by ANDREA SMITH
“Trey,” I said, “it’s not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done here. But I have money saved up. I'd feel better if you'd let me reimburse you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tylar,” he snapped. I'd hit that nerve again. “I explained this to you last night. These are the conditions that allow you to stay here instead of coming back to Atlanta with me.”
Ahem—Conditions?
“Trey,” I said not making an attempt to mask my irritation, “this is not about you imposing conditions in order for me to stay in my own home in the town where I live. This is about me having what I can afford to provide for myself, without depending on you or anyone else. I may have been born of trash, but I do have some pride and I'd appreciate your respect.” I turned to leave, feeling angry and insulted. I hadn’t reached the landing to the stairs, when Trey was there, pulling me around to face his angry eyes.
“Listen to me,” he hissed, wagging his forefinger at my startled face, “do you understand what you’ve done to me? Do you know how much you’ve driven me to distraction?” He was livid, but not so much at me as he seemed to be at himself.
“I can’t get the picture of you, or the feel of you, or the smell of you out of my head. This is not a now-and-then thing, Tylar, this is a daily thing. I worry about you. Do you understand that?” His blue eyes blazed as he awaited my response, his hand heavy on my shoulder.
“Do you?” he repeated, angrily.
I nodded, afraid to speak. His nearness electrified me. He didn’t realize that he did those same things to me. My lips wanted him to kiss me, my heart wanted him to love me, and my hormones, well they were all about him spanking me at the moment.
He relaxed his grip. His eyes softened. A tear rolled down my cheek. His thumb was right there to brush it away. He tilted my chin upward to meet his lips. They were soft, warm, and gentle as they caressed my own. I circled my arms around his strong neck, pressing myself to him. He held me tightly against him, stroking my hair gently.
“Our flight's at 9 p.m. tonight,” he said, glancing at his watch. "Come on I think we've time for a short nap," he said, giving me a sexy grin, as he pulled me by the hand upstairs behind him.
CHAPTER 37
Trey and I flew first-class from Louisville to the Tri-Cities Regional Airport. Our flight was delayed in departing out of Louisville. I was tired from the last couple of days and fell asleep almost as soon as we took off. I knew Trey had planned on working from his laptop on the plane, but having me sprawled across his lap for the majority of the flight interfered with those plans.
I was glad Trey had arranged for a limo to take us to his the manor. Trey and I climbed in as the driver stowed our luggage. I resumed my nap in the limo, curled up against Trey.
“Why do I think that you'll keep me up all night as much as you’ve slept this evening?” he commented.
“Are you complaining?” I asked, winking at him.
“Not at all, Ms. Preston,” he quipped.
I placed my hand possessively on his crotch, gently massaging his junk, feeling his erection grow beneath my touch. I looked up and a naughty smile played on his lips. He did nothing to stop me but unfortunately, we were pulling up to the manor right about then.
“Well you've managed to delay my entrance to the house with your shenanigans, Tylar," he complained, moving my hand from his crotch. Trey adjusted himself as best he could. The driver carried our bags up to the front porch, as Thatcher opened the door.
“Ms. Preston, Mr. Sinclair, welcome back,” Thatcher greeted us warmly at the door.
“Hi Thatcher,” I replied smiling. Trey followed with our bags conveniently shielding him, greeting Thatcher with a nod. He asked Thatcher to take both of our bags to his suite as he helped me off with my coat. I'd chosen a dark brown and powder blue plaid wool skirt, with a powder blue oversized crew neck sweater, tan tights, and dark brown leather boots. I'd french braided my hair, a look Trey called "very demure."
Thatcher said Trey's parents were in the family room at the back of the manor. I was nervous, my mouth was dry, and I felt so out of place. Trey took my hand and led me to the family room, where his parents were watching TV.
As we entered, Trey’s father, a distinguished, handsome gentleman who looked much younger than 70, stood up to welcome us.
“Trey!” he exclaimed, putting his arms around his youngest son, patting his back a couple of times.
“Dad,” Trey replied happily, “I’d like you to meet Tylar Preston. Tylar, this is my father, Clive Sinclair.” I extended my hand to shake the elder Sinclair’s hand. He brushed it aside gently, and stepped forward, embracing me in a hug.
“Tylar I'm so glad to finally meet you,” he said with his exquisite British accent. “I hope you’re making an honest man out of my boy.”
I blushed.
“Mom,” Trey continued, leading me to his mother, “this is Tylar. Tylar, my mother, Susan Sinclair.”
“Tylar,” she said, putting her arms around me and squeezing me into a hug, “I’m tickled to death to meet you.” Her southern accent was as pronounced as her husband’s British accent. “Please sit down here next to me hon, and tell me how your trip was.”
I loved Trey’s mother immediately and she immediately put me at ease. We chatted about everything from the weather to the past summer and the competitions. Both of his parents were impressed with my results in the competitions with Derringer. They were aware that my season had been cut short when Charlie assaulted me. They apologized over and over again about that. I'd hoped Trey didn’t share everything with them, but as owners of the property, I’m sure that they were not spared any facts.
Susan filled us in on plans for the following day. Their long-time friends, Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, along with their son Landon, would be joining us for Thanksgiving dinner. I noticed Trey shifted nervously on the sofa next to me when his mother mentioned this.
Susan also let me know that Becky had called just before we arrived because Gina had not been able to reach me. I forgot that I got a new phone number with my new cell phone. Trey must not have programmed anyone’s number into my phone except for his. That didn’t surprise me. Apparently, Gina and Ian were coming in tomorrow morning to have Thanksgiving with Becky. I was so excited that I'd get some time with Gina during this trip. The Sinclair’s dinner was to start at 4 p.m.
It was close to midnight when Trey took my hand, bidding his parents good night. I felt sort of embarrassed, wondering if they even knew that Trey and I'd be sharing his suite. I felt exhausted as Trey led me upstairs to his now-familiar suite. I unpacked my bag, hanging things in his massive closet.
We showered together, not lingering because of our fatigue, a first for us. I put a short ivory satin nightgown on with matching panties. I used Trey’s blow dryer and brush to style my freshly washed hair. Trey was already in bed as I snuggled in beside him, his face illuminated by the flat screen television he'd turned on to watch CNN Money. My hormones were kicking into overdrive after the refreshing shower.
My hand slid under the covers and rested on Trey’s hard chest. I slowly moved my hand downward, enjoying the feel of his body beneath my fingertips. They traced along his treasure trail. I was delighted to discover he'd not bothered putting his boxers on after his shower. My hand encircled his growing erection, and I heard his breath catch as I massaged it into further erection.
“You're fucking insatiable, Tylar.”
“What do you plan on doing about that, Trey?” I asked, arching my eyebrow seductively.
Trey rose up, lifting me from him and placed me on my back. He straddled me, pinning me beneath his strong, muscular legs. His face lowered to mine, his lips warm and soft against my lips. His tongue playfully found mine and our kiss grew heated and passionate. His tongue traced down the column of my neck, his hands reaching to pull the spaghetti straps from my shoulders. I raised my arms so that he could slip my nightgown off.
Trey had always loved my breasts. Now that they
were swelling with my pregnancy he was even more enamored. He leaned down, capturing a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the pink tip. He gently suckled my breast, kneading the other one with his hand. He then moved his mouth to my other breast, giving it equal time and attention. I was so wet for him and he hadn’t arrived yet.
He finally moved further south with his magic tongue, gently flicking it around my navel ring. His hands had moved ahead and his fingers gently plied the folds of my sex, capturing my clitoris and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. I moaned, my hips starting to rotate beneath his touch.
“You’re wet for me Tylar,” he said softly, inserting a finger inside me, while his thumb continued to thrum my clitoris. “I want to taste that wetness,” his voice husky now. In a moment I felt his hot tongue on my sex, licking and sucking eagerly.
“Mmmm,” he moaned, “you taste so fine, baby.”
His hands and tongue continued their play, igniting every nerve in the region. He slipped another finger into me, stroking me from the inside with gentle continued pressure. His other hand was splayed against my pelvis, his thumb pressing rhythmically against the exterior of my pubic bone. His tongue flicked my clitoris as his thumb pressed my now engorged sweet spot. My hips were moving up and down, over and around in tempo with his expert fingers and tongue. I couldn’t quiet my moaning as my orgasm built.
“Trey,” I cried, “please… I’m ready...”
“That’s it Tylar, I want you to come like this.”
I tensed up, trying to hold my release back. I'd never come like this; dual orgasms synchronized perfectly with Trey’s mouth down there. I wasn’t sure about this at all.
“Don’t hold back, let it happen Tylar. I want it now.”
My hands fisted his damp hair. His rhythm increased steadily, driving me to the edge. In that moment all that mattered was my release and it was there. My orgasm exploded around him; my body pulsated, my fluid gushed. I felt Trey's mouth drinking it in and he moaned at the intensity, sucking and licking at the core of my sex. My clitoral orgasm was right behind it, causing my body to shudder again and again as it unfolded in spasms of pure pleasure. I cried out his name as tears flowed down my cheeks. When the release finally ebbed, I was left in total satisfaction and awe of Trey’s finesse with my body.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured, drawing himself up on his knees.
The orgasm left me feeling both spent and invigorated. I wanted more; I wanted to taste him. I rose up and positioned myself on my forearms in front of Trey. His erection was bold and impressive. My hand encircled his shaft as my tongue traced down its length, swirling around from head to root. I took him deep into my mouth, sheathing my teeth as my hands lifted his hips to my mouth.
Trey moaned and buried his hands in my hair, twisting it at the nape to pull my head back. I looked up into his eyes that burned with desire and something else, not quite familiar. I increased my play at the head of his cock, nipping gently at the supersensitive ridge. My hands kneaded his sack from behind. I traced his seam, gently rubbing the area near his prostate.
“Oh God, Tylar,” he gasped, thrusting his engorged erection in and out of my mouth. I watched as he clenched his jaw and his thrusting stopped. His erection throbbed as he emptied himself into my mouth. I swallowed several times, the warm, salty liquid cleansing my throat, feeding my need for replenishment, my need for Trey. I waited for his last shudder and he relaxed back, pulling himself from my mouth. He sat on the bed and lifted me into his lap. He kissed my hair, my face, and my neck.
“You’re mine,” he murmured softly. “You’re my sweet, sweet girl and no one else’s, do you understand that?”
I nodded and rested my head against his chest as his strong arms encircled me. We sat like that for several minutes. I could have stayed in his arms all night; I loved feeling safe, satisfied, and secure in Trey’s arms. I started to drift off to sleep.
“Come on Tylar. Let’s get you tucked in for the night.” Trey lifted me up, gently laying me down beneath the covers, pulling them up over me. He rose from the bed and I watched as he went to his closet for a pair of silk boxers. He pulled them on; they hung low on his hips, his treasure trail visible on his flat abdomen. I was in awe of his taut muscular body. If our baby was a boy, I wanted him to look just like Trey. Hell, if our baby was a girl, I wanted her to look just like Trey. He was watching me watching him.
“What?” he asked, giving me his crooked grin.
“I was just wondering what our baby might look like.”
“As long as it doesn’t look like Mark, I'll be satisfied,” he replied, climbing into bed beside me.
The spell was broken in that moment. How could he have made such a tactless comment? Tears immediately sprang to my eyes. Did he suddenly doubt what he plainly saw? I turned my back to him, pulling the bed covers up tightly around me, moving to the very edge of the king-size bed.
“Hey,” he said, gently, moving over to me, “I was kidding, Tylar, it was a joke.” He put his hand on my back, lowering his face so that his mouth was next to my ear. “I’m sorry Tylar. I didn’t mean it. Please don’t be mad at me.”
I turned my face toward him. He saw the tears that stained my cheeks. His face showed remorse as his thumb gently wiped the wetness from my cheeks.
“Don’t ever say anything like that to me again,” I warned, my voice quivering. “Do you think that I planned on being a mother at 21, Trey? Have you stopped to think how this has affected me and my plans for the future?”
“Tylar, I said I was—”
“I don’t care about your apology this time,” I interrupted. “Some things can’t be forgotten with a simple apology.”
He leaned over, kissing me on my forehead. I didn’t budge as I heard him settle beside me. In a few moments, I heard his even breathing. I was still too angry to sleep.
The time was ticking away. It was just me, wide awake and tearful. Then I felt it: a fluttery feeling inside me. There was no mistaking our baby’s movement. I placed my hand on my abdomen to try to feel it from the outside. There it was again!
“Trey,” I said, turning over in the bed to face him, “wake up!” I shook him gently.
His eyes blinked open. I threw the covers down and grabbed his hand.
“What is it?” he said, yawning.
“Here, feel this,” I said, pressing his hand to my abdomen. Once again, I felt the fluttering inside of me. I watched Trey’s face as he felt it too and realized what it meant. He smiled, moving his hand around to different areas as the fluttering continued.
“How does it feel to you?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Kind of like butterflies, but stronger,” I answered. He leaned down, kissing my belly and abdomen. It warmed me some to see him do this. I had no clue how Trey would be around a baby.
“Come here,” he murmured softly, pulling me to the center of the bed. “Please forgive me for my comment Tylar. I know you’ve never been with anyone else. I promise we'll work together so that you can continue college and realize your dreams. Will you trust me on that?”
I nodded, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. His nearness, his scent, his touch calmed me. I was happy to be here with him and his family for Thanksgiving and drifted off to a contented sleep, dreaming of babies with sapphire eyes.
CHAPTER 38
It was after 10 a.m. when I awoke. Trey, already up and showered, was now shaving in the bathroom. I pulled the covers back and, realizing that I was still naked, grabbed my nightgown off the floor and shrugged it on. I met him in the bathroom and he smiled at me in the mirror. Feeling comfortable in our intimacy, I showered as he shaved, the scent of his body wash emanating from the steam.
Trey had just finishing getting dressed when I emerged from the bathroom. He was wearing dark blue Eddie Bauer cotton chino pants with a white long-sleeve oxford shirt. He pulled a camel-colored cashmere v-neck sweater over his head, ro
lling the sleeves of his shirt and sweater up mid forearm.
“I've some calls to make and emails to answer this morning,” he said, as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his shoes. “I’ll be working downstairs in the study. Do you want me to have Thatcher bring you some breakfast?”
“Aren’t you eating?” I asked.
“Just coffee for me this morning. But I want you to eat something more substantial.”
“That will be fine,” I answered, a bit piqued that he had calls to make and emails to answer on Thanksgiving morning. Who worked on Thanksgiving? I retreated back to the bathroom with my make-up case and hair products. It didn’t take long to blow dry my air and flat iron it. I plucked a few errant eyebrow hairs, and then applied some liner, shadow, and mascara. My cheeks needed just a hint of blush. I'd brought a black desk-to-dinner dress to wear for Thanksgiving. It was a tailored number that gathered at the hip and hit above the knee with a lovely v-neckline. I put on my black bra that was getting a bit tight with the blossoming of my bosom. It certainly gave my breasts a push upward and some daring cleavage. I pulled the black dress over my head, tugging it into place. Wow, was everything shrinking? The dress hugged every possible curve. The sleeves were three-quarter length. My breasts were subtly displayed at the v-neckline, still within the realm of tastefulness, I decided.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. It was Thatcher with a breakfast tray. “Good morning Ms. Preston,” he said warmly as I opened the door. He walked past me, placing the tray on the nightstand.
“Thank you, Thatcher,” I replied, eyeing the assortment on the tray.
“Please use the intercom if you need anything else, Miss.”