Harmony and High Heels (Fort Worth Wranglers 2)

“Fuck, Harmony,” he groaned, his hands fisting in her hair as she got her first taste of him. He was delicious, and it was her turn to tease, her turn to swirl her tongue down and around him until he was breathing in great shudders, his lower body arching off the chair, desperate for something more. Desperate for everything she had to give him and more. “Have mercy.”

But there was no mercy in her, nothing but the driving need to take him as high as he had taken her. She slipped her mouth down over the hard length of him, lingered with her lips at the base for a moment, then pulled back with a long, lingering swipe of her tongue.

“Don’t tease, baby.” It was a gasp, sweat glistening on his body as he shuddered beneath her. “Please, just do it.”

But she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready for it to end yet, wasn’t ready to see his passion-glazed features go lax with completion. She wanted him as needy as she had been—and still was. She had to have him as desperate for her as she was for him.

And so she continued her ministrations, slipping and sliding her mouth over him. Relinquishing his cock for a moment, she slipped farther down his body to take his balls in her mouth, to lick the space behind them with hard strokes of her tongue that had him arching and pleading much as she had done only minutes before.

The power was a beautiful thing. The understanding that she could drive this beautiful specimen of manhood to insanity and beyond was a joy that she never wanted to give up.

“Do it.” His voice was harsh, his hands tight and unyielding in her hair as he pulled her up. He was beyond gentleness, beyond thinking, and she loved him this way. As she licked her way back up to where he wanted her, she noticed the clear drop of fluid on the head of his cock and nearly whimpered in desire. Finally, she had driven him beyond control, to the brink of an orgasm he refused to take without her.

But the choice wasn’t his anymore. She was in control now and his body would give her what she demanded.

Licking the pre-ejaculate off, she dawdled for a few long moments over the sexy length of him as he writhed beneath her, his hands in her hair a snare she had no wish to escape. “You have to … Harmony, please … I can’t … baby—”

There it was, the note of surrender and desperation she had been waiting for—the same desperation that he had evoked in her time and again. Even as he’d done it, she’d wanted to give him the same thing, and she was thrilled she’d been able to. Thrilled that he’d let her.

With a secret grin, she swallowed him whole, sucking him all the way inside of her. She used her mouth and tongue and throat on him, lightly scraped her teeth across his great length. It was that moment of combined pleasure and pain that did it, that sent him careening over the edge he’d been clinging to with battered fingers.

With a hoarse shout he arched up, thrusting again and again against her seeking mouth. And then he was pouring into her with long, brutal jerks o

f his hips and she was loving every second of it.

His orgasm went on and on and on until nothing existed besides him and her and the fire that burned between them.

When it was over and Dalton finally pulled out, he was still semi-hard, his strong body trembling as wave after wave of sensation swept through him. She held him as he recovered, her head resting on his stomach, her arm around a powerful thigh.

They stayed that way for long moments, and a sense of peace she’d never felt before stole through her. Her body was content, her mind at rest. For a woman who’d spent so much of her time with her mind racing and her defenses up, it was an incredible feeling of peace.

Her eyes started to close, and then he was shifting, pulling her up and into his arms and walking her to her bedroom, where he tucked her under the covers before climbing into bed beside her.

She cuddled up to him until she was sheltered in the curve of his arm, then slid into sleep, perfectly happy for the first time in a very, very long time.

* * *

Chapter 15

* * *

The next morning, Harmony shrugged into her T-shirt with a ridiculous, well-satisfied grin on her face. Dalton was one hell of a lover, no doubt about it. Not that she was about to tell him that. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was going soft. Even if she might be—just a little.

“Getting dressed?” He sat up in bed, deliciously naked. “I’m not nearly done with you.”

That’s what she was afraid of. Even more, she was afraid that she wasn’t done with him.

She grabbed the TV remote and leaned against the headboard. “I want to catch the news. See what Dallas–Fort Worth thinks about the little incident last night.” It was six seventeen, so she turned on the TV, hit the DVR button, highlighted the news, and hit start over. From there, she only had a couple minutes to wait—just through the murders and other violent crimes.

Fortunately for her—and her reputation—last night had been a slow night on the murder front.

“Live and local, this is Daily Fort Worth, I’m Haley Lester.” The platinum blonde sat on a green sofa and looked directly into the camera. “We come back from our break with a truly disheartening story. It looks like Dr. Lyric Wright-Montgomery, wife of our own Forth Worth Wranglers former quarterback and current offensive coordinator, Heath Montgomery, is quickly spiraling out of control. Her odd behavior was first noted two nights ago, when she caused, and participated in, a bar brawl at a local biker bar. But she’s obviously been decompensating, because we have footage of her, from just last night, outside of the house she shares with her new husband. Despite being married to one of the sexiest, and richest, men to ever play in the NFL, she spent last night parading around in a bikini asking for a dinner date and wreaking general havoc in one of Fort Worth’s quietest and most exclusive areas. Now we go to Tawny Shivley for more details.”

The scene changed, and another platinum blonde nodded into the camera. She held a microphone and appeared to be standing outside the gated neighborhood. “That’s right, Haley. Neighbors report that at approximately five twelve yesterday afternoon, Dr. Lyric Wright-Montgomery walked out the front door of her house in a gold-lamé bikini, carrying a sign asking for a date for dinner. Someone snapped a picture and hashtagged her as #HotGirlNeedsDate, and from there, things went viral—and out of control. Men rushed to get to the very street I’m standing on, and beneath me you can see remnants of broken glass, left over from the many car collisions that occurred due to the distraction. I’m told that in addition to multiple collisions, several fights broke out, resulting in thousands in property damage, and neighbors reported hearing gunshots fired. This occurred only days after Lyric and Heath were spotted in a biker bar fighting. I think it’s safe to say that Heath and Lyric, America’s sweetheart couple, might be calling it quits very soon.”

Harmony’s head was going to explode. It was going to explode or, at the very least, spin around on her shoulders as she spit pea soup everywhere.

Because this wasn’t happening. This simply couldn’t be happening. She’d been trying to ruin her own reputation, not destroy her sister’s.