Only Trick Page 24

  “Yes, why?”

  “Is it because you wish you could drive it or you wish you had one?”

  Another laugh and a head shake. “No.”

  Trick jabs his thumb in the direction of our neighbor’s house. “That rack was the Wienermobile.” His hands slide to the zipper of my dress. I close my eyes as he drags it down with seductive patience, eliciting a flood of prickly goose bumps across my skin. “You, my sexy, beautiful wife … you are a Ducati.” My dress falls to the sand.

  My heavy eyelids flutter open as his mouth claims my neck, his hands feathering down my arms. “A Ducati?”

  “Mmm hmm.” He works the buttons of his shirt, letting his lips hold me submissive to his touch. “My bike is a Ducati.”

  “You love your bike?”

  “Very much.” He tosses his shirt to the side and my hands claim the tat-covered skin I crave. He’s so damn sexy; my body feels on the constant edge of convulsion just from the heat of his skin.

  “More than me?”

  Trick stills, his mouth a breath away from mine. He stares at my lips and then flits his eyes to mine. A lip twitch. “No.” He moves to capture my kiss, but I pull away.

  “Oh my God! Did you have to think about it?”

  In the darkness his teeth shine white. He grabs my waist, stealing my breath as he lifts me to him. I wrap my legs around his waist, and he carries me to the house.

  “You hesitated!” I clench his hair and tug it, making him look at me.

  He tries to dip his head down to my neck.

  “You hesitated!”

  As he carries me up the stairs to our bedroom, I keep a firm grip on his hair.

  “I married you.”

  “Because they wouldn’t give you a marriage license to marry your stupid bike.”

  Plopping me down on the bed, he straddles me. His face so close to mine our noses touch. “Now there’s no need for name calling, and I hesitated because I couldn’t believe you even asked.” He drops slow kisses on my face. “My bike makes me feel good about my hard work. It’s the nicest thing I’ve purchased with my own money.” He slides his hand behind my head. “You make me feel good about myself. You’re not my possession…” he presses his lips to mine, our tongues colliding in an explosion of need “…but I still want to possess … every … inch … of … you.”

  I close my eyes. His mouth skims down my neck to my shoulder, across my collarbone, and down to my breast.

  “Possess me …” I breathe out.

  My husband … dear God … my husband stands and removes the rest of his clothes and pulls off my lace panties. “I have the most beautiful wife.” Trick kisses the inside of my ankle and makes the moment an eternity … an infinity of love. Lips, breath, tongue, hands, and every other inch of his body worships mine like I’m his religion and this bed is our church. And I swear his love is God sent and his touch is a glimpse of Heaven here on Earth.

  “Trick … it’s too much,” I plead as he brings me to the precipice over and over. Buried inside me, he drives me to ecstasy and then pulls out and tortures my sensitive nipples, my neck, my lips, and the occasional swipe of his tongue along my swollen sex. I am a feather’s touch away from orgasm or death … it could go either way at this point. The tangled sweaty mess of bed sheets has become typical of our love making that’s really a marathon or sexual torture, depending on the night.

  He flips me so I’m on top of him, sweaty and dizzy with so much need I can barely sit up. Grabbing my hips he guides me until he’s lined up to my entrance, and then he brings me down onto him so hard we both cry out as I collapse onto his chest. Our mouths absorb our moans stirred by his last few deep strokes into me.

  “S-so good…” I pant into his neck “…that was … so … good.”

  “Agreed.” Trick chuckles with his hands still tangled in my hair. He rolls us to the side and grins. “Wife.”

  I grin. “Husband.”

  After long minutes of post-coital bliss, Trick rubs a few strands of my hair between his fingers with a glazed look in his eyes. “Why’d you say yes?”

  I stare at my finger tracing the sanskrit on his abs. I’ve done it so many times every symbol has found its own etching in my mind. “Because you asked.”

  He laughs. “But you didn’t have to say yes.”

  “You’re wrong.”

  “How’s that?” His muscles contract under my touch.

  “Because anything else would have been a lie.” I glance up at him.

  He nods. It’s subtle, but I see it. I’m attuned to a million little things about this man that I’m certain nobody else sees. Each little twitch, flinch, slow nod, or drawn out blink holds significance. These are the times I feel his thoughts. These undefined emotions mean so much.

  “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

  “I wanted you to know that I belong to you.” Leaning forward he kisses me.

  The profoundness of his words steals my breath. He didn’t marry me to take anything; he did it to give me everything.

  He yanks the knotted sheet loose and covers our naked bodies, pulling me closer until my nose finds home in its favorite spot at the crook of his neck.

  “Goodnight, wife.”

  “Goodnight, husband.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Our sheer shades invite nature’s alarm—the sun. I roll to nuzzle, but my nose finds nothing but pillow. There should be a law against waking up alone after your marriage ceremony night. I reach for the sheet that has drifted down my naked body, needing to erase the goose bumps from the chilly morning air.

  “Leave it. I’m not done looking at your tits.”

  I bolt up, of course grabbing the sheet and covering my tits. Trick smirks, handing me a glass of juice, then yanks the sheet away. My eyes rove across his body, stumbling over a bump of aggravation when they hit his exercise shorts.

  “It’s our honeymoon. Why are you up and dressed?” I take a sip of juice.

  He bends down, sucking the skin along my neck. “We’re going to yoga, then we’ll come back and I’ll work on getting my wife broken in good.”

  I cough on my juice, half of it landing on his chest. He shakes his head while wiping it away with the sheet. Everything that comes out of his mouth is either words of romantic poetry or a dirty sailor beckoning his wench—rarely anything in between.

  “Break me in?”

  “Yes. But first we should get you limbered up. Come.” He waltzes out of the room like we just finished discussing our grocery list.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Maybe I do need to limber up. Trick woke me in the middle of the night with his head buried between my legs. I was convulsing in under sixty seconds. Then he plunged his steel cock in me and made a relentless sprint to his finish as well. Afterward he pressed a soft kiss to my lips and said one word, “wife,” before spooning me into his body and drifting off to sleep. I question if he was even awake. It felt like he was acting out a dream. Some people sleep walk or raid the refrigerator in their sleep; maybe Trick’s thing is going to be sleep sex—spontaneously waking in the night and pounding his wife. Hmm …

  *

  Trick waits for me with an extra towel and yoga mat. I fill my water bottle and step out into the cool morning breeze.

  “Wife,” he says with his back to me.

  “Husband.” I snuggle into his bare back, wrapping my arms around him.

  He grabs my water and takes a swig. “Ready?”

  I slide around to his front, lifting on my toes to kiss him. He denies me nothing, cupping the back of my head and holding me to his lips for a long kiss. “I’m going to embarrass you.”

  He laughs. “Come.”

  I follow him down the stairs to the beach where we head north.

  “Yoga is not a competitive sport. You do it for yourself without worrying about what other people around you are doing.”

  “This coming from the guy who decided to marry me yesterday to make his claim in front of our ne
ighbor. I’m not sure if I should feel wed or marked.”

  He glances back at me. “I’m spontaneous.”

  “You’re incorrigible. So is there an instructor or does everyone just do their own thing?” I jog to keep up with his long strides. Damn! Why is he always in such a hurry?

  “Bridget and Courtney take turns leading the group. Courtney led yesterday so I assume Bridget will lead today.”

  “Are you the only guy?”

  “Nope. Stuart was there yesterday.”

  We make our way around a small inlet and there are about ten people stretching out on their mats in the sand with the rising sun to their backs and the breathtaking expanse of the Pacific in front of them.

  “Trick and Darby!” Mallory waves jumping up and down. She’s in danger of a black eye if she doesn’t take it down a notch with her silicon punching bags bouncing all over the place. “Hey, everyone, Trick and Darby got married yesterday.”

  We’re greeted with smiles and congratulations as Mallory introduces me to everyone else. The group is basically all perfect bodied twenty-somethings with shameless eyes all over my husband. Then, yes, there is Stuart and his wife Leona, both probably in their fifties. We spread out our mats as Bridget has everyone face east for several Sun Salutations. As we progress through more poses, I watch Trick to make sure I’m doing them right, but I’m not the only one watching him. Everyone else watches him too, with the exception of Stuart. Even his wife sneaks a peek every chance she gets.

  Trick seems oblivious to the wandering eyes or maybe he’s in his “go with the flow” mode that Grady taught him. Massive muffins Mallory is going to pull something in her neck if she doesn’t keep her head down during Down Dog. Trick has got to see her staring at his ass. Bridget keeps reminding everyone to breathe with each stroke. Well, I’m seething and everyone else is panting, maybe even drooling a little. Trick and Stuart are the only ones controlling their breath to sync it with their movements.

  “Everyone look at Trick.”

  I whip my head around, nearly toppling over in the sand, to see Bridget has walked over to Trick.

  “See how his shoulders are strong but relaxed, pulled away from his ears.” She rests her hands on his shoulders. “His abs are pulled in…” she slides her fingers down to his abs “… and he’s low in his stance, front knee open and he’s firming his butt.” Her hand starts to move toward his butt. Bitch thinks she’s going to touch my man’s ass!

  “Ahem!” I clear my throat loud enough to startle Bridget from her demonstration.

  She gives me a fake grin and moves back to her mat. Trick? Well, his lip twitches. That cocky bastard is going to pay for it later!

  We finish an hour’s worth of contortionist training and then lie flat on our mats in Savasana or Corpse Pose to calm our central nervous systems and clear our minds. Not happening here. I’m worked up into a jealous frenzy that I’m not the least bit proud of and my mind is thinking murderous thoughts. After our final cleansing breaths, Bridget salutes everyone with a slow bow and a “namaste.” The light in me honors the light in you. Aka, everyone else is in a peaceful loving place, but I’ve fallen victim to the bitch monster.

  “See you tomorrow!” Bridget calls as we walk back down the beach.

  No you won’t!

  My anger unleashes a superpower in my legs allowing me to keep a few strides ahead of Trick.

  “You’re sexy when you’re jealous.”

  “Shut up.”

  He chuckles and it’s fuel to my fire. “This is going to be fun.”

  I whip around and he stops within inches of bowling me over. “Fun?” I scowl, looking up at him. “We haven’t been married for twenty-four hours and I’m already pissed at you. You think that’s fun?”

  “I think we’re going to fuck hard.” The grit to his voice leaves no room for question. He’s turned on by my anger. This is his foreplay. It’s possible since the elevator gate incident he’s made the assumption I like a good pounding. I do, but I like it on my terms. There’s a very specific frame of mind that goes with the pain slash pleasure scenario that we’ve done a few times. As my feet sink into the sand with him towering over me, eyes burning into my flesh, I don’t feel like this is going to be on my terms.

  Squeezing my legs together, I’m able to hide the way my sex melts to the sound of his voice. My hardened nipples, however, need to practice more self-control, a pokerface of sorts. “I hate the way you let women touch you.” I force some backbone into my words.

  “I can see that.” He steps so close my chest touches his.

  “So. Why. Do. You. Let. Them. Do. It?”

  “On a scale of one to ten, how wet are you for me right now.”

  What?!

  “Did you know I wake up in the middle of the night with the most fucking uncontrollable craving for you?”

  Gulp … I did gather that last night.

  He leans down, the heat from his skin, his breath, and his smell invading my personal space in every way possible. “I bet you’re a ten and dripping over the fucking edges of the scale right now.”

  With my heart slamming against my chest, I smack the yoga mats out of his hand and run. There’s no time to look back. I keep going until I reach the back door and rush through without shutting it. Skidding into our bedroom, I grab my phone off the dresser and scurry to the guest bedroom. With a quick look around I dive into the closet and shut the door, hiding behind a slew of his art supplies that showed up yesterday.

  Now I decide to practice my controlled yoga breathing, fearing he’ll hear my labored breaths from downstairs. Then it hits me. I’m hiding from my husband … in a closet. What the hell? This can’t be normal. I can’t hear anything so after a few minutes I turn on my phone.

  Me: BFF, I need your help. I’m hiding from my husband.

  Trick: Why is that?

  I swallow hard.

  Me: Because he’s intimidating.

  Trick: What are you afraid of?

  Trick: Having your nipples sucked so hard you orgasm the moment he sinks his teeth into them.

  Trick: Having his cock so full in your mouth you can’t help but touch yourself?

  Trick: Feeling his fingers curling inside you as his tongue flicks over your clit while your hands are restrained and you’re helpless to his touch?

  Trick: Or just a good old-fashioned fucking bent over the back of the sofa?

  Umm … uhh …

  “Ahh!” I scream as the closet door opens. My heart explodes and I nearly wet myself. I shuffle my feet against the floor, scooting as far in the corner as I can, hugging my knees to my chest.

  “Come.”

  I shake my head, holding my breath.

  His lip twitches. Then, with what can only be described as a scene from a horror movie, he grabs my ankles and drags … he fucking drags me out of the closet. “Trick!”

  Hoisting me over his shoulder, he smacks my ass so hard I yelp. “I’m thinking sofa.”

  “Trick! Stop!” I scream, kicking and flailing as he carries me downstairs. As I pound my fists against his back, something catches my eyes. He has the ties to both my satin and terrycloth robes partially tucked into the waistband of his shorts along with one of his belts.

  OH SHIT!

  He sets me down with my ass backed up to the sofa, my chest heaving, eyes wide.

  “Do you love me?”

  I swallow and nod.

  “Do you trust me?”

  My gaze falters.

  “Darby?” He lifts my chin with his finger.

  “Do. You. Trust. Me?”

  Another swallow, another nod.

  “Good.” He lifts my yoga top over my head, wetting his lips as he stares at my breasts. Then he pulls down my pants, leaving me naked. His lips skim up my legs, stopping at my sex, but all he does is just breathe out causing my legs to pinch closer together. Then he inhales. Standing, he watches me—daring me to run again. “It’s my job as your husband to bring you unfathomable pleasure. Under
stood?”

  A slow nod.

  “Good.” He takes the belt and binds my hands in front of me.

  I’ve been tied up before, but he doesn’t know that, and I’m a little surprised he doesn’t ask me if it’s okay.

  “Turn.”

  I stare at him for a moment. Then I slowly turn. He ties the robe belts around the back legs of the sofa.

  “Spread ’em.”

  I glance over my shoulder at him. He looks up with a don’t-make-me-ask-you-again look. Sighing, I spread my legs and he ties them with the opposite ends of the anchored belts. Placing his palm flat on my back, he pushes me forward.

  “Bend over.”

  I bend over.

  “Fucking perfect.”

  “Trick!” I yell as two of his fingers plunge into me with unexpected surprise.

  “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

  “Trick …” I try to tip my pelvis into his touch.

  He pumps his fingers into me a few times then removes them. “Just as I suspected … an overflowing ten.”

  I can’t see him, but I feel his cocky grin and if I know my dirty husband, he’s sucking my juices off his fingers this very moment. But my body doesn’t have time to relish in his kinkiness because there’s a knock at the door.

  “Trick—”

  He leans over me, running his tongue along my shoulder. “Shh … Don’t. Move,” he whispers. Is he blind to the fact that I’m tied up! Where the hell am I going to go?

  I’ll admit, this isn’t how I imagined our day going when we made love last night for the first time as husband and wife. If this is day two of our marriage, what’s he leaving on the Spice Things Up list twenty years from now?

  There’s a chattering of muffled voices. I assume Trick’s getting rid of a neighbor or something, but he’s taking his leisurely time. I think I’m going to tie him naked to the couch later then leave to go shopping.

  My body goes rigid as the voices get closer.

  “Wait!” I hear Trick yell.

  No! No! No!

  “Well, what do we have here?”

  Grady.

  I close my eyes and die with zero dignity.

  “Trick, now aren’t you a boy after my own heart. Looks like we both like ’em tied to the sofa, bare ass up.”