Harmony and High Heels

  “Dalton.” It was a squeal. A protest. An invitation for him to do whatever he wanted. For him to do everything he wanted.

  “Do you know,” he whispered as he dipped one finger into the mound of whipped cream. “I always loved finger painting as a child.”

  “Finger painting?” She could barely form the words, all of her energy focused on the calloused finger currently drawing figure eights on her stomach.

  “Yes. I loved to make designs with the paint, to create something beautiful where only chaos had been.” His finger dipped lower, across her mons and down, until he was painting her pussy with the whipped cream. Circling her clit with it and then moving down to rub the sweet stuff over her labia.

  “Of course, you’re already so beautiful it makes my head spin,” he murmured as he applied more and more cream to her aching sex. “But there’s something to be said for making a little treat for myself, isn’t there?”

  She whimpered—the only sound she could make, as rationale speech was suddenly beyond her.

  “Isn’t there, Harmony?” His finger dipped inside of her, once, twice, and she nearly came from the contrast of hot and cold against the walls of her vagina. His burning-hot finger covered in the cold whipped cream was taking her higher than she’d ever been before. He was scrambling her brain, making her crazy, and she was loving every second of it.

  “Harmony?” he murmured again, delving a little deeper with his cream-covered finger. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes,” she whispered through dry lips, not knowing—and not caring—what she was agreeing to. All that she had, all that she was, was focused on this man and the wicked, wonderful things he was doing to her body. Things she’d never been willing to let another man do to her. Things that made her vulnerable and more than a little weak.

  And then he was leaning down, his tongue licking the cream from her stomach like she was a piece of fine china. He traced patterns on her quivering stomach, and whatever limited thoughts she’d managed to string together dried up and she could think no more. Only feel.

  She moaned, a soft, breathless sigh that seemed to snap his control. And he was on her, his body covering hers, his shoulders flexing as he trailed hot, moist kisses down her body. He followed the trail he’d painted with the whipped cream, his talented tongue doing things to her that she had only read about before. He was everywhere, and as his tongue thrust inside of her, she lost the last remnants of control she’d been clinging to so desperately.

  Her elbows went out from under her, and she sank back onto the table—collapsed really—and let him have his wicked, wicked way with her.

  And what a way it was. He played her like a finely tuned instrument, loved her in those moments like she was the only woman he’d ever had. He was endlessly curious, unbelievably giving, and just a little bit kinky as his mouth brought her to one whipped cream orgasm after another. And through it all, he continued to explore her body, taking the time to learn what she liked, what she loved, and what drove her absolutely insane.

  She was beginning to think everything about this man was going to drive her insane.

  He licked her in long strokes, again and again, like she was the sweetest ice cream he’d ever tasted and he could never get enough. His tongue explored every crease, lingered for long minutes at her clit until she was clawing the table in search of relief.

  But there was none, only more of the torturous pleasure that went on and on. His thumb pressed against her from behind, entering her at the same time his tongue thrust inside her pussy like a spear.

  She screamed, bucked frantically against him, rode the orgasm out as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her. And still he wasn’t done—his face was buried between her thighs, his lips and tongue and breath coming at her again and again until sanity was only an abstract concept. Until the world around her ceased to exist and Dalton was the only steady thing in it.

  She was going beyond individual orgasms to a place where the overwhelming pleasure went on and on and on. She twisted desperately, tugged at his shoulders, begged for him to end the torture with the satisfaction of his thick cock within her. But he only laughed and continued to push her and push her until she was sobbing, mindless, an animal driven by the sweet, hot edge of pleasure-pain and the promise of completion.

  Her body was no longer her own. It was under his complete control, enthralled, desperate, dying. In those moments she would have followed him anywhere, done anything, been anyone he wanted her to be. It was a scary thought, considering how she’d spent so much of her life hiding her true self, but the fear was mitigated by the fact that he only wanted to bring her joy—incredible, mind-boggling joy. And that was the biggest turn-on of them all.

  Dalton spiked his tongue, boggled her brain, as he swirled it inside her before pulling out and going for her clit again. As he did, another wave snuck up on her, slammed through her, and she knew she couldn’t take any more. She pushed him away and into the discarded breakfast chair. Then dropped to her knees in front of him, unzipped his pants, and took his glorious, incredibly hot cock in her mouth.

  “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.

  The camera switched back to the studio. “It does seem that they’re headed for divorce,” Haley agreed. “One can’t help wondering if Lyric’s strange behavior is a cry for help. Let’s hope she gets that help before she hits Amanda Bynes territory. Some people just aren’t cut out for life in the spotlight, no matter how dim it is.” She shuffled her papers. “And now we turn to our special guest, a psychiatrist who specializes in mentally unstable celebrity marriages—”

  Harm turned off the TV and barely resisted the urge to put her fist through the wall. What in the holy hell was happening here?

  “Harmony, are you okay?” Before Dalton could say anything else, her cell phone rang. She picked it up off the nightstand, knowing who it was before she even glanced at the number. Of course, she was right. It was her mother. She thought about not answering, but she knew Livinia would just keep calling until she did. Her mother had the persistence—and the temperament—of a pissed-off porcupine on the best days. On days like today, well … Harmony slid her finger across the screen. “Hello, Momma.”

  “What on earth is going on up there in Fort Worth? Is your sister off her medication?”

  “Lyric doesn’t take any medication.”

  “Well, she should be taking some. Go get her and put her on the phone right now. I need to talk to her and she isn’t picking up her phone. She’s gone too far this time. Is she trying to give your father another heart attack? He’s barely recovered from the last one.” Livinia was in an even worse state than Harm had expected.

  Seriously? No one believed it could be her. She’d been playing the good girl for so long that no one could imagine her behaving in a way that was anything less than perfect. It was now or never. “It wasn’t Lyric. It was me. I was the one in the gold bikini strutting around the front yard.”

  There was a long silence, and then Livinia said, “You? Don’t be ridiculous. And don’t try to cover for your sister. Lyric needs help and I’m going to make sure she gets it. You can’t let her lose Heath. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her, and now he’s probably going to leave her.” Her voice turned breathy, and the tears started. Harmony could hear it in her tone. Another mother might be crying because she feared for her daughter’s mental health. But Harmony was pretty sure her mother was crying because she feared for her own social status. Lyric wasn’t the only one Heath was the best thing to ever happen to. “You’ve got to get her under control.”

  “You’re not listening to me. It was me, Momma. Not Lyric.”

  “You can lie all you want, Harmony Marie, but we both know you would never deface your body like that. How many tattoos does your sister have? Doesn’t she know you can get AIDS that way? And hepatitis? It’s a miracle Heath hasn’t kicked her out already.”

  “Right. Whatever. I have to go.” Then Harmony did something she’d never done before; she hung up on her mother.

  “What am I going to do?” She threw the phone on the bed and started to pace. “If she doesn’t believe it was me, how am I ever going to convince her to sell the bakery? And what about Lyric? At this rate I’m going to end up getting my sister committed, when all she’s done is try to help me. This is hopeless.”

  She was a little shocked to realize tears were burning in the back of her eyes. She never cried.

  “It’s not hopeless. We just need to find another way.” Dalton massaged her shoulders. “Maybe you and Lyric need to get caught on camera right next to each other so that everyone will know there’s two of you. If you’re both wearing clothes that show off your shoulders and midriffs, everyone will be able to see that you’re the one with the fantastic tatts. And the personality disorder.”

  She chose to let the last comment go, because his idea was a pretty good one. And because he’d given her seven orgasms last night. A guy with a tongue as talented as Dalto
n’s couldn’t be overrated.

  She sank down onto the bed next to him, and he reached for her, pulling her against him so he could slide his hands underneath her shirt to massage her lower back. As he did, his fingers kept tracing the lines of her tattoos like he couldn’t get enough of them. “Your tatts are incredible,” he said in between the soft kisses he was pressing into her neck and shoulders.

  He really liked them, she realized. The last guy she’d dated hadn’t liked them, which was why he’d only been the last guy she’d dated and not the last guy she’d slept with.

  “I guess Lyric and I can take some photos together and post them on social media. If we make sure Heath is in them, right next to her, that should convince everyone that Lyric isn’t one step away from the loony bin.” It was so easy. Why hadn’t she thought of it herself?

  With that big worry off her mind, she was in the mood to reward Dalton for his suggestion—by letting him give her another orgasm or three. She lifted the hem of the T-shirt and yanked it over her head.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about.” Dalton pulled her on top of him.

  “Don’t you have to go to work? I know for a fact that there’s at least one media circus for you to deal with this morning.” Yet even as she said it, she relaxed into him for a second, relishing the heat and the strength of him against her.

  God knew she hated to give him points for anything, but the fact that he was still here—giving her a massage and considering making love to her—when he should probably be running to the office to put out this latest fire she’d started had endeared him to her in a way she couldn’t explain. All she knew was that she wasn’t ready to let him go yet.

  His hands slid up her rib cage to cup her breasts while his fingers toyed with her nipple rings. It was more than enough to have her reaching over to the nightstand and opening the drawer where she’d stashed a box of condoms when she’d decided two days ago that she was going to seduce Dalton. She pulled out the condom box. She shook it. Nothing rattled around. It was empty. “We’re fresh out.”