Hard Pack (Ridden Hard Book 2)

by Allyson Lindt

  “That’s convoluted, but I like the sentiment.” She also liked the idea of putting those smug bastards in their place. Shocking their sense of propriety. Stripping away the pretenses and being herself. Fuck their opinions.

  She covered Tristan’s hand, and guided him toward her clit. Playing was one thing, but she was close to bursting. A soft cry tore from her chest when he brushed the button.

  “There’s another one of those sounds.” He traced circles around her sex, gaze fixed on her face. “As for the other bit of the conversation, there’s a tiny part of me that likes the idea of having an audience.”

  Because they were both performers in their own way. Growing up in front of the cameras and judges. “Never really got over the desire to put on a show?”

  “This isn’t the same.”

  “No, it’s not.” This was intimate. Any other words she had vanished when he applied more pressure. Circling and tracing and coaxing her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, lost in his touch. Orgasm flowed forward, ebbing each time he eased up. She ground into his hand, needing release.

  She came hard, gripping his wrist, holding him in place, and gasping until she was spent. She wilted away from his touch.

  Before she could catch her breath, he gripped her hips and pulled her in for a kiss. Whatever control was there before had snapped. He crushed his mouth to hers, swallowing any noises she made. He held her close, his erection digging into her stomach, but it wasn’t close enough. She needed more of this. More of him.

  He broke away enough to drag a thumb across her bottom lip. The simple gesture tingled with everything else.

  “God, Vicky. I need to fuck you.”

  She’d never heard her name said that way, but the gravel in his voice would be seared into her memory for a long time. She didn’t have any words, so she kissed him back, returning the intensity.

  He guided her inside, not bothering with closing the door, and pressed her back to the closest wall. Hands and mouths were everywhere, in a frantic dance. He shoved her jeans and panties to the floor. She stroked him through his slacks. His thick girth against her palm made her opening clench at the idea of being stretched and penetrated.

  He fumbled in his back pocket while she undid his belt and slacks. He withdrew his wallet, opened it, and dropped it. “Fuck.” He rested his forehead on the wall next to her head.

  “Don’t make me pout.” She kept the teasing in her voice despite a nudge of doubt.

  “No condoms. Unless you have any.”

  She shook her head. She wasn’t sexually active enough to think about it. “I’m on birth control. Are you clean?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But problem solved.” Victoria didn’t care what his protest was. She freed him from his boxers, and he jerked against her hand when she stroked his shaft.

  He caught her bottom lip between his teeth. “I knew you were sexy, but fuck, Vicky.” He glided his hands down her back and over her ass.

  When he lifted her, she let out a squeak of surprise. She reacted quickly, wrapping her legs around his waist. She draped her arms over his shoulders, and cried out when he thrust inside her. Apparently fucking standing up was actually possible, and she liked the reminder he was as built as he looked.

  At this angle, he hit something deep every time he slid inside her. Her back pounded into the wall, and her skin and muscles burned from exertion. It was intoxicating.

  He pounded in short, hard strokes, pushing her toward orgasm again without warning. She clenched around him when she came, squeezing and feeling his thickness resist.

  His grunts, telling her he was close too, drew out her climax. He spilled inside her, hammering a little longer before slowing to a stop.

  He held her there a moment, as if frozen in time, then slid out of her. They all-but melted to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

  She nestled against his chest, listening to his heart hammer against his ribs. The sound mingled with them catching their breath.

  “I think we’re wrinkling your tux,” she teased.

  “Wrinkling, staining, it doesn’t matter.”

  She wasn’t sure how long they sat there. Enough time passed that the cool breeze from outside had kissed away the sheen of exertion, leaving a chill on her skin. She didn’t mind. Being wrapped up in Tristan chased it away.

  “I should go.” The reluctance in his voice matched what she felt.

  She knew it was for the best though. There were no illusions this was anything but a one-night thing. She untangled herself. “You should.”

  He stood, bracing himself against the wall for a moment, to get his balance. She couldn’t help her satisfaction that she wasn’t the only one this left weak in the legs. Then again, his legs did most of the work. He helped her to her feet.

  Tristan kissed her on the cheek. After what they’d just shared, it was a deceptively sweet gesture. “I had an incredible night,” he said. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  “Thank you for accepting.”

  “After tonight, we go back to the way we were.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was asking or stating. Either way, hearing the reality spoken aloud gnawed at her. She nodded.

  “This is just between us?” His voice cracked on the question.

  She swallowed, and nodded again. “Just between us.” At least she kept her composure, despite the storm churning inside. Always something to be grateful for.

  Chapter Four

  TRISTAN COULDN’T GRASP one thought long enough to groom it into submission, before Victoria popped back into his mind.

  The country club dinner was five days ago, and he was still asking himself if it was a mistake to put a hard stop on things at the end of the night.

  Each time the question popped up, he had the same answer. It was the only way to do things. She used to date your best friend. The canned answer didn’t hold as much weight as he expected, until it was followed with, that makes you her second choice.

  Fuck, he hated living in his own head sometimes.

  He headed into the break room for coffee, frowning as he passed Mischa’s empty office. He loved Mischa like a brother, but he really wished the man took his job more seriously. If he did, they might not be near-collapsing under the weight of a bad loan he’d taken out.

  With Ash’s father of all people. Not that Mischa knew about the relationship, or even knew Ash at the time. And it wasn’t as though the engagement was buying them any favors.

  There was a twisted part of Tristan that would like to see Mischa have to deal with this for once, rather than finding some smooth way to worm out of it. But Ralph Wolfram foreclosing on the property in question would hurt the whole firm.

  Tristan found Ash in the break room. Despite her only having worked here for a few weeks, he knew the shadows under her eyes were unusual. “You all right?” he asked.

  She gave him a weak smile. “I’ve been better, but it’ll pass. You?”

  “Same. You didn’t ride in with Mischa?”

  “No.” She watched her feet as she spoke. “I need to get back to work. Boss is a slave-driver and all that.” Her chuckle was forced.

  “Yeah. Imagine me cracking a whip.” He shook his head at the odd exchange, grabbed his coffee, and went back to his desk.

  There was a new email, addressed to him and Mischa. A prospective buyer who was supposed to look at one of the properties Mischa needed to sell. The buyer was cancelling the appointment.

  According to their note, after a conversation with an unknown person, they’d decided to go a different route.

  Aggravation surged inside Tristan, and he swiped out a quick text to Mischa. You see the cancellation? You joining us today?

  He drummed his fingers on the desk, ticking off the seconds until a reply buzzed through.

  On my way, Mischa wrote.

  Swell. Tristan scrubbed his face, then turned back to his work. His mood lightened as he looked through his leads folder in his email. A few da
ys ago, Ash had put some new advertising in place, and it was already showing results.

  About thirty minutes later, there was a knock. He looked up to see Mischa standing in the doorway.

  “Nice of you to join us.” Tristan’s irritation had ebbed.

  “I thought so too.” Mischa dropped into a chair across from him. “Seriously though. I was up late working, and it was a long night.”

  Tristan wasn’t sure if long night was a euphemism for sex, or if the statement was sincere. “Not that long, if Ash is already here.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  The question caught Tristan off-guard, drawing back how worn out Ash looked. “Are you two all right?”

  “It’s a long story, but the short version is, last night Ralph took Kelly back.”

  “Asshole.” Tristan spat the word out. Kelly was Ash’s little sister, and as he understood it, Ash’d had custody for several years. He’d never gotten too much information about why Ralph Wolfram wasn’t raising his own fourteen-year-old daughter.

  Tristan was just disgusted anyone would give up their family so easily. Especially a man who boasted so much about how important said family was to him. “That overshadows my good news.”

  “No it doesn’t. I could use a little bump in my day. Don’t take that away from me.”

  Tristan understood that. He shared the news about Ash’s marketing efforts paying off. “She was a brilliant find. You’d better not piss her off and make her quit.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be an issue. I don’t think she’s the one in the wrong line of work.”

  Tristan paused as he processed Mischa’s words. “I assume you mean you? Fatalistic isn’t your style,” Tristan said. He tried to keep his tone light.

  However, as much as Mischa could rub him the wrong way, he was still brilliant at the design work he did. And the two of them made solid business partners. They wouldn’t have lasted this long if they didn’t.

  “Exactly the opposite. I feel better about this than I have anything... in a long time.”

  Tristan frowned. “I’ll ignore the awkward pause. What are you thinking?”

  “I want you to buy me out.”

  No. Holy fuck, hell, no way. Tristan tempered the reaction before speaking. “This is ours. And you’re good at what you do. No one has your eye for a building’s potential.”

  “I know.”

  Tristan didn’t understand. “But you’re giving up.”

  “I’m not giving up. I have a plan. I’ve been floundering in sales for a while. You can’t deny that.”

  “I don’t. Want to let me in on this plan?” Tristan had a feeling asking for information was like hopping on an out of control train, but he needed to know.

  “Buy me out. I’ll pay off Wolfram’s loan with the capital, and then the block will be mine.”

  Oh fuck the hell no. Paying the balance of the loan out of their own pockets would hurt more than having the property repossessed. “We can’t afford that.”

  “I can, if you buy me out.”

  Tristan appreciated that Mischa was willing to take the hit here, for a decision he’d made, but that didn’t mean it was a smart idea. “What the fuck are you going to do with a block’s worth of buildings? Owning them outright won’t make them any easier to move. How are you going to reclaim your investment if you stop selling? Because that’s the other half of this idea of yours, isn’t it?”

  “It is. I’ll design for you when you want, but I’m done with real estate sales.” The most reasonable thing Mischa had said as part of this proposal. He was an artistic genius, but didn’t have the desire to bullshit his way through any sort of sale. Which also meant he was one-hundred percent serious right now.

  Tristan noticed something about the response now. “Way to avoid the main question. What are you going to do with the property?”

  “Give it to Victoria. Or rather, give the foundation she works for the warehouse. Take time to sell the rest. Offer you a sizable commission if you do it for me.”

  And Victoria would get her building. Something about that made do it an easy answer.

  But it wasn’t that easy, and why was he considering leaving that kind of capital on the table? Because he had fun for a night with a woman he was never going to hook up with again? He grabbed his phone. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. I’m having you committed.”

  “Victoria’s thing is a tax write-off.” Mischa seemed to have thought this through beyond the standard impulse.

  “Which doesn’t mean you get the warehouse’s value back in some sort of government thanks for being generous check.”

  “Thanks. I understand how taxes work.”

  “Are you sure? I don’t blame you for wanting to fuck Ralph Wolfram,” especially if he’d taken Kelly out of her home for spiteful reasons, “but almost anything you could think of would cost you less.”

  “It’s a good idea. Okay, it’s a stupid idea. But it’s so dumb, it’s genius.”

  Tristan didn’t have a comeback for that. It was idiotic, moronic, and had its own beauty.

  Mischa asked him to think about it, then went back to work.

  Tristan couldn’t help but do exactly that. As he called back leads, filed payroll, and updated property listings, the conversation with Mischa was never far from his mind.

  A buy-out would be costly for Tristan, but could he make the numbers work? He had the funds. Most of them weren’t part of this business, they were held in other investments, but he could shift the money around.

  It meant losing Mischa as a business partner, but that didn’t mean much else would change. And he really did like the idea of spiting Ralph Wolfram. The man wrote contracts designed to take advantage of people desperate for funds, and cashed in handsomely.

  Not illegal, just slimy.

  Tristan lost himself in work as the day ticked on. When his phone rang, he was surprised to see it was after seven at night.

  He blinked the dryness from his eyes and answered the call from Mischa. “Hey, man. You got your head on straight yet?” Tristan said.

  “Depends on who you ask. You have a minute for us?” Mischa’s voice was hollow and echoey.

  “Us? You and whoever else is listening to me on speaker phone?”

  “Hi,” Ash chimed in.

  “We have a plan.” Mischa told him.

  Tristan sighed. He knew where the conversation was going. Mischa was like a dog with a bone when he got an idea. “What kind of plan?” Tristan asked.

  “Buy me ou—”

  “That’s not a new plan.” Tristan cut him off. “You were supposed to think about it long enough to realize it’s a bad idea.” The problem with that statement was that Tristan had thought about it, and it wasn’t a bad idea.

  “I did think about it.”

  “Ash?” Tristan said. “Tell me you’re a voice of reason in this.”

  “I guess that depends on how you define reason. I mean... even I can see Mischa doesn’t like his job.”

  This was so fucking stupid. But he was going to ride Mischa’s luck for once. “All right. I’ll buy,” Tristan yielded.

  “Fuck yes.”

  Mischa’s enthusiasm was contagious. Tristan smiled in spite of himself. “My answer was supposed to make you reconsider. I’ll get us a contract tomorrow, to make things official.”

  “You wanna go with us to show Victoria the new place tomorrow?”

  “Definitely not. She’s your problem.” Tristan winced at the way that sounded. He couldn’t see Victoria again. Not yet. How immature was that?

  He had to cling to the resolution though. Keep the distance between them long enough to remember that one night was just that.

  Chapter Five

  VICTORIA SAT ON THE edge of the examination table in a clinic room. She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, tracing her thumb over the crease. At least they hadn’t made her change into one of those flimsy paper gowns.

  A week ago, when her period didn’t s
tart as expected, she figured it was no big deal. The birth control made things spotty sometimes, and she was under a lot of stress at work. But yesterday, as she hit the last day of her sugar pills, something made her hesitate before switching back to the hormones.

  She wasn’t pregnant. She couldn’t be. The test she picked up from the drug store last night said otherwise.

  Those weren’t always accurate though. Not as much as a doctor’s visit. Her solution was to make an appointment today, and clear up any doubt.

  She’d already peed in the cup, and they said they had her results. As soon as the nurse came in, she’d tell Victoria it was nothing. A false positive.

  There was a soft knock, before the nurse nudged open the door. “Ms. Small?”

  “Yes.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  Not in the mood for small talk. “A little stressed.”

  “I think that’s fair. I won’t keep you waiting then. Your results came back positive. You’re pregnant.”

  No. Victoria bit the inside of her cheek. This wasn’t happening. She couldn’t be—

  “Based on the date of your last natural period, you’re five weeks along.”

  “Three and a half.” Victoria hadn’t been with anyone but Tristan in longer than she cared to admit. “What are my options?”

  “Well, it depends on how you’d like to proceed.”

  Victoria came to the clinic, rather than go to her doctor’s office, for a couple of reasons. She would struggle to cover the co-pay for a regular visit. But more important, this was discreet, and she knew from what some of the older girls had been through at work, that they wouldn’t judge her for her decision.

  She just didn’t know what that decision was. There was another person growing inside her. Tiny so far, but still. She wasn’t prepared to handle a baby. She could barely take care of herself. “I’d like to terminate the pregnancy.”

  But it’s another life. The chant echoed in her head, and taunted her.

  She didn’t need a child in her life. How selfish would it be to bring a baby into a household where they wouldn’t get the attention they needed?