The Rebel with Broken Strings (Naked Moose #3)

Prologue

The hotel room, bathed in amber light, revealed rumpled sheets and discarded clothing.

Gunner Woods sat on the edge of the unmade bed, his shirt hanging open.

His fingers clutched the edge of the mattress, knuckles white against the dark blue sheets, while warmth spread through his chest—a feeling so intense it blurred the line between pleasure and pain.

Aubrey Hale, a woman he’d only met five days ago, knelt before him on the carpeted floor, her blond hair catching the light from the bedside lamp.

Her hands gently ran up his thighs—a strange moment of tenderness in the midst of what they were doing.

The contradiction of it made his throat tighten.

Her mouth, meanwhile, moved with deliberate purpose over his throbbing cock, drawing a low groan from deep within him.

“Just like that,” he murmured, his drawl thickened by desire. “Darlin’, just like that.”

His hand found its way to her hair, fingers threading through the silky strands. He didn’t guide her, didn’t need to. Aubrey knew exactly what she was doing.

“Christ,” he whispered, watching the gentle rise and fall of her head, the occasional flash of blue when she looked up to gauge his reaction. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

She hummed against him, the vibration making his toes curl inside his boots—the only article of clothing he still wore besides his unbuttoned shirt.

The hotel room had been Aubrey’s idea. “Neutral territory,” she’d called it, texting him the room number after his show tonight.

He’d been surprised—their previous encounters had always happened on his turf, like they were following some unspoken rule.

First in his tour bus in Atlanta, then in the temporary apartment he’d rented because he couldn’t get enough of her.

But tonight, something had shifted between them.

Maybe something had changed in him.

Her hands slid up his thighs, pressing into the muscle as she took him deeper.

His head fell back, eyes closing as the sensation overwhelmed him.

Behind his eyelids, he saw flashes of their first night together in Atlanta—her eyes meeting his while she stood in the crowd, singing to his song.

He’d had security bring her backstage after that.

Those eyes… They haunted him. He needed to know the soul behind them.

He remembered how she’d lingered that first night, how conversation had flowed like good whiskey, smooth with just enough burn. He’d invited her onto his tour bus, half expecting rejection.

But she’d surprised him. Just as she surprised him now, pulling back slightly to look up at him.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said, her voice husky. Her lips shined in the low light, slightly swollen. “I can tell.”

He managed a strained laugh. “Hard to think at all with what you’re doing.”

“Liar.” She pressed a kiss to his inner thigh, the gesture surprisingly tender. “You’re always composing something in that head of yours. I can see it in your eyes.”

She was right. Even now, lyrics were forming—fragments about hotel rooms and whiskey glasses, about a woman whose touch felt like coming home even when home is the last place he deserved to be.

“Just thinking about how this wasn’t exactly what I expected when you texted,” he admitted.

A smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Disappointed?”

“Christ, no.” His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing her lower lip.

Aubrey sat back on her heels, considering him.

In the gap between them, the air felt charged, weighted with unspoken complications.

She rose slightly, bringing her face level with his.

Her eyes—those expressive blue eyes that give away more than she thought—searched his.

“I came here tonight because I wanted to stop pretending.”

“Pretending what?” he dared to ask.

“That this is just physical between us. That I don’t think about you when you’re not around.” She pressed her forehead against his, her breath warm against his lips. “That I’m not scared of what you make me feel, even though we have known each other less than a week.”

The confession hit him like a shot of pure oxygen—dizzying and essential.

His hands cupped her face, and he kissed her with all the desperation he normally poured into his music.

She tasted like the whiskey they’d shared at the bar and something uniquely Aubrey—something that reminded him of possibility.

And none of it made any sense. How could they be this connected after such a short time?

When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Aubrey slid back down to her knees. But there was a difference now—a shift in the atmosphere. This wasn’t just about physical release anymore. It was about connection. About surrendering.

Gunner watched her, committing every detail to memory—the way her hair fell forward over her shoulder, the determined set of her jaw, the gentle strength in her hands. She was beautiful in a way that made his chest ache, in a way he knew he didn’t deserve after all the mistakes he’d made.

But Aubrey didn’t see him as the famous country star struggling with sobriety. When she looked at him, he felt like the man he wished he could be—someone worthy of a woman like her. Because Aubrey didn’t know the shake of his hand wasn’t from control, but from his need for another fix.

Her mouth engulfed him again, and he lost himself in the sensation.

His fingers tangled in her hair, not guiding but connecting, needing the anchor of her as pleasure built at the base of his spine.

She pressed against his stomach, steadying him as she increased her pace.

Her other hand worked in rhythm with her mouth, creating a force that drove him to the edge faster than he’d like.

“Aubrey,” he warned, his voice strained. “Darlin’, I’m close.”

She made no move to pull away. Instead, her eyes locked with his, and the raw intimacy in that gaze—the acceptance, the want—threatened his control. His body tensed, and he pulled away before she could finish him.

“Come here,” he said, voice rough.

She rose, moving with the practiced grace of someone comfortable in their body.

He took in the sight of her—still fully dressed in jeans and a simple blue top that matched her eyes, but looking thoroughly affected, nonetheless.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, and there was a slight tremble to her hands that betrayed her composed expression.

He reached for her, fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans to pull her closer. “Your turn.”

Her lips curved into a smile that was both shy and wicked—a contradiction that made his spent body stir again.

“What plan do you have in mind?” she asked, stepping between his knees.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, his hands sliding up to her waist, “I plan on making you forget your own name. And getting you naked.”

He swiftly stripped her out of her clothes until her stunning naked body was exposed, his own personal playground.

In one fluid motion, he rose from the edge of the bed, his hands finding Aubrey’s waist with a certainty that made her breath audibly hitch, and he lifted her.

The transition from standing to airborne happened so quickly that a small, startled sound escaped her—half laugh, half gasp—as he deposited her onto the rumpled sheets with deliberate care.

“Warn a girl next time,” she breathed with a laugh.

Gunner wasn’t laughing. His cock throbbed painfully as he stood above her, shrugging off his open shirt. His eyes never left hers.

“Turn over,” he told her, his voice a low command that had her shivering.

Aubrey complied, rolling onto her stomach, then lifting herself to her hands and knees. Gunner removed his boots, his belt buckle clinking as it hit the floor.

The mattress dipped as he joined her on the bed. His hands slid up her sides. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his palms sliding down her bare back. His calloused fingertips—hardened from years of guitar playing—found delicious friction against her smooth skin.

He positioned himself behind her, his body a warm presence against her back as he aligned himself along the length of her. His arms circled her waist, pulling her against his chest so they were spooned together on their knees. His lips found the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder.

“You feel so good,” he breathed against her skin. One hand slid up to cup her breast while the other drifted lower to her sweet soaking wet heat. “So ready for me.”

Aubrey arched into his touch, her body responding with eagerness. “Gunner,” she whispered, her voice catching as his fingers found her clit. “Please.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade. “Please what, darlin’? Tell me what you want.”

She gasped. “I want you inside me. Now.”

He smiled against her skin before he withdrew briefly to retrieve protection from his discarded jeans, but then he was back, his hands returning to her hips as he positioned himself.

The first push of his body into hers drew matching sighs from them both. Aubrey’s fingers clutched at the sheets. Gunner paused, allowing her to adjust, his forehead resting against her shoulder blade.

“You drive me wild,” he murmured, his accent thickening with desire. His hips began a slow, deliberate rhythm that had her pressing back against him, silently asking for more.

One of his hands slid from her hip to her stomach, then lower, his fingers finding the exact pressure and pace that made her thighs tremble. The other arm locked around her waist, holding her steady as their movements grew more insistent.

The sheets rustled beneath them alongside their increasingly labored breathing. Aubrey moaned, louder…and louder yet.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice rough with restraint. “Let me hear you, Aubrey. Don’t hold back.”

“Harder,” she gasped, pushing back against him. “Please, Gunner.”