Natalie Acres (7 page)

“I’m always right here for both of you,” she assured them, utterly satisfied.

Brock released a heavy breath. “For us and only us.”

It wasn’t a question, yet for some reason she felt as if there was an underlying inquiry. “Of course for you. There are only two men for me, Brock.”

She longed to add, “right now” so he fully understood her feelings for Mitch had never changed, would never change, but she didn’t want to spoil their moment. She feared Brock would never stand by and let Mitch reenter their lives.

Rory kissed her back, shoulders, and neck. “I love you, baby.”

“And I love you.” She tilted her head to the side and accepted his generous kiss.

When their mouths parted, Brock stole away with a kiss of his own. His lips assaulted hers. He pushed his strong fingers through her tangled hair and held her head between his hands. His tongue twirled around hers and he took his time, leisurely exploring her mouth.

Their lips separated and Trixie said, “I love you, too, you know.”

“I just hope the love you receive in return is more than enough to carry you through all the days of our lives.”

Cash’s heart was in his throat. If he thought he possessed mad lust for Trixie before he’d actually seen her in the flesh, he had been oh so wrong.

What he hadn’t known, what he had no way of imagining in his deepest, darkest fantasies, was that the little woman had beauty by the balls. She was gorgeous, stark-raving beautiful. Best of all, she was a slut to boot.

A smile tugged at his lips as he reentered the riding stables. He hurriedly grabbed the oblong handle and slid the door open enough so he could squeeze through the private entrance leading to the loft. Securing the deadbolt, he rushed up the twenty wooden steps leading to the apartment he’d chosen to occupy.

Once there, he entered the bedroom. Yanking his shirt overhead, he folded the garment and placed it on the old dresser located next to the bed.

Next, he reached under the mattress and retrieved another one of his favorite Trixie pics, one he’d found right before he’d taken his walk. It had been pinned to a wall inside the pantry.

A wicked chuckle fell from his lips.

There wasn’t any doubt who’d taken the extraordinary pains to place the photograph there. The picture above it was of Stephen Pratchert and the image of Trixie had been pinned sideways, right below a close-up snapshot of Stephen seated on the bed in his underwear.

Cash was particularly fond of the picture. It was one every man on the planet would appreciate. Trixie was dressed in a red-and-white checkered tank, rolled halfway up her belly. Her short shorts were hide tight, showcasing strings and threads for the ultimate country girl look. To top it off, her red lips were painted and puckered, but the best part? Oh Lord help him. The best part was the pose.

With one leg forward, one leg back, a hand placed in the curve of her waist and the other on the back of her head, Trixie was a screaming orgasm for the camera’s lens. Even her nipples were perfectly displayed. The hard beads pushed through the material as if to say, “Look at me.”

Shucking his jeans, Cash reached inside his boxers and wrapped his small pecker in a closed fist.

“I gotchas, babe,” he drawled, trying to sound sexy as he pumped his cock up and down, trying to provoke a rise.

Fiddling with his prick, he sat on the bed, splayed his legs, and clutched her picture in his hand. “That’s right, honey bunch. Open that mouth. Ah yeah. Suck this cock. Hmm. Uh. Hmm. Uh.”

Fuck! He couldn’t come like this. He was trying too hard to imitate those morons she apparently liked to screw.

He released his dick and stared into the dark room. He studied the horse blankets covering what he’d determined must’ve once been a huge bay window, now all boarded up on the outside which was a real eyesore.

He glanced down at his flaccid cock. Talk about a fucking eyesore.

Rage settled in his veins as he considered the earlier event he’d missed. Why had Trixie come there? Why was she with those men? Were they expecting Mitch? Would he arrive soon?

He had gained limited knowledge from his previous conversations with Mitch. Trixie was married to Brock Sheldon, a guy Mitch must’ve considered a friend at one time. Considering the ho-down he’d seen earlier—he laughed aloud at his connotation—he could assume the big guy on the receiving end of that magnificent blow job must’ve been Brock. Too much familiarity existed between Trixie and her blow job recipient.

His cock twitched when he revisited that sexy scene when the guy throwing it to her—he couldn’t help but chuckle again—came in her mouth. Cash had received a few blows in his lifetime but never once, not one time that he could recall, had a woman swallowed his cum.

His balls throbbed then as he imagined Trixie on the bed there with him. Had she slept with Pratchert there? When Stephen had abducted her, had he taken her here on this mattress, in this very bed?

Collapsing against a stack of pillows, he closed his eyes and grabbed hold of his cock again. This time, he had an erection.

He was delighted when his cock moved restlessly in his palm like the damn thing was spooked or something. His penis became longer and thicker and to his surprise he was feeling confident again. Before long, he’d be able to deliver a pretty powerful punch with this kind of weapon between his legs.

“What a woman,” Cash said, fantasizing. She’d practically breathed new life into his once-dead masculine member. “I knew we’d be good together, baby mama.”

Oh yes. She was the one. She would soon mother his children. They’d start a family together and live happily ever after.

An evil laugh resounded, one he barely recognized as his own. Had Stephen Pratchert thought the same? Had he planned beyond a hookup? Probably not. The man couldn’t see tomorrow for hanging on too tightly to the years that had passed him by. What the hell had Pratchert been thinking anyway? He didn’t have a damn thing to offer Trixie.

Cash, on the other hand, had it going on. He pumped faster and faster, recalling how one of the men had ridden Trixie from behind, taking her doggie style. He’d pulled that hair of hers and she’d hollered until she’d cried, but she’d enjoyed the fucking.

God yeah, she’d liked it. He could tell by the way she bounced over one man’s cock while ramming her bottom against another.

His penis shuddered. Man, there was some heavy action down there today. He pulled faster and with firmer yanks. He stuck his thumb in the corner of his mouth and moistened the digit. Then, when he was ready to explode, he pumped his hips away from the bed, stood up, pretended to wrap Trixie’s tan legs around his waist, and lay atop the mattress, dragging his wet thumb across the head of his cock and plowing against the bed.

“Yeah, baby mama. I’m fucking you like a woman wants a man to fuck her.” He pounded against the bed, pretending Trixie lay there before him.

He buried himself into the hot depths of her sweet pussy and finally just let himself go. He came all over the place, the first squirt of his release as painful as it was pleasurable as he raked his cock over the mattress threads and tried to feel the clench of her vagina, certain now she was there with him, urging him on, practically cheering for him.

When he was done, depleted, and finished, he rolled to his back and screamed into the darkness. “I will have you, Trixie Cartwell! I will bury my cock inside you and ride you all night long! Do you hear me? Are you out there listening to me, little whore? I will own you! I will claim you! You will forever be mine!”

He closed his eyes and dragged his fingernails over his nipples. A surge of pain swept over him and he cried out once again. This time, he overlapped his arms and hugged himself as tightly as he could manage. Then, he curled up in a fetal position.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, rocking himself back and forth. “Shh, shh, Trixie. I’ll keep you nice and warm. Once I hold you like this, I will die before I ever let you go.”

“I can’t believe we’re here.” Trixie entered the office Mitch had once occupied. “I feel like that ditzy nineteen-year-old camp counselor.”

“I can promise you—there are notable differences between now and then,” Brock said.

“Is that a fat joke?” Trixie asked, placing her hands on her hips.

“Why hell no,” Brock grumbled. “Where did you come up with that idea?”

“Don’t even try to figure that one out,” Rory said.

Brock laughed. “I’ll take your advice.”

Trixie slipped into yesteryear and revisited memories. “It’s so strange to find this place just the way we left it.”

“Cow Camp isn’t the same, Trixie,” Brock said, acting overly concerned. “It will never be the same again.”

She stopped. “I know, Brock. I didn’t grow up here like you and Rory, but Cow Camp still means a lot to me. I spent one incredible life-changing summer here.”

“One fateful summer,” Rory said, a gleam in his eye. Brock shot him a scornful look, and Rory quickly turned away. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it?” Trixie asked, determined to lighten the mood since Brock seemed hell-bent on the opposite.

Rory lifted his chin. “I was referring to the good times.” He pointed at the long leather couch. “Let’s all take a walk down Memory Lane. Shall we?”

“I’d rather not,” Brock grumbled.

“Oh but I want to,” he said, wrapping his arms around Trixie’s waist. “I’ll never forget the look on Brock’s face the day you walked in here and slapped that poncho against the sofa. You had mascara caked under your eyes. Your crimped hair was dripping like you’d just stepped out of the shower, and you were dressed in that damned white T-shirt.”

“Ah yeah,” Brock said, grinning then. “We all referred to that hot little number as ‘the shirt’ from then on.”

Trixie snorted. “The only thing I remember is being mad as all hell.”

“That was a front,” Brock assured her.

“No it wasn’t,” she said. “I can’t remember why I was so pissed, but the anger was real.” She paused as another flashback entered her mind then. Suddenly, she burst into laughter, tears freefalling from her eyes.

“What is it?” Brock seemingly admired her as if he could eat her up like pancakes, syrup, and butter.

She waved her hand in front of her face. “On the day with the poncho. Don’t you remember? Mitch flew around the desk with a large towel. He draped it over me and started a lecture about catching pneumonia.”

“I do remember,” Rory said, taking a seat on the edge of Mitch’s desk. He threw his head back and laughed. “The best part was when you dropped the towel.”

“Dropped hell. She threw the doggone thing aside with great force.” Brock stretched his legs forward. Trixie eyed the bulge nestled between his thighs, moistening her lips as she distinctly recalled that same look over seven years ago.

“I’ll never forget what you said next.” Rory shook his finger at Brock and together they said, “That’s not your slickest move, sugar.”

Trixie’s nipples spiked as soon as they chimed in together. It was as if she’d been tossed back into the past and was trapped there then.

Her eyes met Brock’s, and then her gaze shifted to Rory. Before her lust took hold and grabbed the best of her, a twinge of sadness crept up behind her and held her hostage.

Turning away from them, she stared at the executive chair behind Mitch’s desk. “He always thought he was such a boss.”

“He was the boss,” Rory reminded her.

“He proudly wore the title for sure,” she said, dragging her fingers over the curvature of the chair Mitch had once occupied. She took a seat and smoothed her hands across the desk calendar, not really paying attention to the dated sheet beneath her fingertips, but more or less marveling in the fact that everything she touched once belonged to a man she still loved.

“What are you thinking?” Brock asked, frowning.

She looked at the walls lined with photographs of distant summers. Memories were forever etched in those images, yet Brock and Rory pretended not to notice.

As if the silence needed interruption, Rory said, “Mitch definitely took his job to the extreme. I pulled a few kitchen duties for punishment.”

“Ah yes, the argument that started it all,” Trixie drawled, tucking away the sadness in hopes of finding joy in happier times.

“Our first kiss was so worth his wrath,” Rory told her, leaning over the desk and planting a peck on her lips.

“You didn’t think so at the time.”

“Oh yes he did.” Brock stretched his arms high above his head before locking clasped hands behind his neck. “Don’t kid yourself. He thought he had earned a major one-up on all of us.”

“That’s why Mitch threw out the dish duty?” Trixie asked.

“Absolutely,” Rory replied.

“Mitch has lived his entire adult life focusing on rewards and punishment, Trixie,” Brock explained. “I’m a little surprised you don’t remember that much about him.”

“How could I forget,” she whispered, realizing her voice trailed then. “Being here makes me remember practically everything about him.”

Rory and Brock swapped a knowing glance. Their shared look absolutely chapped her ass because those exchanges were the only times when she felt completely left out.