Trick (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel Book 7)

by Lane Hart

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mina

  I’ve just returned to the dressing room and am slipping off my heels when there’s a knock on the door. Diane, the shop owner, confirmed that my strapless ball gown dress fits perfectly, so I figure she just wants to help me get out of the dress without causing any damage to it. I crack open the door, and instead of Diane find Patrick on the other side.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him quietly. He’s supposed to be on the other side of the store trying on tuxes.

  Patrick’s golden eyes darken as he takes in my dress.

  “You look gorgeous,” he says. Reaching out, his knuckle brushes over the top of my left breast that’s being pushed up thanks to the tight, beaded bodice. “And sexy as fuck, like a princess begging your man to claim you with his cock while simultaneously teasing him by hiding your pussy behind so many damn layers it’s nearly an impossible feat.”

  I can’t help it. I burst out in laughter at his ridiculous assessment of the puffy layers of tulle. While I’m busy laughing, Patrick pushes his way into the changing room that’s probably the size of some apartments in New York City, shutting the door behind him.

  “I think I’m up for the challenge,” Patrick says before he drops to his knees in front of me.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss as the two-hundred-pound man disappears underneath the layers of satin and tulle. “Someone might see you.”

  “That’s why I’m hiding under your skirt,” is his muffled response.

  And then I feel his cool, damp lips pressing against my inner thigh, followed by another and another. His kisses moving higher and higher.

  “Oh my God,” I moan when his warm breath fans over the crotch of my panties. Not being able to see Patrick or know his mouth’s next move is making me even hotter. Not to mention the risk of getting caught. For all Diane knows, this is the groom-to-be.

  Fuck, I’m already about to combust before I feel his fingers hook into the top of my lace panties and start tugging them down.

  “Ahh!” I cry out, slapping a hand against the wall next to me to hold myself up and the other over my mouth to keep quiet when Patrick starts placing kisses over my mound. Brief kisses at first while his big palms caress up my backside, followed by lingering, open-mouthed tongue kisses that slowly and gently penetrate me in the best possible way.

  Liquid heat floods me between my legs while I revel in the most erotic encounter of my entire life. My only regret is having to keep my moans muffled when I want to shout Patrick’s name in praise as he brings me closer to what will probably be the first of many oral orgasms. When I’m able to rest my back against the dressing room wall, less worried about toppling over thanks to my weak knees, Patrick seems to sense my need for him to keep going. He lifts one of my legs over what feels like his shoulder and proceeds to plunder my pussy with his fingertips and mouth, licking, sucking, and nipping.

  My head falls back against the wall, my palm still covering my open mouth while he works magic underneath the many layers of my eight-thousand-dollar wedding dress.

  I come for him at least three times, maybe four before Patrick finally relents and crawls out from under the layers of my dress, leaving my body limp, my bones liquefied. The desperate look in Patrick’s amber eyes as he remains kneeling on the floor nearly unravels me. Without needing words, he’s begging me to take mercy on him. He needs to claim me so badly he’s hurting, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans. I don’t like seeing him in pain. I want to ease the ache, to return the pleasure he just selflessly gave to me.

  So I do something I never thought I would willingly do for any man. I hike up the layers of my wedding dress and face the wall, offering myself to him. Hearing the sounds of his zipper going down, I try not to panic. This won’t be like all the other times. It’ll feel good. Patrick’s not capable of anything less.

  I suck in a breath when his massive body presses against the back of mine. Brushing the hair off my shoulder, his lips find my neck to kiss me sweetly while he fills his hands with both globes of my ass, caressing them gently, avoiding the bruises while his hard cock wedges between them.

  “You ready, gorgeous?” he asks against my ear, moving his hands to my hips and pulling them back.

  “Yes,” I answer, and then he’s sliding home, meeting no resistance since I was so wet for him. Holding my hips in place, he rears back and slams into me again, making me gasp and go up on my toes with the force of his thrust.

  And it feels…good.

  So good that I push my hips back begging him to go deeper.

  “You want more,” he whispers.

  I nod enthusiastically, and then Patrick grabs my jaw, turning my head so that he can kiss me as he fucks me against the wall. Raw. Hard. Desperately.

  “You’re not his. Never were if you let me have you in this dress,” he whispers over my lips. “You’re mine, Wilhelmina.”

  My breath hitches either from his words or another impending orgasm.

  “Why won’t you end it? Just call if off?” Patrick asks, covering my hands that are plastered to the wall with his.

  “I-I can’t explain it.”

  “Try.”

  “He’s an escape,” I admit in a rare moment of honesty, and Patrick stops moving with his cock still wedged deep inside me.

  “And what’s this?” he asks. “You know what I think it is? You’re too stubborn to admit there’s a better option even when it’s fucking you from behind.”

  Slipping his hand between my legs, he presses his fingers to my clit and goes back to slamming into me with slow, deliberate strokes. My body convulses in waves of pleasure as my mouth opens on a silent scream. The orgasm is so intense it’s almost painful as Patrick fucks me through it until I feel his hot release pulsing inside me.

  Before I’m recovered or am ready for Patrick to move, he pulls his cock out and steps away from me, leaving me slumped against the wall. As he zips his pants, the evidence of our spent pleasure starts to trickle shamefully down my inner thighs.

  “Hope my cum doesn’t stain your pretty white dress,” Patrick says flippantly. “Although it wouldn’t really matter. The groom already knows you’re fucking your brother.”

  Oh shit!

  Chapter Seventeen

  Trick

  Half a block away from the front of the bridal shop, I collapse onto a metal bench, inhaling the fresh, salty air to try and get my blood pressure to a non-lethal level. I probably need to be calm before Hurricane Wilhelmina blows through any minute now, however long it takes for her to get dressed.

  Nope. I spoke too soon. Or there’s some other angry bride fleeing the store in her wedding dress. It’s too far away to see her face in the blinding morning sun.

  “You…you asshole!” Mina shouts at me as she approaches. “You promised me!”

  Pulling my sunglasses from the front of my shirt, I slip them over my eyes to hide from her glare before I repeat my earlier statement, “He already knew.”

  “How? If you didn’t tell him and I didn’t tell him…” she argues.

  “Someone else did,” I state the obvious. “Maybe one of your girls that saw us together at the club?”

  “They wouldn’t tell him!”

  I shrug since she’s obviously wrong about that, but there’s no point in arguing with her.

  “My life is ruined, and all I get from you is a shrug of indifference?” she asks.

  Ruined. Seriously? How sheltered is her life that she thinks that dickhead is the best way to go?

  “He doesn’t care,” I state simply. “Don’t you think he would’ve called to tell you the wedding’s off if he did?”

  I bite my tongue before revealing the real reason he doesn’t give a shit --- that she’s nothing more than a big ass payday.

  “He doesn’t care?” Mina scoffs, apparently indignant that her groom isn’t more upset about the fact that she’s fucking someone else days before she marries him.

  “Doesn’t fu
cking care,” I repeat.

  She blows out an exasperated breath and flops down on the bench next to me.

  “You’re gonna get your dress dirty,” I warn her. “On the inside and outside now.”

  “How fitting. Now it suits me,” she replies, smoothing her hands over the layers of the fluffy skirt that I know for a fact from being underneath them are hot as fuck.

  Before I can ask her what the hell her statement means, the shop lady comes speed walking over to us with a scowl on her face.

  “If you get stains on it, I won’t be responsible!” she warns Mina, looking scornfully between the two of us. After Mina and I occupied her dressing room together for at least half an hour, the old lady is bound to know what we were up to. Wonder if she knows I’m not the groom. How funny would it be to see her reaction to that tidbit?

  Huh. Let’s give that a try.

  “Yeah, better go get changed, Mina. I’m sure your husband-to-be wants to be the first one to get you good and dirty in your dress.”

  The shop lady’s jaw hits the sidewalk as she begins to reconsider our situation.

  “Oh, and here are your panties,” I say, pulling her black lacy thong from my jean pocket and dangling it from the tip of my finger in offering.

  Mina stands up and snatches her panties from me before stomping back down the sidewalk toward the store, throwing a muttered “Fuck you” over her shoulder.

  “Now that’s not a very nice thing to say to your brother!” I call out to her with a grin.

  Mina doesn’t turn around, but I see her shoulders stiffen in anger. The shop lady puts her hand over her mouth like she’s thinking about yakking on the sidewalk before she scurries after Mina.

  This is all so fucked up that I can’t help but laugh out loud.

  If someone had told me I would walk into a club of hundreds of women, fuck my stepsister and then end up trying to throw her wedding off the rails a few days later because I’m falling in love with her, I would’ve said that’s impossible. Getting struck by lightning while winning the lottery would’ve been a more likely prediction. Although that’s a fairly accurate metaphor for our situation if I can actually pull this shit off.

  Time’s running out. I’ve gotta up my game before I’m forced to play the trump card that will destroy Mina.

  And maybe it’s time to sit down and have a chat with dear old dad to try and figure out his agenda in all this.

  …

  Mina gives me the silent treatment the whole way home. When we get back to the house with my tux and her dress, we deposit them in the wedding shit bedroom, and then Mina storms off to her room. I go back outside where my dad is still sitting in a patio chair by the pool, some sort of amber liquid in his glass tumbler, drinking before noon. This should go well.

  “Hey,” I say when I take a seat next to him.

  “Get your tux all sorted out?” he asks.

  “Yeah, the biggest one they had in stock is a little snug, but I’ll make do,” I answer.

  “Good,” he replies, followed by silence.

  Birds chirp happily from the trees.

  A neighbor mows their yard.

  Down the street, a car beeps the horn.

  Planes fly by above us.

  Wow. My father doesn’t even try to make an effort to have a conversation with me. Why am I even surprised? But there’s a reason I came down here, to fill him in on what I’ve been doing with my life and what a lot of people, like the guys at Havoc and my stepsisters, think is honorable. Admirable. Respectable. My father has to feel the same, right?

  “So, I wanted to talk to you about why I haven’t been around in a few years,” I start off the conversation. It doesn’t exactly seem right to jump into the whole why are you paying off a man to marry Mina mess quite yet. “After graduation, I left and joined the Marines, served six years active, three tours in Afghanistan, and I just finished up the last two years of reserves.”

  “Huh,” he mutters, taking a sip of his liquor while staring at the sun glistening off the water in the pool. “Good for you.”

  Good for you. That’s it? That’s all I get for risking my life day in and day out, seeing guys blown up, losing good friends, including the man I loved like a fucking brother?

  “So what are you doing now?” my father asks, like all the other years of my life don’t mean a shit and aren’t worth talking about. All that’s done and over, and he wants to know what I’m doing to pay the bills, probably to remind me that I’ll never have the big-ass paydays he has. Screw it, no reason to sugar coat this for him. Nothing I ever do will be good enough for him.

  “I’m cage fighting,” I answer honestly. Changing course, I decide it will be more fun to fuck with him to try and get a reaction of some sort. Growing up, the disapproving, negative attention was all he took time out of his day to give me. Flunking in school or getting into a fight with one of the rich neighborhood brats were the only times I wasn’t completely invisible to him. “You know what cage fighting is, right?” I ask condescendingly. “It’s sort of like betting on rabid dogs going at each other’s throats, but so far I’ve been the most rabid of them all. It gets really bloody, but it’s fun to break other men’s bones.”

  That gets a flinch out of my father. Thank fuck I received some type of response. I was starting to think the man had turned into marble over the years I had been away. He’s a fucking immovable statute.

  “If you needed money, all you had to do was ask,” he finally says on an exhale. “You didn’t even have to come all the way down here.”

  Wow. That’s what he thinks this is about? That I came here because I needed money from him?

  “You invited me,” I remind him.

  “No, I didn’t,” he says flatly.

  “Yes, you did! You told me about the wedding,” I remind him, although I guess he never intended for me to actually take him up on the offer to visit. “And I came to town for a team competition in the first place. I don’t need or want your money,” I assure him, getting to my feet so I can tower over him for once. “Never have and never will want a fucking penny from you, unlike that dickhead Derek. What exactly is that shit about?”

  My father’s mouth falls open as he blinks rapidly in the silence. Another reaction, this one even stronger.

  “That…that’s none of your fucking business,” he answers, tossing back the rest of his drink.

  “Well, I’m making it my business,” I tell him threateningly, looming over him like a dark cloud blocking out the sun. “Tell me, or I’ll tell Mina.”

  Running his palm over his now red, sweaty face, I know he’s about to break.

  “Derek’s a good kid. Didn’t come from shit, but he’s smart, driven. When he and Willow started getting serious, I offered to help him out since he was gonna be family. He was ashamed and didn’t want Willow to know he was broke.”

  Well, hell. That doesn’t sound nearly as malicious as I expected. But law boy sure was freaking out about the idea of having it all taken away from him if he broke things off. Guess there were requirements to keep rolling on my dad’s dime.

  “So does the offer of your help expire if Mina decides she’s done with him?” I ask him point blank.

  “What?” he huffs. “No, of course not. I’m not an asshole.”

  Could’ve fooled me for the past twenty-seven years.

  “Oh, good. So I should probably call and tell Derek the good news since he was under the impression you would jerk it all out from underneath him,” I say, pulling out my phone as if I actually have the prick’s number in it.

  “You need to stay out of this,” my father barks. “He’s good for her. She deserves to be with someone who can provide for her like she’s used to.”

  “Shouldn’t that be her call? And Mina doesn’t seem like the type of girl to care about any of the material shit,” I reply, gesturing with a wave of my hand toward the huge house.

  “You’ve known her for what? Two days?” he asks with a non-humorous la
ugh. “This wedding of hers has cost me over thirty thousand dollars because she wants the best of everything. And you’ve been staying in her room. Do you think she handmade that closet full of designer clothes or wears shoes from some bargain shit store?” He shakes his head. “She spends more of my money than her mother and her sister combined, which I have to say is rather impressive. For her eighteenth birthday, she begged for that two-hundred-thousand-dollar convertible until I caved. I’ve lived with her for eight long years, and I’m telling you, the girl wouldn’t last a goddamn week in some middle-class shithole.”

  Fuck.

  He’s right. I moved the dozen of clothing boxes from her room. She has expensive taste. Hell, the woman looks expensive. And she’s never mentioned wanting any kind of career for herself.

  Is that what all this is about with the asshole? Financial security? Because if so, I can’t even begin to compete with that. Sure, Jude and Linc are rolling in sponsors and have fat pockets, but I’ll never be as good a fighter as they are. They’ve been training most of their life for the cage; and at my age, I’ve probably only got five years at most left in this type of career. Then what? Rent-a-cop gigs? Late-night and weekend club security? That shit doesn’t pay enough to keep the lights on, so there’s no way it would keep a woman like Mina happy.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Mina

  “Dad and I are going shopping,” my sister says excitedly when she comes bouncing into the living room.

  “What?” I ask Bridgette, her words so concerning that they pull me right out of my pity party and instantly have me off the sofa and up on my feet.

  “I still need some things for my dorm room,” she says, twirling her finger around one of her dark curls the same way she’s absently done since she was two. “And I need some cute new outfits.”