Straddling him, I grab his hair and cry out as his mouth seizes my breast. His flat palm slides up my back. Fisting my hair, he tugs it—hard. My head falls back and I collapse onto him. Another cry passing my lips as he impales me … possessing me.
*
That love … the one that’s too good to be true, and that passion … the one that feels like a wild animal’s trying to escape from within—I have that with Trick. The intensity we share, the sweat, the urgency, it’s righting all the wrong from our past—one look, one touch, one breath at a time.
“Don’t move,” a rough, groggy voice warns as I wiggle under the blanket of his body.
“It’s after eight and I have to pee.”
“It can wait.” Trick rubs his sandpaper face over my chest, kissing the swell of my breasts. His hands slide up my sides and I feel the instant reminder of his insatiability.
“My bladder disagrees. Besides we have guests and we should try to be hospitable.”
“I need to be inside you.”
I wriggle my way out. “I’ll urinate on you and even if you’re into golden showers, I’m not.” I walk to the bathroom.
Trick buries his face in the pillow and groans. “Darby …”
I smile, looking back at my inked pile of perfection, naked on our messy sheets. He’s mine—a truth I’ll never really get used to. A quick pee and a much needed tooth brushing gets interrupted with my husband’s morning need that will not be dismissed. He needs this release as much as I needed my bladder relief. I think it may have something to do with the mouthful of toothpaste I haven’t yet expectorated or the cold vanity top against my bare ass, but my orgasm doesn’t make an appearance. However, by the time we get out of the shower I’m more than sated.
*
“Mmm, what’s that smell?” I whisper to Trick as we make our way downstairs an hour after waking.
“That would be Grady.”
“Good morning, newlyweds,” Grady says with naughty suggestion in his tone.
“It is.” Trick palms my ass with no discretion. I don’t even care at this point. Grady and Tamsen have to know by now that we’re either having sex, talking about it, or thinking about it. I’m not a drunk that suffers amnesia the morning after; my memory from the restaurant is all too clear. I’m a dirty girl that likes to be man-handled and dominated in the bedroom. Who knew? I did.
“What are you two boys going to do today while Darby and I flaunt our stuff on the beach, watching the hot surfer guys?”
“Excuse me?” Grady rests his fist on his hip, flipping it out with sass.
“Okay … Trick, what are you going to do today while Darby, Grady, and I flaunt our stuff on the beach, watching the hot surfer guys?”
“According to your description, it would appear I’m surfing today.”
Co-cky!
“You surf?” I raise a brow, cutting into my pancakes.
Trick shoves a bite into his mouth, shaking his head.
“The boy lived in New York then moved to Chicago. But I’m sure he could walk down the beach in board shorts while holding a surf board and the women won’t give a shit if he can surf or not.”
Trick rolls his eyes at Grady, but his smile contradicts his feigned annoyance.
*
Trick foregoes the beach scene, opting to dig out his sketch pad and graphites instead. Grady puts on his own show for onlookers strolling down the beach. He may be in his forties, but his body is holding tight to its early thirties. Tamsen looks amazing in her string bikini with Brazilian bottoms, and the sun loves her skin as much as Grady’s. The sun and I? Not friends yet. My only beach friends are SPF fifty and a wide-brimmed hat, but I love the salty ocean breeze, and the rhythmic lulling sound of the waves crashing into shore, and the way the white sand massages my toes every time I curl them into the cool grittiness.
“Tell me, Darby … why did Trick assault your father?”
I tilt the rim of my hat and look at Grady reclined with his eyes closed. “What are you talking about?”
“I can read Trick better than anyone, honey. Your father must have done something unforgivable. Trick’s not a hair trigger. Everything he does has purpose and control, but maybe not with you. I’m beginning to think you bring out a Trick I haven’t seen before.”
With little consideration, I dismiss any idea of trying to deny Grady’s accusation, instead focusing on his interesting observation. “Is that a bad thing?”
“In Grady’s book it is. He’s been Trick’s mentor for said ‘purpose and control.’” Tamsen laughs.
“Shows what you know. I think Darby is exactly what Trick needs—a distraction.”
“A distraction?” I look over again at Grady, but he remains statuesque.