A Night With Knox (9 page)

“Hey,” Ryder says, blocking
my path.

“Finally. Your girlfriend let you
out by yourself?”

Ryder just grins. “Gunner just
let in a bachelorette party, so you can find a new skirt to chase.”

“I need no help in that
department,” I say. There are at least four numbers in my
pocket from tonight’s shift alone.

“Cassie told me to tell you,
hands off Savannah.”

On instinct, I scan the crowd and find
Savannah and Loose Lips. She’s got that cool smile on that says
she’s got it all under control. Something tells me I’ll
be getting one hell of a story when she comes in for the next date.

“Now why would I be looking at
Savannah when there’s a bachelorette party headed my way?”

I head over to the party. These girls
are ready for a good time. They’re a flutter of pastels, flowy
fabric, and pearls, but I’m willing to bet there’s more
than one wild woman under all that polish. I step up to the front and
begin the show.

“Ladies, who’s eloping with
me tomorrow?” A collective cheer goes up from the group. I take
drink orders and am just starting to shake my first drink when a
woman pushes her way to the front.

“Cash? Cash
Gardner?” A salon-made blonde who’s stepped off
the pages of my memories is standing there in front of me. The shaker
freezes mid-air.

Her eyes widen. “Oh my god, it is
you! Don’t you remember? It’s me, Morgan! We went to
school together, back at Landsbury Prep. I can’t believe I’m
running in to you here!”

I stare back, numb. There’s a
weird ringing in my ears, and I fight to focus on Morgan. She’s
going on about how she just talked to my mom last week, and some
charity gala they’re all planning at the country club, but it’s
like she’s talking a foreign language.

I thought I’d left this all
behind.

I grab one of the other bartenders. “I
need to work the front,” I tell him. “You take it from
here.” Then I fight my way out from behind the bar, heading
blindly down the back hallway and out to the alley behind the
building. My building – or at least, part of it is. People take
it for granted that I’m just the hired help here, but I own the
place in partnership with the other guys. I paid my own way through
college too, I never took one dime of my parents’ money, not
after I learned the truth about just how dirty it really was. I left
that life behind me: prep schools, and country clubs, and all the
bullshit that goes along with it. Only Jackson knows a little about
where I came from, but the others are in the dark.

But I guess there’s no escaping
the past. There’s always something, pulling me back. Reminding
me about the debt I owe.

Until I find another girl to distract
me. Yeah, that’s just what I need.

I take another breath, then head back
inside to go find tonight’s distraction.

What happens next? Discover the rest of the story in
CASH
.

Available now
!

Read on for a sneak peek at JD Hawkins’s
Brando

My
muscles scream, chest on fire, nerve endings twitching like a million
thunderbolts across my torso. I can feel the beads of sweat on my
forehead running down my tensed neck. I glare at the fluorescent
light on the gym ceiling, feel the cold metal of the bar against my
chest.

That
twinge in my triceps should worry me. Gotta meet Jax at the club for
drinks in a couple hours. Maybe it was a bad idea to do this big a
lift at the end of a workout. Last time a lift went wrong I messed up
my thigh so bad I was finger-fucking girls for a month.

Thoughts
bear down on me like a load of bricks, pressing down on the ends of
the bar, making it even heavier than it really is.

Don’t
think, Brando. Just fucking lift.

I
repeat the words like a mantra. A rhythmic drumbeat that focuses my
mind. I exhale as I push, the rush of adrenaline leaving no room for
thoughts, the heat burning all doubt out of me.

Don’t
think. Don’t
think. Don’t
think.

As
I pump the bar up and down it feels like I’m
lifting the entire building, like I’m
trying to push a planet away from my chest. I feel like I’m
calling on strength that doesn’t
belong to me, strength that comes from the same deep pit of hell the
pain in my muscles comes from. I exhale and my breath comes out with
a long, low grunt.

The
pain and the heat and the testosterone and the adrenaline swirl
inside of me, and I direct it all against this fucking barbell.

When
my set is finished I have just enough energy to bring the barbell
back onto the claws. My fists sting as they let go of it, palms
almost melded to the metal. I drop my arms and breathe deeply for a
few seconds before sitting upright. My blood pumps, veins throb, and
I feel the satisfied ache of a post-workout high seep into my skin.

“Pretty
dangerous, benching that much without anyone spotting you,”
a throaty female voice says from
behind me.

I
look up. The gym is almost empty except for a guy listening to his
headphones as he runs on a treadmill in the corner. I save myself the
trouble of turning around to see her and just look at the reflection
in the wall-sized mirror in front of me.

“Looks
like you spotted me just fine,” I
drawl, eyeing her in the glass.

Even
by gym standards, she’s
unbelievable. She’s
in tight black spandex pants, with nutcracker thighs and hips that
seem custom-made for my hands. Her sports bra is so tight she may as
well be naked, and the thought instantaneously sends about a million
X-rated images through my mind. Judging by the hungry look in her
eyes, I know exactly where this is going—but
I’m enjoying the
foreplay, so instead of just cutting to the chase and inviting her to
suck my dick in the locker room, I grab the barbell and force myself
through one more punishing set of reps.

It
takes everything I have to keep my arms steady, my muscles screaming
all the while, before slamming the bar back onto the rack and sitting
up.

“Impressive,”
she says, eyeing me up and down
in the mirror. “You
certainly don’t do
things the easy way.”

“I
prefer the hard way,” I
tell her, checking out the curve of her breasts like I’m
about to paint a portrait of them. It’s
all I can do to keep myself from just grabbing her and sitting her
down in my lap.

“So
do I,” she purrs,
running a hand across my back. She steps closer, standing behind me
with the bench between her legs. Then she puts both hands on my
shoulders and starts pressing and rubbing.

“Shit
that’s good,”
I say, closing my eyes at the
deeply sweet touch of her hands – the
only thing that could stop me from enjoying the ravenous eye-fucking
she’s been giving me
in the mirror.

“It
should be,” she
says, a tinge of amusement in her voice. “I’m
a massage therapist here. With all the time you spend working out,
I’m surprised you
haven’t stopped in
for a session by now.”

“So
you’ve seen me
around,” I growl.
She rubs harder, massaging a knot next to my shoulder blade until it
loosens, and I groan out loud. “Damn.
Maybe it
is
time to see about that session.”

“Good,
because you’re way
past due. And I’m
not gonna wait any longer.” She
leans down toward my ear, her long blonde hair brushing my shoulder,
and says in a low whisper, “I
teach a yoga class, too.”

Her
words hit me like a shot of adrenaline to the cock. I close my eyes
and let her work me some more, lust building with the sensation of
her palms kneading the base of my neck and the scent of her as she
leans over me. I let out another low moan.

Looks
like Jax might be drinking by himself for a little while tonight. But
I’m sure he’ll
understand.

My
eyes flicker toward the guy in the corner, still running on the
treadmill. The yoga teacher/massage therapist/sportswear siren reads
my thoughts as easily as she reads the tension in my back and nods
toward a side door.

“It’s
your lucky day,” she
smiles. “I’m
giving a free massage to the man who can handle it.”

I
stand up, grab my towel and run it over my face.

“Always
good to have a massage after a workout,” I
reply. “Keeps the
blood flowing.”

She
nods and turns, her body even more erotic in movement. The sway of
her ass makes me grit my teeth. My heart thumps like a revved engine,
her silhouette magnetizing every muscle in my body. This time I don’t
need to push the thoughts away – I
couldn’t think
straight if I tried.

I
follow her toward the massage room, swaggering with the loose power
of muscles after a workout. She looks back over her shoulder just
before opening the door, her blonde ponytail flicking over her
shoulder, and winks before sliding inside.

“Close
the do—” she
starts, but I pounce like a predator spotting its window of attack,
nothing but lust, impulse, and nature controlling me now. In a single
motion I slam the door shut with one hand, push her up against it
front-first, and press my groin hard against her ass. Her surprised
gasp turns into a throaty giggle.

Now
that I’ve got her
where I want her, I’m
as slow as I was quick. I wrap my hands around her waist, brushing my
fingers lightly against her exposed midriff. I close my eyes, let the
electricity between our skin guide me. I press my face against the
side of her head, letting the scent of her drive my body wild,
pulling away teasingly after every touch.

“I
like your style, Brando,” she
says, turning her head to shoot me a sultry stare.

“How
do you know my name?” I
hum into her ear as I slide my hands slowly up her stomach, under her
top and between her heaving breasts.

She
puts her palms higher on the door, steadying herself and pressing
back into my body.

“You’ve
got a reputation.”

I
taste the nape of her neck, eliciting a deep moan from her that tugs
at my balls harder than a magnet.

“What
reputation?”

She
laughs lightly, in between the stuttered sighs and gasps that she
responds to my every touch with.

“Big…bold…brash…Brando.”
As I lift her tight top up over
her breasts with one hand, my other snakes down her pants to find the
wet line of her pussy. “Half
the girls in my yoga class want to fuck you…and
the other half claim they already have.”

I
run my tongue down her neck, tasting the tender, pale skin. Her
nipple hardens under the gentle touch of my fingers, pinching
lightly, palm tracing the flawless shape of her breast.

“You
girls really like to talk,” I
say, before taking her earlobe between my teeth.

“I
had to see for myself if the rumors are true. This is just research,”
she says. I feel a tremble
between her thighs as my finger moves slowly over her clit, brushing
it until I feel her backing into me with a sharp intake of breath.

“Then
I’ll assist any way
I can,” I tell her,
giving her clit a firm, steady press with my palm as I slide a thick
finger deep into her slick pussy.

“Fuck,”
she moans, leaning into it. I
work my finger back and forth inside her, agonizingly slow, until
she’s panting
heavily and writhing against me. “More,”
she begs.

I
spin her around to face me. She tears her top off the rest of the
way, breasts bouncing back into firm shape, and eyes me like I’m
a three-course meal and she’s
fresh off a hunger strike. Then she pulls my mouth onto hers and
swirls her tongue aggressively around mine. It’s
more like martial arts than making out, but I’m
not complaining. I run my hands down the taut skin of her sides, grab
her breasts, feeling every curve so thoroughly I could sculpt her. We
back and forth with our tongues, pushing and pulling, lashing and
biting. Striking the sparks of the oncoming flames.

“It’s
no secret,” I say,
pulling her toward me as I back off and sit on the massage table,
“that I love women.
What else do you need to know?”

I
pull off my shirt, and she spends a full five seconds staring at my
chest with her mouth open. I slide my shorts down while she watches,
her eyes glazing with lust. “I
think I have everything I need right here,” she
finally manages. “All
that’s left is a
little field work.”

She
reaches into her pocket and pulls out a condom. I put it on while she
peels off the second skin of her spandex pants.

“Welcome
to the field,” I
say, as she straddles me on the massage table.

She
cups my face in her hands and thrusts her tongue into my mouth,
pulling away only to bury her teeth into my neck. I let out a hiss
and wrap my lips around her nipple, rolling my tongue around it like
it’s the sweetest
thing I’ve ever
tasted, teeth biting just enough to make her shake. She moans as she
hugs me tight to her chest, rolling her clit up and down the shaft of
my cock.

I
lose myself in her curves, hands tracing the arch of her back as her
pussy winds up against my cock harder and faster as she starts losing
all restraint. She moans in short, sharp bursts, and I feel the hum
of her voice as I move my mouth from one breast to another.

“Slow
down, baby,” I tell
her. “You gotta let
yourself enjoy it.”

She
laughs wildly, looking down at me as I grip her ass tightly and
maneuver her over my cock. Her pussy is ready and wet as it presses
against me, and I read the expression on her face like a dirty novel,
all drugged eyes and strained pleasure. She squeezes the head of my
cock between her lips, pulling me into her, but I hold her off,
tantalizingly close, but not there yet.

“Tell
me what you want,” I
say, when her eyes go pleading.