What a Texas Girl Dreams (Crimson Romance) (13 page)

Or she just didn’t care.

That had to be a good thing. Spending the night with him when her sisters were already hot on the relationship trail must mean she was comfortable with the dating label. Maybe she wanted more.

The devil on Trick’s left shoulder mocked him, saying he was leaping to conclusions.

The angel on his right echoed his hopeful thoughts.

Both were drowned out by the voice of need, coming from deep inside, telling him to take whatever Monica was offering and hold on for dear life.

She shifted on the bed, leaning her weight on her right arm while her left hand curled a strand of hair around her finger. They watched one another for a second, and then Trick pushed away from the door, kicked off his boots, and started for the bed.

Monica smiled. “So, you are hungry.”

He leaned onto his arms, putting one knee on the mattress. “You have no idea.”

Her pupils dilated, leaving only a dark green ring of color in her eyes. Her finger stilled and she straightened her shoulders. “Trick?”

His mouth was an inch from hers. “Yeah?”

“Family be damned. I’m taking the night. I want to spend it with you.” The words were wisps between them, as if she couldn’t quite find her voice. She reached her arms around his neck as his lips touched hers. Sighed into his mouth.

Still kneeling, Trick took his time, exploring her mouth the way he had a hundred times before, but it felt completely different now. As if they hadn’t been here, not in his bedroom and not in hers, not once in their commitment-free relationship zone. She tasted fresh, cool, like the best parts of a hot, Texas summer: The cool water of a shaded pond late in the afternoon. The chill of an early May morning before the sun appeared on the horizon, while the dew was still wet on the grass. Underneath it all was just Monica, kissing him back, exploring him the way he explored her.

She tilted her head, giving him better access, as he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, then nipped its corner. She sighed before running the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip. Her hands played with the hair at his nape, urging him closer and closer.

Trick took her face in his hands, then pulled back a fraction. “Good, because this might take all night.” He pulled her boots from her feet and smiled at the tiny white footies hiding her toes. He stripped them off and grinned at the pretty pink polish and the big, purple flower painted in the middle of her big toe.

He stripped off his tee shirt, then pressed her back against the pillows. Monica curled one leg around his as he positioned his arms on either side of her body and buried his hands in all that glorious hair. He watched her for a long moment, drinking her and this night in. She swallowed, shifted restlessly on the bed. Ran her bare foot along his denim-encased calf.

He lowered his mouth to hers, pulled her lower lip into his mouth, and sucked gently, mimicking her slow kiss outside the bar a few nights before. Trick knew exactly how to make Monica scream, to moan with pleasure. He knew what to do with her body to send her over the edge. Tonight, though, he wanted to see how long he could keep her balancing on the precipice.

Her mouth was pliant beneath his, her tongue content with his slow speed. Her hands spun lazy circles on his back while his smoothed her hair. She tilted her head, pushing back into the pillows, and Trick took the opportunity. He placed light kisses over her cheek and along her jaw until his mouth found her earlobe. He pulled it between his teeth and gently bit down, and his fingers found her nipple and squeezed. The hard nub tightened even more as he rolled it between his fingers. Trick sucked her lobe into his mouth and flattened his hand over her chest as he kneaded her breast. Monica moaned in response.

Need took over. He kissed his way down her body, pausing for a moment to play with the pulse at her throat before staking his claim to her breasts. Trick lavished attention on her dusky areolas, feasting on one, pulling it into his mouth while his fingers teased the other. He switched back and forth so that she couldn’t know what was coming next. Monica writhed beneath him, her fists clenching in the sheets. Trick sucked one nipple into his mouth, rolled around the nipple with his tongue, withdrew and blew over the moist skin. He grinned when it puckered, and she sighed.

“More.” The word was barely a whisper, but it seemed to echo around the bedroom. A flash of light caught his attention as the sun set, turning the sky into a wonder of pinks, reds, and oranges. The beauty of the scene was nothing compared to the woman in his bed.

And she was his for the night.

• • •

Monica clenched her hands against Trick’s head when his tongue found her breast again, arching her back to give him better access. Not that he seemed to need it. Trick always knew just how to touch.

He kissed his way back to her mouth, capturing her lips with his and then ran his tongue over her chin, tracing an invisible line over her throat to the fast-beating pulse in her neck. Monica opened her eyes, wanting to take in everything from the purple tinted sky to Trick’s deep grey gaze. Only his eyes were nearly black with arousal and that sent her heart pitty-pattying against her ribs again. He wanted her and it wasn’t just physical.

Not this time.

Their gazes locked for a long moment and Monica took in the desire there. What tripped her up was the deeper than lust emotion she saw there. An emotion that echoed through her being as well. Trick ran his hand over her hair, smoothing a curl behind her ear.

“Monica.” Her name was a prayer on his lips and her tummy clenched in response.

Oh, God. She loved him. Need. Want. Both were rolled up in the love coursing through her. Was love that nebulous emotion she saw deep in his grey eyes? She had no idea and it freaked her out. She lifted her hand, mimicking his movement from a moment before.

“Trick. I didn’t … I don’t … ” He pressed a finger against her lips, silencing her before she said anything.

“I know I’ve pressured you to take a giant step forward, but for tonight, let’s just feel.”

She nodded and his finger drew her lip down. She took it in her mouth and sucked.

Trick drew in an unsteady breath. “You’re killing me.”

Monica grinned. “By all means, make me feel.”

He moved to her side and pushed her hands over her head, holding them there with one hand while the other drew swirls over her ribs and down her belly, making her muscles jump under his touch. The hot pink lace over her hips drew his attention, and Trick allowed his fingers to venture lower, lower, until Monica’s breathing grew shallow as she waited for a more intimate touch. He paused at the waistband, pushing his index finger beneath the lace and Monica drew her lip between her teeth and bit down. He drew circles back over her skin toward her belly button or across to her hip bone. She mewled and pushed her head more firmly against the pillows.

Lord, but he was good at this. Trick repeated the move, watching as her stomach muscles tensed and when she gasped his eyes darkened to a stormy grey. Again, he pushed his finger beneath the lace a scant inch and took the journey to her hip bone.

He joked that she was killing him, but Monica wasn’t sure she would survive the sensual assault. A wave of moisture escaped her core, dampening her panties and still he kept drawing circles over her belly. Teasing at the elastic around the edges of her pink panties.

“Trickett.” His name slipped from her lips, a whisper in the quiet room. “Please.”

Finally he smoothed his hand over her center, across to her hips, and underneath, to her buttocks. He pulled the panties slowly over her legs, freeing her body, and kissed his way down her legs to her ankles.

Monica lay on the bed, her hands still above her head, although he’d released her wrists to remove her underwear. She watched him need pulsing through her veins.

“As much as I’d like to keep torturing you like this, I’m about to explode.” His words sounded rough but were a balm to her over sensitized brain.

He kissed his way back up her legs, pausing for a moment to kiss the yellowed bruise on her hip. It was the sweetest thing he had ever done. She didn’t flinch, just closed her eyes and tilted her hips, inviting him closer.

One finger pressed against her core, finding her wet center and pressing inside. A second quickly followed and then his thumb found the tight nub of nerves and flicked gently against it. Pressed down. Flicked again as his fingers began to move. In. Out. In. Out. Monica pressed her fists into the pillows and bit down on her lower lip as she squeezed her eyes tighter shut. He pressed against her tiny nub again, and her breathing grew shallow, coming in short gasps in rhythm with his movements.

“Oh, God,” she whispered the words as his thumb circled her.

The orgasm crashed through her like the cattle crashed through the pens in Utah. Fast and like it would never stop. Monica’s shoulders stiffened, and her hips arched up against his hand, driving his fingers deeper, pushing his thumb more firmly against her. Her muscles contracted against his knuckles, a feeling almost unbearably erotic. Her mouth tightened; her fists clenched.

And then she shattered. Her hips lowered. Her arms fell back and her hands relaxed, palms up, fingers boneless. Trick moved over her, dipped his tongue into her belly button. Her hands reached for him, pulling him up her body. Monica’s hands found his hips and pressed beneath the denim, then moved around to the placket. She unbuttoned his pants and pushed down the zipper as his mouth met hers. And then her soft hands were on him.

He was thick and hard and groaned when she gently squeezed his length.

Pushing his jeans over his hips, Monica freed him. She circled his erection with her hand, her thumb playing with the little opening at the tip.

He groaned. “You do that again and we won’t get much further.”

“You shouldn’t be the one to have all the fun.”

Trick pushed off the bed, shucked his jeans, and grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer. Monica sat up, took it from him, and slowly slid it over his tip. Trick clenched his jaw when her fingernail traced the veins bulging with need. Monica grinned. She liked having power over this man who kept pushing her boundaries.

He growled. “Now.”

“Absolutely.”

He pressed her back to the bed with a long, deep kiss, and then thrust inside her.

Monica crossed her ankles over his hips, drawing him in deep. She caught his mouth in another kiss. He arched, and her tongue traced a path from his lower lip over his chin to his collar bone.

She wanted to make this last all night, but Monica urged him on, meeting him thrust for thrust. He buried his hands in her hair as the rhythm surged. He pressed another kiss to her mouth, and then they both exploded over the cliff to soar into the Texas night.

• • •

Trick stood in the kitchen doorway, jeans covering his legs but unbuttoned. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
He really should be wearing a shirt,
Monica thought helplessly.
I can’t have a rational conversation with him not wearing a shirt. Half the female population would jump on him, looking fresh off the sex train.

Panic butterflies swirled in her belly as she waited for the spaghetti and sauce to warm in the microwave. She was one of that half, and she shouldn’t be this nervous. Twenty-four was plenty old enough to know how to have a relationship with a man. That’s what this night was about. Spending the night with Trick was her idea, a way to get some of the pent-up attraction out of her system so she could see if there was anything more there.

Before last night, all she’d wanted was a no-strings fling with Trick. To get back on the circuit or back to Austin as quickly as she could. Somewhere in the middle of the all-night-kitten-feeding session things had shifted. She still wanted her old life, but she wanted Trick, too.

She pushed the panic away. This was her relationship, damn it, and she would follow where her emotions led. If her sisters wanted her happily married off, they could darn well back off while she figured it out.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he said as he pushed off the door and padded across the tile floor to the fridge where he grabbed a bottle of water and cracked it open. “Looks good on you.”

Monica looked down. The old Rangers tee reached to mid-thigh, effectively covering her and yet leaving her strangely open to him. She didn’t think she’d ever worn a man’s shirt — at least not in his presence — in her life. He reached around her waist, pulling her back to his chest and nuzzling her neck.

She liked it, of course, only relationships were about more than sex. She shook herself. She would not get sucked right back into bed with Trickett Samuels. If he wanted a dating relationship, she’d give it to him.

“We need sustenance.”

“I agree.” He pressed his mouth to her neck and sucked gently. “You taste perfect.”

“Not that kind of sustenance.” She swatted playfully at his hands as the nervousness faded away. Tomorrow would take care of itself, she decided, feeling a little like Scarlett O’Hara. Tonight was about declaring her intentions. The first of which was to see what was here beyond the physical, for his part at least. Monica now knew what her heart wanted: Trick to love her like she loved him.

The microwave dinged, and she opened the door to bring out bowls of warm food. Her tummy growled; an echoing growl sounded from behind her.

She straightened her shoulders and stepped away from him. “Dinner, Trickett.”

“Whatever you say, Monica.” He clipped his words and grinned. His voice really should not sound that good when he spoke her name, she decided, and tried to push him toward the counter.

When he continued to stand behind her, watching closely, Monica flicked her hands at him. “What? Sit, I’m starving.”

Trick pulled out a chair, waiting for her to take a seat and then pushed her closer to the table. The wooden kitchen chair was cool against her bare legs and Monica was glad she’d grabbed her undies on the way to the kitchen. She laid a napkin across her lap, forked up some spaghetti and sighed as the taste of ripe tomatoes and spices woke up her taste buds. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair. “I may never cook for you if everything you cook tastes this good.”