Tomorrow? He just might kill Jay Grant the minute he found him—maybe twice: once for him, and once for her.
15
Rachel clawed at Trick's shirt in wave after wave of misery. She was drowning—in his kiss, in all the lost time, in the foolishness she'd displayed. She had so much to make up for.
She yanked the fabric of his pants. The ping-ping of a button skittered against a hard surface. Trick pulled his half-unbuttoned shirt over his head. Frantically, she fumbled for fasteners and zippers. She furiously kicked her legs trying to peel off her skirt. She didn't want anything but his skin against hers. His lips were back on her as if understanding the life-and-death nature of the contact.
Shed of all clothes, he jerked her underneath him and entered her, slowly, carefully. But that's not what she wanted. She wanted him to batter her senseless—punish her. Her own moans and a long, throaty sound rumbled in her ears. She emptied the air from her lungs into his mouth. He took it all. She nearly came undone again at the intruding thought of all he'd endured because of Jay.
Her throat clogged and a muffled cry caught in her throat. He broke his lip lock on her mouth and stilled. “Breathe, Rachel.”
Her lungs sucked in a large breath, and she stared into his eyes as he moved in and out of her, slowly, then urgently. She hooked her legs over his. Her arms clung to his shoulders. Involuntary animalistic sounds vibrated in her throat, and her body opened to the stretch of his cock. Still, she needed him to go harder and deeper, to drive out the loss and distance of the last three years. Being with him like this was genuine, true. Everything else had been a lie.
His lips cruised along her collarbone, up her cheek, to retake her mouth in a wild tangle of lips and tongue. She wondered how she’d ever forgotten that little divot in his left cheek, the way his fingers curled and dug into the fleshiest part of her ass, the way his lower lip slid over hers—all insignificant pieces that combined to mean everything.
Thighs aching from being splayed wide, nipples raw from scratching against the light hair on his chest, her hips met every slow, delicious thrust in an effort to lodge him deeper. She needed him in her, on her, everywhere, forever.
A yearning sound left her throat as her desire rose impossibly high, and fresh pleasure spread down her legs and up her torso as her orgasm built. When she finally crested, they were both panting, and the sweet and satisfying release moved her to further tears.
Trick slipped free, pulled her up and onto his lap, and held her while she sobbed. Neither of them moved until she had no more tears left. She stayed wrapped in Trick's arms until her brain slowly reawakened, an unwelcome development because reality slipped in through the back door.
The revenge she’d planned swiveled and faced in an entirely new direction: toward Jacob Anthony Grant. He would no longer be her blind spot and her weakness. He would hold as much weight in her life as a stranger she once passed by in the street—but only after she got her pound of flesh. Someone had to, and it was time for her to be the one. She would do this for Trick.
16
“Are we ever going to make love in a bed?” Trick's fingers drew a circle on her back, the move familiar and comforting.
As the air conditioning kicked in and cool air rolled over them. Rachel sighed and pulled away, their skin sticking together slightly as she eased off his lap to sit next to him.
“Is that what we're doing? Making love?” She reached for her skirt and torn panties. A maniacal half-laugh bubbled up at the sight of the tattered garments. “You said I liked make-up sex. You’re right, except I’m not sure I can make up for all that happened.”
“I actually don’t remember us like that.” He grasped her wrist and pulled the lace from her hand. “All I dreamed about when I was put away was waking up in the morning next to you in our bed.”
Her eyes closed, and she wrapped her arms around herself. She could suffocate from the weight of this, stop breathing all together just thinking about what his life had been like there. “I thought of you, too—even when I believed you were a criminal.”
“I would have settled for just your voice, but every time I called, Jay said you were—”
Her forehead tightened. “You called?”
“Many times. Jay delivered the same message every time. You'd never talk to me again. After the tenth call, I gave up.”
That bastard. “For the record, Jay never told me you called, but what I do remember is him pushing a steady supply of sedatives and sleeping pills down my throat. I don’t think I had a coherent thought for the first three weeks I was back.” She'd like to strap him down and feed him a few things herself.
She rose and yanked her skirt up over her hips, not bothering with panties. Big deal, she'd go commando. Her blouse, however, was going to be a problem, given the tear across the left boob. “I'm going to see him, Trick. You can drive me, or I'll walk.”
Trick reached for his pants. “You don't need to. Max is bringing him here. We'll confront him together. I told you, he's strung out—”
“I don't care.” No way would she be pushed into the shadows again.
He cursed under his breath. His laugh was forced. “You do realize I'm going to think about you panty-less all night.”
“Is that all we have? Sex?”
“No, we are far more than that.”
She wasn't so sure. She wasn't sure about anything right now except that her head had begun to throb a little. She swiveled to face him. “Why do you still love me?”
Not a second passed before he answered. “Because you’re formidable in your own way, and you never give up.”
Oh, but she had—repeatedly. “I did. I gave up on us.”
He didn’t respond but sucked in a long breath and yanked his frame from the couch. “As for a blouse” —he held out his hand— “I have something.” He walked to a credenza, pulled out a glittery Shakedown t-shirt that they sold in the merchandising area, and held it out to her. “Wear this.”
“Reminds me of one Starr gave me.” She ripped open the bag, pulled out a navy blue sequined top, and dragged it over her head. “I like it here. People are kind.” She pulled her hair free from the neck opening.
Trick had said his life had gotten better since he’d come here. She could see why, and for the first time in so very long, she could feel herself sliding into place somewhere, like here at Shakedown. She had more in common with these people than anyone from her old life. Her old friends didn't understand the pain of betrayal and being left behind. If anything, they’d demonstrated it.
“Shakedown has good people. Let me tell the kitchen to have dinner sent here. We'll have a nice quiet meal in my office. We'll wait here for Max.”
She couldn't eat. She just wanted to see her morally-challenged brother. “Promise me you'll let me talk first.”
“I can't promise that. I've waited three years to clock him across the jaw.”
She grasped Trick's arm to capture his full attention. “What you must have gone through—”
“Hey.” He pulled her into an embrace. “No more tears.”