Only Trick Page 15

Trick starts to pull me toward the voice like he lived here, not me. I love everything about him, even the things that drive me crazy. He has a sexy bad-boy appearance with a reserved demeanor, but he’s confident and dominant as hell when he wants to be.

  “Hey…” I tug on his hand and wrap my arms around him before we reach the formal living room “…thank you for this.”

  He leans down toward my neck and I tilt my head, begging for his mouth to claim my skin. “You can thank me in a more proper way later.” He sucks and bites at my sensitive flesh.

  “Ah hem …”

  I start to move, but Trick takes his time, not even flinching before he gives me one last nip.

  “Good evening, Rachel.”

  Trick lifts his mouth from my neck with his back still to Rachel. He wets his lips then rubs them together; I swear he fucks me with his eyes and a smirk that says I-don’t-give-a-damn-who-just-walked-in-if-I-want-you-I’m-going-to-take-you. God, I’ve never wanted to be bent over that wooden banister so bad in my life. Desire used to be an afterthought, a luxury. Now it’s a rash that I can’t stop scratching.

  “Trick this is Rachel Hart, my father’s … wife.” I fake a grin.

  Trick turns and offers his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Rachel looks like she could pass out, the color draining from her face and her chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths. It’s the Trick effect. Her wide eyes dart back and forth between his face and his hand. Trick glances over at me with his hand still held out and gives me the knitted eyebrow look.

  I roll my eyes and shake my head because I don’t know what her problem is. She has a peculiar personality. “Rachel?” I say in two slow syllables.

  She swallows then clears her throat. “Uh … yes, sorry. It’s nice to meet you too.” Accepting his hand with hesitation, she eyes him as if she’s waiting for him to say something more.

  Trick releases her hand and looks at me with a subtle squint that shows lingering confusion in his eyes.

  “Well, shall we?” Rachel motions with a head nod to the living room. Even her Botox brow doesn’t hide her tension as she forces a tight-lipped smile while blinking as if she just got contacts.

  “There’s my girl.” My father holds out his arms.

  I release Trick’s hand and hug my father. Nana winks at me with a sly smile stealing her lips. “Father.” I step back, grabbing Trick’s hand again. “You remember Trick.”

  My father nods once as his face falls sour. “Yes, I remember. How nice of you to indulge my wife’s thirsty curiosity by joining us for dinner.”

  “I’m indulging your daughter, not your wife.”

  “Maybe for now. Let’s eat.” My father plasters on his politician’s smile while everyone drudges through the thick tension, making our way to the dining room.

  I recognize that look in my father’s eyes. It’s his way of saying, “See you in court.” Tonight the dining room will serve as the courtroom, and Trick will be on trial for the duration of dinner.

  Trick pulls my chair out, but I don’t think his faux gentlemanly manners are going to earn him points with my father. He sits next to me and leans over to my ear as I take a sip of water. “The only thing that’s going to get me through tonight is knowing that when it’s over I’ll be fucking you into the middle of next week.”

  I choke, searching with desperation for my next breath. A wry grin slides up Trick’s face as he pats my back.

  “Are you okay?” Nana and my father chime at the same time while Rachel scowls at me, as if choking at the dinner table is just another example of my poor etiquette.

  Pressing my hand to my chest, I nod. “F-fine.”

  “So, Trick, are you originally from Chicago?” My dad wastes no time.

  “Darling, we just sat down. Must you start with the interrogation?” Rachel sips her wine, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

  Nana peers at me as if I have the answer to Rachel’s uncharacteristic behavior. I expected my father and Rachel to tag team the interrogation.

  “Asking him where he’s from is hardly an interrogation. Do you feel interrogated, Trick?” My father loves putting people in the hot seat then daring them to admit they feel the heat.

  “I’m from Queens.”

  I look over at Trick. This is news to me. Admittedly, I never asked where he was from. Somehow I made the assumption that he grew up homeless on the streets of Chicago. He looks at everyone except me, as if gauging their reaction is more relevant than the wide-eyed shock on my face.

  “I see. Do your parents still live there?”

  “They’re dead.” Trick takes a bite of his salad.

  “Siblings?” My father doesn’t even have the decency to offer his condolences before moving on to the next question.

  “No.”

  “What brought you to Chicago?” He just keeps firing away.

  “Cal, really can you let the boy enjoy his dinner?” Rachel swoops in to save the day, but hell if I know why.

  “Job offer.” Trick ignores everyone but my father, except for giving Rachel the occasional glance.

  “And what is it you do?”

  “I’m a makeup artist.”

  My dad chuckles and takes his first bite of food, as if he’s made his case and is ready to dismiss the witness from the stand.

  “I started out doing sketches and selling them on the street and at local art festivals.”

  Food has to be hanging out of my mouth. I can’t believe Trick is volunteering information he’s never shared with me—information I’ve been too afraid to ask about.

  What’s his angle?

  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to check on something with Susie in the kitchen.” Rachel leaves the table.

  “Darby, what’s new with work?” Nana breaks the silence.

  I smile at her then look over at Trick who seems to be in deep thought with his eyes fixed to his food as he chews each bite with slow concentration. He seems a million miles away.

  *

  Rachel never returns to the table and nobody goes to check on her. What does that say about her? What does that say about us? My father takes an “important” call before dessert is served and never returns either. Nana and I end up having a conversation about her friend’s recent diabetes diagnosis. Trick says nothing, just a nod or two whenever we try to engage him in our conversation.

  We leave without a single goodbye from Rachel or my father. I’m usually the one being shunned for my poor etiquette, but right now I’m so embarrassed by the way they just left as if we weren’t worth their time.

  Nana nods off on the way home while Trick stares out the back window. I feel like a cab driver, and eventually I turn on the radio to drown out the monotonous silence.

  “Nana,” I whisper, giving her a gentle nudge but she still startles.

  “Oh dear! Did I doze off?”

  “Yes, I believe you did.” I chuckle.

  Trick gets out and opens her door.

  “Thank you. You’re quite the gentleman.”

  He’s not.

  “I’ll walk you to your door.”

  She pats his chest. “No need. I’ve got it, but thank you. Night, dear.” She waves to me as she heads up her walk.

  “Goodnight, Nana.”

  Trick gets in the passenger seat and shuts the door. “I have an early morning tomorrow.” He gives me a weak smile. It’s more than a lip twitch and less than the full on grin so I know it’s forced.

  “I do too, but I was still going let you fuck me into the middle of next week.”

  He moves his hand behind my head rest and looks me over before meeting my gaze again. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just have an early morning tomorrow. I’m doing onsite work for a photoshoot.” He looks ahead.

  My shoulders slump. “Okay. Tomorrow, maybe.” I pull away from the curb. “Why didn’t you tell me you were from New York?”

  “It never came up, I g
uess.”

  “And the sketches … you sold your art?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  It’s a little jarring that he’s never shown me his sketches and the only mention he makes about them since the first night at his place is to my father and Rachel who couldn’t care less. I don’t even know where everything is. He’s moved it all completely out of sight.

  “You must have intimidated Rachel … which is hard to do.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asks, glancing sideways.

  “She insists on knowing everything about everyone, and not only did she not ask you, well … anything, she actually tried to prevent my father from probing. It was…” I shake my head “…weird.”

  It’s not that I didn’t feel a little intimidated by Trick when we first met, but Rachel Hart is cutthroat; backing down from anyone is not her style.

  “Yeah, that is weird.”

  As I pull up along Trick’s street, he unfastens his seat belt. “Drive safe.” He brushes his knuckles across my cheek then starts to get out.

  What the hell?

  “Are you serious?” I can’t hide the pain in my voice.

  He ducks down looking back in at me.

  “Drive safe? That’s it? What the hell happened since fucking me into the middle of next week? Did I do something wrong? Is this about my family because I-I don’t understand?”

  He sighs, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “I’m just … off tonight. I’ll…” he pauses with another sigh “…I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

  I want to get out and hug him into some sort of submission, but I feel this wall between us right now. And as much as I love him, I really don’t know him well enough yet to anticipate how he might react to being pushed into opening up to me. The part of Trick I don’t understand feels dark, and it scares me more than I could ever admit to him.

  Pressing my lips together, I nod and he shuts the door. As I pull away, I look in my rearview mirror and see him raking his hands through his hair.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I think I fucked Rachel Hart … or maybe she fucked me. I don’t know because I can’t remember, but she does … she knows me … she remembers.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sleep evades me at every turn. I’ve brought up Trick’s number on my phone at least a half a dozen times, but my finger won’t press Send. After hours of restlessness and pent-up anxiety, I ignore the clock reading 3:30 a.m. and throw on my shorts and sports bra.

  An hour later I’m drenched in sweat, and my legs feel like jelly from spinning the hell out of them. The only thing more exhausted than my legs is my mind. I’ve replayed the evening so many times trying to figure out what went wrong. Why does Trick feel off and what does that mean? It’s as if it has something to do with Rachel, but that really doesn’t make sense either. He watched her with a tense look of confusion even when she wasn’t looking at him. Maybe he was pissed that she was so insistent on dinner then completely avoided all topics of conversation that involved him.

  Ugh!

  I wish I could figure it out. Instead, I’m showered and ready for work two hours early. Hunger hasn’t hit, and exhaustion is lurking but not ready to overtake my incessant stream of thoughts. A quick text might ease my mind. He’ll get it when he wakes and maybe text me back so I can focus on work today without obsessing over last night.

  Me: Sorry about dinner. You were right, we shouldn’t have gone. Couldn’t sleep well without you … missing you. Hope your day isn’t so “off.”

  After I send it, I force down my last Green Lantern and head into work early. It’s sad that I hope some emergency comes along that will require an extra set of hands. I need to preoccupy my mind until I can see Trick again.

  *

  The unusually slow day in the ER drags on, but I’m off now and headed to Trick’s. He never texted me back, which is surprising since I was nice enough to send my earlier message Emoji-free. The lights are off at Rogue Seduction, so I park and head up to his place. When I reach the top floor and open the gate, I’m greeted with him in just a pair of shorts doing another funky yoga pose that brings shades of crimson to my skin. His name alone turns me on; everything else is an erotic bonus.

  “Hey.” I smile as he lowers to his feet.

  “Hey.” He wipes his face with a towel. “I didn’t know you were coming by.”

  I stop my forward motion that’s intended to put my body in his arms—the place I’m so desperate to be right now. “Uh … well, I’m sorry. Guess I should have called.”

  He gulps down a glass of water, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “So what’s up?”

  I’m not the foremost expert on relationships, at least ones that mean anything, but the thick, tight knot in my stomach gives me the uneasy feeling that he’s trying to blow me off. Holy shit, is he dumping me? Trick’s not saying the words, but his actions speak volumes. He didn’t kiss me goodnight; he didn’t return my text; he’s not welcoming me with any sort of affection … He’s not making me feel welcome at all.

  Pushing the words past the lump in my throat, I muster a weak smile. “Nothing’s up. I thought we could get some dinner or something—”

  “I already ate.” He sets his glass down and looks at me like I’m the equivalent of a neighbor coming by to ask for a cup of sugar … and he doesn’t have any.

  An embarrassing mess of emotions threatens to overtake my composure. “Okay, well…” I step back toward the elevator “…I guess I’ll see you around.”

  He stares at me … no words, yet his silence says everything.

  I shut the gate and flip the switch. With just one shaky breath my heart overflows with suffocating pain pushing a flood of emotions to the surface. Cupping my hand over my mouth, I hold my breath, my tears, and my sobs inside until a gush of air hits me as I emerge from his building.

  The door slams shut and I lean against the side of the brick building and fall to pieces. I know the anger will hit at some point, and I’ll say the words to him that will give me back some dignity and help rebuild my confidence; but right now … I just need to cry.

  Not being able to make sense of it just intensifies the pain. Was it my father? Rachel? The wealth that surrounds me? Wiping away the tears, I push off the side of the building and adjust my scarf so it covers most of my tear-stained face as I take shaky steps toward my car.

  “Darby.” Trick’s voice at my back twists the knife a little deeper.

  I stop, but I can’t turn and look at him.

  “Come.”

  Closing my eyes, a few more painful tears fall down my cheeks as I shake my head. Opening them I take in a breath of courage and continue walking to my car.

  “Darby!”

  My legs move faster until I’m jogging. With each pounding step I rush my heart to safety. Strong arms grab me from behind, and as he hugs me I completely shatter. My brain screams for him to let me go, but my words are buried under too many emotions. When love and anger collide, it rains down a flood of heartache. I hate feeling vulnerable; it hurts so fucking bad.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, just come back.”

  “I-I don’t understand …”

  Trick turns me around; the stoic face that I’m used to seeing has been replaced with dark eyebrows gathered in a pained expression. “I’m messed up and I should …” He squeezes his eyes shut.

  Clenching my fingers into his shirt, I jerk at it. “What? You should what? Let me go?” Rage builds with each word, each breath.

  He opens his eyes—regret. God, it’s so thick in his expression.

  “If you try and give me the ‘it’s not you it’s me’ or ‘I should let you go’ bullshit story, I swear I will never forgive you.” I release a sob. “So fucking make up your mind…” I shake my head, emotions surging out of control “…because you’re killing me.”

  Trick grabs my head, and fisting my hair he kisses me so hard it feels like he’s taking my very last breath. My tongue fights with his for contro
l as desire turns into an insatiable need that can no longer be ignored. As he starts to ease up, I grab his face, holding his mouth to mine. Stopping or even slowing down feels impossible.

  Grabbing my ass with a bruising grip, he lifts me up and I clench my legs around him as he moves toward the alley. He pushes my back against the unforgiving brick wall a few feet from his door and rips off my scarf. The friction from his rough face burns my sensitive skin as he sucks and drags his teeth over my flesh.

  “Trick …” I grind my hips into him, feeling the head of his erection through his shorts. My mind flashes to ‘what if someone looks down the alley?’ but that’s all the further that thought goes. “Fuck me, Trick …”

  His hands move under my blouse, and with the impatience I’m craving, he jerks down my bra and cups my breasts so hard I cry out in pain. Sliding one hand around, he palms my ass and stumbles the last few feet to the door. He types in the code while I reach between us, sliding my hand into his shorts.

  “Fuck!” He throws open the door, staggering inside until my back hits the metal lattice elevator gate.

  My grip on his cock hardens and so does he as I stroke him, grazing my thumb over the wet tip. Pulling my hand away, he sets me on my feet. Before he can slide the gate open, I hunch down taking his shorts and briefs with me.

  “Darby—”

  I take him in my mouth and suck until he falls forward with a clanging rattle of the gate, leaning his forehead against it and gripping it with his hands.

  “Shit! St-stop …” His words come out desperation and broken as he clenches his teeth, sucking in a hissing breath.

  Releasing him, I kiss my way up his torso, pushing his shirt up until he grabs it with one hand and shrugs it off. Pressing my lips to his hard pectoral muscle, I bite down on it relishing the salty taste of his sweat.

  He growls and grabs my face, smashing our mouths together. I dig what little nails I have into his hard ass with one hand and stroke him with my other. One minute I have my shirt on, the next he’s tearing it open; the clink of the buttons flittering across the floor barely audible over our moans.