Free Just Let Go… by Kathleen O'Reilly Page A

the pole once again.
    His eyes followed the desolate path of his cock, pumping deep inside her.
    Over and over, he thrust. Relentless. Soulless. He could hear the sounds of her frantic gasps, felt the shudders course through her, and knew he had to remember this forever. He needed to finish this, finish her. Tension pulsed through her taut muscles, her body arching higher and higher, and he knew it was time.
    With one vicious thrust, he spilled himself into the condom.
    Her body froze, poised just on the edge, but he wouldn’t give her that. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction she craved.
    It was done.
    Without a word, without a sound, he pulled out of her, ripped off the condom, not looking in her direction. Not now.
    After she had cleaned up the mess that he’d made, he heard her laugh and Austen looked up. That was a huge mistake because the clear blue eyes were sparkling, not with humor, but tears. It was no less than he had expected, exactly what he intended. He wanted to pull her close, kiss every inch that he’d contaminated, but this was Gillian. She’d never needed his help. The blue eyes grew tougher, wiser and when she spoke her voice was cold.
    “Take me back to the bar.”
    Austen curled up one side of his lip, just like his daddy used to do. “Sure thing, sugar.”
    Her eyes narrowed to hard slits and he reached out to pat her lightly on that magnificent ass. “If I had known what I was missing, I would have tapped this earlier.”
    She slapped his hand away, and jerked on her clothes. Once she glared in his direction, and he flashed her his most satisfied smile. She didn’t look at him again. She didn’t bother with her bra, wadding it into a ball, and chunking it at him with surprising force. The black slip of nothing fell at his feet. He picked it up slowly, held it out to her, but she shook her head. “For your collection.”
    He wanted to tell her he didn’t have a collection, but she wouldn’t have believed him. Instead, he stuffed the bra in his back pocket and politely took her arm.
    “Watch your step. It’s a little tricky. You don’t want to fall and hurt yourself.”
    Not surprisingly, she turned, delivering a hard slap on his cheek.
    Austen put his hand to his face, his fingers tracing there where she had touched him. The pain wasn’t in his face, but somewhere far worse. Still, it had been the right thing to do. Hate and anger were so much healthier than all the fantasies he’d ever kept locked up inside.
    Nonetheless, he frowned as he followed her to his car.
    They drove in silence back to Smitty’s where the parking lot was still full of cars. It had taken less than an hour to kill her dreams.
    He walked around and opened her door, and she stared at him square on. In one swift movement, her feet hit the ground, and she pulled herself upright without his help.
    The music from the bar filtered across the parking lot, along with the hum and buzz of the rest of the world. He was grateful for the masked silence, otherwise it’d be too easy to say things that he would regret.
    He noticed the steel disappear from her eyes, watched the moonlight shimmer on her face, and he realized with a foolish heart that his dreams were still alive.
    Not that it mattered. Tomorrow morning he would be gone, and Gillian Wanamaker would be nothing more than a movie reel in his head. Fantasy. Fantasy was safe.
    “Don’t pretend with me. You don’t have to,” she was saying, her eyes vacant yet smart. “Not anymore. I know who you are. Frank Hart would be right proud of his youngest boy. Living up to the family name.”
    Austen Hart nodded once, too tired to do anything else. She was right.
    He watched as she wheeled around and walked toward her car, watched until her tail-lights disappeared into black.
    It was over. It was done.

5
     
    A S G ILLIAN QUIETLY unlocked her front door, her phone started vibrating.
    Mindy.
    No, not yet. “All fine. Talk in the a.m.,” she texted back. It was a lie.