Page 16 of Trick
Forty minutes later, my cock was throbbing in my hand as I fisted it, smearing the drops of precum leaking from the tip as I listened to Lauren’s husky moans.
“Please,” I begged. “Please don’t stop.”
“What do you need, Cece? Tell me. Give me your words.”
I could feel his breath against my inner thigh as he made his demand. His mouth – his sinfully wicked, talented mouth – hovered over the very spot I needed him most. My pussy was throbbing with need as my body writhed beneath his.
“Tell me, baby.”
“I need…your tongue,” I panted, my body jolting as I felt him lick a stripe from my pussy to my clit.
Oh, fuck yeah. My grip tightened as I jerked my cock harder and faster. The sexy-as-hell gasps and moans that came from my phone’s speaker fed my imagination and fueled my arousal to a fever pitch.
“That’s it, Lauren. Come for me,” I muttered between clenched teeth, my balls drawing up tight until I was ready to blow.
“You taste so damned delicious, baby. I’m gonna devour your sweet cunt.”
I imagined myself in his place, feasting on her luscious body until I could almost taste the tangy sweetness, and a low growl escaped me at the thought.
One last, lusty, feminine moan floated out of my phone, and I knew she was hitting her peak. A tingle raced up my spine, and my movements grew frantic as she started speaking again.
“Yes…God, yes…Damian!”
My eyes snapped open as her final word registered, and my hand stilled around my throbbing cock. The man’s almost-pained groans filled the room, and it was all I could do not to throw my phone against the wall.
I flung the sheet back in disbelief, swinging my legs over the side of the bed as I sat up. My hard-on was flagging as the sound of Lauren’s voice screaming another man’s name rattled around inside my brain.
Hell’s bells. That fucking sucked.
Chapter 6
Lauren
King was as good as his word, and I was awakened Tuesday morning by one of the prospects from the club ringing my doorbell to return my key fob.
“Viking had us put on four new tires for you, ma’am, so you shouldn’t have any more trouble.”
When I asked about the bill for the tires, I was informed that there was no charge. I tried to argue but the prospect was adamant.
“Viking said there was no charge, so you’ll have to take it up with him.”
I immediately called Uncle Bill, who seemed insulted that I wanted to pay him.
“It’s worth the cost of some tires for me to have the peace of mind that you’re not gonna get stranded with a flat somewhere, so quit bitchin’ about it and just drive the damned car, girlie.”
I knew that his gruffness hid a heart of gold, so I did as I was told and quit bitching about it.
“Then let me at least take you out for a milkshake tonight,” I offered, and he gladly took me up on it. Later that evening, we enjoyed milkshakes at the diner, where Uncle Billscowled at everyone except for me and Martie, the woman who’d waited on us on Saturday.
“I’ve been drinking milkshakes from this place for almost fifty years, and they haven’t changed a bit,” he declared as he slurped the last of his shake from the cup. “Now, what’s this I hear from Trick about that cheatin’ piece of shit harassin’ you?”
“Ugh,” I whined, irritated with Trick for telling him about it. Uncle Bill had worried enough about me over the years, I hated to bother him with this, too. “It’s nothing, really. He’s just upset that we’re losing money on the condo sale, and he’s being a bit of an ass about it. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Uncle Bill eyed me sternly across the table, as if trying to decide if I was being truthful. After several long moments, he sighed and shook his head. “Well, all right then. But let me know if he keeps it up. I’ll ride to Pittsburgh and kick his ass myself if I have to!”
My lips twitched at his gruff order, as I pictured him going toe-to-toe with Beau. Honestly, I wasn’t sure who would come out the winner in that fight. Beau was a firefighter. He was in great physical condition and had the benefit of being over forty years younger than Uncle Bill. My uncle was no slouch either though, and he was in better shape than most men half his age. I suspected he also knew how to fight dirty and had plenty of practice at it over the years.
“There is no need for any ass-kicking,” I promised him, then leaned across the table to plant a kiss on his weathered cheek. There had been no more calls or texts from Beau, at least since he’d texted late last night to ask who had answered my phone and I’d lied that it was my new boyfriend.
