Read Online Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 by Katie Porter - Free Book Online
Authors: Katie Porter
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to Canada was supposed to have been a routine training exercise. He’d only been there to fill his buddy’s slot. Liam “Dash” Christiansen had requested leave to stay home and patch up his crumbling marriage. Eric had been lucky to survive after the way he’d punched through the F-16’s canopy, out of a cockpit filled with fire. His parachute had caught on a stand of pines then slammed him into a rock pile.
Leaving him completely marked.
“You want me to ask you how many sugar daddies you’ve had?”
Her shoulders snapped into hard blades. “Who says I have?”
The line of her jaw could turn fierce and square. Good to know. He snapped the shot, then another quick, rude flurry for good measure. This was Trish. No games. Pissed and turned on at the same time. He liked the mix.
Her eyes narrowed. “You take that picture. Not when I lick girl come off my fingers.”
“That picture was you .”
“I haven’t had sugar daddies.”
“No matter to me.”
“I haven’t.” She sat. Her knees fell open naturally, crossed with one pale sole of her foot up on her knee. She played idly with her cunt. Her fingers were gracefully long, like those of a pianist. Although seemingly artless, her expression had turned cloudy. “I’ve never taken cash from a man. Only…presents. I know it probably seems like semantics—I’ve been told that before—but it matters. To me.”
He snapped off another picture, to save and examine more closely later. “I tell you what. Tell me your biggest present, and I’ll tell you the number of women.”
Her gaze snapped back to the camera lens and took control of the moment.
“A car.” She grinned, as if to downplay the importance. “But it was used, an old beater. Hardly counts to some girls I know. I sold it to pay for my first semester of tuition. Your turn.”
Three pictures in a row. He was getting impatient. Couldn’t help it. He liked it when she was tuned in to him, into the pressure that built between them. “Three.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Bull crap.”
“Truth.”
“You’ve had more girls than that.”
“Sure. Photographed some and fucked more.” He snapped off one more shot. The flash blared white. “But not the two together. That’s only happened with three women.”
“Huh. I like that.”
“And I like it when you’re surprised.”
“But you love this. You’re probably three seconds from throwing me down on this bed. Your prick’s so hard I’m amazed you can talk. I can hear it, you know. In your voice. You’ve got an amazing voice, especially when you’re turned on.”
She crawled forward on the bed, sat on the edge and tucked her heels against the bottom frame. Her knees were elevated, her whole pussy bare to his gaze. She dipped inside. A little more. Then out, circling, pinching her clit. Her ribs hitched high on a gasping moan. He snapped picture after picture.
“You should talk more,” she said between moans. “I like your voice.”
He smiled. “Talk about what? How I want to bone the hell out of you? How your pretty snatch turns my brain inside out?”
“Yes. That.”
Her fingers stroked. She caught a nipple between her fingers and pinched. A little mean with the pleasure. He could give her rough. He was skilled at that, after all. All the sweet shit that was supposed to come afterwards—not so much. Commitment? With what free time? With what stores of energy?
Trish was lost in her own head. Her eyes had drifted closed. Head back. She was pouring pleasure over herself, with shudders and jerks. She moaned. Her eyes snapped open. She looked dead at him, in the moment with him. The skin over her cheeks flushed. This was a window into what she must do all alone in her bed, when she was bored by men offering gilded versions of the world.
“Jesus,” she moaned. “I’m going to come. There. Now. Take the fucking picture…” Her words dissolved into a groan that rocked down his spine and took hold of his balls.
She
Leaving him completely marked.
“You want me to ask you how many sugar daddies you’ve had?”
Her shoulders snapped into hard blades. “Who says I have?”
The line of her jaw could turn fierce and square. Good to know. He snapped the shot, then another quick, rude flurry for good measure. This was Trish. No games. Pissed and turned on at the same time. He liked the mix.
Her eyes narrowed. “You take that picture. Not when I lick girl come off my fingers.”
“That picture was you .”
“I haven’t had sugar daddies.”
“No matter to me.”
“I haven’t.” She sat. Her knees fell open naturally, crossed with one pale sole of her foot up on her knee. She played idly with her cunt. Her fingers were gracefully long, like those of a pianist. Although seemingly artless, her expression had turned cloudy. “I’ve never taken cash from a man. Only…presents. I know it probably seems like semantics—I’ve been told that before—but it matters. To me.”
He snapped off another picture, to save and examine more closely later. “I tell you what. Tell me your biggest present, and I’ll tell you the number of women.”
Her gaze snapped back to the camera lens and took control of the moment.
“A car.” She grinned, as if to downplay the importance. “But it was used, an old beater. Hardly counts to some girls I know. I sold it to pay for my first semester of tuition. Your turn.”
Three pictures in a row. He was getting impatient. Couldn’t help it. He liked it when she was tuned in to him, into the pressure that built between them. “Three.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “Bull crap.”
“Truth.”
“You’ve had more girls than that.”
“Sure. Photographed some and fucked more.” He snapped off one more shot. The flash blared white. “But not the two together. That’s only happened with three women.”
“Huh. I like that.”
“And I like it when you’re surprised.”
“But you love this. You’re probably three seconds from throwing me down on this bed. Your prick’s so hard I’m amazed you can talk. I can hear it, you know. In your voice. You’ve got an amazing voice, especially when you’re turned on.”
She crawled forward on the bed, sat on the edge and tucked her heels against the bottom frame. Her knees were elevated, her whole pussy bare to his gaze. She dipped inside. A little more. Then out, circling, pinching her clit. Her ribs hitched high on a gasping moan. He snapped picture after picture.
“You should talk more,” she said between moans. “I like your voice.”
He smiled. “Talk about what? How I want to bone the hell out of you? How your pretty snatch turns my brain inside out?”
“Yes. That.”
Her fingers stroked. She caught a nipple between her fingers and pinched. A little mean with the pleasure. He could give her rough. He was skilled at that, after all. All the sweet shit that was supposed to come afterwards—not so much. Commitment? With what free time? With what stores of energy?
Trish was lost in her own head. Her eyes had drifted closed. Head back. She was pouring pleasure over herself, with shudders and jerks. She moaned. Her eyes snapped open. She looked dead at him, in the moment with him. The skin over her cheeks flushed. This was a window into what she must do all alone in her bed, when she was bored by men offering gilded versions of the world.
“Jesus,” she moaned. “I’m going to come. There. Now. Take the fucking picture…” Her words dissolved into a groan that rocked down his spine and took hold of his balls.
She
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