Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) (10 page)

Fifteen minutes later, I walk back out into the living room and
find
him looking at a picture on the wall, smirking to himself. It’s Gwen and I one summer when we were six, at my parents’ home in the Hamptons. We’re holding popsicles in our hands, faces sticky with red syrup, grinning big, toothless grins. I looked so happy, so carefree. It was before my life changed forever.

He turns to me and gestures his head at the photo. “You were a cute kid…What happened?” I scowl at him, fighting back a smile. “You’re stunning. Even with that constipated look you got there.”

I can’t hold it back. I burst in a fit of laughter, snorting.

“You asshole.”

“No, you asshole. Me Gunnar.”

I laugh again. “Are we going for a ride? Or are you going to keep bustin’ out jokes?”

“Yeah, yeah, baby doll.” He walks up to me, a bit of a swagger to his step. “I’m taking you for a ride.”

“Where are we?” I ask as he pulls me down a pitch-black hallway.
We came into the building through the lobby, but I hadn’t noticed any signs. There was no one else to ask. Who knew if we were even allowed to be here. For all I know, we just broke in.

“Get out of your head, Lace,” he comments, tugging me along through darkness. I can’t even see him. I don’t know how he can see where we’re going.

“Did we just break in here?”

He laughs. “No, we’re all good, baby.”

We stop suddenly and I hear the sound of metal grating against metal and a click. We start to move again then he halts me in my tracks.

“Wait here,” he orders then disappears.

I can hear movement but it grows faint. “Gunnar?” I become anxious. “Gunn?”

The lights come on and I find him standing on the other side of a large glass window, leaning his weight forward as he grins at me. I look around me and realize I’m standing in the middle of a recording studio filled with instruments and microphones.

“I thought we could hang here,” he says through a mic, allowing me to hear him through speakers.

“This is really awesome!” I smile at him until my cheeks hurt.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says with a soft, crooked smirk. It’s endearing and odd for him. He isn’t a coy smile kind of guy.

“You did good.”

He walks out to me, swaggering really. His shoulders sway and dip with every unhurried step. He has a way about his gait. It’s languid and confident. “I was thinking we could finish our little interview.”

“Um, I think I got all I need for the article.”

He sits on the garnet-hued couch against the back wall and pats the plush cushion beside him. “Come sit.”

I move over to him and he grabs my hand, yanking me onto his lap, shifting my leg over so I straddle him..

“What do you want to talk about?” I brush my fingers through his beard.

“I want to talk about us.”

I grab a fistful of the course hair, holding him in place. “What about us?”

“Tell me about this ex of yours.”

“Why would you bring him up?” I snap out, tensing.

“Because I want to get to know you, and relationships aren’t the worst place to start.”

“Well, he wasn’t always an asshole. My mother loved him. As soon as I brought him home, she was talking about marriage. But, about a year later, once we moved in together, he became critical of everything I did, kinda controlling. He wasn’t always bad, but when he was, he was horrific.”

“What did she think about the breakup?”

I tilt my head, examining his face. I wonder why he’s so interested in me. I thought he just wanted a quick fuck every now and then. I didn’t realize the position came with an interview and background check beforehand.

I shrug and say, “She wasn’t happy. My mom means well, but sometimes she’s so focused on her own agenda, she forgets I’m human, with my own ideas of how I want my life to go.”

“That must be difficult.”

“It can be.” I nod, staring away from him.

“Do you still love him?”

Wow. He went right for the kill, didn’t he?

“Things aren’t always black and white.”

“Do you still love him?” he repeats.

“No, okay? I don’t love him. I haven’t loved him in a long time. I was relieved when I called it off. I just wish he hadn’t been such a fucking prick.”

“Tell me about your parents.”

Jeez. He’s firing on all cylinders.

I squirm in his lap, and he reaches up, running his fingers through my hair from root to ends, pushing it out of my face.

“My mom is your typical, Fifth Avenue, Chanel-wearing, let’s do lunch type.” He sets his hands on my hips, making it hard to think straight. I pause, having to fight through the fog his touch puts me under, but I somehow manage.

“She has always wanted me to settle down with the perfect Wall Street husband, in our perfect Central Park adjacent penthouse, with our perfect two point five kids. My whole life was about grooming for a future I never wanted.”

Memories of growing up around my mother float through my head, taking me somewhere far away.

“A lady sits up straight, Lacey,” I murmur out vacantly. “A lady never fidgets, Lacey. A lady always speaks in a gentle voice, Lacey. A lady doesn’t get to make up her own mind, Lacey.”

He grips the back of my neck, forcing me to look at him, dragging me out of my thoughts. When I glance up at him, he stares deep into my eyes, searching them for something. Then his hand shifts to the side of my face, running his thumb over my bottom lip.

“What about your dad?” he asks, his voice low. “What’s he like?”

I glimpse into his clear blues, amazed by how attentive he’s been.
The dinner, hanging out with Gwen, taking me here, it’s all more than I had expected. And the fact that he wants to know me beyond the bedroom makes him all the more alluring. It also confuses the hell out of me. I thought that’s what we had agreed this was sex, unadulterated, hanging from the ceilings sex without attachment. Maybe when he said he wanted something different, he truly meant more. Or…maybe I’m putting way too much into all this, and he’s just trying to be polite before screwing me senseless.

I realize I’ve slipped back into my head when I notice the look on his face. He’s searching my eyes for any sign of life.

What did he ask again? Oh, right, my father.

“He died when I was six,” I stutter, tripping on the words. “I remember he was kind and gentle. But it’s hard to remember everything about him. Sometimes, his face is just a blur to me until I look at his picture again. It makes me feel guilty. Like, if I forget him, he really is gone forever.”

“Lace, I’m sorry,” he purrs, grabbing my hands and interlocking his fingers with mine.

“It’s fine.” I clear my throat. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Your parents, what are they like?”

“My old man was a drunk,” he says, as if it doesn’t bother him, as if it were just a mundane fact. “My mom, the free spirit, lives with her new husband back in Arizona. But I only see her once a year or so.”

Was a drunk? New husband? Does this mean he’s not in the picture anymore?

“Is that where you grew up, Arizona?”

“Yup, Phoenix.” He wraps his arms about my waist, our hands still linked, restraining mine behind my back. “But I left home when I was fourteen and moved around a lot.”

I wonder why he would run away at such a young age.
Was it his father? Was it because his mother remarried?

“What about…?”

“What about you?” He cuts me off. “Did you grow up in New York?”

Apparently, he doesn’t want to talk about his past. Playing along, I reply, “Yes, born and raised. I even attended NYU.”

His brow pops up. “Nice.”

I look off into nothingness, thinking about the eve of my graduation. I shake my head, trying to wipe away the thought. “My mom wanted me to attend Harvard.”

“Why did you choose music journalism as a career?”

“What’s with the inquisition?” I glare at him probingly. “I thought that was my job.”

He laughs and tightens his arms about my waist, holding me closer, my hands still locked behind me. “I could just flip you over on this couch and take you from behind if you prefer.”

I suck on my upper lip, attempting not to giggle like some schoolgirl. His crassness still throws me off.

“Come on, Lace.” He jiggles his legs, bouncing me around a bit, as if trying to shake the answer from me.

“Well, I’ve always had a deep connection to music, and I loved to write, so it seemed like a perfect fit. My mother nearly had an aneurism when I told her I wanted to study journalism. Her idea of college was to find a husband. That’s why she wanted me to attend Harvard. She wanted me to find a Harvard man like Holden. So I guess she got her wish for a little while anyway.”

He gives me a look, curiosity I think.

“Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom; she wants the best for me.”

“But she doesn’t know what’s best for
you.
”

My eyes shift to his, large with pleased surprise. He understands me. Holden used to tell me I was whining, to stop acting like a spoiled brat, to fall in line like a good girl. A puppet, really. Gunnar, he’s different. He’s more than what you see. He sees more in me.

“I want to do this, Gunn, us, or whatever this is between us. I want it.”

“Me, too, baby doll.” His hand grips the back of my neck, pulling me into his face until our lips play across each other. “I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman as bad as I want to fuck you.”

I can taste his breath on my tongue, a mix of mint gum and cigarettes. Normally, the smell of smoke makes me sick, but on him, it’s delicious.

“Yes,” I hiss out, shutting my eyes as I take in his raw words.

“One more question, Lace.”

“Mm hm.”

His fingers move to the zipper of my jeans, ripping the flap down. “Was he good to you? Did he satisfy you?” He shoves his hand under my panties, his fingers greedily moving between my saturated lips, hitting the spot he’s searching for with exact precision. “Did he know how you like to be touched? Did he know how you like to be fucked, baby?”

He runs his finger over the hard knot, flicking it just right. I throw my head back and let out a gasp.

“No,” I breathe out.

“I know how to touch you, Lace. I know how you need to be fucked.” He grips his other hand in my hair and drives my face forward, commanding me to look into his eyes. “I’m going to satisfy you, baby.”

He slowly teases my lips with his, taking his time to entice me, charging every nerve ending until they tingle with anticipation. I whimper against his mouth when he hits my clit again and again, repeatedly making contact with his target. I rest my forehead against his, breathing hard against his lips, which he hovers over mine just enough so they graze. He doesn’t kiss me, heightening my need as his fingers work magic. Obviously, he would be good with his hands, fingering a guitar majority of the time will do that.

He keeps working me, quickening his pace until his fingers are moving so fast, my clit feels like it’s vibrating. He plays me like his damn guitar, as if he knows my body just as well. I breathe erratically into his mouth, my body winding up for release until one last heavenly stroke. I cum so hard, my head flies back and I shake uncontrollably.

He grasps the back of my neck and smashes my lips onto his, soaking up my cries.

When he pulls away, removing his hand from my pants, he lifts his fingers to his mouth and licks me off. He moans as he tastes me.

“Damn, baby, that’s the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.”

I feel exposed, his blunt words cutting through my sexual daze like a knife. I begin to wonder what he tastes like. I bet it’s sensational.

I climb off him, sliding down between his legs until I’m on my knees in front of him. I set my hands on his hard, lean thighs and look up into his teal, come-hither eyes.

“You going to suck me off, baby doll?”

I bow my head as I rub my hands up his thighs to his fly, opening it leisurely. He sinks deeper onto the couch, pushing his hips toward me, giving me easier access inside his tight-fitting jeans. The tats on his leg peek out from the frayed rips, tempting me to lick them thoroughly.