After they’d cleaned up, Trick pulled her to him. “As shit as it is, I have to go. My shift starts soon.”
Hiding her disappointment, Frankie smoothed a hand down his arm. “Okay.” She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her senseless with one hand collaring her throat. Her wolf bucked a little at the dominant move, but she also kind of liked it. The animal didn’t want him to leave; she wanted him to stay, wanted to bite and mark him. Not good.
Trick growled into her mouth. Her mouthwatering scent had warmed and ripened with arousal, and all he wanted was to bend her over the kitchen island and fuck her hard. Instead he eased back and brushed her nose with his. “Now, why do you look freaked out?”
“My wolf likes you a little too much.”
“So do you,” he teased. “You’re not ready for me yet. But you will be.” She walked him to the front door, where he gave her one last, thorough kiss. “I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow.”
Frankie frowned at his back as he walked away. “Wait, what?”
He turned, but he didn’t stop walking. “I’ll be here at six. Be ready.”
“For what?”
He looked at her like she was simple. “To go see a movie.”
“I never said I was going to see a movie with you.”
“Yes, you did. While we were eating pizza. I said, ‘We should go see a movie tomorrow.’ You said, ‘Trick, how did you know I wanted to go see a movie? It’s like we have one mind.’”
Frankie laughed. “I did not say that.”
“Sure you did.” He pointed at her. “Six. Be ready.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Someone dropped their popcorn all over the patterned carpet, and Frankie winced in sympathy. Waiting in the long queue for the concession counter, she rested her hand on the rope and looked at the pricing boards for the snacks and drinks. The foyer of the movie theater was well lit and cheerful with all the framed posters and cardboard cutouts for new and upcoming releases.
Trick’s front was pressed against her back, and he’d slung one arm over her shoulder so that he could breeze his fingers along her collarbone. He was a little tense, which wasn’t surprising. A group of girls in the line parallel to theirs kept glancing at him with knowing looks, talking quietly to one another about the YouTube video he was featured in. One girl even subtly snapped a picture of him with her cell phone. It was clear that he despised the attention and the heroic image that people had of him. Just remembering the look on his face when a kid in the parking lot outside had pleaded for an autograph made her smile. And now those girls had him tense as a bow.
Feeling her shake with silent laughter, Trick spoke into her ear. “What’s funny?”
“The big, bad enforcer is scared of some giggling teenage girls.”
He nipped her earlobe in punishment for teasing him. “The last set of teenage girls that came asking for an autograph also wanted a photo of me holding each of them just like I’d held the girl on the video. Stop laughing, it’s not funny. It’s whacked.”
“What did you do?”
“Grunted at them and walked away. What else was I going to do?”
“And now you’re snuggling up to me so those girls don’t get any ideas—effectively you’re using me as a shield.”
“I’m snuggling up to you because you smell good and I like having you close.” His wolf pushed up against his skin for the same reasons, truly content at that moment. Nuzzling her neck, Trick took in her scent, letting it override the smells of popcorn, nachos, spices, and fruity slushes. He was on a date with his mate. Life was good.
It would be fair to say he’d tricked her into going on the date, but only because he’d known that she wouldn’t fuss about it. One thing he really liked about Frankie was that there were no games. No playing hard to get. No acting like she was there under protest. No lies or bullshit. No playing it cool. It was fucking refreshing, and it made her easy to be around.
She was complex in that she had lots of facets—all of which fascinated him—but she was otherwise straightforward and uncomplicated. He loved that. Loved that he could trust her to say what she truly thought and felt, that he didn’t have to waste time reading between the lines.
He was snapped out of his musings as a kid playing on a token machine whooped with joy. Trick slipped his free arm around Frankie’s waist, holding her to him even as they stepped forward with the slow-moving queue. That was another thing he loved: he knew it was strange for her to have someone she barely knew touching her so often, but she didn’t pull away. She let herself relax with him, even though she had to be confused about just why it was so easy for her.
“You should stop nuzzling and nipping my neck,” said Frankie.
“Why?”
Quietly she replied, “Because it’s making you hard, and it’s making me all flustered.” Frankie felt his lips curve against her neck.
“I know. I can smell that you’re wet.”
And she could feel that he was hard. Considering his body was practically folded around hers, Frankie figured she probably should have felt a little claustrophobic. But she didn’t. She felt safe. Protected. Cosseted, even. Her wolf liked having him so close, liked the possessiveness in his touch.
He didn’t release her until, finally, they arrived at the counter. As the cashier rang up their order, Frankie grabbed straws and napkins from the dispensers. Just as they were walking away with their popcorn and sodas in hand, Frankie spotted none other than Vance and Layla heading toward the concession lines. And sadly, they spotted her. Well, hell.
She’d bumped into them once shortly after she and Vance broke up. Layla had clung to him, sending her smug looks. He’d been civil yet stiff toward Frankie, eager to get away. The next day he’d called Frankie to apologize for being unfriendly, explained that he just hadn’t wanted to “set Layla off.”
Today, well, Layla was too busy staring at Trick to care about sending superior looks at Frankie. And her wolf did not like the female appreciation in Layla’s eyes whatsoever. Vance’s gaze, hard and unreadable, danced from Trick to Frankie.
It was Trick who broke the awkward silence. “There a problem here?”
Layla almost jolted. “No, not at all. Frankie’s decided to be rude, so I’ll introduce us. I’m Layla, and this is Vance. We’re . . . distant friends of Frankie’s.”
Unconvinced, Trick drawled, “Right.” He could sense his mate’s discomfort, just as he could sense that there had once been something between her and Vance. It was clear to see in the way the human male looked at her with an intimate familiarity—something that pissed Trick the fuck off. It was also clear by Vance’s pinched expression and tight muscles that he didn’t like seeing Frankie with another male. Tough fucking shit.
Anger flashed through his wolf, who urged Trick to rake his claws down the human’s chest and warn him away from his mate. It was an idea he’d consider.
Layla’s eyes narrowed a little. “I know you.”
Trick tensed. “No, you don’t.” And he was done here. He arched a brow at Frankie. “Ready, baby?”
Layla clicked her fingers. “Wait, you’re the shifter from that YouTube video—you helped that girl. It was so sweet and brave of you to intervene like that.” Her eyes cut to Frankie. “Well, it’s good to see you’re moving on.”
Frankie almost snorted. Yeah? Layla didn’t really seem happy for her at all. Her eyes had been all dreamy and covetous when they’d stared at Trick. Once they sliced to Frankie, they’d darkened in envy and resentment. Layla had loved the idea that she had the guy Frankie wanted, loved that she’d “won.” Seeing Frankie with a male who was a billion times hotter than Vance apparently ticked her off. Good.
“Your grandparents didn’t mention that you were dating someone,” Vance said to Frankie, his voice flat. “I’m guessing they don’t know about him.”
“Not liking how close you’re standing to Frankie,” said Trick, glaring hard at him.
Vance’s brows snapped together and h
e blinked, as if he only then realized that he’d taken a step toward her. He backed up and moved aside to let them pass, pulling an irritated Layla out of the way.
Trick turned to Frankie. “Let’s go, baby.” As they strode off, Trick raised a brow. “So that asshole’s an ex of yours?”
Frankie sighed. “Sadly, yes. Layla was his ex. He ran back to her, but she hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you. He’s pissed that you’re with me. I’m thinking he’ll make it his business to be sure your grandparents know that you were on a date with a shifter.”
“I wish I could disagree with you.”
“Well, we’re not going to think about them,” Trick declared. “We’re going to watch this movie, enjoy it, and stuff our faces with popcorn.”
Frankie’s mouth curved. “Your plan has merit.”
After they’d had their tickets checked, they were directed to the theater. Soon they were heading down the dimly lit hallway and into the dark theater. As they climbed up the carpeted stairs, she noticed that there weren’t many people there.
Trick led her down the empty row at the very top. “I always sit at the back so I don’t have to deal with people kicking the back of my chair.”
“And here was me thinking you’d done it so we could make out in peace.” Her wolf liked his somewhat devilish chuckle. Sitting down, Frankie placed her soda in the cup holder and settled the extra-large popcorn on her lap. Curtains hung on either side of the big screen that was currently displaying overly loud previews. Still, she could hear people talking and munching on popcorn and nachos.
Trick’s cell glowed in the dark as he took it out of his pocket to switch it off. “So tell me, what do you wear for bed?”
A chuckle burst out of her. “What?”
He shrugged. “It’s a simple question. What do you wear for bed?”
Frankie delved into her popcorn. “Who says I wear anything?” She couldn’t help smiling at the low growl that rumbled out of him.
“Such a tease.” Since they were sharing the popcorn, he grabbed some and chucked it into his mouth. “But that’s okay, because so am I.” It was both a warning and a promise.
As they watched the movie, he massaged her free hand—the same one that often seized up. It might have relaxed her if he didn’t occasionally nip at her fingers or rake his teeth down her palm.
About halfway through the movie, he took the box of popcorn from her and put it on the floor. Ready to complain, Frankie looked at him. And her stomach clenched. There was no playful grin there. There was heat and need and hunger.
He spoke against her mouth. “Undo your jeans.”
Wait, what?
His hand curved around her throat and he gave it a light squeeze. “Do it.”
The idea of him touching her that way in public probably shouldn’t have revved her engines, but damn if it didn’t. She was particularly curious about just how far he’d take it. So she snapped open the buttons of her fly and waited to see what he’d do. His eyes went languid with satisfaction, and his hand released her neck.
“Good girl. Now watch the movie.”
Like her attention would be on anything other than what he was doing. Still, Frankie turned her face to the screen. He sucked on her earlobe just as his hand slid into her jeans and panties. Not far, just far enough for him to reach her clit. She liked the direction things were heading in.
Trick spoke into her ear. “I want you to stay still for me while I play with this pretty little clit. Don’t make a sound, Frankie.”
He didn’t play with her clit. He worked her clit. Tormented her until she wanted to cry.
Her pussy throbbed and clenched as his finger circled, rubbed, flicked, pressed, and stroked her clit. Her eyelids flickered as they fell shut. God, she was so wet it wasn’t even funny. Occasionally he’d dip his finger inside her, but only enough to scoop out some cream so he could lubricate her clit. She bucked her hips slightly, wanting that finger to slide between her folds and slip all the way inside her. But his hand stilled and he bit her earlobe.
“Do that again and I’ll stop.” Trick rubbed the side of her clit again, watching as she sank her teeth into her plush lower lip to hold back her moans. She wasn’t shy about her sexuality, and he loved that. Loved how responsive she was to him. Loved that she hadn’t bristled at his orders, that she’d trusted him to give her what she needed. Oh, he didn’t doubt that there would be times when he pushed her too hard and she told him to shove his orders up his ass. She was a dominant female, after all. But for now she was letting him lead, and he liked that a fuck of a lot.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he whispered. “Good. Mouth, Frankie, give me your mouth.” She turned her face to his, and he kissed her hard and deep as he stroked the side of her clit just the way he’d learned she liked it. When he sensed that she was on the very edge, he thumbed her clit and swallowed her groan as she came.
Cheeks flushed, eyes glazed over, she panted against his lips. He wanted nothing more than to drive his cock inside her and take what belonged to him. Not yet. “Next time, you’ll come when I’m inside you.” He withdrew his hand and shoved his wet finger into her mouth. “Suck it clean. I’d do it myself, but I want to have my first taste of you when my head is buried between your thighs.” She did as he told her, holding his gaze. “That’s it, good girl.”
Frankie expected him to grab her hand and drag her outside so he could get her home fast and take care of the hard-on she could see straining against his zipper. He didn’t. He just deftly fixed her fly, returned the popcorn to her lap, and turned back to the screen. She hissed. The orgasm had been great and all, but it only made her want more.
She wasn’t sure how she got through the rest of the movie without slapping him for getting her in such a state. As they were leaving, she shot him a look that called him an asshole. He just grinned.
Back in the foyer, he asked, “You need to use the restrooms before we go?”
“Yes,” she clipped, still annoyed with him. That got her yet another grin.
“If you’re out before me, wait here.” Trick kissed her, tasting popcorn and salt. “Go.” He waited until she was inside the ladies’ room before he turned to the men’s. He quickly did his business, eager to get back to her.
He was zipping his fly when he felt it. A presence. He wasn’t alone. And then a scent drifted to him—dark and familiar. His wolf’s upper lip peeled back.
There was no time to twirl and confront the fucker, because he heard the slight whistle of air. Trick ducked, barely avoiding the steel bar that then slammed into the tiled wall.
Trick rammed back his elbow, connected with a hard gut. There was a pained grunt as the body behind him staggered back. Twisting, Trick stood upright and jerked to the side as Drake then tried bringing the bar crashing down on his head. Son of a bitch.
Anger and adrenaline surging through him, Trick grabbed the wrist holding the bar and pressed his thumb hard on a pressure point, making Drake drop the bar with a curse. Grunting and snarling, they collided with a fury of fists.
It wasn’t combat. It was a brawl. Fast, furious, and bloodthirsty.
Drake was no easy target, and he got some good shots in. A punch to the temple. A strike to the solar plexus. A hard blow to his ribs that sent ripples of agony through Trick and made his stomach roll.
Trick got plenty of his own shots in. A ram of his elbow to the throat. A solid uppercut to the chin. A hard punch to the cheekbone that made Drake’s head whip to the side. Trick topped that off by ramming his forehead into Drake’s nose, smiling grimly at the resulting crack and spray of blood.
The prick didn’t back off, though. He kept on coming, eyes cold and flinty, face flushed and contorted into a scowl. And when he crouched, grabbed the bar, and swung it at Trick’s leg—motherfucker—Trick rammed the sole of his foot into the bastard’s face. Drake fell back, dazed, and the bar slipped from his fingers.
Seething with a rage that bubbled in his vein
s, Trick fisted Drake’s collar and dragged him along the bloodstained tiles into a stall. He forced Drake’s face into the toilet and flushed. He let him struggle. Let him feel the panic. Let him feel the burn of the fluid in his lungs.
With what little mercy he had left in him right then, Trick yanked the wolf’s head up out of the toilet. Drake didn’t fight back. He sucked in deep, loud breaths, coughing and hacking like a guy who’d just run out of a smoking building. Still, Trick might have dunked the asshole again if he hadn’t looked up to see Frankie leaning casually against the doorjamb of the stall.
Fuck. Shifters fought brutally, sure, and they solved a lot of shit through violence. But Frankie hadn’t been raised with that culture. She’d likely been taught that if shit went down you defended yourself, got out of harm’s way, and called the police for help.
Trick dumped a coughing Drake on the floor and strode out of the stall. She backed up to give him room, simply watching him. Trick stood there, chest heaving, muscles quivering, waiting for her to say something. Anything.
She sighed. “I leave you alone for five minutes . . .” She shook her head sadly, but there was a glint of humor in her eyes.
Relief blew through him, and he pulled in a deep breath through his nose. He couldn’t quite stop grinding his teeth, though. Rage still had a tight grip on him.
“Are you okay?” she asked, the humor in her eyes now replaced with concern. He just nodded. She tipped her chin toward Drake. “Friend of yours?”
Trick forced his jaw to unlock. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you about it when we get out of here.”
But he didn’t tell her. He fell silent the moment they slid into his SUV. Despite his slow, steady breaths and relaxed body language, Frankie could sense that he was still fuming. Giving him the time he seemed to need, she stayed quiet, looking through the window and watching the scenery pass by.
Thanks to the sounds of music, girls’ laughter, and the deafening hand dryer, Frankie hadn’t heard the struggle coming from the other restroom at first. She’d barged in and simply stared as she took in the blood spatter on the floor, the cracks in the tiles, the long steel bar, the kicking legs in the doorway of a stall, and—finally—Trick stuffing some guy’s head down the toilet.
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