Dirty Trick

by Christine Bell

  She loved him. She’d always loved him. As a best friend, for sure, but even then, it had been different than what she had with Serena. There had always been an edgy tension right under the surface that she’d made excuses for and struggled to ignore. She’d never felt that way before. Not around Vic, not around Seth or any of the guys she’d dated. Except Catman, she reminded herself. But even then, when she thought of him, there was nothing but fondness. She never would’ve gotten the courage to try with Trick at all if not for those confidence boosting and oh-so-freeing nights with him. But as good as it had been, something was missing. The joy and comfort of being around someone who knew her favorite movie, and how she liked her coffee. Who she could trust to have her back and be there when she needed him. And here he was.

  Trick.

  “I need you to know, no matter what happens after tonight, how much I care about you, Gracie.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she froze. Was this his way of setting her up for a fall? To warn her that he might not be able to go the distance with her? Maybe. But as she looked at the sincerity in his face, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she believed him and that she finally said out loud what she should have known more than a year ago. She’d leave the rest to fate.

  “Me, too.”

  His scent was so familiar, she wanted to burrow closer and breathe him in until he was all she could smell. But she was impatient. She thrust her hands under his shirt, and pressed her palms to his heated skin.

  “God, you feel so good,” she murmured. His body was all lean muscle and golden skin, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

  He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, kicking the door closed behind him on a sulky-faced pair of dogs. “Sorry guys, we’re doing this for your own good. What’s about to go down here could scar you for life.”

  She managed to choke out a laugh as he crossed the gleaming hardwood floors and set her on the bed.

  “I’ve thought of this moment, with you looking up at me exactly like that, so many times, I can’t even count them.” His words were so softly spoken that she strained to hear him, but when she did, they settled in close to her heart. He’d wanted her. Judging by his words, he’d wanted her long before now. Maybe from the beginning? Had they wasted all this time because she was afraid of being betrayed again? Well, she wasn’t afraid anymore.

  Before she could respond, he swooped down over her, angling her back against the pillows, and kissed the breath out of her. Odd, she’d been so used to Vic’s terrible technique that she hadn’t realized that most guys were good kissers. Catman had been lovely, and Trick put the awe in awesome. All the passion of Catman with the added, tender, and unquantifiable bonus of love driving them.

  Trick’s long body stretched over hers, pressing her farther into the soft mattress. His chest smashed against her breasts, his hips tucked into hers, creating glorious pressure. He tucked his knee between her thighs, and she spread them wide to accommodate him.

  He lifted his head and gave her the most intense stare, it sent her heart knocking. It was wholly unnerving, and she scrambled to dial the tension back some. “Bummer. I was hoping I’d finally get to hear you say ‘spread ‘em’ like you do at work.”

  He held her gaze and a slow grin spread over his face. “In that case, maybe I should get my cuffs?”

  Grace shook her head furiously, in spite of the blast of white hot heat that hit her right in the pelvis at the thought. This was enough for now…almost too much. They could save the wilder play for later.

  God, she hoped there was a later.

  She shoved back her fear and gave him a smile of her own. “Just me and you tonight, officer.” She gripped his shirt and dragged his mouth back to hers, pouring every ounce of need into their kiss.

  His strong hands slipped into her hair, anchoring her to him, taking control. The thick ridge tucked against her hip grew harder, and he ground himself closer. She groaned against his mouth, and his fingers tightened.

  “Sit up,” he gasped as he pulled away. He shifted back to sit on the bed as she propped herself against the headboard. Leaning in, he grasped the frayed hem of her t-shirt and tugged it over her head.

  The soft cotton covered her ears, but she thought she heard him mutter a prayer. When the cool air hit her bare nipples, they pebbled tighter, and she resisted the urge to cover herself.

  “You should throw away all your bras,” he murmured, reaching out a hand to trace the slope of one breast. “Because binding these is a fucking crime.”

  His words slid over her like warm honey, and the last of her nerves disappeared. You’re sexy. You’re good in bed. He thinks you’re beautiful. And you deserve this.

  Letting instinct take over, she cupped his warm hand tightly in hers until it covered her breast. She groaned when he ran his thumb over the stiff tip.

  “Nice. So responsive,” he whispered. “I can’t wait to put my mouth on you.”

  She couldn’t either, and was about to request that he get on that, when he pulled away to curl his fingers around the waist of her pants. Without hesitation, she lifted her bottom so he could slide them off. He tossed them to the side and for a long moment just stared down at her, his hot eyes skimming from her head to her toes and back again.

  “Perfect.”

  “I’m glad you think so, but I’m at a distinct disadvantage here.” He seemed to hesitate, and she eyed him hard. “You’re not chickening out, are you?”

  “Oh, hell no,” he said, his flat, sure tone calming her sudden resurgence of nerves. “I’ll strip, but first I want you to lay on your stomach. I’ve had wet dreams about that ass, and I just need to see it in the flesh.”

  She gathered up her courage and slunk down on the bed to roll onto her tummy.

  …

  “Holy mother of god, you’re sexy.”

  And damn, was she. But even though he hadn’t been lying when he’d told her he wanted to see her bare ass, that was only a part of the reason behind his request. Maybe he was overestimating how memorable his dick was, but he was suddenly terrified she’d get one look at it in the flesh and recognize it. The thought—and the ensuing guilt—had been hard to shake, but now, in the face of the finest ass in the Western hemisphere, it was hard to even remember his own name.

  “Are you coming down here or what?” she mumbled against the pillow, squirming restlessly against the mattress.

  “Or what” was definitely out of the question as the remaining blood drained from his head at the sight of her wriggling bottom. Using the distance and dimness of the room to his advantage he stripped off his shirt and pants. He left his underwear on, and then lowered himself back to the bed next to her. Her face was still buried in the pillow, but her frame had gone stiff, with fear or anticipation, he wasn’t sure.

  He wasted no time in trying to get her to soften and relax, trailing his fingertips over one ankle, a sleekly muscled calf, to her thigh—which pebbled with goosebumps at the touch—and finally, over the firm cheek of her ass. He’d meant to keep going. To massage the tense muscles in her back for a minute, but he was stuck. The plump curves grabbed a hold of his attention and hung on like a pitbull.

  He bent low and sank his teeth into one curve.

  “Oof!” she squealed against the pillow.

  He pulled away, but she wiggled her hips and thrust her bottom back toward him.

  Her low voice drifted from above. “Just startled,” she gasped. “Don’t stop.”

  Catman had bitten her too, and she’d liked it, so it was no surprise. What was surprising was the massive jolt of possessiveness that slammed through him and the need to obliterate all thoughts of the masked stranger from both their minds that raged through him. It had been great between them, but good old Catman had served his purpose. Now it was time for him to bury the bastard.

  He bent low and let his warm breath wash over the back of her knees, and she shivered lightly.

  “Nice,�
�� he whispered before cupping her thigh and leaning in to flick his tongue against the tender skin, reveling in the scent of lavender that teased his senses. She had been a rabid collector of lotions since he’d known her, and was notorious for holding her arm up and making him smell her. Little did she know that every one of those occasions was an exercise in self-control for him. One he hoped would help him now because she smelled good enough to eat.

  She shifted restlessly beneath his hand, and he pressed his mouth to the spot that was still damp from his tongue. This time, she stiffened and gasped.

  “It’s just a knee, for crying out loud,” she mumbled. “Why does that feel so good?”

  He shook his head slowly, letting the rasp of his five o’clock shadow scrape the soft flesh, and she groaned.

  “I’m hoping it’s all going to feel good, Gracie.” He nibbled his way up, taking his sweetass time, using his hands to massage her legs, dipping his thumbs inward as he went. By the time he reached the apex of her thighs, he could feel the heat pouring from her core, and the musky scent of feminine arousal obliterated the lavender. His already swollen cock grew thicker and more insistent. He ground his hips into the mattress with a silent prayer for control.

  Slow. Take it slow.

  “Touch me, Trick. Please.” Her voice was a dream he’d dreamt a thousand times. Husky. Needy. Catching a little when she said his name.

  He growled and roughly jerked her legs apart, letting his thumbs slick along her waiting heat. “You’re on fire.”

  She twisted her head on the pillow and tried to look down at him, but gave up on a moan. “You have no idea.”

  He let out a pained laugh. “I think I might.” But the rush of wetness against his hand told him that she was as ready as he was. He sent two fingers deep, and her pliant flesh opened to accept them.

  “Yes,” she hissed, her head tossing against the pillow.

  He pressed in and retreated, his hips pulsing against the mattress in time with thrusts, the ache in his balls increasing with every move. She rocked back against his hand, her slender back bowing as she did.

  He didn’t stop the pressure, working her faster and harder, taking note of the signs her body was giving him. Short of breath, muscles straining, the tight column of her sex flexing. She was close. “Can you come like this? If I take you from behind?” he bit out through gritted teeth.

  “I’m not sure,” she gasped, arching back faster, bearing down on his hand. “But if you don’t help me find out right now, I’m going to scream.”

  She’d scream. He’d make damn sure of it.

  He slid his hand away from her, and she whimpered at the loss. Rising to his knees, he made short work of his underwear before urging her to lift her bottom up. He almost lost it then as he looked down in the moonlight, seeing his hands cupping the beautiful, round, white cheeks. The anticipation of watching his cock slide in and out, slick with her juices until they both exploded and he came deep inside—

  Fuck. Condom.

  He froze and took a long, shuddering breath. Before he could speak to tell her he needed to take a quick timeout, she said the four sweetest words he’d ever heard.

  “I’m on the Pill.”

  Elation rushed through him. She hadn’t told Catman that. He’d covered it up that night in the sauna and she hadn’t mentioned the Pill at all. His smart Gracie. His true love, Gracie. This meant something different to her. Something more special…the most special, and he wanted to roar with satisfaction.

  “Are you sure? I know you consider me a player, but I’ve always—”

  “Shh,” she murmured, shimmying her butt against him. “Enough talking. I already know you’d never do anything to hurt me, and I trust you. But if you don’t get inside me this—ahh!”

  Molten, wet heat closed over him, and blood pounded in his ears. She’d had him at “Shh,” and he’d only taken enough time to get in position before sliding home. God, she was tight. Trust, a little voice whispered. What had she just said about trust?

  She chose that moment to groan and slam back against him hard enough that he saw stars, and they incinerated his thoughts.

  “I think I will,” she said, her voice breaking when he pulled back and slid deep again.

  “You think you will what?” he asked, rolling his hips in a measured rhythm of long strokes that buried him a little more each time.

  “Be able to come like this. It’s…Oh, shit. That’s—” She threw her head back and propped herself up on her elbows.

  “I can’t tell you what it means to be with you like this. Nothing between us. You’re so fucking sexy, Gracie. So—”

  “Now!” She snaked a hand behind her and dug her nails into his ass. “Now, Trick, please.”

  Tell her, the stupid voice whispered.

  But she was fucking him in earnest now, her quick little hips moving like pistons as she hurtled toward release, pulling him with her. He could no more stop than he could cut off his arm. Her back arched, and she let out a short scream. The need to come clawed at him as she tightened and released over him, gripping his cock in the sweetest caress. Pressure built to the point of pain, and then he was free-falling.

  His last coherent thought was tomorrow.

  He would tell her tomorrow.

  Chapter Twelve

  Grace sat behind her desk like it was any other day. Only it wasn’t. It was the best day. A day her Gram would have called “a real goddamned chestnut.” Her night with Trick had been something she never would have dreamed of. Not in a million years, but there it was. And it was awesome.

  She leaned forward and laid her head on the desk, inhaling deeply. This time it wasn’t for comfort. This time it brought utter joy. Gram would’ve loved Trick. He was charming and sweet and funny. Not to mention he had Gram’s favorite feature in a man, namely a “pile-driving ass.” She found herself grinning at the thought of them talking. He would’ve have had a blast with her.

  The clickety-click of high heels had her sitting up and trying to wipe the world’s stupidest grin off her face.

  “Hey chickie, how’s it going this morning?”

  Grace shuffled some papers around her desk in an effort to look busy and to give herself a second to get her crap together. “Good. Really good.”

  She could feel Serena’s eagle-eyed stare on her, and she struggled not to fidget.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re literally an open book? Like, the fact that you got laid again last night couldn’t be clearer.” She leaned in and studied her face more closely. “It’s uncanny, really. You’re a perfect example of an anti-spy. ‘Skip the bamboo shoots and fingernails routine, Sarge, we’ve got a live one here. Just ask her something…anything.’”

  Grace’s cheeks flamed hot, but before she could defend herself or, more likely, spill her guts, the chime that signaled someone at the door sounded, and she leapt to her feet.

  “Saved by the bell.” she called over her shoulder as she straightened her jacket and gave Serena a grin.

  Serena snorted after her. “Live it up because I’m going to grill you when you’re done.”

  When Grace walked into the waiting room, Chaz Stanhope stood with a practiced smile on his face.

  “Hey there, doll.”

  Annnd, so much for spending the day daydreaming about her night with Trick. It was time to roll up her sleeves and get to work.

  Sixty interminable minutes later, Grace sat in the conference room finishing up the last of the questionnaire with her latest client and tried not to roll her eyes. After giving her some basic information, and a rather nice, candid talk, he’d spent the last half hour listing the cars that his three story state-of-the-art garage housed, and she’d tuned him out after the first four. He was winding down, finally, and she managed to get a word in.

  “Okay! So now that we’ve got that, I think it’s a perfect segue into what not to do on your dates.” His bleached smile wavered, and she patted his hand gently. “You are far more charming w
hen you’re not trying, Chaz. Did you know that?”

  He shrugged and his face turned ruddy. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Really? Because when you’re not talking about all the things you have and focus on the things you love, like the vineyard and growing grapes and how much you miss your father now that he’s gone, I feel you. You know? It’s like the real Chaz comes out.”

  It was dicey for a minute as he mulled over her words. She knew it was a risk. If it went her way, he’d be open to hearing what she had to say. If it didn’t, she would have just driven away her newest and most affluent client, who could do wonders for the company’s image. The clock ticked loud enough that she could count the seconds. Thirty-six of them went by before he huffed out a sigh and his shoulders slumped.

  “You’re right.”

  She guessed by his dejected tone that he wasn’t thrilled at making the admission, but like they always said, acceptance was the first step to recovery, whether you were overcoming alcohol addiction or suffering from a crippling case of douchery.

  He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I miss my dad every day. And I make sure I throw these parties and have all these people around me all the time because without them, I just feel fucking lonely.”

  She squeezed his hand and willed herself not to get choked up. She knew lonely very well, and it was a hard-won victory when she finally managed an encouraging, if slightly watery, smile.

  “My grandma passed away two years ago, and I still feel like there’s a hole in my heart. But filling your life with people who just want to use you for those fancy cars you rattled off to me? That will never replace what you had with your father. And when the party’s over and the music stops and everyone goes home, you’re still alone. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

  He met her gaze and lifted his chin in a challenge. “Says you. I’ve never had a girlfriend who would’ve stayed with me if it wasn’t for the money.”

  “Then you’ve been looking in the wrong places.”

  She pulled her chair in closer and spent the next hour going over a plan of action to help Chaz—who incidentally hated that nickname and wanted to go back to being called plain old Chuck—find a woman who got him. By the time they were done, the slick facade that had coated him was nowhere to be found, and the guy who stood and shook her hand upon leaving without ogling her boobs or making a pass at her wasn’t the same one who’d walked in. It wouldn’t be easy. Once he was around all his “friends” or in public, old habits were bound to resurface, but if she could find him a good woman worth changing for, maybe they’d make it work.

  She walked him out and closed the office door, leaning against it with a satisfied sigh.

  “Hey!”

  She jerked away as a bang on the window startled her. “Get away from the door or it’s going to smack you in the ass when I open it,” Serena called in through the glass.

  Grace moved and swung the door open.

  “How’d it go with old Chazzy boy?”

  “Actually, really well. He doesn’t want to be called that anymore.”

  “Reeeally,” Serena drawled. “And what does he want to be called? Big Daddy? Stud Muffin?”

  Grace laughed and crossed the room to gather her notes from the conference table. “Nope. Just Chuck.”

  “Interesting. But not as interesting as what’s going on with you, sister. Let’s hear it.”

  Grace’s face went hot, but suddenly she didn’t want to keep it to herself anymore. She let the smile get as big as it wanted to and whispered. “Me and Trick talked last night, and then we—” She waggled her eyebrows and laughed.

  Serena sank into the chair across from her with a sigh and actually held a hand to her heart. “Jesus Christ, thank God. I was sure he was going to chicken out. Shit, Grace, you’re not mad at me, right?” She sat her elbows on the table and took Grace’s hand. “I only did it because I love you. It was so weird, because as soon as I saw the sneakers, I knew it was him. I was going to tell you that night because there was no way I could keep something like that from you for long but then…”

  Then? The room dipped and swayed as she tried to process the words coming from her friend’s mouth. Sneakers…Trick chickening out. She couldn’t mean—

  The dawning horror on Serena’s face sent Grace’s stomach into a nosedive. That was exactly what she meant.

  Trick was Catman. Catman was Trick.

  She clutched the chair arms, head reeling as a thousand images crowded her mind. Catman approaching her at the party, all swag and smiles. Trick grinning at her when she’d hit a bull’s eye. Catman kissing her brainless on the dance floor. Trick, last night…

  The blood rushed in her ears and she shook her head furiously, trying to make some sense of what was happening. “I don’t understand.”

  “Jesus Christ” Serena’s face fell, her eyes brimming with regret. “He didn’t tell you.”

  It wasn’t a question, which was good, because Grace couldn’t have answered to save her life. She felt like she was underwater, adrift, disoriented, just waiting for someone to drag her to shore.