Natalie Acres (10 page)

“Do you think I should give up on Trixie?”

Cash stroked his chin. “How come you’d ask me? Only you should know the answer to that one. If you haven’t seen her yet, I wouldn’t make a final call until you do.”

“At the risk of sounding like a stalker, here’s what happened. I stopped by here the day I was released, but couldn’t tell you how I ended up here. I don’t know how long I stayed.

“I must’ve consumed a lot of alcohol. The morning I left for Asheville, I woke up to a wastebasket full of beer cans and a filthy ashtray.”

“Were you drunk when you arrived?”

“No,” Mitch replied. “At least I don’t think so.”

“Go on,” Cash encouraged him.

“Anyway, I didn’t stick around. The memories here were enough to drive me over the edge. So I hired a driver and headed to North Carolina.”

“And you saw the little woman?” Cash scooted to the edge of the stool.

Mitch grabbed two beers from the refrigerator. He passed one can off to Cash and opened the other one. “I saw her but she didn’t see me.”

“Sounds a little stalker-ish to me.”

“I hate to think of it like that but yeah, okay, I was lurking around in the shadows, spying on her.” Mitch shook his head. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Turns out, according to Trixie’s sister, she knew somebody was watching her. Poor thing thought she was going crazy.”

“Poor thing indeed,” Cash muttered.

“Anyway, Brock and Rory found out I was in town. They paid me a visit. Told me—rather than asked me on a favor like good, decent friends might do—to leave her alone. They left and I made up my mind to go see her anyway. I drove out to their place this morning and they were already gone.”

A slow smile crept across Cash’s face.

“You think this is funny?”

“I do,” Cash replied.

Mitch took a drink of his beer and studied his buddy. This was what bothered him about Cash. The guy had always had a tendency to act nefarious at the oddest times. Cash seemingly found weird amusement in the strangest situations.

“This isn’t a laughing matter. I love her, man. I’ve always loved her.”

Cash turned up his beer and took several drinks before he said, “Well maybe you can tell her.”

“Did you not hear a word I just said? Brock and Rory loaded her up and they left town. I have no idea where they went or when they plan on returning to Fletcher.”

“Well I can’t answer the last one for you, but I know where they are.”

“Where?” Mitch asked, flattening his palms on the countertop and leaning forward. “And how could you possibly know where they are? You don’t even know them.”

“After what I witnessed today, I wish like hell I did.” Cash chuckled. “They’re here, man. In fact, it’s one of the reasons I had planned to leave tomorrow. I didn’t know how they’d feel about a convict staying on the property without your knowledge. I was planning on hiding out in the barn again tonight and leaving before sunrise.”

Mitch felt a strange sensation wash over him. A little tickle on the back of his neck left him with chill bumps on his arms. “What do you mean they’re here?”

“I saw them today.”

“You saw them?”

“Yep,” Cash replied. “And I would’ve gone up and introduced myself, only they were in a somewhat compromising situation when I found them. I decided it was best if I stayed out of sight.”

“How did you find them?” Mitch asked, his balls throbbing as he thought of the possibilities.

Cash’s upper lip curled. “Let’s just say your little woman is quite the exhibitionist.”

Mitch narrowed his gaze. “You’re sure you saw Trixie…here…with Brock and Rory?”

“Yep,” Cash replied, drinking from the can again. “And I can see why you’re so smitten. Damn if she’s not the prettiest little minx I’ve ever seen.”

“I hope you didn’t watch longer than you should have,” Mitch said, dumping most of his beer in the sink and marching across the room to the French doors leading to the deck. Staring out at the dark waters, he added, “She’s not an exhibitionist, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Cash said.

“She probably didn’t know anyone was watching her,” Mitch reminded him.

“They were fucking in broad daylight. There were boats all over the water today. If anyone had been within a mile of the place, they would’ve heard the hollerin’ and carrying on. If they’d been a hundred yards away, they would’ve seen the show.”

A smile tugged at Mitch’s lips. If he could win his way back into Trixie’s good graces again, he’d remember this day and this conversation. He’d have her fucking his brains out on the dock so anyone and everyone could watch.

His cock twitched in his slacks. He fantasized for a moment, longing to go find them, wishing Brock and Rory would welcome him back into their small intimate circle, the place where he was certain they’d eventually welcome him once they realized he wanted to be a permanent part of their family.

Cash moved behind him. He went to the refrigerator and helped himself to another beer.

“Maybe you’re mistaken.” Mitch turned around. “I mean it could’ve been anyone.”

“It was her. I’ve seen enough of her pictures attached to your cell wall. And I heard her call out Brock’s name.”

Mitch closed his eyes. They’d brought her back to the very location where their love affair had started, to the place where their unusual relationship had begun.

“They may have left North Carolina, but if you ask me, they weren’t trying to dodge you. Think about it, Mitch. I came here looking for you because I couldn’t come up with anywhere else you might have gone.” Cash sniffed. “I bet they were thinking the same thing.”

“No, they were counting on just the opposite.”

Cash shrugged. “Whatever, man. They’re here now and by the number of suitcases they unpacked earlier, it looks as if they plan to stay a few days.”

“Then I’d better go let them know we’re here, too.”

“Want some company?” Cash asked.

Mitch chuckled. “I think I’ve got this.”

“You never know, the little minx might want to add another couple of men to her bed.”

“Don’t even let your mind go there,” Mitch said, watching as the color drained from Cash’s face. “Trixie has always belonged to Brock, Rory, and me. There’s no room for anyone else.”

Cash sneered. “Friend or not, Mitch, that’s something we’ll have to see if the little woman will entertain.”

“No,” Mitch stated flatly. “It’s not open for discussion, Cash. Get some rest. Make yourself at home.” Before he left the house, he turned and said, “Oh and, Cash?”

His former cellmate faced him with a completely different demeanor. His cheeks were flushed. His jaw was tense and his eyes were an icy cold blue.

“What?” Cash bit out.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mitch said, trying to smooth over what Cash must’ve viewed as an insult.

Cash grunted. “Sure, man.”

Mitch should’ve explained the situation with Trixie. Instead of elaborating on the delicate matter at hand, he said, “Cash, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. We’ll talk more tomorrow. Tonight, I need to see Trixie.”

“And what if she doesn’t want to see you?”

“Believe me. She will.”

Good God, Mitch had never seen a more beautiful Trixie. Even as she lay there in her flannel pajamas, PJs that were anything but sexy, she looked absolutely perfect.

The light from the hallway shone upon her flushed face and her golden hair fanned around her head. She looked as if she hadn’t aged a day since he’d last taken her to bed and stroked those pretty puckered lips, that incredible mouth of hers.

He focused on those rosy red lips. She’d gone to bed pouting. Her mouth gave away the obvious, but if he needed more confirmation, her body language told the tale. Her arms crossed right below her voluptuous breasts and she was as rigid and still as a fashion mannequin.

Brock and Rory were snuggled close beside her. Brock’s nose was buried in a tangled mess of natural curls while Rory’s lips were mere inches from her cheek.

The image painted was one for consideration, if not for show, and he wondered if either of his friends—as if “friends” described them now—were aware of his presence there. Had he been tailed? Had one of the Cartwell pawns followed him and notified Brock of his arrival there?

He cocked his head and steadied his breathing, wishing he could go to her, tell her how he felt, and win her over without interference from Brock and Rory, but it was easy to see now what they had to fear. The bed easily accommodated three, but four, in many ways, represented a crowd.

Mitch backed out of the bedroom and released the last breath he’d held. He tiptoed to the living room and eyed the mess they’d made of the place.

Leaning down to an open leather satchel, he picked up a pale pink negligee. Holding the silky material to his nose, he inhaled the rich scent of Trixie’s perfume, a fragrance with a hint of honeydew and roses. As the gown slipped from his fingertips he imagined Trixie dressing for him, the way the soft material would shimmy across her silken flesh then cling to her every curve.

Good God, he longed to hold her then. He needed to tell her how much he’d missed her.

He sat on the sofa. Splaying his legs, he rested his head on a cushion and stared up at the ceiling. His presence there wouldn’t be welcomed and he couldn’t help but understand the angst Brock and Rory would feel once they discovered he was back at Cow Camp.

He threatened to turn their worlds upside down because he didn’t want Trixie for one night. He wanted her for a lifetime.

Brock and Rory wouldn’t be happy when Mitch told Trixie of his intentions. In many ways, Mitch didn’t hold a grudge. He even understood their fears.

Mitch represented the dark side of good loving, the kind of loving he needed and craved. He symbolized the very past Brock had left behind when he chose to love Trixie.

Still, he had to find out the reasons why Brock felt inferior. Why was he most threatened? Did he refuse to revisit the lifestyle because he truly didn’t want any part of it, or had he put aside his needs and wants because he was afraid Trixie couldn’t cope with her role as a submissive woman?

“The Dom within you still lives, Brock,” he whispered, clasping his hands atop his head.

Figuring out why he hadn’t insisted upon Trixie’s active participation in the lifestyle wouldn’t take long. Rory would eventually tell him, if Trixie didn’t beat him to the punch.

* * * *

Trixie awoke with a start. Muscular arms were draped over her middle and she felt as if she were sandwiched between two overly protective men, a fact that normally would’ve warmed her heart. Only, given the circumstances, she felt trapped. The confinement smothered her.

They’d betrayed her. As much as Brock and Rory tried to excuse their behavior and make her feel as if they only had her best interest at heart, she knew better.

Their motives were clear.

They shared her with one another, but had no intention of ever sharing her with Mitch again. The reasons why were as multilayered as her favorite ice cream pudding pie.

Rory wasn’t a Dom. He didn’t want any part of the lifestyle, or at least, that’s what he’d professed years before. They hadn’t discussed it since Mitch had left their relationship, but actions spoke louder than words. At the time, Brock had shut down her inquiries and had refused to discuss the lifestyle.

The few times Domination and submission had been mentioned, she’d assured them of her willingness to explore, train, and participate. In fact, she’d longed for a Dom-sub relationship.

Years before, Mitch had given her a taste of submission. Brock had experimented with her. She’d lived among dominant men and submissive women. She’d seen plenty of them at the club. On occasion, Brock and Rory had teased her with role play, but there had always been a void.

Since Mitch left, there had been somewhat of an unspoken understanding. Brock and Rory would not dominate her.

She wasn’t their submissive woman. She wasn’t expected to ask for permission, wear a collar, or refer to them as Sir when she spoke to either of them.

Trixie didn’t present herself or kneel. They didn’t deliver punishments and she didn’t reap sensational rewards for good behavior.

She was, as her mother once said, in a very vanilla relationship with one exception. She loved two men who loved her unconditionally and quite frequently.

Her body heated at the thought. She wondered, sometimes, if Brock stayed away from the lifestyle because Rory frowned upon it. Other times, she felt as if he refused to assume the dominant role because he feared he wouldn’t measure up.

In matters of the lifestyle, Mitch’s shoes were large ones to fill. She remembered how he once controlled her body. He could look at her and make her come. He would watch her with those lust-filled eyes and make her beg for a fuck.

Her nipples hardened as she thought of him. Her panties dampened as she revisited the time he took her to a public place and fingered her with onlookers nearby.