Natalie Acres (17 page)

Incredible heat washed over her. Fiery sensations tapped at her clit as his tongue slivered over her pussy lips again.

“I can make you see things my way,” he promised, standing before her once more. Gripping her shoulders firmly between his large hands, he added, “I can make you love me again.”

“I do love you, Mitch, but—”

His cheek twitched. He set his square jaw. “But what?”

Trixie stumbled backward as she observed the darkened shadows under his eyes. She wasn’t afraid, but rather alarmed. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she had caused him pain because he knew, down deep he had to have known, she didn’t trust him. Mitch would view the fact comparable to betrayal.

“Mitch.” She dragged her fingertips across his bottom lip. Those kissable lips were still as tempting as any other part of his body. She’d always had a difficult time defying Mitch. He was the epitome of perfection in looks. In delivery, he was exceptional, always able to carry through on the ultimate of intimate pleasures.

“You don’t trust me?” he asked.

She stared at him.

“Answer me.”

“I do not trust you,” she said firmly. This time, she wanted to make sure he heard her.

They stood there silently for a moment before he said, “Finish your shower. Then, get dressed.”

He threw back the shower curtain and stepped out of the tub.

“Mitch, wait.” She gripped his wrist and tried to meet his gaze, but he refused to look at her.

“I’ll let you know if this is something I can deal with, Trixie.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice quivering. Her heart shattered into bits and pieces as he left her there to consider what had taken place between them.

Standing under the showerhead, she hurriedly massaged the shampoo into her hair and finished bathing. She needed to talk to Brock and Rory. She needed to discuss her feelings, these runaway emotions, and see what they thought she should do.

Damn. Who was she kidding? Mitch had certain requirements. She understood his expectations. He hadn’t changed that much since their first time together. He was pretty much the same, maybe darker and more haunting than before, but he possessed more internal scars which explained his darker demeanor. A man couldn’t spend time in prison and walk away unscathed.

Trixie had known what she’d discover in Mitch the second time around. The problem was—Mitch hadn’t been prepared for what he’d find in her.

“Let me handle this,” Rory said, knocking on the door.

“Like hell,” Brock said, hammering his fist against the wood.

“He might have the door at the top of the stairs closed. It’s hard to hear up there.”

Glowering, Brock slammed his hand against the door again. “Cash! It’s Brock Sheldon and Rory Matthews. Open up.”

A second later, an eerie squeak suggested the top door was ajar. Several moments later, footsteps resounded.

“Hey man,” Cash said, swinging the door open. “Something wrong?”

Brock pushed by him. “Damn straight. Let’s talk.”

Before Rory could stop him, Brock had topped the steps.

Cash’s eyes met his and Rory shrugged. “We need to talk, Cash.”

He held out his arm and waved him inside. “By all means, y’all come on in.”

Entering the living quarters on the top floor brought back a wave of mixed feelings. Prior to Stephen Pratchert’s occupancy there, the camp counselors had often used the loft as an after-hours party spot for the older and mature staff members. After Stephen came to work there, things changed.

That should’ve been Mitch’s first clue. Pratchert had been bad news from the beginning.

Glancing around at the meager appointments, Rory couldn’t help but notice the familiar chill in the air. “Do you feel that?”

“Don’t start,” Brock said.

“There are bad vibes in here, man,” Rory said, avoiding eye contact with Cash then.

“What can I do for you fellas?”

“You can start by shelving the good-ole-boy persona,” Brock replied.

Cash held his head higher. “You want me to be someone I’m not?” He grinned. “Any particular reason why?”

Brock’s rage was evident. Thick veins outlined his neck, pulsing dangerously with his anger. “I don’t know you, Whitehead. And we aren’t friends. Let’s get that established from the start. I do not trust you.”

“Why should you?” Cash fired back. “Like you said, we ain’t friends.”

“Damn straight,” Brock said. “The back slapping and beer chugging won’t happen here with me.”

“And you came all the way up here to tell me to find a good place to drink alone?”

Brock made himself right at home. He entered one bedroom then the next. Rory could see him peeking in the tiny bathroom, checking out the closets, and returning to the bathroom once more.

“Are you looking for something in particular?”

Brock snarled. “Are you staying here alone?”

“I haven’t been here long enough to invite anyone over for sex and cookies, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“What is it you want to know?”

“There’s jizz all over the bathroom wall. Just wondered if you were getting off with someone’s help or if my woman was the inspiration behind the mess?”

“Is that a question?” Cash’s eyes were dangerously cold.

“It was presented as one,” Brock pointed out.

Rory stepped to the rear of the room. He kept Cash’s back in his sights as he glanced around the kitchenette, looking for any clues Cash might be up to no good.

“You have a problem with me,” Cash remarked casually. “I get that. I respect it even.”

“What were you doing watching Trixie and Rory together?” Brock cut to the chase. So much for Rory handling the issue at hand.

“When?” Cash asked, immediately on visible guard. His body language changed. He crossed his arms over his chest, stood taller, and parted his legs as if he had taken a firm stance on playing stupid.

“Trixie saw you,” Rory informed him.

“When and where?” he asked, his gaze working between Brock and Rory.

Brock twisted his mouth. “You gonna play it this way?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I guess you didn’t tell Mitch what you’d seen when we first arrived here. Are you going to deny that one, too?”

“I saw you and Rory with Trixie the first day. Sure I did. You didn’t try to hide the fact that you were giving it to her in broad daylight. I sort of figure—”

“I don’t give a damn what
you
saw or want to believe you saw,” Brock interrupted him. “You watched private moments. If we had wanted an audience, we would’ve sold tickets.”

“If you didn’t want an audience, you should’ve taken your woman indoors.”

“Which brings us back to the fact at hand,” Rory said. “Trixie and I were in a private cabin. We weren’t bothering anyone. We weren’t on display. We were sharing an intimate moment between man and wife.”

Cash threw his head back and snorted. “Is that what you really believe, man? You believe she’s your wife?” He shook his head. “Fuck, man. You’re as bad as Colony. He believes she’ll take him back and welcome him into her bed and treat him the same as she treats Sheldon here, but the truth is, she only took Sheldon’s last name. What does that tell you?”

Fury resonated through Rory’s system. He stalked Cash. Before he realized it, he’d backed him in a corner. Jabbing his finger in his face, he said, “I’m her husband in every way that matters. So we have an unusual relationship. It suits us. We knew what we were getting into when we promised to love and protect her all the days of our lives and that is precisely why we’re here now.”

Brock laid his hand against Rory’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not done here,” Rory said, shrugging Brock away and letting his rage guide him. “I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know if Mitch feels indebted to you or if you’re just here to bum around for a while. I have no idea but you’re undoubtedly welcome.”

“I am.” An evil smile resided in Cash’s expression. “And I’m not going anywhere until Colony asks me to leave.”

“And that’s just swell,” Rory said. “But let me make myself clear here. I don’t buy the fact that you happened upon an intimate occasion between myself, Trixie, and Brock. I damn sure don’t believe you had the same good fortune to witness good loving between a married couple twice.

“What I believe about you is not very attractive, Cash. I think you’re a pervert. You’re a lonely man who walked out of prison with no place to go. You came here searching for Mitch with some kind of twisted ideas that maybe Mitch’s woman might have room in her life for you, too.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Brock told him. “Under no uncertain terms will Trixie ever end up in your bed.”

“Hell, she’s not even attracted to him!” Rory barked over his shoulder. He jabbed his finger once more. “Don’t you ever, ever lurk in the shadows and spy on me and my wife again. Do you understand?”

Cash sneered. Rory backed away. Brock turned to leave the apartment.

They’d already entered the stairwell when Cash said, “You know, Rory, there’s a way to resolve all this animosity, a way to guarantee we never have another misunderstanding again.”

“And how’s that?” Rory asked, turning on him.

Brock waited at the bottom of the steps. “Let’s go, Rory.”

Perhaps Brock detected the forthcoming blow, the snide remark. Either way, he stood there with his gaze narrowed, his jaw and eyes set.

Cash sneered. “Here’s what I recommend, boys, and believe me, you ought to take my advice because I’m just one of many fellows on the outside looking in.

“If I were the two of you, I’d take a look around before I brought those tools out of the shed. I’d make sure no one was watching before that pretty little blue-eyed princess swallowed one of you while taking cock up the ass like she was born to be on her knees.” He flashed a mouthful of teeth. “You’ve heard the old saying of finders, keepers. Haven’t you? It’s kind of the same with memories, ya know?

“A fellow walks up on a couple romping, just a-fuckin’ like animals, and he thinks to himself, ‘Man, what I’d give to have a beautiful woman riding me like that. Those perky nipples and dark areolas mashed against my lips…that’s what I’d like.’

“Then, suddenly, it comes to me, I can have that. I can have it anytime I want it. Because I’ve seen her in the flesh now and all I have to do whenever I want to ride Trixie is close my eyes, shut ’em real tight, and imagine her sexy body towering over mine.

“It’s a fantasy, sure, but it’s an illusion drawn from the flesh. And it’s mighty damn close to reality after I’ve sat there on the hillside watching as she clasped her hands behind her head, threw her body forward, and begged for cock in that husky voice of hers.”

“Why you!” Rory barreled forward with his fists drawn tight enough to crack his knuckles. “I’ll make you fantasize, you sorry son of a bitch!”

Brock caught him before he clobbered Cash. Grabbing him by the shirt, he yanked him aside. “He’s not worth it, Rory. Why, anyone can see how crazy he is.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“The hell you aren’t!” Rory was shaking he was so angry, but when his eyes met Brock’s, he knew he needed to grasp some element of control.

“We’ll talk to Mitch about this,” Brock assured Cash, turning to leave.

Cash sneered. “And what do you think Mitch will do? Hmm? We’re friends, men. We’ve been through hell and back together.”

“You don’t know anything about friends,” Brock said. “Mitch grew up with us and he’ll listen. You might as well pack your bags, Whitehead. At the first sign of morning, you’re out of here.”

“I’ll go whenever I’m told to leave. It ain’t a problem. But just so you know, I’ll never forget your sweet woman. I’ll have her on her knees, stretched out in front of me, just begging for cock.” He winked. “If you don’t believe me, go check out that bathroom again. The cum on the wall is mine all right, but the pictures underneath the towel are what inspired the artwork.”

“What pictures?” Rory asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Brock said underneath his breath before addressing Cash once more. “You’re sick. You need help.”

“So I’ve been told,” Cash said. “But hey, I can’t complain. Fact is—I’m a free man. And the two of you can’t change
that
.”

“What are you doing?” Trixie asked, joining Mitch in the kitchen.

Mitch set a bowl on the counter. “Do you know what this is?”

Trixie eyed the container. She mashed her knees together and swallowed once. “Yes.”

Mitch chuckled. “I forgot you grew up in a home with parents who didn’t hide the fact they were pretty kinky when the lights went out.”

“That’s not true,” Trixie said. “And my parents’ home isn’t where I’ve seen a hand of ginger.”

Mitch moistened his lips. “Let me guess. That feisty sister of yours keeps a few ginger fingers on ice?”