Lovely Trigger (30 page)

Finally, I recognized the collagen injected, puffed up features under the powder.
 
Even under a pound of color, I could tell she wasn’t aging well.
 
She was going overboard with the surgery.
 

“Natalie,” I said, then turned away again.
 

I ignored her as much as I could.
 
I figured that was the nicest thing I could do.
 
And the mature thing to do.
   

Even she didn’t deserve the things I wanted to say to her.
 
The last six years of our mess wasn’t her fault.

“I saw you and Tristan during the race.
 
It’s so sweet that he was helping you out back there.
 
He’s such a nice guy, helping the disabled.”
 

“Disabled?” I said softly, giving her my full attention now.
 
Now
she deserved it.
   

A part of me kind of lived for that moment when my claws could come out, and I didn’t have to feel bad about the consequences, because I felt I’d been properly provoked.
 
This was definitely one of those moments.
 

“If you ask me, those giant silicone filled balloons on your chest that have you nearly tipping over every time you try to stand upright, and those clown lips of yours have to make it hard to eat without drooling.
 
Now those are a disability.”

She made a disgusted noise, but had no comeback.
 

I smiled.
 
She moved away and that was that.
 
It was sad, but I actually preferred dealing with her to dealing with Mona.

I found a place to sit, on a picnic table that was set near what was turning out to be quite the dance floor.
 

Almost the second I sat down, I felt my phone vibrating on my arm.
 

It was Tristan.
 
I didn’t think I had a chance in hell of hearing him over all the noise, so I dropped the call and texted him my location.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He was there in less than a minute.
 
Sitting down next to me, then pulling me unceremoniously onto his lap.
 

I turned until I was sideways, staring up at him.
 
“You can go dance if you want to.
 
I don’t mind.”
 

“Not without you,” he said, kissing my nose.
 

“I still have a few moves,” I told him, watching his face.
 

I loved to make him laugh.
 

I was flattered by the admiring look he gave me for that.
 
“Yes, you do.”
 

I laughed.
 
“I wasn’t talking about that.
 
I’m talking about dance moves.”

He looked intrigued.
 
“Yeah?”
 

“Yeah.
 
There’s the lasso.”
 
I showed him that classic, and he laughed.
 
“And the ‘make it rain,’”
 
I put my fingers to my palm and imitated flinging cash.
 
“And the slap that.’”
 
I put one palm down, and the other moved in a rapid spanking motion.
 
“And of course the ‘going down.’”
 
I pointed my palm down, cupped it to imitate it holding the back of a head, and pushed it down, to mimic him going down on me.
 

I’d just made that last one up.
 

He was laughing hard by the time I was done.
 
My whole chest went warm when he laughed like that.
   

And then we were kissing, making out like teenagers in public again.
 
I knew I should pull back, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
 
I gripped his shirt while he gripped my hair, and let our mouths just go at it.
 
It was a special kind of bliss to just let go like that, for a time.
 

He was laying me on the bench, his hands getting a touch indecent, when I found the will to pull back.
 

“We can’t.
 
Not here.
 
There are kids around, Tristan.
 
Not to mention
other people.
”

He pulled back and sat up.
 
“I’m going to go grab us something to eat.”
 

He disappeared into the crowd.
 

He was back maybe ten minutes later, his arms full of sodas and hotdogs.
 

I didn’t even complain, just ate the hotdog and drank the coke.
 
I was so hungry that even that was worth the calories.
 

We shared a smile as we finished eating, my mind on that ridiculous make out session earlier.
 

He had a bit of ketchup on the corner of his mouth, and I took a napkin, dabbing at it, smiling into his dear face.

He tilted my face up with his chin.
 
His expression was raw with things I couldn’t name or didn’t want to.
 
“Oh, no, you’ve done it now,” he whispered softly.
 

“Done what?”

“You’re giving me that look.
 
You know we can’t go back, if you’re looking at me like that again.
 
You get that, right?”
 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told him, which was a lie.
 
I could feel it spilling out of my eyes, covering him like some pain-relieving salve.
 
This was something I gave, and he took, and we were both more lost for it, or at least, that’s how it had worked out the last time.
   

“Yes, you do.
 
You can’t give me that look without
feeling
that look.”
 
He took a deep breath, and then another.
 

“It’s probably all this powder.
 
You’re seeing things.”

That didn’t even faze him.
 
“I swear, it feels like there’s been a bullet lodged in my gut, buried there for ages, and it just got pried out.
 
Thank you.”
 

I looked away.
 
“Don’t thank me.
 
Just do what you need to not to hurt me.”
 

His breathing grew ragged.
 
“Do I get to ask the same of you?”
 

We shared a raw look, but I didn’t answer him.
 

“I didn’t realize how hard it would be, to be around Mona,” I said, changing the subject.
 
“I think it’s best for me to avoid that in the future.”

He was the picture of yellow, purple, and pink faced remorse.
 
In spite of myself, I found that so incredibly endearing.
 
“I’m so sorry for that.
 
It’s turned into a bad situation.”
 

I shook my head at him.
 
“What were you thinking, sleeping with someone you worked with?
 
When does that
ever
turn out well?”

He looked wildly uncomfortable.

I shook my head at him some more.
 
“Oh you naive bastard.
 
Still thought fuck buddies could work, huh?”

He flinched.
 
“I did.
 
I was an idiot.
 
But let’s not do this to ourselves, okay?”
 

He had a good point, and I dropped it, since I was done making mine.
 

We went to his house, and I finally got that tour.
 

“It’s huge,” I told him before we’d even finished with the first floor.
 
“What single man needs this much space?”
 

He gave me an enigmatic look for that bit of sass.

We fucked our colorful way all over his kinky bed.
 
Afterward, we took a shower together that bled into a rainbow down the drain and he took me again against the shower wall.

It was as I was drying off that I noticed a half used bottle of women’s perfume on the counter, near his own assortment of colognes.
 

I grabbed it, holding it up.
 
“Care to explain this?”
 

He smirked.
 
“Sure.
 
Don’t get mad, but I stole that from you back at James and Bianca’s wedding.”

I just blinked at him.
 
“You went into my room at the ranch and took something?
 
And what on earth could you possibly use my perfume for?”
 

“You probably don’t want to know.”
 

I blushed, head to toe, and I couldn’t look at him for a solid five minutes.
 
It didn’t help that he was naked and I was close to it.
     

He took me into his closet to try to find me a T-shirt.
 
I froze in the doorway, staring inside.
 

With just a towel clutched to my chest, I stared at his closet for the longest time.
 
It was huge, and much stranger, it was full. Long lines of suits, a wall of ties, racks upon racks of dress shirts.
 
There was only one small space allotted for T-shirts, and the wall of shelves that held his folded jeans wasn’t much bigger than the section allotted for ties.
 

“Holy shit.
 
What happened here?
 
This is not you.”
 

He looked sheepish as he ran a restless hand through his hair.
 
“I have a dresser.”
 

“Huh?”
 
I made a face.
 
“Explain that to us poor people.
 
A dresser?”
 

“For the show, there’s a lady that does my shopping, puts clothes together for the act.
 
A stylist, I guess.
 
She put this closet together, as well, for all of the events associated with the casino.
 
An extensive wardrobe is part of the job, I guess.
 
So you got that part right, this is not me.”

He snagged a T-shirt down from where several were folded, and I dropped my towel, going for it.
 

He held it out of reach with a smile.
 
“I just rethought the whole giving you clothes idea.”
 
He tossed the shirt over his shoulder and reached for me.
 
He kissed my forehead softly while he cupped the back of my head, gripping my hair; he turned my body so he was behind me, then prodded me forward.
 

“Grab my wrist,” he told me, and I reached my arms up and behind, gripping the hand that held my hair.
 
This exaggerated the arch in my back, and he stroked his other palm up my torso, gripping a breast as he led me into the bedroom.
 

He walked me up to a strange, dual arched leather bench.
 
It was about six feet long, with one arch that reached three feet high before it sloped down low then rose into another arch that was maybe a foot shorter than the other one.
 
It was a narrow bench, as well, and I didn’t imagine for a second that this wasn’t for a reason.
   

I gave it a squinty-eyed look.
 
“Okay, I give up.
 
What is that thing?”

He walked me directly to the rounded edge of the higher side.
 
He pushed me forward until I lay with my ass was pointed straight up, and my feet dangled off the ground.
 

His hand still held my hair, and I still had a tight grip on his wrists.
 

“It’s called a Tantra Chair.
 
In case that doesn’t describe it well enough, let me put it this way: We are going to clock in some hours on this chair.
 
Days
.”

I wriggled, the position alone a turn on, with my hips flush to the soft surface of the chair.
 
Of course, having Tristan naked behind me was more than a little responsible for getting me wet and ready for another round.
 

I couldn’t share with him that I’d forgotten what it was even like to have a sex
marathon
.
 
I’d only been with Andrew in the years between, but I doubted many men could put in so many rounds, like Tristan.
 
The man was superhuman.
 
I’d always known it, but having this, and losing it, made it even sweeter the second time around.
 

He kept my hair gripped tight as he played against my entrance with his tip.
 

“Sweetheart, here’s how it’s going to go.
 
You aren’t going to come until I tell you to.
 
No matter how unbearable, you will
hold back
until I give the word.
 
Also, don’t move your hands until I say to.”
 

I bit my lip, shutting my eyes tight as he sank in deep.
 
He started moving right away, but so slowly, so leisurely that it was torturous right off the bat.
 

I was already primed.
 
What I needed was another hard fuck.
 
I told him so.
 

He chuckled, kissing my back, his lips playing over my tattoo.
 
“Let’s be clear; you are far from in charge here.”
 

As though to illustrate his point, he gave me a few rough, jarring rams before he went right back to that infuriating pace.
 

He palmed my left breast and kissed my back as he maintained that smooth as hell and torturously unhurried rhythm.
 

This went on for so long that I was mewling, then cursing him loud and vehemently.