Used by Marlee Wray
Chapter 4
Trick
I need to get her out of my apartment.
But she’s a challenge I can’t resist. Thoughts of her juicy rack, spanked red ass, and raised middle finger make me want to pin her to the bed and nail her with the cock she so obviously needed to screw her back in the day.
I take a warm shower and jerk off to the memory of her upturned ass and how much I wanted to dip my fingers in her sheer panties to see whether she’d creamed them for me. After I come and wash it down the drain, I try to get my head right. Let this go, I tell myself. Be as smart as your eighteen-year-old self, for fuck’s sake.
After washing my scalp wound, I check it. Not much blood and not deep enough to need a staple. I hold gauze against it until the bleeding stops again.
When I come out of the master bathroom with a towel in hand, I find my house guest standing at the night table going through the burner phone. She jumps and tries to retreat, but I catch her at the door, grabbing her arms from behind and pinning her to my wall so her soft breasts are pressed against it.
“Who’d you call?”
“No one.”
I slap her ass, making her gasp and rise up on her toes. My errant fucking cock starts to stiffen at that reaction from her.
“You’d better tell me the truth.” The warning tone is hard, and I tighten my grip on her arms to emphasize the gravity of what I’m telling her.
“No one, I swear. I didn’t have time. You’re hurting me.”
My grip loosens because I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m not a sadist. A little pain to spice up the pleasure is one thing, but treating her to the brutality I would use on an enemy is not a turn-on.
“What the hell are you doing in here?”
Her breath is soft and stilted. “I wanted a phone, but very stupidly, I got distracted for a second.”
“Sit on the bed and be quiet.”
“Could you put on some pants, please?”
I smack her ass. It’s not a sweet little swat, and her squeak of shock tells me I’ve made my point. Letting her go, I wait for her to obey the order I’ve given her. She sits, though clearly not comfortably by the way she squirms.
I check the phone log. The only number there is C’s burner from earlier. I check the text messages to see what she could’ve read. Nothing incriminating. I erase the logs, which I should have done before I went in the shower. Sloppy. Letting her distract me is dangerous.
“I’m sorry. I can’t sit!” She shoots to her feet and rubs her ass.
“Then get on your knees.”
Her eyes widen, the green as brilliant and translucent as stained glass. Swallowing, she starts to shake her head.
“I wouldn’t refuse. The kind of punishment that comes next isn’t something you’re ready for.” The thought of putting a plug in her snug pink asshole hardens my cock further. I haven’t had anal in years; I’d fuck her ass in a hot second. Would she whimper my name if I did her hard and deep? Would she cry into my sheets? Just like that I’m hard as stone again.
Biting her lip, she lowers herself to her knees on the carpet, but under her breath she mutters a defiant question. “How would you know what I’m ready for?”
I almost laugh because her reckless mouth is familiar. How many times have I flouted authority because I like having the last word? Always.
Laurel’s a problem for me; her voice is a kind of siren song. Would I drive a ship into a mess of rocks to hear the sounds she makes? Sure, I would. I’m doing it now.
Walking over, I stop in front of her. She looks up through her lashes. My muscles contract. Those fucking eyes.
“You’re looking the wrong direction, little girl.” Clutching my dick, I tap her lips with it. “Let’s see if you remember what I like.”
She sits back on her heels a second, then comes back off them sharply. I’m not sorry that she hurts. At this moment, when I’m pissed at both of us that she got my phone, I’m glad she’s sore from my wooden paddle.
“What’s the problem? Are we going to get interrupted?”
She shakes her head, staring at my six-pack and ignoring what I want her to pay attention to. Sliding my hand into her hair, I tighten my grasp until she can’t escape without having it pulled.
“Then be a good girl for me.”
The bright pink flush on her face makes me want her more. It makes me want her bent over the end of the bed with her arms tied behind her back while I fuck her pussy, my fingers teasing her clit till her legs shake and she comes two or three times before I do.
Her tongue laps the head of my cock, drawing all my focus down to her mouth. It’s exactly how I taught her to start. Like a kitten after cream.
My fist closes on her hair reflexively. This isn’t who she is, but it’s who she is for me. Which makes it even sexier.
My muscles bunch as I try to keep my cool so I can enjoy every second. Soon though, I can’t take the teasing. My voice is husky. “More now.”
Taking me in her mouth, she sucks like she’s got a mind to empty my balls for weeks. My head tips back, and I suck air into my lungs through an open mouth. Jesus fucking Christ.
When I push halfway down her throat, she gags and digs her nails into my thighs. My kitten has claws. Scratching me up during a simple blowjob isn’t allowed, which is why I should’ve tied her arms before we started, but I stop caring when she deep throats me on her own and sucks hard all the way down and back.
“Fuck. Yeah, just like that,” I groan.
Her tongue strokes my cock as she sucks, and tension builds in my sac. I love having her on her knees, sore and submissive, servicing me with her sweet mouth. Looking down through slitted eyes, I take in the view, her beautiful face with hollowed cheeks as she works to bring me off.
My cock erupts.
She struggles to keep up with the way it gushes, but I’m so intent I don’t realize until I finally step back and find her wiping my cum from her chin. Her flushed face and glittering eyes remind me who I’ve got on her knees. It’s satisfying as hell, but also something I’ll remember way too vividly.
Will I ever wear the old t-shirt again now that I’ve seen her in it? And risk wearing out the one souvenir I’ll have of this night? Not likely.
There are pearly drops near the t-shirt’s collar. “Shirt’s dirty. Take it off.”
Looking up, her expression is unreadable. Vulnerable, I guess. Dropping to a knee in front of her, I take the hem and start to lift it.
Her hands catch my forearms. “Can I keep it?”
My hands still. “Why?”
“Just… to have something on.” Her voice is soft, and if there was ever a woman who could make that work on me to maximal effect, it’s Laurel.
“Don’t know why you think you need it.” I let the fabric drop from my grip. “Lie on the bed on your belly.”
She shudders, and the spell we’re trapped in fades a little. “Don’t be rough, all right?”
“Not if you behave,” I promise.
Her eyes rise to mine and hold. I feel that look in my chest, suspiciously close to the pump that keeps me alive. It’s not a place I want her claws again. Catching her chin, I turn her face toward the foot of the bed. “Get moving.”
Drawing in a breath, she rises. When she reaches the bed, she doesn’t so much crawl in as collapse onto the mattress. It’s a move that hits me just right. She’s given up fighting me, at least for the moment.
Digging through the nightstand, I find the aloe numbing lotion. Sitting next to her outstretched body, I lower her underwear to her knees. She barely reacts, only shivering slightly. My squeezing the lotion onto her skin causes her to look over her shoulder.
I start by massaging her back, then work slowly down to her ass. She hisses, though I’m not sure if it’s from pain or relief. Maybe both. Under my fingers, her flesh is hot and swollen. Purplish red bruises crest over the highest peaks of her globes. She won’t sit for days, and when she tries to, or even walks, I’ll be on her mind. I’m sure no one’s ever disciplined her before. How she’s going to feel about us tomorrow or the next day? Will she feel like I made her mine? Because possessive is how I feel when I look at those marks, like I didn’t just do something to her, I did something to us both.
My hand drifts between her thighs. Her slight movement makes me growl low in my throat. “Be still.” Her slit’s slippery and my mouth’s parched, wanting a taste. Closing my eyes, I let myself go back to the last time I handled her this way. Her legs straddling my hips, her nipple in my mouth while I fingered her until she moaned my name and came, leaving my fingers slick and sticky. I’d been inches away from putting my cock up her virgin pussy. When I found I’d forgotten to replace the condom in my wallet, I came in her mouth instead, but I still regret that empty fucking wallet. My cock could’ve been her pussy’s first. Shouldn’t matter, since it was my decision to not win her back when I could’ve. And yet, when her basketball player boyfriend bragged to his buddies he popped her cherry later in the year, I picked a fight with him at a party, taunting him into taking a swing at me. Once the fight was on, I went after him like he’d killed Laurel, not fucked her. It took Anvil’s colossal mitts to drag me off. Could’ve killed that asshole with my bare hands.
I lied about the reason for the fight, but I’m pretty sure Laurel knew. She broke up with him soon after, and I tortured myself with the idea that she did it to protect him. From then on I stayed far away from her and her boyfriends, knowing I couldn’t trust myself not to get jealous.
* * *
Trick
I wake to the burner’s ringing. Blurry-eyed from sleep, it takes a second to confirm it’s C again. “Yeah?”
“She gone?”
“Not yet. Today though. In an hour or two.” I don’t mean it. Her shiny dark hair’s spilling over my arm and shoulder, and her soft breasts are pillowed against my side, giving me ideas about how I should spend my day.
“Too long.” C’s tone is grave, but it takes a couple of seconds for me to register what he’s telling me.
“Yeah? Why’s that, C?”
“Her friends from Boston are in town.”
Pounding on the front door draws my sharp attention.
Fuck.
“Gotta go.” I end the call, erase the call log, and toss the burner in a drawer. Then I shake Laurel. Her green eyes are heavy-lidded and sleepy. We just got to sleep an hour ago.
“Get dressed, babe. Find a pair of sweats in my dresser.” Lifting her shoulders to urge her into action, I add, “Up now.”
More pounding, and the feds announce themselves and their warrant.
Laurel wakes fully in an instant, jerking out of my hands and sitting up. Covering her bare chest, she looks around wildly, like she’s trying to remember where she is and how she got here.
That look on her face is not good. We never got into how she actually got involved with the FBI. One wrong word from her could cause a world of trouble.
Recalling the night before and all the ways she sighed my name though makes me smile. Fuck it. No regrets.
I’m out of bed, barely, when they bust the front door in with a ram. I don’t roll my eyes, but I’m close. I stand in the bedroom doorway to give her time.
They blaze in with guns raised and order me to the floor. Looking over my shoulder to be sure she’s not naked, I clock the sexy bedhead, the Guinness t-shirt with my cum crusted on the collar, and a pair of black drawstring sweats she’s fumbling to tie.
“Get down!” they bark at me.
My eyes do a Jack Nicholson stare before I drop onto my hands like I’m about to do a push-up, then lower myself the rest of the way.
They bang through the apartment, looking around.
“Wait,” Laurelyn says as they grab her, haul her up, and hustle her out.
My muscles tighten. I don’t like them taking her, or touching her period.
Special Agent Milt Schager leans over me. “Well, hello, Mr. Patrick. Or should I call you Trick?”
“Mr. Patrick’s fine.”
He glares at me. “Only Trick to the girls you damage?” To the others, he says, “Get him up and cuff him.”
“He’s naked.”
“So?” Schager demands, throwing a towel on my back.
“So I’m not cuffing and perp-walking him out in a towel. Get up and get dressed, Patrick,” the other agent says to me.
I rise and head to my dresser, surprised they haven’t bothered to confiscate the holstered gun that’s resting in plain sight on the top of the chest of drawers. After pulling on jeans and a sweater, I can’t resist fucking with them. Grabbing the holster, I start to strap it on.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Suiting up. I’ve got a concealed carry permit.”
Guns rise and point at me.
“Set down that firearm,” an agent shouts.
I turn, smirking. “If I’d wanted to use it, I would have.” Extending an arm, I offer them the gun. “You sure you’re FBI? You guys seem too sloppy to be feds, and way too slow.”
One grabs the gun and bags it, while another cuffs me. Knowing they’d like an excuse to take me down to the floor, I don’t give them one. Instead, I keep pace as they pull me across the apartment and into the upstairs hall.
Shoving me into the elevator, they’re agitated. I take it from the few exchanged words that they thought they’d find Laurel in ropes or chains, weeping and desperate.
In the lobby, the building’s superintendent looks terrified. He’s still in a bathrobe.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Trick! They didn’t give me a choice. They dragged me out. I didn’t have a choice.”
“It’s all right, Alvin. You’re fine.”
“Shut up,” the agent snaps, and it’s not clear who he’s talking to.
Alvin shakes his head, covering his mouth a second. “I’m sorry, Mr. Trick. I’ll call Mr. C right away.”
“You’ll call no one!” Schager snaps.
“I’ll call who I want!” Alvin shouts back. “I’m not under arrest.”
The agents glower at him, their weapons out.
“Do not shoot my superintendent. I will take that shit personally.”
They swivel and glare at me, which works. I want their attention on me.
From the corner of my eye I watch Alvin’s fingers fly furiously over his phone.
On the sidewalk, the whole neighborhood’s come out to watch. There are about ten camera phones recording the scene until a slow look from me makes people lower them.
Laurelyn’s in the back of a town car with her bare nipples clearly visible through the thin t-shirt. Those nips shouldn’t be on public display.
Forcing my expression to go blank, I try not to let my anger show. My voice is deceptively light when I speak, poking the bear again. “There’s no FBI office in Coynston. Are you taking me to Boston? Or using the local PD for this arrest?”
They ignore me.
“I ask because I want a cup of coffee, and the CPD coffee sucks. If we’re headed there, let’s hit Java Jay first. Two blocks east.”
“The fucking stones,” one of the agents spits out in a Southie accent. “Shut the hell up.”
I let them lead me past the car holding Laurel. I stare at her through the glass for a second, then wink. She looks startled. All the agents catch it.
In the back of another town car, I lean back and stretch my legs out, putting on a show of getting comfortable, though I’m not.
I hear her voice in my head. It’s not a game.
Everything’s a game,I think again.
* * *
Laurel
The FBI is awful to me.
Trick was kinder when he was slamming that paddle against my ass.
It starts gently enough at first when they try to take me to the local emergency room for a rape exam. I refuse that or any examination, and the mood changes immediately.
Milt tells me at least a dozen times on the drive to Boston that I’m going for a rape kit when we reach the city. I stop refusing because I stop talking.
He actually takes me to a second emergency room and forces me to speak to a forensic nurse. I’m afraid for a moment that he might get agents to hold me down while evidence is collected. It’s only when a tall emergency doctor with mocha-colored skin pushes back by telling them to back off and that I don’t have to have any exam I don’t want, that I let myself cry.
Milt even tries to use that as leverage, saying I’ve been traumatized and the evidence needs to be collected immediately or I’ll regret it later when the case can’t be prosecuted. He says over and over that I’ve been kidnapped and raped, like if he says it often enough it’ll get Trick a life sentence without a trial.
The more they try to pressure and manipulate me, the more I resent it, my helpless frustration mixed with fury.
Milt’s outrage at Trick incenses me in particular. Where was that outrage when he left me overnight in Trick’s apartment?
After the hospital, I’m taken to the FBI offices and put in an interrogation room. I can’t stay sitting, which Milt and another male agent notice and ask about repeatedly. The other source of fascination is my sliced-up dress. What did he use to cut off my clothes? A knife? Scissors? A razor blade? Did he threaten to cut me with it? What exactly did he do? Was I raped? Sodomized? Choked? Punched?
I ask for socks or something to cover my cold feet, but they don’t provide any. I’m told some are on the way, but when they don’t materialize for hours I suspect they want me vulnerable. My discomfort and the way they fire their questions in increasingly frustrated voices almost makes me want to cave in, just so I can get away from them. But I’m too angry. They asked for my help and I agreed, risking terrible consequences. And I didn’t do it for personal gain. I did it to protect my little sister and other young women. Why the hell are they treating me like a criminal, especially if they think Trick victimized me?
And what about Trick? I know he’s the king of bad behavior, but he’s the one who woke me so I could get dressed before a slew of men tore into the apartment. And Trick blocked the bedroom door to keep them out until I was finished dressing. Honestly, today he’s taking better care of me than they are.
The words they want to hear are that Scott Patrick kidnapped and assaulted me. They tell me they’ve taken the restraints, the sex toys, and the paddle from his apartment and that they’ll be testing them for my DNA. I can’t control the furious blush that spreads from my face to my neck, but I can control my silence.
The FBI pretends they want to do me a favor, telling me that if I give a statement, they’ll take care of everything else. But that’s no favor to me. I don’t say anything about Trick, not even his name.
For three hours, I’m in an interrogation room. They try to wear me down while I’m cold and uncomfortable. My bladder is ready to burst, and I want to scream. After a time I’m silent, except for saying two things. I want a bathroom and a lawyer.
They don’t let me call anyone. Milt keeps telling me he’s on my side and can’t believe what happened. He says he got me out of Trick’s apartment as soon as he realized where I was, and that he just needs me to tell the truth about what Trick did to me. I stop trying to ask what took Milt so long to come because he always cuts me off and responds with his own questions.
When I’m allowed to go to the bathroom, I’m relieved. But that’s replaced by cold fury as various agents watch me pass with what seems to be open hostility. All right then. Screw them.
As I’m returned to the interrogation room, a man in an expensive, shiny gray suit stands near the door and nods at me. Lawyer.Thank God.
I didn’t call him, so I know who must have sent him. Logically, it’s not in my best interest to use a C Crue lawyer, but I’m so tired and uncomfortable that I don’t want to wait to get my own lawyer. And I couldn’t really afford one anyway.
The man’s name is Rudy Talbot, and he’s got a pointed goatee and a giant onyx and diamond ring on his right ring finger. He seems easygoing for about five minutes. Then the interrogation begins, and a shark emerges. Any hesitation from the agents is blood in the water for him. He weaves around the questions in tightening circles and slowly tears into them over and over.
I have very little to say, which suits Mr. Talbot just fine. I tell him I left the poker game voluntarily with Mr. Patrick, that we’re old friends, and that we got reacquainted. Clutching my hands in my lap, my gaze fixes on Talbot and never wavers. “That’s all I have to say.”
“Good,” he says with a nod. As a C Crue lawyer, he’s probably never defended anyone as innocent as I am before. It takes him about fifteen minutes to get them to let me go.
It’s obvious that the search of the apartment has been fruitless, except to show Trick likes wild sex, because the agents look frustrated and furious as I pass them, like I’ve betrayed them rather than the other way around.
I have no idea what I’m going to do. My feet are still bare, and I don’t have a jacket or my phone. The FBI finally offers me shoe covers, but I ignore them. What Milt should do is offer to call my family for me, but he doesn’t bother. His main focus is Talbot and has been since the lawyer arrived.
It’s Rudy Talbot who reassures me that everything will be okay. He escorts me downstairs himself and delivers me, quite literally, to the door of a Range Rover that the massive Sasha Stroviak is leaning against.
Stroviak opens the door, and Rachel Palermo, who I recognize from her old Instagram, sits inside. She’s tiny, barely clearing five feet, and small-boned, with an exquisitely pretty face and black hair that gives way to lavender on the ends. “Hi, Laurelyn. I’m Rachel.”
“Here’s Flynn too,” Stroviak says, looking past me.
Turning, I spot another suited man. I recognize a lawyer when I see one and know he must have been with Trick. I wait because I want to hear what he says. Connor McCann gets out of another truck that’s parked across the street. He strides over, unhurried, looking like an MMA fighter with a score to settle.
“What’s the word?” McCann says to the lawyers.
“Is this Laurelyn?” Flynn asks in a hopeful tone.
I nod.
McCann shrugs off his coat and thrusts it at me. “Put this on. Where are her shoes?”
“They offered her shoe covers for her feet,” Talbot says. “She refused them.”
McCann smiles. “They don’t charge for those, baby. You could’ve covered your toes up.” The warmth and gentle teasing almost make me like him, except I can’t trust him. I know what he is.
“Where’s Trick?” I ask softly as McCann wraps the warm coat around my shoulders.
“Trick,” Flynn says, shaking his head. “That kid is a piece of work. I think if he doesn’t stop soon, they’ll either order a psychiatric evaluation or shoot him.”
McCann’s brows rise. “What’s he up to?”
“He is running circles around them. In twenty years, I’ve never seen anything like it. He’s quoted the Bible, Tupac, and Cormac McCarthy. He told them the plots of a couple thrillers. The FBI took notes, not realizing he was summarizing works of fiction. There was some singing. Rolling Stones songs mostly. And some bad poetry that he may or may not have made up on the fly. It’s hard to keep up.”
“What’s wrong with him?” McCann says, frowning. His gaze slides to me and then back to the lawyer.
“He’s messing with them. He hooks them when they ask a question. He’ll answer, ‘Now that’s interesting. You know the truth is…’ and off he goes. In the beginning they kept trying to corral him back around to a point, kept trying to redirect him to answer the original question. They thought he was stoned and that I wasn’t going to be able to control him. They were excited actually. But now they’re exhausted. At one point when they went to get him coffee at his request, I said, ‘What did you take last night? LSD? Magic mushrooms?’ And he looks at me, clear-eyed, then drops his head and whispers, ‘Don’t be an asshole, Flynn. I’m stalling. I’m not leaving this building until I know Laurelyn Reilly’s all right and can leave too.’”
I stare at the red-haired lawyer, my heart twisting. I don’t know whether to hate Trick or hug him. “That’s what he said?”
The lawyer nods, his face a map of faint freckles and grim sincerity.
“I’m out. Go get him,” I say. When no one moves, I turn to McCann. “Make him go.”
McCann looks between the lawyers. “Yeah, if you can get him out, do it.”
Flynn turns and goes back inside.
“C’mon, get in the truck. The ground’s freezing.”
“I need a phone,” I say.
“You want her in, C?” Stroviak asks, glancing down at my cold-reddened feet. “I’ll put her inside.”
I grasp the doorframe, shaking my head. I’m not in the mood to be manhandled again, especially not by this monster. My head’s throbbing and so is my ass. It’s three in the afternoon and I haven’t eaten and I’ve barely slept. I want to lie down.
“C?”
“No, we don’t want it to look like we’re forcing her into a car. Next they’ll arrest you for attempted kidnapping.”
“Here, C. Here,” Rachel says.
He glances in and shakes his head, but takes something and thrusts it into my hands. “Put them on right now.”
I realize I’m holding a pair of small socks. Her feet must be tiny, but I manage to drag them onto my feet. I glance inside to see that Rachel’s sock-less feet are in her shoes.
“Thank you.”
“No problem. It’s warm in here. Why don’t you get in? It might take a few minutes for them to process his release.” She speaks to me gently, like I’m a small child who can’t see reason.
“I’m all right. I just need a phone to call someone to pick me up. I don’t know who’s around. I don’t live near here.”
“We’ll drive you,” Stroviak says impatiently. “Get in the truck.”
I hesitate.
“C, it’s forty degrees. If he let Raven stand on the street in the cold waiting for me, I’d be pissed. She needs to get in.”
“Yeah, Laurelyn, get in,” C says.
Just then though, Trick emerges from the building. He only has paper shoe covers on his feet and no jacket, but he strolls down the steps like it’s eighty degrees out.
When he reaches me, he frowns. “Why is she standing in the road with no shoes?” he asks Anvil. It’s like he’s a mind reader.
Anvil gives me a short look. “She’s stubborn.”
Trick studies my face for a moment. “You all right?”
“Of course not. No.”
He sighs. “All right, so let’s go.”
I look around, at a complete loss. Finally I turn and climb into the Range Rover.
“Compound,” Trick says to them before he climbs in.
The heat blasts, but it takes several minutes for me to warm up.
“Not a mark on you?” Stroviak’s alone in the front seat and looking at Trick in the rearview mirror.
Trick shakes his head.
“Not one? An elbow to your ribs?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t even throw a shoulder?”
“Not this time.”
“So it wasn’t anything. It’s like you went for brunch?”
“Pretty much,” Trick says.
“When you get arrested on your own, it’s boring as hell.”
Trick smirks. “They came in hot, then nothing. For fun, I tried to strap on a gun. It was almost exciting.”
“Bullshit,” Stroviak says.
Trick nods.
“Why aren’t you shot?”
“Guess they got distracted by how pretty I am. I was naked when they got there.”
“Their best chance to shoot you, and they let it go?” Stroviak shakes his head. “In your place, if I’d raised my fists they’d have shot me six times, minimum. Let alone a gun. How did they put you in a car, transport you, and not leave a scratch?”
“They brought me coffee too.”
“Assholes.”
“Yeah, that’s the FBI now. Soft as baby food.”
I’m bewildered by their joking exchange. Is he kidding right now? “How many times have you been arrested?”
Trick adjusts his vent so the warm air blows toward my feet. “Twelve.”
“They interrogated me like I was under arrest with you.”
“Good girl,” he whispers, kissing the side of my face.
“What?” I push him away irritably.
“They tried to get you to roll on me, and you didn’t.”
“Says who?”
“Me.”
I shift uncomfortably; the pain when I’m sitting is intense. “I need to get out. I need stand up.” Trying to stand in the truck doesn’t work well.
“Here.” Trick grabs me and positions me so I’m sitting on his lap facing him, with my knees on the seat and the back of my thighs on his. My butt hangs in the air. His arm across my back keeps me in position. “Better?”
My face flames with embarrassment, and my voice is a whisper. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
I decide he only says that to make me feel better. He knows very well I don’t hate him since I’ve just protected him from the FBI, at my own expense.
My understanding of my own actions is less certain. All I understand is that I trust the FBI less than I trust Trick and his C Crue friends, so now I’m in league with criminals.
* * *
Trick
My whispers in her ear on the drive to Coins aren’t just to soothe her and keep her calm. My primary agenda is to keep her distracted till we’re closer to Coynston than Boston because, sure enough, despite keeping her focus mostly on me, she suddenly remembers her apartment’s in the city we just left.
“Oh, God. What am I doing? Drop me off at home.”
“Your purse and phone are in the Rover at my apartment. I’ll drive you back to Boston after you get your stuff.”
Laurel’s quiet at first, then shakes her head, speaking low. “I’ll pick them up later. I—I want to go home and lie down in my own bed.”
The last thing I want to do is lose access to her. For many reasons. The FBI might reach out again, and, if she’s sore and angry, she might have regrets that make her change her mind about cooperating with them. Not that I know a hundred percent she’s not now, but I doubt she’s a good enough actress to make faked anger seem so genuine.
“Mr. Stroviak, can you turn back, please?”
Anvil’s brows rise at her calling him Mr. Stroviak and at her suggested change of direction. He doesn’t answer her, looking instead at me.
“Could you do that?” she repeats.
I give him a subtle shake of my head, and he looks back at the road.
“We’re closer to Coynston. And my friends already waited hours to pick us up.” I’m careful to refer to them as my friends rather than my crue. Laurel doesn’t need reminders of what we are. Continuing smoothly, I adopt an innocent expression to match my ‘let’s be reasonable’ tone. “Anvil will drop us off, and I’ll take you back myself. ‘Vil, drop me at my place. I’ll come by C’s later.”
Anvil scowls. “Sure?”
“Yeah, one hundred.”
If I’m not under a direct threat, Anvil couldn’t care less where I go, but he knows C expects me back at the compound and that C will not be thrilled about my keeping Laurel with me or going home to an apartment that the FBI broke into. What if they planted devices? On the other hand, if I get Laurel to come home with me to a bugged apartment, it’ll strengthen my defense if she later says I abducted her.
Anvil says no more on the subject, but Laurel and I are barely out of the truck before he’s on his phone, presumably texting C to let him know about my change of plans. Retrieving my personal cell and her bag from the caged Rover, I keep up a slow stream of conversation with her.
Distracted, she glances at the truck. “I can’t sit in a car again right now. I’ll go upstairs with you for a few minutes, okay?”
I’m happy she’s decided on her own to head up, since that’s where I want her and five minutes ago I thought it might come down to an argument in the cold parking garage.
Opening the gun safe in the Rover, I grab a spare I’ve got there and tuck it into the back of my jeans. I figure the FBI might have taken my firearms to test them. It’s a waste of their time. Once a gun’s been used for something real, I consider it burned and that’s what happens to it. Melted down in one of the makeshift smelting furnaces we’ve built on C Crue-owned land.
When we get upstairs, I find they’ve closed the door they rammed and used some crime scene tape to secure it. Nice.
Laurel stares as I peel away the tape and push the door open. Examining it, I find the metal held. It was the door frame that splintered. Wood and plaster are scattered on the floor. Without a word, I pick her up and carry her over the mess and into my bedroom. She protests, saying she’ll lie on the couch.
“In here, you can take a nap without being disturbed.”
Her eyes soften. She’s exhausted and sore, so talking about letting her rest comfortably scores points.
“What about you? You didn’t sleep much either.”
Setting her on her side carefully, I kiss the top of her head. “I’m good. Rest.”
Once she’s tucked in my bed, I make my sweep. They didn’t take the computers, and when I run diagnostics, it shows they didn’t try to crack my passwords or the encryption. If they had tried to log on, it would’ve wiped the drives. Interesting that they didn’t take the laptops. The warrant must have been limited. No fishing expedition allowed.
My eyes narrow on the computers. Paranoia gets the best of me. I doubt they had time to do anything to the devices, but FBI hands were near my tech and I don’t like it. I enter the kill code and walk away as the hard drives are permanently deleted. The machines are now more food for the coal fires.
I search hard for surveillance equipment and don’t find any. Doesn’t mean they don’t have new tech that I don’t recognize, but it’s unlikely. Still, they’ve violated the space. Within an hour, I decide my place has been burned. I’ll donate the furniture and art and move temporarily into Anvil’s old studio within the C Crue compound until I find a new place.
Grimacing at the thought of staying in Anvil’s concrete block apartment, I shake my head. The place is so small I can’t figure out how the guy turned around without knocking things off the walls. Then I remember there’s nothing on the walls. ‘Vil lived like a destitute hermit before he got involved with Rachel. The build cost of their new six-thousand-square-foot house is something like 2.5 million, so that move isn’t a big change for him or anything.
A couple of hours in, I hit a wall. Sliding a bureau in front of the main door keeps it closed, barricading us in. I decide that’s good enough for the moment. The elevator’s private and the stairwell’s locked. The only reason the FBI got in with such little advance warning is that when the super unlocked the stairs for them, the alert went to my personal phone, which was down in the truck. I’ll have to change the security system’s workflow in my next place. A phone alert doesn’t do me any good when the sim card’s been popped out and the phone’s three stories away from where I’m sleeping.
Yawning, I join Laurel in the bed. I’m on my back for about a minute before I switch to my side, curling around her.
* * *
Trick
Waking with morning wood works out fine when it’s wedged against a gorgeous female ass.
It slowly dawns on me that it’s not morning yet and that, while the ass is perfect, it’s also wounded so I need to be gentle with it. Putting my hand between Laurel’s legs makes her breath catch and muscles tighten, but she doesn’t try to push my hand away.
Jerking the drawstring on the sweats makes their hold on her waist slacken. Sliding my hand inside the sweats, I kiss the back of her neck. My fingers stroke between her lower lips, finding humid heat. Teasing her clit gets me a silent invitation as she arches her back and pushes her ass against my groin. I want her on her back so I’ll have full access, but it’s risky to interrupt what I’m doing when she’s into it. Might break the spell. I smile, thinking it’s been a long time since I’ve had to worry about that. Normally, even on the rare occasions I’m dating someone, I do what I want in bed, positioning them however I want, fucking them in whatever position I’m in the mood for. There’s never any push-back, and I wouldn’t allow it if there was. If Laurelyn were mine, the rules would be the same, but she’s not mine and the FBI is sniffing around, so I don’t just get to tell her how I want her body.
Deciding to risk an end to this run up to sex with her, I pull my hand away.
She looks over her shoulder at me. Kissing her soft mouth, I slide my tongue in and squeeze her breast through the t-shirt. Yeah, want is quickly shifting to need as cravings I haven’t had in a long time surface.
If I took her to the guest room and put restraints around her thighs and harnessed them to the eyebolts on either side of the headboard, she’d be spread open in bondage, which would be great on every level. I’m betting though that it would remind her too much of last night, so I resist the temptation.
She doesn’t resist my stripping the t-shirt and sweats from her body, but when I grab and stack the pillows, she rolls over so she’s facing me, her expression questioning.
“Lie with the pillows under your lower back. It’ll keep your ass above the bed.”
“That would be an awkward position.”
“Not with your legs over my shoulders.” I don’t wait for her to react to my wicked grin. Instead, I hook my arm under her knees and lift her onto the pillows and then move between her thighs. Licking her belly and pushing the tip of my tongue into her belly button elicits a soft gasp. I suck on her flesh slowly, holding the back of her left thigh in my hand and pushing it up and out. Her right leg’s draped over my shoulder, her heel bobbing gently against my back as I move.
Her muscles are tight, but she doesn’t fight. When I move down and lick her clit with the flat of my tongue, I know she’s mine for as long as I want her. Dipping my tongue into her, I love the tangy taste of her and the way she moves under my mouth. I’m unhurried as I fuck her with my tongue.
When I think she’s excited enough, I slide a hand underneath her to grip her ass. She jerks but my grip’s firm. She writhes, I lick and squeeze, and she comes.
Her breathing’s ragged, and her hips move slowly. My cock’s fucking stone, and I want to put it inside her. This is another thing I haven’t done in a long time. Thousands of blowjobs, but my dick where it belongs? Not often. Do I even remember vanilla missionary?
I grab a condom from the nightstand, tear the package open, and roll it on. She’s come down, her legs no longer shaking, her soles resting on the mattress. When I drop onto my left hand so my chest’s above hers, she’s a good girl and loops her legs around me. My cock’s fisted in my right hand as the head dips into her soft opening. The side of her knee presses against my back, beckoning me deeper. As I exhale a groan, my hips drive forward. The rightness of that snug clutch gripping me is so good I don’t even move. Savoring the feel of her has me wishing there was no condom between us.
My right palm moves to the mattress next to her arm and I lower myself, so her breasts are pressed against my chest, and that feels amazing too. She kisses my neck, her lips cool against my hot skin. It sends shockwaves through me. I wonder how much of this I could take before I’d come without a single fucking thrust?
My control isn’t endless, so it’s not long before instinct takes over. Tangling my left hand in her hair, I pull her head back and suck on her throat as I grind against her and drive deep. Her pussy throbs around me, pulsing like a heartbeat. My thrusts get harder and rougher. She struggles a bit, but it’s not the kind of struggle that says she wants to be let go. It’s the kind of struggle that says she wants to test my hold on her. I pin her arms over her head and hammer into her until her body slides off the pillows and lands on the mattress. Without a gag, her mouth’s free to protest but the only sounds she makes are whimpers and moans.
“Mmm… please,” she whispers, raising her hips.
Her body’s so soft under mine, perfect in every way. I slow my thrusts to grind against her clit, loving that I can make her come over and over. She arches her back and groans.
“Oh, God,” she murmurs as her pussy clenches around my cock, the rhythm of her body beckoning mine.
I stare down at her flushed face and bright eyes, pumping hard again. An orgasm forms at the base of my balls.
I come so hard I feel it in my entire body.
Panting breaths give way to a need to kiss her. I let her wrists go and lower my head. Her mouth meets mine, our bodies fused. My cock feels so good nestled in that wet heat, pressing against her womb. What I want from Laurel has always been different than what I want from other women, and apparently that hasn’t changed. Right now I’m in the grips of an old school compulsion, a primal need. When the word breed hits my brain, I know it’s time to move before I start saying things I’ll regret.
Pushing off my palms, I break her grip on my torso. When I pull out and see the naked head of my cock, it takes a second for me to understand.
Fuck.
No wonder it felt so incredible. My cock just gave her cervix an open-mouthed kiss. After a beat, I exhale and whisper the word. “Fuck.”
“What?”
“I broke the condom.”
* * *
Laurel
Trick climbs off the bed and stands over me for a second. “On the pill?”
“No, I haven’t been seeing anyone. I was giving my body a break.”
Nodding, he holds out a hand.
Wincing as my thoughts intersect and crash into reality, I rise and let him lead me into the bathroom. He tosses the ripped condom in the trash and tugs me into the shower.
At first, I don’t move as his soapy fingers take possession of my body, even pushing inside me at one point, and then rinsing me with the showerhead between my legs.
Finally I gasp and step back. “Enough. I’ll do it.”
He studies my face like he’s about to ignore me, then looks at the ceiling as he steps back.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just keep forgetting your body doesn’t belong to me.”
My eyes avoid his as my stomach clenches and my cheeks heat. Belonging to him—what would I have given years ago to stay his? Way too much. Even now that thought tempts me. Against all reason. “Well, it certainly was yours for a little while.” My tone’s equal parts wry and flirtatious.
He washes and rinses his own body efficiently and steps out before me since I stay to wash my hair. When I exit the shower, he’s waiting and helps me dry off.
“Well,” he says, apropos of nothing. “I wonder what other surprises destiny’s got in store.” He crosses himself absently, making my eyes go saucer-wide.
“Did you just say a prayer that I’m not pregnant?”
“Fuck, no. Calling God’s attention to a broken condom is just asking for trouble. Nothing that feels that good is supposed to happen without consequences.”
“So then? What was that about?” I ask, mimicking the sign-of-the-cross gesture.
“Just habit at certain times.” He looks away, and his smile is almost sheepish. It’s uncharacteristically sweet and boyish for him and makes me want to kiss him again. When he reins in his thoughts, he sobers and looks back at me. “You all right? It’s been a busy couple days for you.”
The question’s so absurd I can’t help myself; laughter bubbles up until it consumes me and I’m bending forward from laughing so hard.
He watches me with a smile.
Finally I get control and straighten. Pulling a towel around me, I knot it at the top, though my boobs keep it from closing completely. “I’ll dry my hair and then maybe you can drive me back to Boston?”
“Tonight? No, it’s late. You’ll stay over.”
“I really think it’s in our best interest to get away from each other as soon as possible. This combination—” I swing my index finger, pointing between us. “It’s more trouble than I can handle.”
Stepping forward, he pulls me against him into a warm hug. “Nah, you’re fine.” He drops a kiss on my damp head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
Trick’s having me isn’t exactly reassuring, but I don’t say that because as per usual it feels great to be in his arms.
Back in the bed, we lie on our sides under the covers, facing each other. We talk the way old friends might, about mutual acquaintances and shared memories from our school days.
“You know what I thought you’d try? Being in a school play. You were pretty theatrical in English class.”
He chuckles. “Showing off.”
“You dated Bailey Robinson for a bit.” That causes a little stab of jealousy, though not as intensely as it would have if he’d married her as many suggested he might. “She wanted you to audition, didn’t she?”
“Hounded me.”
“And yet…?”
He shrugs.
“She moved to California. I thought her looks would fade, but I have to admit, they didn’t. Still so beautiful. She would look good on a movie poster. So would you, actually.”
“There may be a poster in my future. FBI’s got that Most Wanted one.”
Laughing, I shake my head. “When you walked by the car and winked, I didn’t know what to think. What was that?”
“I don’t know. It’s a Trick thing.”
“Were you worried I’d talk about what happened?”
“From a legal standpoint? No. A federal prosecutor would know from the jump that this kind of case against me would be a mess, especially with a former girlfriend as the star witness. The C Crue lawyers would tear you apart if I let them.”
My brows pinch together, recalling how effective Rudy Talbot was against the federal agents. Having to be interrogated by him in open court about what happened between Trick and me would be an embarrassing nightmare.
“But I wouldn’t let them.” His finger twists a strand of my hair around it.
“Why not?”
“A lot of reasons. One of them is I made you a promise that I wouldn’t run my mouth and let word get around about the stuff we do in private.”
My lips curve up. “I remember you made that promise in exchange for something that never happened.” My heart beats harder, and things deep inside me clench at the memory of playing online video games with him and where that might have led. “Nerissa was supposed to get captured. In real life.”
He smirks. “She was a cute avatar, but you’re a lot more beautiful in real life.”
“Remember how uninhibited the game flirting got?” While we were in our respective houses playing characters, wild flirting was safe. Sort of.
“I remember.”
“And I was so naive. You kept getting ‘called away’ right when things got seriously sexy.” Laughing, I cover my eyes with my hand and shake my head. “And I was like ‘it’s such bad timing. I wish people would leave him alone when he’s playing with me.’”
Trick’s laughter is low and sexy.
“I was eighteen. It’s crazy that I didn’t realize, especially considering how I replayed that flirting in my head when I was alone in bed.” Dropping my hand, my eyes study his. “I’m surprised you didn’t clue me in. You were pretty forthcoming about what might happen to Nerissa if she got shipwrecked on a slave planet.” Rubbing my thighs together at the ache between my legs, I brush my lips over his. “What a tease that turned out to be. For so long after we broke up, I’d see the game icon on my computer and regret that I’d never find out what would’ve happened to Nerissa if she’d crashed.”
“You hedged. I figured you weren’t really ready.”
“Hedged how?”
“I’d say something and you’d counter. You’d tell me she might escape using a pod before she actually got captured. Or she might find an ally to help her repair the ship before it wrecked.”
“Oh…” Exhaling, I close my eyes, consumed by nostalgia and regret. “I was nervous and trying to leave myself an out, I guess.”
He nods. “Not quite ready.”
“Then you gave me the ultimate out.”
“Revisionist history.”
Smiling sheepishly, I shrug. He’s right. I was the one who broke up with him and in a very public way because I’d been jealous. Why had I had such a big reaction to his past flings? It’s not like I didn’t know about his dirty reputation or epic flirtations. Looking back, I think my real problem was that I was insecure. I wasn’t convinced I was pretty enough or sexy enough compared to the other girls he’d been with. I knew I could have him for a while, but I wasn’t convinced I could be enough of what he wanted to hold on to him. The feeling apparently has staying power, because I feel it even now.
* * *
Trick
When she curls close to me in the middle of the night and wakes me, it also awakens the darker side of my lust. I pull her head back by the hair as I kiss her, and she presses those incredible breasts against my chest.
My voice is a husky whisper. “I wanna play. Be good for me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Being called sir will always get my dick hard, but from her pouty lips… yeah, the cock’s a steel pipe. In the cool dark room, I gather what I want, starting with nipple clamps.
As I tighten them on her taupe nipples that are as firm as cherries, her gasps and the way she arches her back stoke my lust.
“Ow,” she mumbles against my mouth.
I kiss her until her hand goes to a clamp.
“Not allowed.” Grabbing her wrists, I hold them away from her chest. “But as long as you’re sweet, you can talk to me. Need the rings off?”
Her teeth sink into her lower lip. “The throbbing is intense.”
“Mmm hmm.” Removing a clamp, I suck the tip of her breast in my mouth, teasing roughly. I follow suit with the other side until she’s whimpering and clutching at my shoulders. “A little more.” The clamps go back on, pinching like fingers, decorating her to suit my tastes.
Whispering my pleasure at how sexy she is makes her coat my fingers with moisture. My cock throbs, restless for the pretty pussy that’s seduced and ready to be claimed. I’m tempted as hell to fuck her immediately, but the calculating part of my brain is still functioning and urges me to play a better long game.
A vibrator buzzing against her clit makes her writhe and cry out. I tease her tits and her clit until she comes. Then I use my fingers to force her to come again, so she’s shaking from the relentless arousal.
“You’re mine.”
When I put her on her belly with some pillows under her hips, Laurel shivers, but she doesn’t resist. Only when I put her arms into a leather hind restraint is she startled back to reality.
“Wait—” Her voice has an edge of panic.
Stroking her hair, I lean over her. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
Rubbing my knuckles along her lower back to soothe her, I say, “Then be good.”
She shudders, her voice a soft rasp when she speaks. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna treat you like I own you.”
Exhaling a shaky breath, she nods, then licks her lips. Blinking her eyes makes her long lashes flutter. Rewarding her with a deep kiss, I savor the taste of her and of her submission. My fingers squeeze her breast. If she’s pregnant, they’ll get even bigger and fill with milk to feed my baby. My cock throbs, attracted to that idea for the first time.
Rolling on a condom, I move between her legs. She’s in a helpless position, which arouses her on some level since she’s grinding her hips in small circles.
A memory hits me of her ass raised for discipline, of watching her squirm and cry in contrition for having been caught in a betrayal. The memories are more satisfying now, and more of an aphrodisiac. Because now she’s giving herself to me.
Pushing into her soft heat, I groan. My left hand slides under her body to claim her clit, stroking and teasing until her body’s movements turn wild and frantic. She pushes back against me, her sore ass forgotten.
Dropping lower, I stretch, cupping her neck from behind with my right hand while my left rubs roughly against her where she’s most sensitive. I squeeze her neck enough to make her feel my possession of her. My hips thrust harder and harder, banging against her bruised ass until she cries out over and over, caught between anguish and arousal.
Laurel comes first, spasming and clenching around my cock in a way that feels incredible. I use her relentlessly until she’s crying and then I empty my balls again. Panting, I rest my forehead between her shoulder blades, feeling sated all the way to my bones.
Go ahead. Let her be pregnant. Give me an excuse to never let her go.