Only Trick

“Yeah, the way you eased my embarrassment by watching the video in the first place, and the way you’ve been talking about it ever since.”

He moves his hand to his cock and starts stroking himself.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You like?”

I can’t look and yet I can’t not look … so of course I’m looking. “Stop it!”

His length grows in his hand with each stroke. “Feel free to touch yourself too.”

“Stop it!” My words are stern, but damn I cannot stop staring at him.

“At what point when you used to watch me did you decide you wanted to slip your hand inside your panties?”

“Put your clothes back on.” I force myself to turn my back to him.

“I will when I finish. Touch yourself, sexy.”

I turn back around. A cocky smile slides up his face as he strokes himself with more intensity. My lips part as I watch him; then my tongue circles over them.

“Take off your clothes …” he grits between his heavy breaths.

With slow seduction, I remove my clothes. It feels like his eyes are licking my flesh.

“Do you … want … to touch … yourself?” He pants out each word.

“Yes,” I breathe, sliding my hand down my belly, then turning, I flash up the stairs.

“Darby!” Trick yells with a grinding displeasure to his voice.

I slam the door to our room and lock it. Resting my back against it, I widen my stance and … touch myself. “Oh … God …”

“Darby!”

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The door vibrating from his fists pounding on it only intensifies my pleasure.

“Fuck!” He yells with a final punch. “Are you touching yourself?”

My fingers speed up, easily sliding along my wet sex, thanks to Trick. “Feels … so … good …”

“Stop!”

“I’m … close … oh God … right there … yes … Yes … YES!” I melt down the door as my orgasm sucks the life right out of me.

He growls a few expletives. “I want a divorce.” Then I hear his grumbling fade as he stomps down the stairs.

As far as self-induced orgasms go, that one was the best. He had me so worked up when he was stroking himself; then that voice, that damn sexy voice does it to me every time. It was torturous for me too. I wanted his body pressed to mine, filling me, more than almost anything, except how much I wanted to show him that I won the bet and he was not going to steal my victory.

Chapter Forty

In spite of Trick’s claim of “sexual torture,” we’re still married. I explain to him there were no witnesses, whereas I have two witnesses that saw me tied up and bound to the back of the sofa, naked. Memories like that make me a little envious of Trick’s amnesia.

Trick looks up from his work as I lean against the door frame to the guest bedroom.

“Can I interest you in lunch?”

“You?”

I laugh. “I was breakfast. I’m thinking actual food. Maybe you could take a break. We could throw on our helmets and go someplace.”

He grins. “Great idea, there’s something we need to get while we’re out.”

“What’s that?”

He moves toward me with sexy mischief in his eyes. Laying a soft kiss on my lips, he whispers, “You’ll see.”

We stop for lunch and enjoy our meal and the great weather on the rooftop patio. I wonder when the day will come that I stop pinching myself for this life. Even with all the uncertainty of Trick’s past, it doesn’t take away from the craziness that brought us to this point in such a short amount of time. We are proof that certainty is only in the now and the future is nothing more than a random guess.

“I’m crazy in love with you.” I grin, sipping my margarita.

Trick leans back in his chair, stirring his soda with his straw. “Well, the first is definitely a requirement for the second.”

“Maybe.” I nudge his foot with mine. “How did you get into yoga?”

His lips purse to the side. “Tamsen suggested it as part of my drug rehab. A friend of hers is an instructor. It works well with the twelve-step program. It taught me new coping mechanisms.”

“And when you do it you look insanely fuckable.”

Trick chuckles while shaking his head at my crass comment that was meant to elicit this exact reaction. “Yes, of course, that’s the main reason I do it.”

His eyes tense as he stares at his glass. Those hidden emotions of his are running rampant; I can see it in the way his smile slips. “Why did your father hit you?”

In spite of us being outside, it feels like there’s a lack of oxygen in the air around us. I did not see that question coming. “I suppose a psychiatrist would say because he’s never properly dealt with the loss of my mom, and I’m a reminder of her. I’m here and she’s not. So when I anger him, all those pent up emotions cause him to lash out at me.”