Lucky Strike (11 page)

Okay, now that feels good
.

With each flick of the bristles across my nipple, I can feel my body coming alive. A delicious warmth spreads throughout me. A familiar ache growing between my legs. I have to fight back my urge to demand that he just fuck me right now. To give me the release I need, but I stop myself.
Just be in the moment Lucky,
I tell myself.

The brush glides down along my body. Ryder’s eyes intensely watching every rise and fall of my chest, studying every reaction like he’s making a mental map of what I like. I can feel the little hairs on the back of my neck rising as the brush dips into my belly button. The anticipation of what’s to come is almost more than I can take, but it’s only turning me on even more as he continues to paint his naughty map along my body.

The bristles dance across my hips, sending a wave of pleasure straight to my pussy. Ryder’s fingers spreading me open. My body almost jolting off the bed when he blows a cool stream of air across my clit. My body doesn’t have time to calm down before he flicks the brush across my aching bud.
Oh God,
who knew my damn paintbrush could bring such pleasure.

Ryder flicks the brush again. My hands straining harder against my restraints. Each flick of the brush along my clit is a delicious torture driving my body wild with need. “Fuck, Ryder make me fucking come!” I scream, my body arching off the bed. Each rise and fall of my breath growing more desperate for release.

He teases the pad of his finger along my entrance, forcing my hips to buck and writhe against his touch. He takes my cues and pushes two of his fingers inside me. Curling them up he works them up and down, hitting me in a spot I didn’t even know existed. The pleasure hitting me like a freight train. Ryder tosses the paintbrush over his shoulder, replacing it with his thumb, rubbing my clit in fast rough circles.

This is only the third time we’ve had sex and he already knows my body better than I do. My screams and moans echo through the small space. The bed post creaking under the force of me pulling against my scarf as the intense fire burning inside me takes over. My body shaking, heart racing as I come, soaking Ryder’s hand and the sheets beneath me. I’ve never come that hard before. Shit, I didn’t even know I could come that hard.

It feels like an eternity before I finally come down from my high. My body feels limp and sated. If this it, what it will always be like with Ryder, then maybe letting go of control won’t be as bad as I think.

Ryder crawls over me and unties my hands. Rubbing my wrists and arms before rolling over and pulling me on top of him. I can feel his erection pressing between my legs. My body already craving for him to be buried inside me.

“What made you think of that move with my paintbrush?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“I saw them sitting on your easel and thought what the hell let’s give this a go.” He softly chuckles, running his hands up and down my sweat laced back.

“Feel free to use my brushes like that anytime. That was fucking amazing, Ryder. I’ve never come like that before.” I can’t even fight back the smile creeping across my lips. I always knew sex with Ryder would be great. I mean the girls don’t call him hurricane for nothing, but I didn’t think it would be even close to what he just did.

I feel Ryder rubbing his cock between my wet folds. Someone is definitely ready for his happy ending. I start to sit up, my body still feeling a little wobbly.

“Turn around,” Ryder growls. “I want to watch this ass while you ride my cock.” His hand cracks across my ass, forcing me to yelp. I like this demanding side of Ryder more and more.

I do as I am told and turn my back to him. Giving my ass a wiggle just for him before I slowly lower myself down his impressive length.
Fuck, his dick could make porn stars jealous
, I think as he stretches and fills me. His grabs two handfuls of my ass, rolling my hips along him. He feels so God damn good inside me. I could stay in this bed with him forever.

As I find my rhythm, I feel like a fucking goddess. The more control I release to Ryder the freer I’m beginning to feel.

“Son of a bitch!” Edwards yells, slamming another ten dollar bill on top of the stack I’ve already taken from him. That makes for sixty bucks now. He should have learned three shots ago not to bet against the best. “How the hell did you manage to get six shots clean between the eyes in a fucking row? I’ve never seen anyone in my seven years on SWAT pull that off.”

“Dumb luck, I guess.” I shrug my shoulders, playing it off cool, even though I know I’m the best. Clicking the safety on my rifle, I gaze prideful at my handy work—six GSWs right between the eyes of every target on the range. It feels damn good to finally fire a gun again. After three weeks in the cage, I’ve been going stir crazy. I never thought I would ever admit this, but I actually miss being stuck in a patrol car on the highway watching for speeding commuters. At least, I was out doing something, not stuck behind a chain link fence repairing guns.

It’s the first warm spring day of the season. The afternoon sun is hanging high in the sky and the air is thick with the scent of pine and the remains of last night’s rain storm. It’s the perfect day to be out on the range blowing off some much-needed steam and taking all of Edwards’ money.

“Have you ever thought about joining SWAT? We could really use your skills on the sniper team,” Edwards says while lining up his next shot.

“No way, I’d ever work for the
‘SWAT Nazi.’
” I step back and watch Edwards take his shot, letting out a hardy laugh when he misses the target completely.

“God damn it!” In a frustrated rage, he throws his rifle onto the table and punches the air.

“Wow, Edwards you couldn’t hit a ping pong ball through a hula hoop. They seriously have you on sniper duty, maybe I should join SWAT?” I laugh shaking my head.

“Fuck you, man.” He picks up his rifle and loads a round into the chamber. Lining up the shot, he squeezes the trigger, the bullet sails across the field hitting the target square between the eyes.

Bastard finally did it.

“One out of seven. I would say that was good, but my momma taught me not to lie,” I tease.

I don’t have to see his eyes behind his sunglasses to know he’s giving me an evil glare.

“Not all of us can be blessed with talent like yours, asshole. You really should consider joining SWAT. Peterson is out, they fired his ass because of that stunt he pulled, throwing his own guy out a window during a training session. They’re bringing in some big shot from Los Angeles, to turn around the SWAT division. LA SWAT is one of the best in the country, thanks to Sergeant Bryant, and I think with you on the team, Seattle SWAT could be a powerhouse. Do you really want to be stuck writing tickets for the rest of your career? Just think about it.”

On the drive home, I can still hear Edwards in my head. Growing up, all I ever wanted to be was a cop. I live and breathe the law. It wasn’t until Brian left for the ranks of detective, that I started questioning whether being a cop was really what I wanted to do. Maybe SWAT is the answer? Some of my most thrilling memories are the times Brian and I saw real action. The adrenaline pumping, the thrill of the chase kind of action. With my current record, SWAT might not even be a possibility, though.

I make my way up the stairs from the garage to my apartment. The moment I step onto my floor I can smell something burning. The closer I get to my door the stronger the smell gets. Upon opening the door a cloud of black smoke billows out.
Oh shit, Lucky’s trying to cook.

I drop my duffel bag on the floor and race to the kitchen, grabbing the fire extinguisher off the wall on my way. I find Lucky in the kitchen using the sprayer on the sink in an attempt to put out the burning chicken—maybe a ham, whatever it was it’s burnt to shit now. I hose the burning carcass down with the extinguisher, then dump the remains of dinner into the sink and turn off the oven. Which I see was set to broil, no wonder that bastard went up in flames.

“I’m sorry, Ryder. I was just trying to make you dinner and the next thing I know my chicken is in flames and I burnt the mashed potatoes. It’s just a huge mess.” She slumps down to the floor, resting her face in her hands.

I kneel down in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face. “Lucky, that was very sweet of you, but you and I both know you can’t cook for shit.” I stifle a laugh. “You forget I was there for the great mac and cheese debacle of two thousand and three. When you nearly burnt down my parents’ kitchen.”

“I know, but I see what Brooke does for Brian and I know Lucy would have dinner on the table every night for Colton. And I thought that’s how I needed to be for you.”

“Lucky, that’s who Brooke and Lucy are, but that’s not you. I don’t want or expect you to cook and clean for me because let’s face it I can do it better than you. Being the happy housewife, who greets me at the door with a drink is not who you are. But if you did greet me at the door naked, now I wouldn’t protest to that.”

Mid-eye roll, I see she can’t fight back the smile tugging at her lips.

“Jesus, Ryder, you fucking horn dog.” Her smile erupting over her face.

“Just knowing I get to come home to you every night and have you in my bed, not only makes me hard but incredibly happy.” I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll help clean up this mess then we can order out. Sound good?”

“That sounds perfect.” She smiles as I help her up off the floor. “So how was your day, dear?” She softly giggles.

“It was pretty boring until Edwards and I hit up the gun range after lunch. I took him for all he had.” I reach into my pocket and pull out the wad of cash. A hundred bucks in all.

“Looks like Dylan is buying us dinner tonight.” She snickers.

“He learned his lesson not to mess with the best. How was your day?” I ask, setting the pot of burnt mashed potatoes in the sink.

“I think I’m going a little stir crazy being cooped up in this apartment all day. I actually thought I could cook. I think it’s time I get a job. I know Bridget will give me a job back at the club in a heartbeat.”

Not the fucking strip club.

Anything but that damn club.

I have never liked Lucky stripping. I know she did it as a necessity in San Francisco, but she doesn’t need to keep doing that. I can take care of her, so she can paint and teach art and not have to worry about paying the bills. She has too much potential to be throwing her life away stripping.

“What about teaching art classes again?”

“I would love to, but the art schools around here aren’t hiring right now. I need to do something before I lose my mind. This is a guaranteed paycheck,” she replies.

“What about helping Lucy at the coffee shop? She’s opening that second location, so she’s going to need some help.”

Just imagining Lucky dancing and taking her clothes off for anyone but me, makes me sick to my stomach. I can’t even wrap my head around why she wants to go back to stripping.

“What’s your problem with me stripping? You didn’t seem to have an issue with it before?” Her smile fades, her eyes narrowing at me, and there’s that annoyed look Lucky gets when people try to tell her what to do.

“Look, I just don’t like the idea of you dancing naked for those creepy assholes. I never have. You’re so much better than stripping. You could sell your paintings… or shit, be a fucking tattoo artist. Do fucking anything but work at that damn club.”

She pushes me away and stumbles around the kitchen island. Generally, when I confront her on her shit, she runs for her own apartment, but now she has no place to go. For once, she has to face the music head on.

Lucky starts walking toward the door, each step slower than the next when she realizes she has nowhere to hide. She spins around on her heels. Her green eyes dark, angry and searing into me. A look I’m all too familiar with, I’ve just never been on the receiving end of it before. That pissed off look could make a bear run for its life.

“Where do you get off trying to tell me what I can and cannot do?” she sneers. “This is my goddamn life, not yours. You can make demands of me all you want while we are in bed, but you will not tell me how to live my life.” She walks back over to me and stands up on her tiptoes getting right in my face. “I have let far too many people dictate my every move, and I’m not going to let you of all people walk all over me. I am going to get my job back whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, you do what you want, Nadine, like you always do. God forbid you
ever
take anyone else’s feelings into consideration,” I snap back.

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means, the only person you ever think about is yourself. I get you went through some shit with your parents and that asshole Jackson. But I’m not them, and I don’t deserve to be punished for what they did to you. All I want is to take care of you and make it so you don’t have to strip anymore. But that apparently makes me an asshole.”

Shifting the weight on my feet, I walk around her and head for the door. I can’t deal with her anymore. I need a drink before I say something I might regret. I love this woman, but she’s one of the most infuriating human beings I have ever met.

“Where the hell do you think you are going? We aren’t done talking about this Ryder,” she calls out from behind me.

“Sorry Nadine, but I’m done.”