Isn’t that the truth? You don’t trust anyone?
No. Being a braggart was a worse sin than nondisclosure, in his opinion.
After he registered to bid, they walked along the tables piled with stuff. Junk, mostly. Some dishes and housewares, but Bran was distracted, searching for what he’d driven all this way for. Fishing supplies.
The catalog hadn’t given a detailed description of what was for sale beyond the generic wording “fishing items.” But Bran had done some research, and apparently the old man who’d died had spent his life tying flies. So Bran was highly curious about the supplies he’d collected over the years.
Harper wandered off and Bran hit the mother lode about two tables in. Bags and boxes of every supply imaginable. He slapped on his poker face and kept walking, stopping at the next table over to scour the boxes of Boys’ Life from the 1950s. Not that he gave a shit about crusty old magazines, but he wanted to keep an eye on other auction patrons who might be interested in the fishing supplies.
A few browsed. No one very closely. He focused on the auctioneer and the next set of items up for bid. A box of glassware, including antique perfume bottles.
Harper had a few of those scattered around her place. If he bid on that lot, in the guise of buying her a gift, it wouldn’t appear that he was waiting around to bid on the rare fly-tying supplies.
The goal at auctions was to hide your interest in the items you wanted to buy. If you didn’t, some bastards would bid against you and drive the price higher just because they could.
He wandered to the auction stand. Not a big crowd, which could be a bad thing. Knowing the order of the auction meant some people didn’t show up until right before their coveted item went up on the auction block.
The bidding started low and stayed low. The entire thing lasted around two minutes. For twenty-five bucks he picked up the entire box of Depression-era glassware.
Bran bid on a scythe and lost. He waited a couple of items and bid on an ugly coffee table and lost.
Since he hadn’t seen Harper for a while, he went looking for her. He froze, watching her leave the concession wagon with an ice cream cone. A vanilla cone.
Was she trying to make a point?
He’d toned down the kink the last couple of days, preferring to take her to his bed and make love to her body to body, face to face. Having sex with her multiple times a day in the past month had allowed him to build his stamina—now he could f**k her for an hour, wringing at least three orgasms from her before finding his own release.
His mouth went dry as her lips enclosed the swirled creamy curlicue in the cone and sucked. Then she licked along one side, turned the cone, and licked again. Another couple of swipes with her hot little tongue and her lips were coated with the sticky whiteness.
Jesus. His c**k jerked, trying to get out of his pants.
Harper took enjoyment of her ice cream cone to a whole other plane. When she lapped around the base with the flat of her tongue and then jammed the stubby ice cream entirely into her mouth, keeping her lips stretched around the cone as she sucked, he almost came. Right then.
The woman had no idea she was torturing him.
But she would.
As soon as she finished her treat and wiped her mouth, Bran approached her. She smiled. “Hey. I wondered what happened to you.”
“I bought these. I need to put them in the trailer.”
Just as he expected, she fell into step beside him. “See anything else you want?”
Hell, yeah.
Bran dug out his keys and unlocked the trailer doors. He gestured for her to go in first and he followed a beat later, closing the doors behind them.
“Holy cow, it’s dark in here.”
He set the box on the floor and clicked on the flashlight hanging from a rope on the ceiling.
“Oh. That’s better. What are we—”
Bran’s mouth cut off her question. He kissed her hungrily, her mouth cold and sweet from the ice cream. He broke the kiss and said, “On your knees, Harper.”
She blinked at him with confusion. “What?”
“I saw you licking that vanilla ice cream cone and it got me so f**kin’ hard I can’t see straight. Since you caused the problem, you get to be the solution. Now. On your knees.” He undid his belt, pushed his zipper down and yanked at his clothing until his jeans and boxers were around the tops of his boots. He spread his legs as wide as his jeans allowed.
Wordlessly, Harper slid down the wall until she was on her knees.
Without preamble, Bran fisted his c**k in his right hand and painted her lips with the wet tip. “You’ve got me so worked up this ain’t gonna be slow and easy.”
She opened her mouth to speak and Bran shoved his c**k fully inside.
When she gagged he waited until the reflex passed.
“Put your hands on me, ’cause you’ll need something to hold on to.”
As soon as her cool fingers gripped his hips, he braced his forearm on the wall and curled his left hand around the right side of her face, holding her head in place against the wall.
He rocked into her mouth, over and over. Wetness, heat, darkness, suction. So goddamn good. His responses were primal grunts and groans as he f**ked that hot, sassy mouth like he owned it.
He thrust into her so deeply he felt the bite of her teeth at the base of his cock. That familiar static charge began at the top of his head and zipped down his spine to his groin, pulling his sac up. He was done. His shaft contracted, sending out a wave of ecstasy with every surge of seed.
Harper didn’t move beyond sucking and swallowing. But she couldn’t, since he’d pinned her head against the wall.