Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) (11 page)

He shoves his hands into his pants, pushing them down mid-thigh until his dick springs out. I’d seen it before, but now I’m up close and personal. It’s above average in length, impressive in girth, head thick-ish, with a slight curvature upward. I never said this about a cock before, but it’s rather pretty.

“It’s been ready for that mouth ever since I saw you. Do you know how fucking annoying it is walking around with a continuous hard-on?”

“I can’t say I do.” I glimpse up at him, feeling a warming sensation on my clit, my heartbeat pulsing through it.

“Do you want to suck on my hard cock, baby?”

“Yes,” I murmur, letting out a held breath.

He reaches up and cups my cheek with his inked hand, dragging his thumb over my bottom lip so it shifts under his rough touch. “Then, take it with that pretty little mouth.”

As I move in for his cock, he grips the back of my head and guides me down. I twirl my tongue about the thick, throbbing tip, hitting the smooth studs of his frenum piercing underneath.

“Come on, baby doll. No fucking teasing. Give me your mouth.” He thrusts up and shoves himself deep inside, hissing in a sharp breath, his hand fisting in my hair. “That’s it. Right fucking there.”

I move my head up and down, trailing my tongue along the shaft as I go. The piercing rolls along my tongue, hitting the back of my throat when I go deep. His hand shows me how fast and hard he wants it. He moans and stiffens as I work him over, taking him with everything I have. With every twitch of his leg under my hands, I smile inwardly at myself, enjoying how I make him react to my touch.

“Ahh, fuck yeah, baby.”

I suction my mouth, really going at him until his whole body becomes rigid, and he explodes into my throat with warm, thick gushes. I gulp him down, milking him of every salty drop.

“Holy…” He runs his hands through his hair and lets his head fall onto the back of the couch. He looks back up at me, grabs my face with both hands on my cheeks, and leans forward, slamming his eager lips onto mine. He crams his tongue into my mouth, exploring it with deep, rough thrusts, devouring me. He pulls away, holding me in place with his hands, and stares intensely into my eyes, his heavy with lust. He licks my bottom lip before nipping and sucking on it with a guttural moan.

“That was fucking superb.”

“Thanks.” I smile coyly and tuck a chunk of hair behind my ear.

“Can I play you something?”

“I’d love it.”

He wraps his arms about me and stands us up, holding me against him for a moment before letting me go. I love the way I feel with him. I love the way he makes me feel. He can piss me off like no one else, but I’m happy when I’m with him. I’m in danger, in danger of falling hard.

He walks over to a tall stool in the center of the room and picks up an acoustic guitar from its stand, resting it on his lap when he settles. Clearing his throat nervously, which is kinda endearing, he places the strap about his shoulder. He adjusts the knobs on the end, tightening and loosening the strings. Plucking each one until he’s satisfied.

He looks at me, smirking playfully before he begins to strum a somber-tuned melody. His fingers work the guitar with the same skill he used on me, causing it to whimper and moan out the seductive song. He taps his foot and sways his head to the beat, allowing the music to take him, flow through him. It’s a sight to see, observing an artist immerse themselves in their passion, watching it light them up from the inside out. Gunnar is an artist.

“Torn Lace…

Beauty in your tarnished grace…

Tears of acid…”

Truthfully, I wish I had seen this from him when I wrote that article. It’s not that they’re bad. They’re not. But the enthusiasm wasn’t there in him. Like he was detached from everything and everyone, going through the motions. Now, I can’t help wonder if it was something more, more to do with his life than his love of the music. Maybe I’m crazy and projecting my own unhappiness with life on him, but there’s a part of me that hopes it’s true. Maybe he needs me just as I need him.

You’re getting ahead of yourself. This is just sex, nothing more, nothing less.
But I can’t help but feel a bud of hope blossoming in my gut.

As the song tapers off, he looks up into my eyes, watching me with anticipation.

“That was beautiful, Gunnar.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I loved it.” I smile at him reassuringly. “What’s it called?”

“Torn Lace.” My heart flutters. “It’s your song.”

“You wrote that for me?” I ask, shocked.

“You inspire me.”
Am I what caused the glimmer of passion in his eyes?
“You’re my muse.”

“Do you write songs for all your hookups?”

“I know I should be insulted by that, but with my rep, I shouldn’t expect any different.” He sighs. “No, baby. I’ve never been…”

His eyes narrow, as if he’s lost in thought, pain sweeping over his face.

“You’ve never been what?” I ask, my brows creased with confusion.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head and smiles up at me. “Let me take you home, baby. It’s getting late.”

I don’t want to go home. I want to stay right here with him, but I know that isn’t sensible. I rise, zip up my jeans, and walk over to him, splaying my hands on his exposed knees. “Thank you for the song, Gunnar. It was beyond words…And, that’s something coming from me, considering I do it for a living.”

He chuckles, his white teeth peeking through his facial hair. I reach out and run my fingers through his beard, feeling the course, medium-hued strands. He clings an arm about my waist, hulling me into him. Normally, at six one, he towers over me only slightly, but while sitting, we’re face to face. I grip onto his beard and press my lips onto his for a tender kiss. He groans then returns the gesture, holding onto me until I can’t breathe.

Danger, danger. Mayday!

“Lace.” I stir at my name. “Lace, wake up.”

“Hm?”

“We have to go.”

It’s Gunnar.

I open my eyes slightly, not recognizing my surroundings at first; I pop up and find Gunnar at the foot of the couch, smiling at me. We’re still in the recording studio.

“Did I really fall asleep?”

“We did, yes.”

“What time is it?” I ask, combing my fingers through my hair to make sure it isn’t tangled.

“It’s about five in the morning,” he answers, rubbing the corner of my mouth.
Crap. Did I drool?
“The sun should be coming up soon.”

“Holy shit. I have to be to work in a few hours.” I sit up, slipping my shoes back on. Gunnar must have removed them when I laid down.

“I’ll get you home.”

He offers me a hand and I take it, following him out. When we exit the downstairs lobby, the sky is turning from black to a bluish-gray. It wouldn’t be long now before the sun hits the tops of the skyscrapers. And the semi-quiet streets team with cabs blowing their horns and people eagerly rushing to work.

After last night, I don’t know how I’m going to concentrate on the day ahead.

I make sure she gets inside before heading home, regretting I
hadn’t taken up on her offer to come upstairs for breakfast, but I need to be away from her right now. I whizz through the city streets towards downtown, weaving through the bright yellow cabs beginning to pack the roads. I love having my bike in the city. I can get anywhere in no time. Before I know it, I’m parking in the lot next to my building and heading up.

I climb the stairs to the second floor of my loft, walking into my room, ready to shower and pass the fuck out. I take off my jacket as I move toward my bathroom, halted when I look over at the bed and find trouble in six-inch stilettos sitting on the edge. Her crossed legs adorned in thigh-high stockings, the lace tops peeking out from under the short hem of her skirt.

“What are you doing here, Callie?” I ask my ex and current bang maid. We used to fuck on a regular basis until she became the band’s manager. I stopped it soon after. But we still hook up every now and then. She usually finds her way into my bed after a night of drinking.

“What do you think I’m doing here, G?” she answers with another question, smirking impishly at me, her cobalt eyes heavy with lust. She uncrosses her legs and runs her hands down her thighs, spreading them wide.

“Not now,” I say, tossing my jacket on the floor. “It’s too fucking early for this.”

“You’re joking, right? Gunnar Haze is turning down an easy lay?”

“That’s what I said,” I hiss. “Now, please see your way out.”

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” She stands up and slowly walks over to me. “You lose your cock or something?”

“Or something,” I murmur, attempting to head into the bathroom, but she grabs onto my biceps with a firm grasp.

“I guess the question isn’t what’s gotten into you, but who have you gotten into?” She thrusts her hands on her full hips. “Are you fucking that girl?”

I’ve never been what you consider the take-home-to-your-mama type. Fuck, I don’t even stick around past the next morning usually. And I certainly don’t stop fucking my regulars because I start porking someone new. But Lace is…different.

I take a step into her, close enough to feel the heat coming off her body. “What if I am?” I pluck at the strap of her flimsy dress. “Is that really your concern?”

“You’re actually serious,” she says, astonished.

“Yes, I’m fucking serious.”

She takes a step back and crosses her arms, examining me from head to toe.

“She must be a pretty great fuck for you to give me up.” I glimpse at her before removing my shirt, clutching it in my hands. “You haven’t screwed her yet?” The shock in her voice is infuriating. Then, to twist the knife further, she begins laughing hysterically.

“Get the fuck out,” I snarl, throwing my shirt in her face, then turn and walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

Cunt.

I turn on the shower and take down my pants, kicking them aside. Once the water’s warm, I step inside and let it spray down on me, washing away Callie’s shitty attitude.

She’s right. This isn’t who I am. Yet, with Lace, this is who I want to be. I haven’t felt this intensity for anything except my music. But she was just supposed to be fun. Ever since I saw her uptight ass in her office, I just wanted to fuck the prude right out of her. Now, she’s turning my world on its ass.

What the fuck is wrong with me? She’s just supposed to be a fun lay. And I haven’t even fucked her yet!

Maybe you’re tired of just fun lays. It’s not like you’ve been all that happy with life lately. It’s just dull.

I mean, what makes her different from any other pussy out there?

Whatever it is, she makes me want things, different from what I’ve had, different from what I thought I wanted. Thing is…I’m not sure if I’m okay with that.

He hasn’t called me in three days, three long, miserable days. I
haven’t been able to get him out of my head, his eyes, his beard, his plethora of tattoos with meanings only he understands. But mostly, I think about what it will be like once we finally have sex, how he’ll move above me, how his dick will feel tucked deep inside me. Yup, three long, miserable fucking days of that.

I want to call him, but I don’t want to seem clingy or eager. So, I wait. By day four, I’m sure I’ll never hear from him again. I’m not hurt anymore. I’m flippin’ furious.

When I arrive home from work, desperate to unwind, I spot a bright yellow envelope on the coffee table with big black pen marks scribbled across.

What in the…

I take the package into my bedroom and toss it on my bed, changing out of my work clothes before opening it up. My fingers rip through the paper and bubble wrap lining, eager to see what he sent me, pulling out a cd case.

He made me a mixtape? How very middle school.

I open up the case, pull out the disk, and take a seat at my desk, inserting it in my laptop and pressing play. I wait, but I don’t hear anything.

Then…

“Was he good to you?” This is no mixtape. I hear the sound of a zipper lowering. “Did he satisfy you?” I moaned out as he made contact with my pussy. “Did he know how you like to be touched? Did he know how you like to be fucked, baby?”

As the recording plays, I picture everything in my head, like watching a movie.

He moved his finger over my clit, flicking it just right. I threw my head back, letting out a gasp.

“No,” I breathed out.

“I know how to touch you, Lace. I know how to fuck you.” His other hand in my hair, he drove my face forward, staring deep into my eyes. “I’m going to satisfy you, baby.”

I find myself becoming aroused listening to his husky voice promise my pleasure, the sounds of my heavy breathing as he fingered my clit. Before I know it, my hands are sliding into my sweatpants, my fingers burying themselves between the folds of my pussy.

I think about how he worked me, strumming me like his fucking guitar. I listen to the sound of my erratic breathing, muffled by his mouth against mine. I can almost feel how my body wound up at his touch, like it’s tightening up now under my own greedy touch, until I exploded around his fingers.

He held my mouth against his, drinking in my euphoric cries.

I think of how he licked his digits clean, moaning as he tasted me.

“Damn, baby, that’s the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had,” he growled.

That’s all I can take, I cum fucking hard. I feel my juices dripping down my fingers, imagining they were his tongue lapping me up. As my orgasm fades, I get up and walk into my bathroom, washing my hands and thinking about him. I’m starting to really miss him, wishing desperately he were here with me.

Once my hands are clean, I walk back into my room, hearing his voice. “Can I play you something?”

“I’d love it.”

I lean against the doorframe, listening to the noises he made as he set up, the clearing of his throat, the plucking of slightly out of tune chords. Then he begins to strum the slow-tuned melody.

I lay on my bed, listening to the song he wrote just for me, Torn Lace. I shut my eyes and just take in the dark beauty of the music, easing into a state of relaxation.

When the last note fades, he’s says in a seductive voice, “You look hot in sweatpants.”

Huh?

I pop up, spotting him standing in my doorway, arms crossed, half-smirk on his incredible face.

“Have you been here the whole time?” I ask, eyeing him.

“I may have been.” He shrugs.

“Well, that’s very serial killer of you.” I smirk at him.

He swaggers over to me, leaning his weight onto the mattress until his face is inches from mine. “Yeah, and if you were my victim, you’d be fucked.”

“I think I’m fucked either way,” I mumble, suddenly breathless.

“You have no idea how right you are.” He moves in to kiss me, but I shove my palm over his mouth.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “Where the hell have you been?”

He moves my hand from his face. “I’ve been busy, baby doll.”

“Yeah? Busy doing who?”

He chuckles. “Just my hand.” I cock my brow at him. “Ah, come on, baby. We’re just having a good time. What’s the problem?”

“You can’t just disappear. If you don’t want to see me for a few days, at least give the courtesy of a phone call or even a text.”

“Aw, were you worried, baby?”

“Would you stop calling me baby?” I cross my arms and scowl, annoyed that he isn’t taking me seriously.

He sits on the edge of the bed and brushes his thumb across my cheek. “You know you love it. And, I don’t know what you think is going on between us, but you’re taking this all way too seriously. We’re supposed to be having fun. I haven’t even had that sweet pussy yet.”

“Maybe your other girls are used to you vanishing for periods of time, but I don’t like it. If you want the privilege of being inside me, you can at least show me some kind of respect. It’s the very least you can do.”

“Privilege, is it?” He sounds snarky, which irritates me further.

“Yes,” I snap. “It’s a privilege when a woman decides to allow you into herself. Any woman, not just me, we deserve respect for that gift.”

He stares at me, as if he doesn’t quite understand what I mean. How could he? When women throw themselves at him left and right. He’s so oversaturated in sex he doesn’t even realize it’s supposed to mean something. It’s supposed to be a connection between two people.