never been able to get lost in anything. Even the prostitutes I hired lacked something. There was no passion, just a means to end.

How am I supposed to be a talented songwriter if I don’t live a little? Excellent songs are about animalistic sex, fueled with passion, love, heartache, loss, and the abundant beauty of life. My life so far is living in a studio or the back of a tour bus managed by men who care nothing for me, only what I can bring to their pocketbooks.

Gunner’s broad arms cage me in, and his chest presses against mine as the cool hood of the car radiates through my thighs. “Bet you’d whimper like a newborn kitten if I pushed you to your knees and shoved my cock between those pretty lips and down your throat,” he breathes against my neck.

“You know, it’s a little creepy that you want a girl who sang your mother’s song to suck your dick. Talk about serious mommy issues.”

“Don’t you worry, darlin’. I won’t be calling you Mommy while I fuck you into oblivion.” His large hand grips my throat, making my panties instantly wet. “It’ll be you screaming for Daddy to make you come.”

This man’s definitely daddy material.

“Oh, God.” I lose all notion of reality as his scent overwhelms my senses.

“New rule.” He sinks his fingers into my hair, grasping my neck and pulling my lips to his. “Don’t cry out for God when I’m balls deep inside you. He can’t satisfy a girl like you.”

“You’re so arrogant.”

“We’ve already established that. But it’s not God’s name I want to hear on your lips when my head is between your thighs for the first time.” His tongue does a slow drag across the seam of my mouth before he nips at my bottom lip and grabs my ass. “I want to hear ‘Yes, yes, yes! Harder, Tarzan!Tear Janes, tight little pussy apart, Tarzan.’”

“You’re delusional. You can’t tell when a woman isn’t interested.”

He barks a laugh. “Oh, Sparrow, your pussy is so wet that you need to change your panties.”

“I do not,” I lie.

He dips his head to my neck, and my stomach flutters as he places chaste kisses along my pulse point. Gunner moves his hand, easing over my belly as he dips his fingers into the front of my pants and grazes my clit. “I don’t like being lied to, darlin’. You want to take back the words, or shall I show you how wide you’ll open these sexy ass legs for me?”

I shake my head. The intensity of his words, the way they match my stubborn desires, shake every single part of my being.

“I rented a house on the lake,” I confess, equal parts terrified and exhilarated at the idea of seeing him again. At the thought of him knowing where to find me.

“The big one with the copper gates?”

I nod, unable to form words as the hard length of his dick tightens and twitches against my stomach, and his fingertips brush against my cotton-covered clit. I gulp, wondering what it would be like to take a man like him—so big, virile, and manly—into my mouth.

“How about I pick you up at sunrise?”

“Excuse me?” I haven’t seen the sun rising in what feels like…forever.

He cracks a cocky grin. “Meet you at the copper gates at sunrise, Sparrow.”

“Wait, why? And what time is sunrise?”

He’s already backing away, his cocky grin deepening and causing every raw nerve in my body to throb for him. “Trust me… The Robertson’s Roadster will let you know.”

***

Five in the fucking morning. That’s when I hear the engine rumbling off that damn roadster. Classic cars. I never understood why men love them. They’re obnoxiously loud. I attempt to muffle the roar by tossing a pillow over my head. Making noise this early in the morning should be a felony indictment. No trial, no possibility of bail, just a clear-cut jail sentence.

I was eight years old the last time I was up this early. My body sure as shit isn’t used to it. I’m usually heading to bed at this time. It’s bad enough that I couldn’t sleep last night because of the peace surrounding me. I’d rather hear sirens blaring through the night than a zillion crickets chorusing.

I was taken in by the brochure. When I first saw it, I thought this place was a haven—serene and relaxing. That Roadster and the crickets—not relaxing.

You’d be relaxed if Gunner had fucked you like a cheap whore all night.

I scream into my pillow, hating how flustered and frustrated that man makes me. From the moment he stepped into my orbit, it’s been like I’ve been aimlessly wandering in the abyss. My goals sidestepped for a hot tattooed bartender dick.

Standing under the shower two minutes later, I wash my hair and scrub my body. I’ve always loved water—it cleanses my mind and leaves me at peace. It’s the only time my brain completely shuts down and I can be myself, my thoughts uninterrupted.

I stand under the spray, letting the water scald my skin. The sting is rejuvenating, washing the garbage of my life away.  My mother’s voice disappears beneath the hot spray. The pressure of ensuring she had everything she needed when she was alive melts away, along with the weight of her health care while she underwent treatment. The guilt of my father leaving her in poverty with three young children and the worry of taking care of my younger siblings so they never have to live in fear like I did.

As soon as that record executive heard me sing at the karaoke bar, my mother saw a paycheck in place of her daughter. I wasn’t mad at my mother. For the most part, she protected me, but she wasn’t a mom—she was a manager. But she was a manager who ensured I was safe.

Unlike others who put their kids in danger by letting them play dress up and attend bars with men old enough to be their grandfathers, my mom ensured I did my homework and ate properly. She didn’t push me to grow up too fast just to produce music so we never experienced poverty again. I don’t blame her. I was our family’s hope to escape our circumstances and experience security.

Twenty-five, and I’ve never done something just for fun. Everything is for my mother’s agenda. During our last conversation, she told me I was crazy for walking away from a multi-million-dollar record contract. At this point in the game, money means nothing.

I miss her with every fiber of my being, but a part of me is relieved that I’m free of my jail cell. With her gone, I finally got rid of the shackles she placed on me. Fuck, that makes me a horrible person, but it’s hard to be a loving daughter when your life belonged to your mother.

I have more money now than I can spend in three lifetimes. My sister will have the freedom to be who she is. Jude will do what she wants, not what others tell her.

I turn off the shower and get dressed. When I run downstairs fifteen minutes later, I stop in my tracks. Leaning against the doorframe in a leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and faded blue jeans is Gunner Shaw.