“Shit,” I whisper to myself in realization that my clothes are downstairs strewn along the entry.
After padding across the floor, I cringe as the gate rattles shut, but Trick doesn’t stir. The elevator screeches to a jerky halt. I frown at the scattered buttons on the floor as I gather up my belongings.
“Fucking hell! Darby!”
I flinch with a white-knuckled grip on my wad of clothes. It’s possible he thinks I left … alone again in the dark. As the elevator ascends, I see black leather boots first, then jeans, a bared chest, clenched jaw, and finally steam seething from his nostrils. Opening the gate with caution, I press my lips together with a grimace as my stomach roils. With a hesitant step toward him, I gulp down my nerves and lift onto my toes, brushing my lips against his before depositing a small peck.
“I was just getting my clothes.”
Drawing in a breath and holding it, his gaze flicks upward as his head turns in a minute shake. “You should have woke me.”
Sidestepping past him, a sarcastic chuckle escapes me. “To ride down the elevator with me?” I pull on my leggings then steal a shirt from his dresser.
Trick turns. “Were you going to wake me before you left?”
“Yes.”
Maybe.
“I’m going to program the garage door code into your car and from now on you’ll park inside.”
After tying back my hair, I shove the ruins of my shirt into my handbag. “Mr. Roth, are you giving me unrestricted access to your place?” My brows peak.
Trick tugs his shirt down over his head. “I’m giving you unrestricted access to me. And I’m keeping you safe.”
“You think you’re my protector?” I ask while shoving my feet into my boots.
“Come,” he calls, heading to the elevator while leaving me … as always … scurrying after him.
*
Trick is an extreme emotional roller coaster. I’ve been up and down and whipped in every direction, feeling scared, nervous, sick, and a whole lot of tummy twisting, adrenaline surging desire for more.
“Oh my God! What the hell happened to you?” Jade’s shrill startles me as I pull my scrub top over my head.
“What are you talking about?” I cock my head to the side.
“Your back.” She stares at me with cow eyes.
I walk over to the mirror and pull up my shirt, looking over my shoulder.
Crap!
I slide my shirt back down over my red welts. Ironically, they don’t hurt too badly. It’s hard to tell because I have a general soreness in most of my muscles, a few hickeys on my chest, as well as some bite marks. That’s what I get for asking to be fucked hard.
The “I fell,” or “I got mugged,” scenarios won’t work with Jade. She’s too smart.
“I got shoved up against an old elevator gate.” I sit on the bench and tie my shoes.
“Were you being mugged?”
I stand corrected.
“No … I wouldn’t say that.” Looking up, I wince, feeling a flush creep across my cheeks.
Her jaw plunges to the floor. “Sex? Are those marks from sex?”
My ego throws up its dukes at the incredulity in Jade’s voice. “Would that be so hard to believe?” I’m a miserable failure at keeping a straight face.
Jade laughs as I tighten my lips to hold back my own shit-eating grin. “Yes, it would be hard to believe, but you’re too honest to lie, so …”
I pull on my lab coat and adjust my badge. “So what?”
“So who’s the guy and where can I get me one?”
“He’s the squirrel.”
Jade finishes getting dressed. “A squirrel, huh?”
“No not a squirrel, I said the squirrel.”
She freezes, mid tie of her scrub pants. “I knew it! I could feel the sexual tension in the room that day. Oh my, he must be a real machine. Is he? Does he like it kinky? Oh God … I bet he does. Did he tie you up? Handcuffs? Let me see your wrists.”
“I’m not even going there, Jade.” I shake my head and walk out the door.
Yes, he’s a machine.
The sharp edge to his voice, a proverbial knife to my throat, Trick doesn’t need to use restraints … he paralyzes me with a look, ties me up with words, and controls me with his body.
*
The day starts with such a high, but as the laws of gravity kick in I have nowhere to go but down. Around noon, I receive a text from Trick.
Trick: Catching a flight to LA in 2 hrs. Call you later.
I start my slow deflate for the rest of the afternoon. As I walk to my car, I receive another text.
Rachel: We need to talk. ASAP!
Lovely.
Me: On my way home. I’ll call you later.
Rachel doesn’t respond. She’s used to working with a team of dogs following her around, tails wagging, just waiting for her to give a command. I’m not that obedient. I can already see her squinting at her phone wondering where my father went wrong with me.