Natalie Acres (11 page)

He was raw, sexy, and oh so good in bed. And she still desired him. She longed for him. Perhaps she’d always yearn for him.

Returning to Cow Camp hadn’t been a good idea. Their visit had provoked a deep-seated desire to see Mitch again.

She longed to talk to him. She also needed to open up about her feelings and discuss her desires with Rory and Brock.

They probably wouldn’t want to hear what she needed to say.

Trixie stood at the door and waited. She’d carefully peeled their fingers away from her body and had slipped from the bed before either of them had stirred.

Surely one of them would spring forward in a second. As soon as one of them realized she wasn’t there, he would wake the other and, with panic etched in their voices, they’d call out to her.

That was typical anyway, or it had been following the whole Jordie Anne fiasco. Instead, they slept. Brock’s snoring filled the room as she quietly shut the door behind her and made her way to the kitchen.

The nightlight over the kitchen sink cast a yellow beam across the kitchen counter. A crystal tumbler was next to a bottle of vodka, a fifth of liquor she hadn’t noticed prior to retiring for the night.

She could drink. Hell, she could get drunk. It might give her a little perspective.

Opening the refrigerator, she grabbed a carton of orange juice. She filled her glass with ice, vodka, and a couple of splashes of pulp-free OJ.

After finding a spoon, she quietly mixed the concoction, turned up the glass, and drank.

“One down. Several more to go,” she whispered, stirring up another drink.

She repeated the process and was set to prepare a third cocktail when the floor squeaked behind her. Startled, she whipped around.

“Alcohol won’t help you forget, sub.”

Her nipples immediately spiked. Her pussy clenched in response. Her heart—Oh God, her heart—soared.

“Mitch,” she breathed, her eyes meeting his as he stalked her.

“Miss me?” he asked, that dark, brooding demeanor only accentuating his confidence, proving he knew he was the reason why she was awake, why she’d gone to the kitchen and poured herself a couple of drinks.

“How did you get in?” she asked, a stupid question considering the fact that he owned the place. Her pulse tickled her wrist as the palpitations increased in speed. “I mean, I…we…didn’t hear you.”

“I ask you a question, sub. Did you miss me?” He rolled his tongue over his bottom lip and stared at her as if he were looking at her for the very first time. His gaze dipped lower. A guttural sound slipped from his lips before his eyes met hers one more time. “I sure as hell missed you.”

“Why didn’t you call?” she asked, her fingers still curved around the glass even though she’d returned the tumbler to the kitchen counter. Her hand shook violently. Oh God, she wanted to go to him. She wanted to leap into his arms and never let go!

“Did you want me to call?” he asked, standing in front of her then.

“I…” Her throat constricted and she released the glass, nervously clasping her hands in front of her body.

He lifted a brow. “Did you want to hear from me, sub?”

This time the reference made her jerk. A warm sensation washed over her as numerous emotions collided.

“I wanted you to call,” she whispered. “The last time we spoke was when you found out about Jordie Anne. I told you I loved you and—”

“Say it now,” he said, cupping the side of her face.

Before she thought of any ramifications, she turned her lips to his palm and nuzzled his hand. A deep, masculine growl resounded and he gripped a handful of hair, moving closer. “I want you to tell me now and mean it.”

Trixie looked up at him. She was in tune with her body then, so aware of her reaction to a man who had once controlled her with his voice—inflections, tone, and even the words he’d often choose to say.

“Let me hear you, sub. Tell me what you feel in your heart.”

Tears finally seeped from the corners of her eyes.

They stayed locked in a knowing gaze, a challenging one with telling signs. Finally, a gasp fell from her lungs and she quickly shook her head and backed away, turning to face the sink again.

Mitch moved closer. He locked his arms around her waist and nuzzled her hair. His erection pressed against her ass as those thick limbs rested right under her breasts.

“I’ve thought about you every hour since we’ve been apart,” he whispered, nipping at her ear. “We’ve wasted so much time, sub.”

Her breasts were fuller then. Another quick vibration zipped through her body and she took a ragged breath, trying to find the courage to speak, wanting to tell him the way she felt, but also desperate to warn him, to explain why she couldn’t be with him.

There was no way she could revel in Mitch, enjoy the benefits of his body and the loving she longed to experience until she received Brock and Rory’s blessings.

“You walked away from me,” she reminded him.

“You pushed me away.”

“But you left.”

He pressed his palm to the curve of her waist and forced her to look at him. “You know why.”

She blinked and tried to focus, tried to see beyond those flawless features which represented one well-stocked body. Mitch had always been a billboard for sex—hard-core, desirous, and the very meaning of no-holds-barred, limitless fucking.

Dark eyes, darker hair, a thin, angular nose, and beautiful, full lips were enough to make a woman look twice. But let him strip off his shirt and step away from those jeans, and he could own a woman. She would become his, inexplicably and hopelessly his, especially after he took her to his bed.

Before she thought better of it or even considered the potential consequences, she reached for him. Cupping his face, she said softly, “I dream of you.”

“Tell me.” He gripped her wrist with both hands. “What do you fantasize about, sub?”

“Please stop calling me that,” she said, though her request was anything but sincere.

Mitch’s lips curved in a wicked smile. “I could test your limits, sub.”

She didn’t doubt his abilities for a second. She knew as sure as she was standing there gawking at a man she once nicknamed Zeus because of his godly features and perfect complexion, that if he wanted to test her, he could push her to the brink and leave her writhing underneath him.

Trixie moistened her lips. “Please don’t.”

“Tell me about those dreams.” His long eyelashes fluttered. He lowered his eyes. He released her arm and clutched her torso, his hand evenly with the side of her breast. “Tell me how you’ve imagined us together, sub.”

“Mitch, please,” she wailed, her tears falling now. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he said, drawing her tighter.

Trixie braced for the kiss. Perhaps her lips had already parted.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he said, “I will talk to them. I’ll make them understand. We all belong together, but first, I have to know. Do you want me, Trixie?”

“You know I do,” she whispered, her eyes fixated on that sinful mouth. Those lips were capable of performing the unimaginable in very public places. And the private pleasures of an oral assault were often what kept her daydreams filled with explicit fantasies.

“Then I’ll handle the rest, baby. I promise I’ll take care of everything else.”

“But—”

“No buts. Kiss me, sub,” Mitch said, wetting his lips. “Kiss me and welcome me home.”

“Son of a bitch.” Brock stumbled down the hallway in a disoriented state. He rubbed his left eye, focusing on Trixie as she jumped a few feet away from Mitch.

“It’s not how it looks.” Trixie immediately defended herself.

“How does it look, baby?” Brock said, eyeing the liquor glass on the counter. “Trying to get her drunk, Mitch?”

“I don’t need her drunk,” he replied, a quick smile settling on his lips. “She still wants me. She knows she can have me.”

“I’m sure neither of you will put up much of a fight,” Brock said, grabbing Trixie around the waist and pulling her against him.

Mitch’s grin immediately disappeared. “You really think she would do something without your permission?”

“We don’t live the lifestyle, Mitch. Ask her.”

Mitch crossed his arms and stared down the bridge of his nose. “That’s interesting considering your past.” He glanced at Trixie and back at Brock. “And you’re happy with that?”

“Trixie is more woman than I’ve ever had. I don’t need to train her for submission. I don’t need role play, though we have indulged at times. Our lives are very different than what they once were or perhaps even what they were once destined to become.”

“Bullshit, Sheldon,” Mitch grumbled, leaving them in the kitchen. He walked into the living room and sat on an oversized chair. Kicking up his feet, he rested his legs on the ottoman. “You can tell me whatever you want. You can say what you think Trixie needs to hear. The truth still lives within you. You were a Dom through and through. And role play?” He snickered. “Hear me laugh.”

Rory entered the room then wearing an open plaid robe. “What’s going on?”

“We have company,” Brock announced.

“As if I couldn’t see that for myself.”

Mitch snorted. “I have company. You’re my guests and let me just add, I’m thrilled to find you here.”

“How’d you know where we were?”

“I left Asheville like you asked, Brock. Just arrived here about three hours ago and was all ready to settle in for the night over at the house when a buddy of mine informed me of an explicit show he saw earlier, down by the water.”

“What buddy?” Rory took a seat across from him.

“An inmate from the prison. We were cellmates for a while. He’s a good guy, but I doubt you’ll think so.” His gaze held Trixie’s. “He’s pretty impressed with our girl after watching a nice afternoon romp.”

“Fuck you, Mitch,” Brock said, pulling Trixie tighter against him. His palm cupped her ass and she flinched as if she were trying to break his grip.

Mitch waved his hand at the furniture around him. “Come on over here and have a seat, friend.” He paused. “We are still friends. Aren’t we, Brock?”

“That depends,” Brock said, dragging Trixie alongside him as he entered the living room.

“On?”

“Your intentions.” Brock shot him a sarcastic grin before he sat on another leather sofa. Pulling Trixie to his lap, he quickly added, “Are your intentions honorable, Mitch?”

“Fuck no,” Mitch growled, his response so guttural it all but summoned the thick sexual tension in the air.

“So you’re expecting us to play house with you again? Because you see, while you were married to Jordie, while you were paying for your sins and trying to stand by your responsibilities, we were standing by ours.

“We’ve built a life with Trixie. We’ve loved her. We’ve been with her through the good times and bad. She mothered our children. She sleeps in our bed. She is our wife. And I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would think after all these years we would want anything more than what we have.”

“Which is what, Brock?”

“We have a good life, Mitch. And I would kill before I would let an outsider step in and destroy what Rory and I have built with Trixie and our children.”

“I have killed for her,” Mitch reminded him, rising from his seat.

“You killed because you made a choice. It wasn’t the only one you had!” Brock yelled, dumping Trixie on the cushion beside him and standing nose-to-nose with Mitch.

Trixie released a grunt and scrambled to an upright position. She was clearly agitated.

“I killed because Pratchert said he would keep coming back and I believed him. I didn’t take him out because I wanted to. I took care of him because Trixie deserved the opportunity to lead a good life without looking over her shoulder. I wanted her happy, damn you!”

“I am happy,” Trixie said quietly.

Mitch’s gaze pierced through hers.

“Most of the time,” she quickly added the sidebar.

“You may have killed for her, but I would die a hundred deaths for her,” Brock told him, shooting Rory a sideways glance. “And he would, too.”

“I don’t doubt what you’re saying,” Mitch said, studying Trixie. “I know exactly what you mean, boys. I’ve practically died those deaths for her myself. Now, I want to live. I want to share one life, one rich and fulfilling life with the one woman I love. Is that too much to ask?”

“You need to reconsider your idea of love,” Brock said. “It’s a simple process. You know how it’s done. You’ve been here before. It’s kind of like playing ‘she loves me, she loves me not’ only you have to flip that around to ‘I love her. I love her not.’ Then, throw in a lunatic with a killing agenda and we’re set to begin all over again.”

“I love her.”

“So you’ve said. I guess you’ll have to prove it to Trixie. I’m not the woman scorned.”

“Then don’t act like it,” Mitch bit out.

Brock sneered. “Don’t test me, Colony.”