Guns: The Spencer Book
Page 11
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“No,” she insists as her lips drift over to mine so she can make me respond when she begins to lick me. “I need to be oiled, but I’m far from well-oiled now.”
She lets out another loud girly squeal as I toss her off to the side, making her tits bounce when she hits the soft cushions of the couch. “Stay still, Bombshell.”
Fuck me, she mouths silently. I lose control when she does that and she knows it. Fuck me, she mouths again. Fuck me, f**k me, f**k me. Over and over again.
She’s wearing that little bombshell tank top I made for her. The one with the pinup looking suspiciously like her, sitting on a WWII bomb as it sails through the air.
I grab the hem of her shirt and rip it right up the center.
“Spencer!” she screams. “I love this tank top!”
I grab the cups of her lacy pink bra and rip that apart too. “I’ll make you another one, baby.”
“Oh,” she gasps. “You are in so much tr—”
I pop the button on her Daisy Dukes next. It goes flying across the room. “You wanna get f**ked?” I growl at her. “Lift your hips.”
She shudders. She always shudders. Like what I do to her is a surprise each and every time. I wait for the swallow, but she tucks her nerves away and inhales.
I’ve f**ked Veronica Vaughn like eleventy billion times in the past year that we’re been dating. I’ve licked every inch of her body. I’ve f**ked her pu**y, her ass, her mouth, and her tits. We’ve done it outside, in the shop, on a bike—hell, on like a dozen bikes, at least—in the river out back, up on a ridge in the hills behind the property, in four public parks, on CSU campus—like every f**king building they have on CSU campus, minus the bookstore because we got caught before we finished, so it doesn’t count—in the back of my truck, in the bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, basement… you name a place in the greater Fort Collins area, and chances are I’ve f**ked my Bomb there.
But no matter what, no matter how many times I take her body, no matter how public the taking is, no matter how dirty the talk—the thing that turns me on the most about my Bombshell is the shudder that runs through her body each and every single time we get started. It’s my drug, and I’m addicted to it.
That shudder says, You rock my f**king world, Spencer Shrike.
And my response, each and every time, are these thoughts. The ones running through my mind, and not the ones controlled by my dick. The memories we make every time I touch her.
Fuck me, she mouths again as she lifts her hips and I slip her shorts off. Her panties are so adorable. And this is what I love about Ronnie. She’s a tattoo artist. She shoots better than I do after she took a bunch of marksmanship classes at my gun club. She’s got moves an MMA fighter would envy. And she comes from a brood of siblings who would make just about anyone shit their pants if they ever met them in a dark alley.
But this girl—this girl is a f**king princess underneath it all. She’s soft and sweet and pretty and she smells like a bakery.
She smells like a sugar cookie. She’s like those little crystals of sugar on top, the ones that melt in your mouth.
“Fuck me,” she says out loud now. “Fuck me.”
I lean down and suck on her nipple, massaging her large br**sts until she moans.
Piss on the logo, the logo can wait. I shift positions and lean down, her little body smothered by my large one. And now it’s my turn to breathe into her ear. “Veronica Bombshell Vaughn, I’ll never stop f**king you, baby. You know why?”
I wait for an answer and this throws her off her game. Her brows knit together slightly because I’ve changed the rules on her and I want a response. “Why?” she whispers back.
“Because you’re mine, baby. And I’m gonna keep you forever.”
“You promise?” she asks with a second shudder.
I have to close my eyes to let my body fully soak up that unexpected treat. “I promise.”
My phone vibrates in my pants and I reach in my pocket and pull it out, hoping it’s Ronnie calling me back.
It’s not.
It’s Ronin.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Hey,” he says back. “You seen Rook around? I keep calling and it goes right to voicemail.”
“I think her and Ronnie are at the women’s doctor together.”
“Huh, why? Ronnie got a problem?”
“No, you ass**le. Rook said she had an appointment.”
“No,” he counters back. We are like the Two f**king Stooges. “She never mentioned the doctor to me. I’m pretty sure she’d tell me that.”
We just wait there in silence for a few seconds like dumbasses. “Well,” I finally say to break the awkwardness. “I guess congratulations are in order. Way to go, she’s probably pregnant and wants to keep it secret until she gets confirmation.”
Silence.
“Ronin?”
But the phone beeps three times and the connection is lost.
Chapter Five
VERONICA
“He left you like that?” Rook says with shocked surprise.
“Yeah, can you believe the nerve of him? Got me all worked up, came on my leg, and then zipped me back up tight like he was wrapping a present to save for later.”
“What a f**king ass**le!” Rook is always on my side. I love her. “But like, what did he say? I mean, didn’t you stop him and be all, ‘What the f**k, dude?’”
I crack the window, pull out my e-cig and start puffing away. “Oh, you know. The usual caveman bullshit he always pulls.”
She lets out another loud girly squeal as I toss her off to the side, making her tits bounce when she hits the soft cushions of the couch. “Stay still, Bombshell.”
Fuck me, she mouths silently. I lose control when she does that and she knows it. Fuck me, she mouths again. Fuck me, f**k me, f**k me. Over and over again.
She’s wearing that little bombshell tank top I made for her. The one with the pinup looking suspiciously like her, sitting on a WWII bomb as it sails through the air.
I grab the hem of her shirt and rip it right up the center.
“Spencer!” she screams. “I love this tank top!”
I grab the cups of her lacy pink bra and rip that apart too. “I’ll make you another one, baby.”
“Oh,” she gasps. “You are in so much tr—”
I pop the button on her Daisy Dukes next. It goes flying across the room. “You wanna get f**ked?” I growl at her. “Lift your hips.”
She shudders. She always shudders. Like what I do to her is a surprise each and every time. I wait for the swallow, but she tucks her nerves away and inhales.
I’ve f**ked Veronica Vaughn like eleventy billion times in the past year that we’re been dating. I’ve licked every inch of her body. I’ve f**ked her pu**y, her ass, her mouth, and her tits. We’ve done it outside, in the shop, on a bike—hell, on like a dozen bikes, at least—in the river out back, up on a ridge in the hills behind the property, in four public parks, on CSU campus—like every f**king building they have on CSU campus, minus the bookstore because we got caught before we finished, so it doesn’t count—in the back of my truck, in the bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, basement… you name a place in the greater Fort Collins area, and chances are I’ve f**ked my Bomb there.
But no matter what, no matter how many times I take her body, no matter how public the taking is, no matter how dirty the talk—the thing that turns me on the most about my Bombshell is the shudder that runs through her body each and every single time we get started. It’s my drug, and I’m addicted to it.
That shudder says, You rock my f**king world, Spencer Shrike.
And my response, each and every time, are these thoughts. The ones running through my mind, and not the ones controlled by my dick. The memories we make every time I touch her.
Fuck me, she mouths again as she lifts her hips and I slip her shorts off. Her panties are so adorable. And this is what I love about Ronnie. She’s a tattoo artist. She shoots better than I do after she took a bunch of marksmanship classes at my gun club. She’s got moves an MMA fighter would envy. And she comes from a brood of siblings who would make just about anyone shit their pants if they ever met them in a dark alley.
But this girl—this girl is a f**king princess underneath it all. She’s soft and sweet and pretty and she smells like a bakery.
She smells like a sugar cookie. She’s like those little crystals of sugar on top, the ones that melt in your mouth.
“Fuck me,” she says out loud now. “Fuck me.”
I lean down and suck on her nipple, massaging her large br**sts until she moans.
Piss on the logo, the logo can wait. I shift positions and lean down, her little body smothered by my large one. And now it’s my turn to breathe into her ear. “Veronica Bombshell Vaughn, I’ll never stop f**king you, baby. You know why?”
I wait for an answer and this throws her off her game. Her brows knit together slightly because I’ve changed the rules on her and I want a response. “Why?” she whispers back.
“Because you’re mine, baby. And I’m gonna keep you forever.”
“You promise?” she asks with a second shudder.
I have to close my eyes to let my body fully soak up that unexpected treat. “I promise.”
My phone vibrates in my pants and I reach in my pocket and pull it out, hoping it’s Ronnie calling me back.
It’s not.
It’s Ronin.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Hey,” he says back. “You seen Rook around? I keep calling and it goes right to voicemail.”
“I think her and Ronnie are at the women’s doctor together.”
“Huh, why? Ronnie got a problem?”
“No, you ass**le. Rook said she had an appointment.”
“No,” he counters back. We are like the Two f**king Stooges. “She never mentioned the doctor to me. I’m pretty sure she’d tell me that.”
We just wait there in silence for a few seconds like dumbasses. “Well,” I finally say to break the awkwardness. “I guess congratulations are in order. Way to go, she’s probably pregnant and wants to keep it secret until she gets confirmation.”
Silence.
“Ronin?”
But the phone beeps three times and the connection is lost.
Chapter Five
VERONICA
“He left you like that?” Rook says with shocked surprise.
“Yeah, can you believe the nerve of him? Got me all worked up, came on my leg, and then zipped me back up tight like he was wrapping a present to save for later.”
“What a f**king ass**le!” Rook is always on my side. I love her. “But like, what did he say? I mean, didn’t you stop him and be all, ‘What the f**k, dude?’”
I crack the window, pull out my e-cig and start puffing away. “Oh, you know. The usual caveman bullshit he always pulls.”
