Bare Knuckle: Vegas Top Guns, Book 5 (13 page)

She nodded.

“Two months now and he’d worked up to pastels. On Monday he ripped his studio apart. Said he wanted his paints, wanted his computer.”

“But he’s not that far along yet.”

Eric frowned slightly. “That’s right. His temper could’ve set him back two weeks, but he’s been clean and cooperative so far. No paints, but no delay in his graduation.” He let out a tight sigh. “I got lucky.”

“
You
got lucky?” Tentatively, Trish walked forward. She took Eric’s face in her hands, brought his eyes up to meet hers. “You make the payments, don’t you? Your purse tonight?”

He hesitated. Then… “Yup.”

“And it weighs on you all the time.”

She pressed her lips together. Everything about her was humming. Some of it was beautiful. Some of it stung like electrical prods under her skin. Definitely shitty. He’d whirled her around so quickly that none of her usual tricks came to mind.

“Cool,” she said with forced cheer. It was better than the tear-drenched alternative. Screaming was a possibility too. Or pounding her fists against his chest for scaring her so badly. “At least he’s got people there looking out for him. You’re not the only one who wants him to recover.”

Obvious confusion tugged his rugged features. “Why would you give a shit?”

Now it was her turn to frown. Mama didn’t like when she frowned. Wrinkles. Guys didn’t look twice at a girl with wrinkles.

“I don’t deserve that language when I’m being sympathetic, Eric.”

He looked away and nodded. Not technically an apology, but he appeared chastened.

“Besides, why wouldn’t I care? He’s your brother. This has obviously messed you up big time. And I’ve seen what beautiful art he can produce.” She traced one finger over the top of Eric’s tattoo. “He deserves a shot at making the most of that.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ll go, okay? Sorry I didn’t catch your signals right. Let me know if you change your mind.”

His arms snaked around her waist. She was wrapped up against him, held from shoulder to ass in under a second. He dragged her down to his lap. Trish gave a squeal.

“I changed my mind.” He kissed her throat, then rested his forehead there. Startled but relieved, she traced the back of his neck and along his damp hairline. “Not true,” he corrected. “I got my head out of my ass. You didn’t deserve my crap. And…thank you. For what you said about Carey.”

“Your brother’s name?”

He nodded, forehead still pressed against her throat.

“Younger or older?”

“Three years younger.”

“So…it wasn’t me?” she asked quietly.

“No way.” Eric lifted his head. The passion she’d seen in the ring—the passion she’d expected to see when he opened the door—now radiated from his eyes. They were a darker blue. Piercing. “I want you, Trish.”

She kissed the mouth she was coming to adore. Such a handsome man. The scars might define him for some, but she’d come to crave the deeper beauty. An echo of the arousal she’d been riding all night became a full-on shout when he slid his fingers down her bikini bottoms and grabbed her bare ass.

“Good,” she said against his lips. “Now prove it.”

Chapter Twelve

Eric touched the tip of his tongue to the column of Trish’s throat, that long, sexy line. She tasted like a dash of salt. All she needed was a shot glass of tequila between those perfect tits and a lime wedge in her teeth. She was the kind of girl who’d be up for something that crazy. A hell of a time.

That was an option for a day when he didn’t have his hands full of her tiny, perky ass. Dressed in that striped bikini, stalking around the ring, her ass had temporarily snapped him out of his foul mood. She’d helped him focus long enough to take care of business. Fast, clean, none the worse for wear.

Or had it been the flat plane of her stomach, bisected by a faint kiss of muscle? Maybe her breasts, full and lush. Today’s hair was long, sleek. Myriad blondes, as if she wasn’t the same girl every time.

Fuck it.
All
of her. He wanted all of her. If Eric could pick his perfect girl, she’d definitely have Trish’s body. And her willingness to let him photograph it.

After the doc’s phone call, Eric had spent too long with an open file of Trish’s pictures on his computer—particularly the shot of her on her knees, head bent. She’d pushed that platinum hair out of the way to display the delicate bones of her neck, as well as a glimpse of vulnerability peeking out from her eyes.

Images of Trish had been his center since learning of Carey’s temper tantrum. He’d behaved like a child whose room and board and treatment didn’t cost fifteen grand a week. On top of handling that brother-induced crisis, Eric had weathered two excruciating days at the Reno air races.

That was then. Unpleasant duty dispatched.

Now he’d bang some skulls—the perfect outlet to erase the chill of enduring the scrutinizing eyes of a few thousand strangers. He’d driven home from Reno first thing that morning, but the burning need to hide still ate at him. Only evening hours spent indulging in images of Trish had made the air show bearable.

His obsession with the new photographs worried him. He was fixating. He’d striven to keep his sex life as uncomplicated as possible, without delving exclusively into what he admitted was his fetish. Trish could be the one to push him over the line.

With his mouth on her throat, he could barely make himself care. He dragged his teeth down her skin, marking her, but she was a performer. Faultless skin was an asset in her line of work. Six times a week, she became a goddess of the Strip. She hadn’t mentioned the name of her show, so he had no idea what to imagine. Feather headdresses? Spangles? Even topless?

No matter the clothing, she’d dance and sing knowing every set of eyes in the house was glued to her. She owned them.

Except
Eric
held her.

He shifted her higher across his lap and pressed her damp pussy over his cock as he took her mouth. Theirs were clashing, hard kisses, so fierce that her head bent back. She was absolutely into the ferocity, because her hands gripped his chest and shoulders. She scraped her carefully manicured nails down his back. A soft moan vibrated against his mouth. He shifted to suck her lobe between his teeth. He liked her flawless, showgirl skin, liked the way she shivered and responded to him.

He swiveled her around so they straddled the bench, facing each other. He urged her to lie down. Her back made contact with the hard metal surface. She giggled on a shiver then arched her arms. The pose was
Playboy
perfect, lifting her breasts and delineating her ribs. She knew her body—how to best display it, how to best use it. Eric was too turned on to care that he could be manipulated for the rest of forever by the arching curve of her stomach and the teasing curve of her smile.

He dipped his thumb into her shallow navel as his fingertips brushed the underside of her breasts. The tendons of her inner thigh tightened and pulled against the bikini bottom, which barely kept her covered. He tugged, pulled. Underneath she was damp. He stroked over her closed lips before lifting his fingers to his mouth. All Trish. Only then did he realize he’d craved another sample of her taste.

Her lashes lowered as she put on a pout. “Why stop?”

“Haven’t.” With no ceremony, he pushed his fingers in her pussy.

She gasped, loud, breathy. Her slick softness clutched at his fingers.

One quick flick of Eric’s other hand slipped her breasts out of the swimsuit top. Pale pink nipples beaded into small berries. He leaned forward to sip one into his mouth, rasping his tongue over her flesh. She clutched the back of his head to hold him to her. Her nails sent tingles down his spine. She moaned, though she was biting her bottom lip, apparently unable to keep it all in.

Wicked pride stabbed him. He could give her this. Even if he sucked at communicating worse than he sucked at balancing his needs and those of his family, he could make her moan.

Eric shoved his shorts down after he’d grabbed a condom from his nearby jeans pocket. She took it and pushed his hands out of the way.

“It’s hard to believe I hardly got my hands on you last time.” She made up for it now by wrapping slender fingers around his shaft.

He grunted. Had to take a breath. Center himself.
Christ.

Her hands were cool and smooth, so pale against the ruddy skin of his cock. She watched him, always looking out from under her darkened lashes, smiling to silently torment him.

“You’re big,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s a shame
you’re
not into showing off. But you’re not. It’s not your cock versus others. You want to see
in
. All the hidden places.” She licked her lower lip. “You want a secret moment?”

He managed to nod. Words were beyond him. He only pulled her closer. He kept his fingers moving so that each of her words became rougher—a little more purr, a little less self-assurance.

She wiggled until they were chest to chest. Their hands worked between, near enough that his wrist bumped hers as they played. She tucked her face against his neck. Her bite was hard enough to spike pain down to his dick—in the best way.

“Did I lock the door?” Her throaty voice drove him crazy as she started breathing harder and faster. They were ratcheting up. “I can’t remember. Anyone could walk in. You wouldn’t care if they saw you…but me. That’d be different, wouldn’t it?”

His chuckle was strained around his whacked-full arousal. “No one would notice me.”

“Not true.”

“
Very
true.”

She produced the condom package, let go briefly and unrolled the thin latex over his sensitive flesh. He grabbed her ass with his free hand. Once he was sheathed, he leaned back. The cold bench was hard. He couldn’t give a shit when she straddled his flanks, her pussy wedged over his cock—and he really didn’t once he was inside. They groaned together. He probably should’ve stripped her bikini. The bottoms were only shoved to the side. It was fucking hot, accentuating how insanely eager they were.

She planted her hands flat on his chest and rode. Her hips thrust up and down, promising that what they both wanted was a sure thing. “I’m on top. Funny how that keeps happening.”

He flashed his smile. Couldn’t help it. She was so damn chatty—a good thing when his own brain shorted out. “No surprise.”

She traced his shoulders, his pecs, down to his abs. Her rhythm faltered, as if she’d been distracted by his body. Made sense, since he kept getting distracted by hers. Soft curves and lean legs. He loved to watch, and with Trish, he had no idea where to start.

“I think we both know why you like me up here.” She was one hundred percent aroused and one hundred percent sass. “I want to hear you say it. I let you take pictures of me. We’ve fucked the hell out of each other. But you haven’t said it. We’re both grown up enough to admit it, aren’t we?”

He skimmed his hands up the center of her body until he cupped her breasts. His smile couldn’t be helped, because hellfire, the woman seemed determined to get him to talk.

Fine. If that’s what it took.

“I’m a voyeur.”

She cooed a pleased sound. “You are.”

Once again she lowered her pussy. Eric thrashed his head to one side then arched his chin to the ceiling. She could own him if she kept that up. Slams sent shock waves of tingling pleasure through to his soles.

“But that’s not all.” She shook her head, her expression a study of agonized concentration. “That’s not all of it. You’re a voyeur, and I’ve always been an exhibitionist. You watch
me
, don’t you, Eric? That’s why you like me on top, and why you want to take pictures of me. If I wanted good odds here in Vegas, I’d bet the next step is a video camera.”

He surged up into a sitting position and locked low around her hips, holding her sleek body to him. They were sticky with sweat as they strained and pushed.

“Promise me,” she whispered. “You’ll video me. I want you to.”

“Promise,” he managed to groan. “Promise, promise.”

“Yes. Next. Camera…” Her words trailed into a low moan as she came—coming to the prospect of his video camera.

That was enough to set Eric loose. He locked his hand around her jaw, angled her face up toward his. Her orgasm washed over her features while her cunt sucked at his cock. Her spine fused and she turned rigid. He slammed up into her, crazy wild on the thought that she
wanted
him to record her.

That it was next.

Flashes of singeing pleasure rocked out from his prick. Tightened his chest. Pushed him over the edge until his body shut down in one lost moment. Blackness spun over his thoughts.

All Trish’s doing. She was exactly what he’d needed to take the stress away.

They leaned into each other. Panting hard. Trish’s head rested on his shoulder. His hands spanned her narrow back. Air cooled the sweat across the back of his neck.

He’d never thought himself a dumb man, but for long minutes all he could think was the mental equivalent of
guh
. So fucking good. Like she kept saying.

If they stayed too long, they’d get caught for real. Not in any fun, sexy way—more like an awkward, don’t-want-to-explain way.