by Lora Leigh
Pleasure.
Oh, Jeez, it felt so good to be touched by someone.
Tina’s hand lifted, tugging the other side of her shirt down and working Bree’s nipple, her teeth gently nipping the hard end, the pressure sending darts of excitement down her body.
What am I doing? screamed a voice.
But then Bree gave up. It happened just like that. One minute she was resisting and the next she wanted to be fucked by Tina, by anyone, by anything.
Tina lifted her head, her mouth moving closer and closer.
Bree kissed her, opening her mouth and giving Tina her tongue, loving the flush of excitement that zinged down her body as she sucked on the woman’s hot flesh, loved mimicking the motions of Tina’s finger as she glided her hand along Bree’s slick, hot valley.
And then Tina was gone.
Bree opened eyes she hadn’t even known she’d closed, about to protest, only to realize Tina had gone down on her knees, her hands peeling Bree’s jeans down.
Where was Trent?
She shouldn’t . . .
But Bree had been so expertly aroused, so thoroughly turned on that when Tina encouraged her to pull one leg out of her jeans, she did as she asked. She wanted that hot mouth on her. Wanted Tina to suck her off, wanted so many erotic, naughty things that when she felt the first brush of the woman’s tongue, she nearly came undone. And she wanted Trent here with her.
“Oh, shit,” Bree thought she groaned, but she couldn’t be sure, because she was so busy spreading her legs, she could barely concentrate.
“Mmm,” Tina moaned.
Lights flashed behind Bree’s eyes.
The woman tongued her again.
“Oh, Jeez.” Bree panted.
The woman used her mouth to fuck her deep and Bree was beyond caring that it was a woman who gave her such exquisite pleasure. She spread her legs as far as they would go, angling herself to give Tina better access. The blonde was an expert. She knew exactly when Bree was on the verge of orgasm, drawing away at just the right moment, then coming back for more. But Bree wanted it all. Now.
Tina must have sensed that because she stood suddenly, Bree meeting her kiss with an open mouth.
She almost climaxed right then. God, the taste of herself, Tina’s face so slick with Bree’s own cum, the smell was everywhere. She wanted to lick it all off. She kept lapping at the sticky wetness, wrapped her lips around Tina’s tongue and worked it like it was a hard cock, wanting to get every last drop of her juices off. Shit, she even tried to undo Tina’s pants so they could rub their clits together.
“No,” Tina said, dropping down her body. “I want you to go first.”
“Yes,” Bree said breathlessly. “Oh, yes.”
Tina went in deep—over and over and over again, then going deeper still. She pulled back with a gasp, saying, “Give it all to me, Bree.”
All of what?
“Please,” the woman begged.
And then she knew—she knew what Tina wanted. And it would feel so good. So fucking good. . . .
Pleasure, such incredible pleasure. Spasms contracted her vagina as an orgasm began to build.
“More,” Tina ordered, and sucking sounds filled Bree’s ears.
Bree moaned, clutching at the balcony railing, wondering when she’d put her foot up on a planter so she could spread herself further. And then she climaxed, hard. Bree tossed her head back. God. Dear God.
“What the—?”
Bree’s eyes snapped open, her body still pulsing.
“Trent,” Tina said, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Just the man I’ve been waiting for. Come here and fuck me while I make out with your friend!”
“What are you doing?” Trent said, his face slack with shock.
“I don’t know,” Bree moaned. All she knew was that she was still spasming in pleasure, her orgasm going on and on and on.
“Did you give her something?” Trent asked Tina.
“Just another drink. But she didn’t drink it all.”
“Fucking-A,” Bree heard Trent say. An arm wrapped around her. Bree collapsed. “Maybe somebody else slipped her something.”
“Calm down. I just sucked her off.”
“You’re a fucking slut.”
“She could have told me to stop. I didn’t force her.”
“Trent, no.” Bree said. “She’s right, this was my choice. I could have stopped her.”
“See,” she heard Tina say.
“No. You didn’t want her, Bree. It was the alcohol or . . . whatever.”
“No, I wanted it. I liked it.”
She looked over at the blonde. “Tina . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m not usually attracted to other women.” Bree closed her eyes, then opened them again. “And it’s been so damn long since someone’s kissed me.”
Trent wanted to lash out. Not at Bree. She’d been through enough. At Tina. At Stan. At the whole damn world.
Instead he found Bree’s clothes, helped her slip them on, then spirited her away. She was still woozy. Maybe drunk. He didn’t know.
He’d call Stan first thing in the morning, he vowed. Tell him what happened. And that he’d never do business with the bastard again.
“You’re upset,” Bree said as they drove home.
“Damn right, I’m upset. We were supposed to hang out together. No pressure. I wanted you to have a good time. Instead—”
“I did have a good time,” Bree said, her eyes wide. “I enjoyed it—even if all the time she was touching me I wished it was you.”
“Ah, Jeez, Bree.”
She looked out her window. “I must be more messed up than I thought.”
A tear slid down her cheek. Trent’s heart broke for her. He drove. He hadn’t even known where he was going until he pulled up in front of his house.
“Whose place is this?” she asked, monotone.
“It’s mine.”
“I want to go back to the hotel.” And she showed no emotion. No anger. No curiosity. Nothing.
“I’m not letting you sleep alone tonight.”
“Why? You afraid the realization that I’m a lesbian might send me over the edge?”
His stomach clenched. “You’re not a lesbian.”
“I sure enjoyed myself like one.”
He got out of the car, quickly moving to her side. She stared straight ahead as he opened the door.
“Bree, come on out.”
“Take me back to the hotel, Trent.”
“No.”
“Then call me a cab.”
“No,” he said.
“Trent—”
He bent down and took her in his arms.
“Don’t,” she said, starting to struggle. “Don’t. I’m okay.”
And his heart broke all the more, because it was apparent she wasn’t okay. Tears stung his eyes as he tugged her into his arms. He didn’t care that he was out in front of his house, his neighbors probably watching. He didn’t care that she really didn’t want to go into his arms. He held her anyway and he didn’t let her go. He wouldn’t let her go.
She began to cry, huge, gasping sobs that seemed torn from her body.
“Fucking bastard,” he thought he heard her murmur. “How could he mess me up so much?”
Trent held her, and a second or two later guided her into his house stroking her hair the whole way, rubbing his thumb up and down her bare arms, just held her and told her he was there for her.
She stopped crying.
He would have been hard-pressed to say when, but suddenly she was quiet, his grandfather clock tick-tick-ticking in the background.
“Do you remember the Mitchell boys?” he asked her softly.
He felt her stir, felt rather than saw, her head nod.
“Do you remember how they used to beat the crap out of me?”
She didn’t answer, but he knew she did.
“I hated those jerks. Every day they’d lie in wait for me. I was only . . . what? Nine? Ten? They were at lea
st five years older than me, but that didn’t stop them from hassling me.”
“They stole your skateboard.”
Aha. She did remember. He almost smiled. “I think my mom knew I was at the end of my rope. She never said anything to me about it, but she knew what was going on. And then one day she took me into our garage. It was just me and her, if you remember. I didn’t have a dad, which is part of the reason why I think the Mitchell boys picked on me. ‘Mama’s boy’ they used to call me, and they were right. But you know what that mama of mine did?”
She shook her head, Trent resting his chin atop her head.
“She bought me a punching bag and taped a picture of the Mitchell boys right in the middle of it. Told me to beat the crap out of it.”
She shifted, leaned back and looked up at him. “She did?”
“Yup.” And Trent’s heart broke at the sight of her tear-ravaged face. He forced himself to finish his story. “And because of that, I was able to kick the shit out of those boys a few weeks later. They didn’t know what hit them. Two months working with a punching bag and I was able to stomp all over them.”
She smiled. Just a tiny little thing, but it made Trent’s spirits rise. And then he gentled his words, reached around and lightly stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I would give you a thousand punching bags if I could, Bree. A thousand and one, if that’s what it’d take to make you feel better.”
She burrowed herself in his arms.
“Will you let me keep on holding you?”
“Yes,” he heard her whisper.
And to his amazement, she did.
Chapter Five
Bree fell asleep in his arms. She woke up as he placed her on a bed. And it was a sign of how emotionally drained she was that she didn’t even ask where she was as he crept in next to her. If she were honest, she wanted him there.
She went out like a light. And when she woke the next morning, Bree realized that crying in his arms had helped.
She rolled over, Trent’s arms falling from her sides, which was where they’d stayed all night. And as Bree turned to face him, she realized how much she’d missed this—missed a man’s company. And though she never would have thought it was possible, she actually felt relaxed in Trent’s company, likely because he’d proved himself trustworthy in more ways that one.
She reached out a hand, gently wiping a lock of hair off his forehead. He looked both familiar and unfamiliar. The nose was the same, as was the jaw—but there the similarities ended. There were lines around his mouth and eyes, wrinkles that hadn’t been there before. His lashes were still long, especially while he was sleeping, but the mouth had changed. No longer boyishly thin, it had matured, appearing almost sensual now.
Who was this man? she found herself wondering. Who was this stranger who tried to help her even though he hadn’t seen her in years?
She leaned forward and kissed him.
His eyes sprang open.
Bree drew back in alarm.
He smiled.
And she reminded herself there was nothing to be afraid of—not from him.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she answered.
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Good.” He sat up. Bree felt that momentary stab of panic, but it faded when he turned away from her, dangling his feet over the edge of the bed. “There’s towels in the bathroom and a robe hanging on the back of the door.” He went over to a huge chest of drawers, opening first one and then another. “Here’s a T-shirt and an old pair of sweats you can change into.” He didn’t turn and hand them to her, just tossed them in an armchair. “I’ll go make us some coffee.”
And then he left, Bree feeling her brows lift at the suddenness of his departure. He hadn’t even asked how she was feeling. And if she was doing better. How odd.
But it wasn’t until after her shower, when Bree was sitting on the edge of his bed admiring his bedroom, that she understood the problem. He still wouldn’t look at her when he said, “My turn to take a shower.” And then, so low that she probably wouldn’t have heard him if his spacious house wasn’t so quiet, he said, “A cold one,” under his breath.
Bree froze.
Stupid, Bree. Of course that’s what the problem is. He is a man after all—not a saint.
Yes, but he’d been so gentle.
And had probably woken up with a woody, which was why he’d left the bed so quickly.
“Thanks for the clothes,” she called out to him.
He didn’t even acknowledge the words, just went into the bathroom without a backward glance. Bree stared at the closed door, certain Trent was trying to hide from her. What would he do if she walked in on him? she wondered. What would she do?
One thing she did know: after today, she doubted she’d ever see him again. She was scheduled to fly out tonight, which meant if she wanted to give it one more try . . .
No, she told herself with a firm shake of her head. She couldn’t ask that of him. He’d done so much already.
Yes, another voice urged.
Because after waking up in his arms, there was one thing she did know: she wanted to be normal again. She wanted it with a fierceness that made her stiffen in resolve. She didn’t need a woman to turn her on. That had been a mistake. Trent wasn’t a mistake. He was an honest, caring man.
She got up from the bed, her nails digging into her palms.
Now or never.
She could see Trent through the glass of the shower, his head resting against the tile wall, eyes closed.
He was stroking himself.
Bree froze. His butt cheeks clenched as he pushed against his hand, water dripping down his head and onto his fingers.
Let him be, Bree. Obviously he’s busy.
Because of you, she admitted to herself.
He started to move his hand faster now, and for a second she remembered that first night. Remembered the pleasure she’d experienced just from watching him. And though anxiety made her stomach tighten, the sight of him working himself made her warm and swell.
She wanted sex.
“Trent.”
He didn’t hear her at first, just continued to work himself, his knees bending as he pressed himself into his hand.
“Trent,” she said again.
He turned his head, peered out at her from beneath a stream of water.
“Let me do that for you.”
He slowly straightened, his head coming out of the stream of water so that he looked sweaty and flushed. Bree had a moment of hesitation.
I can’t do it. God help her, she knew by now Trent wouldn’t hurt her, but a part of her still didn’t trust.
And then she saw the cord. It hung around a shower curtain that decorated one side of the stall. It was gold, and braided and obviously sturdy enough to tie a man’s hands.
Would it help? Would it make her feel better?
Regain your power, a voice sounded in her head—something she’d read in a self-help book not too long ago. That same book had prompted her to get on a plane and find Trent.
“Turn around,” Bree said, stepping toward the shower.
“Bree—”
“Please,” Bree begged. God help her, she didn’t need him protesting. She needed him to keep quiet. To just let her do this.
He turned around.
She unhooked the cord, then opened the glass door. Hot air made heavy by steam instantly clung to her face. Trent didn’t say a word as she grabbed one arm, pulled it behind him, then grabbed the other, wrapping the cord around him as tight as she dared.
“Oh, man, Bree,” she thought she heard him moan.
She took the robe off quickly, before she could change her mind, though to be honest, knowing his hands were tied helped. She felt more confident, and more important, in control.
“Turn around,” she said.
He faced her, a golden god glistening with moisture, his dick rosy red and fully engorged from
his manhandling.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked.
Her eyes shot to his, the words giving her another jolt of power. She stepped back, sitting down on the vanity behind her.
“Make me ready for you,” she said, spreading her legs.
“Bree.”
“Please,” she asked.
He stared at her for a long second, then slowly sank down. Bree tingled, one of those delicious, pre-coitus tingles such as she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She scooted forward and watched as his tongue flicked out to work her. If he tried anything, she’d use her feet to knock him back on his ass.
But he wasn’t going to try anything, and the realization gave her power. He was dipping his tongue in her now, his eyes looking up at her. Watching him mouth her, feeling his teeth nip at that tiny ball of pleasure—the one that sent hot tingles through her labia. She used one of her hands to spread for him, encouraging him to take her button into his mouth. He did, sucking on it like it gave out the sweetest nectar.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck me with your mouth,” she ordered, hearing herself use the crass language and liking it. The words excited her, just like pushing out some of her essence turned her on—He suckled her and she threw her head back, clutching the counter.
They started a rhythm, one that began with his tongue flicking inside her, then swiping up her hot, swollen valley. And she could smell the tangy sweet essence of herself, liked the scent so much she dragged a finger up her valley so she could taste herself. He watched, his mouth sucking her harder. Jeez, her tits were so hard, she couldn’t resist touching them. She squeezed one, pinching her nipples as she pulsed out more of her juices for him to taste.
It was just like last night, only better, because what she really wanted—what she suddenly realized she would always want more than any woman’s hot tongue—was his cock.
“Put it inside me,” she said, opening her eyes in time to see his own go smoky with desire. “Do it.”