Only Trick

“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.