Dirty Trick (11 page)

“I haven’t stopped thinking about it. The way your pussy tastes. So fucking sweet on my tongue. Tell me. Did you like my mouth on you?”

The memory of it sent the blood rushing downward, pooling low and tight, the tension building.

“Yes. So much. But…”

“But?”

“But I want to do that to you too. I—”

In for a penny, in for a pound. She swallowed hard, stifling the voice telling her that she was a freak and let it rip. “I want to put my mouth on you that way. If you think you might like it.”

“Aw, fuck.” His low growl sounded so tortured, she nearly wept with relief. “I have no doubt about that. But that’s not for today. Today is about you. Only you.”

She squeezed her eyes closed and bit her lip. He couldn’t possibly even know what that meant to her. Victor writhing around on top of her, and her own orgasms a crap shoot at best, had been such a huge part of her sexual experience for so long, she didn’t even realize how empowering it was to have someone want to please her and put her first. It was a revelation.

His clever fingers derailed her thoughts as he grazed one of her straining nipples. She gasped and tensed.

“Shhh. If you want me to touch you, babe, you’ve got to listen. Trust me. Trust me to take care of you tonight. Trust me to make it good for you.”

He went in for the kill then, pinching the one taut bud between his thumb and forefinger, tugging until she felt it all the way to her core. She arched into his hand with a whimper.

“Do you like it soft, love?” he played with her gently, rolling the tip of her breast teasing with his fingertip.

“Yes,” she panted, straining deeper into her seat, wishing for some relief for the ache between her thighs.

“Or,” he murmured, “do you like it hard?” He cupped the fullness of her breast in a rough hand and squeezed. She drew back, the initial discomfort catching her off guard, but it was short-lived. He worked her nipple hard, pinching almost to the point of pain, but not pain. Ecstasy. She tossed her head back and moaned softly, the burn traveling from the taut point to the growing ache in her clit.

“Nice,” he hissed. His voice was thick now. The way it had gotten last night when she had touched him. She wished she could reach back now. Feel that heat. That hardness throbbing in her hands. It felt like power and need and damn, did she like it.

“I wondered the other night. If you’d like it rough. I didn’t want to push you then. But I think I know now. What would you say if I told you that I want to drag you over to that wall, turn you around, and slide my cock into that tight little pussy? No kiss, no touch. Just one long, deep slide.” His other hand looped around and latched onto her other breast as his words landed on her ears like death blows, taking her higher and higher toward the precipice. “And then pounding away until you screamed. Begging me to finish you. What would you say, Grace?”

“Yes. I would say yes.”

“There are people here,” he reminded her sharply. “What would they think?”

Her head was muzzy, and she tried to focus on his words. People here? She didn’t care. Anything to make the ache go away. “It doesn’t matter.”

He released her abruptly, and she cried out. The people in the front of the theater turned and shushed her before looking back at the movie. And still, she didn’t care. “Please. Don’t go yet.”

“Go? Oh, hell no. I’m just getting started.”

…

No fucking bra.

His cock had a pulse of its own, and if he was on an airplane they would have made him purchase a separate seat for it. But it was about Grace tonight. He pushed by her legs and sat down next to her, tugging the hood tighter around his face. “Keep your head straight, eyes forward, no matter what I do. Got it?”

She nodded, but he could hear the breath heaving in and out of her lungs.

He closed his hand over her thigh and growled. Bare skin. She’d worn the skirt as he’d asked. He let his fingers caress the soft skin of her leg for long enough that she began to squirm, and then he stroked higher. Each pass moved closer to her core. Higher still. His forefinger sampled the tender skin on her inner thigh. Then…

“Fuck,” he ground out. No bra was bad enough, but she was clearly hell-bent on killing him. She’d skipped the underwear, too. Who would’ve thought his shy little Gracie would’ve been hiding such a freaky side? He’d only hoped, but he heartily approved.

He was two seconds from coming in his jeans like a fifteen-year-old for the second time this week, and she was clueless to his pain. Her murmur of approval drove him on, and he shifted higher.

“No,” he said softly when she turned her head to look his way. “Eyes on the screen.”

She faced front again, and he patted her leg in approval.

“I like the way you listen, Gracie.”

She froze, and he wanted to kick himself. Catman called her Ms. Love, Grace and some other endearments while they were naked, but never Gracie. Trick called her Gracie. He didn’t correct himself, instead opting to wait and see if she would say anything about it.

“My friend calls me that, too.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

She paused and then shrugged. “No, I guess it’s okay.”

Her hesitance made him smile. No matter what she tried to tell herself, there was a little piece of her that belonged to him. The real him, Trick. And while she was willing to let old Catman call her that, she wasn’t thrilled about it. What a twisted fucker he’d become over the past two days. Jealous of himself. Like Sybil, only more screwed up.

“But are you sure the people can’t hear us?”

“They haven’t looked back so far, and the surround sound is pretty loud. If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”

Her body was still rigid, but after a few seconds she relaxed, leaning back into her seat. “Okay.”

“Can you spread your legs wider for me?”

When she let her thighs fall apart, making room for him, he said a silent prayer for patience. The first touch of his fingertips on the smooth skin of her center made him shudder. Slick already with her need, the plump lips were ripe for his touch.

“So hot,” he breathed.

Her legs were shaking now, and her body was bowed tight, relaxation out of the question as she strained toward him, wordlessly begging for more.

“Do you remember the other night? I was right,” he slid one long finger in deep, and her tight channel gripped him, “here. So good.”

She tossed her head against the seat, the little sounds she made against the back of her throat getting a little louder with every passing second.

He retracted his finger and plunged deep again, grinding the heel of his palm against the swollen little nub pressing insistently against his hand. She jerked as if she’d been electrocuted, but she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her words.

“No talking, Gracie. You have to be very quiet, or those people will know that I’m touching you here.”

Her breath came faster as he fucked her with his finger. She liked the talk. Good, so did he.

“They’ll know that you’re about to come on my fingers. We don’t want that, do we, love?”

She shook her head furiously.

He was about to ramp it up a notch, to put her out of her misery, when a small, questing hand closed unerringly over his hard cock.

“Shit,” he groaned, slowing. “That feels good.”

He tried to pull her away, which proved about as hard as his dick because damned if he didn’t want her to keep going. The hand he’d commissioned to make her stop betrayed him and instead cupped hers in place, tightening her grip on him. He could come like this. Right now, with a few well-timed strokes, he could explode in hot spurts right into his jeans with Grace’s hand on his cock and his sliding along her slick folds. It took an act of iron will, but he managed to pull her away.

“If it’s about me,” she said, her voice breaking in a way that sent his heart knocking against his ribs. “Then let me touch you. It makes me feel…sexy. I like it.”

And with that softly spoken admission, his good intentions dove out the window. He released her wrist, and she didn’t waste a second. Her busy fingers got straight to work on his zipper and yanked downward. It was no easy task since the man behind the bars was wide awake and itching for release, but after a short struggle, she managed. Then all hell broke loose. She drew the aching length of him from his jeans and gripped him like a joystick.

“Oh, that’s very nice,” she murmured, stroking downward, to the base and then back up to swirl her thumb over the tip.

She paused then, and when she pulled her hand away, it took everything he had not to shout in protest. Then she dipped her finger into her mouth and sucked her finger. To taste him.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten while trying to block out her murmur of approval. She liked it. The need to have her face in his lap, to feel that mouth drawing and pulling on him until he exploded against the back of her throat, was so strong that if he was standing, his knees would’ve given out. But he didn’t have to suffer long.

She shoved the arm rest between them up, pushed his hand from between her thighs, and went straight for it. No warning, no preamble, just an open-mouthed dive onto the head of his cock.

“Fuck,” he ground out, stars exploding behind his lids at the feel of her molten tongue swirling over him. He slipped a hand into her hair and cupped her head, all the while reminding himself to let her control the pace, reminding himself not to scare her with the force of his want.

She pulled away, an inch between her mouth and his cock, and breathed, “Show me. Show me exactly what you like.” The sultry wash of breath was like the gates of heaven, and he let his eyes slip closed again.

He let himself go and for once didn’t think about anything except what he was feeling. He pushed her head down, slowly, relishing the drag of her plump lips against the sensitive underside of his shaft. Feeling the tender flesh on the inside of her cheeks closing over his length. Loving the bump at the very back of her throat when she took him as deeply as she could. He held her there for a selfish moment and then came into himself again and released her. Surely that couldn’t be comfortable for h—

“Mmm mmm,” she murmured, then pressed forward of her own accord, swallowing him whole, a small choke, a catch in her breath, a gasp, and then deeper still until the column of her throat clasped him so tight, he very nearly shot off right there. She slid up again and released him with a pop. “Did that hurt?”

“Jesus, no.” He knew it sounded more like a prayer than an answer, but right now she was his whole world. “Did it hurt you?”

She shook her head, sending that mass of curls dancing over his balls and making him grasp her tighter. “No. It’s…uncomfortably full, but at the same time delicious and…I can’t explain it. I want to try again.”

Every word sent her steamy breath washing over him, and he ached for more contact. He didn’t have to wait long, because she lunged forward and sucked him deep again. No slow build, no soft kisses or tentative laps. No dicking around. She was all tongue and suction, and within thirty seconds, he was arching into her, racing toward the finish line, all thoughts of stopping in the rear view mirror.

“Mmm,” she hummed against him, urging him on.

It was only a tiny sound but it rang in his head like the bell at the end of a boxing round.
Ding ding ding. Get back in your corner and cut the shit, asshole.

He hadn’t come here to get his dick sucked, no matter how enthusiastically she’d taken to the task. He came here for one last opportunity to show Grace how good it could be between them before he told her the truth.

He wrapped his fist in her thick hair and tugged gently, calling on the last remnants of his self-discipline. “Grace,” he growled, bending lower so she could hear him. “You have to stop now.”

When she lifted her head, he turned away to make sure his face was still concealed by his hood.

“Why? Why do I have to stop?” she whispered, shimmying close to press her breasts against his shoulder.

Why indeed?
His damp, indignant cock bleated, still shuddering from the close call. It was going to be a painful ride home since he could probably give Papa Smurf a run for his money in the blue balls category.

Not trusting himself to answer with words, he took control of the situation. He pressed her back into her seat and dove in fast, slanting his mouth over hers. He shoved the skirt roughly aside and plunged two fingers into her waiting heat. She let out a muffled cry, but he took the kiss deeper, silencing her. A man with a mission.

He pulled out to massage her clit with singular determination until she tossed herself against the seat, and then slid into her tight channel again, grinding the heel of his hand against the bundle of nerves that begged for his touch. Her whole body went rigid, and she flexed over his hand, raining hot moisture over his fingers as she came. His cock bucked and jerked in response, and he couldn’t stop the drops of cum leaking from him like bitter tears. He sucked in a breath through his nose, riding it out with her until she finally relaxed.

He kissed her one last time and moved his hand from between her legs. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered, hoping he sounded less tortured to her than he did to himself. Didn’t matter, though. He had to get the fuck out of there before he told her everything.

Gracie, I’d spend the rest of my life making you come if you’d let me.

Gracie, did I already say that I love you? Because I do.

Gracie, please…for God’s sake, when this is all over, please forgive me.

Chapter Eight

“And, I also love Civil War re-enactments,” the round-faced man on the screen admitted ruefully. Serena had suggested they cut that portion of Bob Beasley’s introduction video, but Grace found herself grinning. Bob was a little nerdy, but he had such a funny, self-deprecating wit about him, she almost felt like he’d be better served if they left that part in. The right woman for him would respond to it exactly as she had. With a smile.

She mulled it over for another minute, then hit save. Her instincts had gotten her this far, and she wasn’t going to start questioning them now. At least, not for her clients.