Fighting for Forever Page 11

  Between her perfect breasts and her full suckable lips, I can’t decide which one to hit first. Rather than drown in her taste, I watch her expression as I move her panties aside and dip my fingers into her body.

  She cries out, and my jaw locks down, teeth gritting against the urge to pound my fingers between her legs until she screams my name. The visual of her writhing against me, grinding down on my hand and meeting my fingers thrust for thrust becomes too much.

  I nip at her bare breast. “Other one.”

  She complies, popping the other breast free. I take turns lapping at her tits while finger fucking her so hard they jump in my mouth. “Mase . . . don’t stop.”

  Mase. My eyes roll back in my head, and I suck her deeper into my throat.

  She clenches down around my fingers, her heels to the tailgate, thrusting up hard enough that her ass lifts off the bed while she chases down her release. My mouth waters, wanting to taste her and feel the flow of her orgasm against my tongue, but I can tell I’m too late.

  Her tiny body stiffens seconds before she detonates. I push back and watch her back arch, her hips lift into my hand, and her mouth open as a long moan falls from her lips. Her hands fist my shirt as she rides my fingers, milking every last bit of her orgasm.

  I rock my hips into her thigh, pretending we’ve just come together and mimicking the movement of a slow float back to earth. But every rub of my boxers against my dick, every rasp of fabric against the tender flesh, propels me on.

  She lies there, my fingers still knuckle deep inside her while I dry fuck her hip. I bend down, suck her tit in my mouth and ride her harder.

  “Don’t stop.” She rolls her hips on my fingers again, ready for more.

  I growl, wanting release so badly it hurts, but more than that, wanting to taste her. As I slide my fingers from her body, she shivers.

  I move from her breast with a wet pop of suction and kiss down her belly. Straddling her hips, I hook her under the arms and push her up further into the truck bed.

  “Mason?”

  “Shh . . . gotta taste you.” Her skirt is around her waist, and I hook my fingers in her panties to pull them off.

  “I . . . I can’t.” Her hands come to mine in what I assume to be her help. “Stop!”

  I tear myself from her body at her command, my heart hammering in my chest. “What?” I blink away the fog of lust and arousal. “Did I hurt you?”

  She scoots back, covering her body with the flannel and sitting up. “I’m sorry. I can’t let you do that.”

  If that isn’t a cold fucking bucket of ice water to the nuts.

  “That’s okay.” I take in a deep breath of mountain air and try to breathe through the disappointment. “I’m sorry. I’m moving too fast.”

  She avoids my eyes. “No, it’s not that. I mean”—she shrugs—“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re partially right. I’ve never been one to say no to a hook up.”

  Anger flares quick and hot. “No, fuck no. I never thought that about you.” Did I? Well, I don’t anymore. Unless, is that all this is?

  “It’s okay if you did.” She pulls a rubber band from her hair and shakes out her messy braid. “I’m not going to lie. I like using my body for pleasure, and I’m not above giving it just because I know I can.”

  I swallow back the sour taste her words evoke.

  “But a girl has to draw the line somewhere, right?” An awkward giggle rumbles in her throat.

  I sit with one ass cheek to the tailgate and rub the back of my neck, trying to force blood back up and into my brain. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve never had a man, um, go down.”

  “What?” No fucking way. Curiosity sizzles through my blood. “Never?”

  “Nope.” She dips her chin and twirls a long strand of her hair. “I know you probably don’t believe me, and that’s okay, but it’s something I’ve been saving.”

  “For who?”

  She cringes. “You’ll think I’m stupid.”

  I angle more towards her, my fingers itching to comfort and erase her insecurity. “Not at all, but no shit, I’m curious as hell.”

  “I was raised that a woman should save herself for her husband. Obviously, I messed that up, but I thought if I could save one thing for him, that would be it.”

  “Huh.” I climb up into the truck bed and sit next to her. “So everything else—”

  “I’ve done. Yeah.” She picks at a loose thread on the button of the flannel shirt.

  “But never—?”

  “No. Men only care about getting off, so it’s never been a problem before.” She shrugs.

  “Sounds like you’ve been with the wrong men.” My fists numb and my jaw aches.

  She blinks up at me. “Stop staring at me like I’ve grown a second head.”

  I move my gaze from her, wondering what the hell I must look like from her perspective and not wanting to make her ashamed or embarrassed.

  “What are you thinking?” She whispers and concern etches her question.

  “I think”—I meet her stare—“you’re pretty spectacular.”

  With the light from a billion stars, I watch her full lips pull into a grin. “You do?”

  “Yeah, Trix, I do.” The feel of her name from my lips is off now, like something has changed between us. She’s no longer Trix the exotic dancer, but a girl, a woman who is saving a very intimate part of herself for only one man—one very fucking lucky man who will end up being her partner for life, protecting her, shielding her from heartbreak, cherishing her love, and ensuring her happiness.

  “Hey, can you tell me what your real name is?” I have to know. With every bit of my soul, I want to know who this woman is outside of the G-strings and stiletto heels.

  Her face twists in confusion. “My real name?”

  “I’m assuming Trix is a made-up name, you know, to create and entice the fantasy.”

  She bites her lip, thinking. “Hmm. And what would you say is so enticing about the name Trix?”

  Seems pretty obvious to me. She can’t be clueless about it, but she wants to hear me say it. I’ll play. “Trix is a sweet tasting cereal that melts in your mouth. It’s like candy, sweet like you.”

  “Ah, aren’t you the charmer.” She holds up a finger. “I’ve also heard Trix implies I ‘turn tricks,’ like I’m a hooker.”

  I shrug one shoulder, ashamed to admit it, but . . . “Yeah, that too. Creating the fantasy.”

  She laughs and drops her chin. “If my dad hears this, he’ll wish they’d renamed me,” she mumbles.

  “So, what’s your real name?”

  She peeks up at me and smiles. “Beatriks, with a ‘k.’ It’s the Russian form of Beatrice.”

  “Your real name is Trix?”

  “Yeah.” She laughs, and the sound shoots straight to my groin.

  “Wow.” I study her: big eyes that, even though it’s too dark to see, I know are blue with the slightest hint of lavender, full lips, and under all the blond and purple hair is a natural blond that I bet lightens bright white in the sun. “Beatriks.”

  “My brothers and sisters call me Bea, like bee-ah.”

  “Bea.” I tuck a few loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “That’s cute. I like it.”

  I like it. I like her, and fuck if all this information about her isn’t making me even more curious.

  Twelve

  Trix

  “Take your pick.” Mason holds up a bag. “Peppered”—he holds up another bag—“or teriyaki.”

  “Hmm . . .” I’m sitting with my back leaning against the pick-up truck cab as I survey my options. “That depends. Are we going to be kissing again?”

  He nods repeatedly, even closes his eyes for emphasis. “Oh yeah, there will be a lot of kissing, but”—he tosses me the peppered flavor jerky—“I can tell by the way you’re eyeballin’ this bag that you like it spicy, and lucky for you, I do to.”

  I pull out a long piece of smoked, dried meat. “Y
ou like spicy? Even secondhand?”

  His eyes track to my mouth as I chew. “I’m willing to bet my life that with every taste, taking it from your mouth makes it sweeter.”

  “I guess we’ll find out.” I grin and toss the bag back to him, hitting him in the chest.

  He rips out a couple pieces and then pushes in next to me. “So, tell me about your sister. Lana, was it?”

  I cough on my food and reach for the bottled water that Mason handed me just before he busted out the jerky.

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He pats my back a couple times while I slurp down gulps of cool water.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. I wasn’t expecting such a serious question.”

  He turns his gaze upward, his head resting on the back window of the truck. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure whether or not it was a sensitive issue.”

  “It’s not. I just never talk about her.” I set down my water and rip apart tiny shreds of jerky.

  “You can trust me.”

  I nod because, without even understanding why I can trust him, I know with certainty that I do. “Svetlana was, um . . . She was . . .” I hate saying it, hate muttering the words because brutally murdered should never accompany my sister even in name alone.

  “Murdered.”

  “Yes, but it was ugly. The papers called it ‘sliced,’ and that’s exactly what she looked like.”

  “Holy shit, Trix, you saw her?” His hand grips my bare knee, and the firm hold and warmth feel safe, reliable. Protective.

  I rip off a small section of jerky and shove it in my mouth. “Mm-hmm.”

  “God. That must’ve been terrifying. Walking in on that kind of scene must’ve been brutal.” His grip tightens.

  “Oh, I didn’t actually walk in.” It was cold. The smell of the room was like a mix between disinfectant and death. I’ll never forget the scent that death carries. “I identified the body.”

  “Holy fuck.”

  “I remember the sheet was shaking. At first, I thought maybe she’d woken up. I know that sounds stupid, but I just couldn’t believe she was gone, so . . . I peeled back the fabric, almost expecting her to jump out at me and say ‘Surprise, you’re such a sucker!’ but deep in my heart I knew that wasn’t Lana’s style.”

  As kind and generous as she was, she was always serious. My dad said it was her strict Russian blood. I think she was haunted by the past, and whatever happened in that orphanage sucked all the silly right out of her.

  “It was my hand holding the sheet that made it shake, and when I pulled it back, what I saw . . .” I pinch my eyes closed to push back the memory. “No one should ever have to see another human being as mangled as she was. I made myself stare at her, wouldn’t allow myself to look away because it was her. It was Lana, and . . . God, she was so good. So pure.” I blow out a long breath and shake my head. “It should’ve been me.”

  “Trix, how can you say that? Tragic things happen all the time, but who’s to say one person deserves it more than another? It’s random and senseless.”

  I consider his words: roll them over in my head even as every one of my instincts roars he’s wrong.

  “What if it wasn’t?” I toss the rest of my jerky over the side of the truck bed. “They carved into her body, Mason, when she was still alive.” A shiver racks my body, and he throws his arm over me and pulls me close. I curl my arms around my belly, and allow his warmth to envelop me.

  “They found her in the mountains, left there like a carcass for the animals to feed on.”

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles.

  “Her car was ditched on the side of the road. The cops believe whoever did it had lured her in by faking a flat tire or something. It was so like Lana to pull over and help someone if they needed it.”

  “Sick sons of bitches.”

  “After they found her in Redwood—”

  “Wait, Redwood . . . the State Park?

  “Mm-hm.”

  “I think . . . I remember this story. She was headed out of town, so no one noticed her missing right away.”

  I swallow hard and nod. I’m not surprised he’d heard about Lana on the news. The story ripped through all the local towns—a killer on the loose—and scared the shit out of everyone.

  “Fucker responsible better be rotting away in prison.”

  “Hmm.” No, he’s not. I roll my lips between my teeth to avoid giving too much away. I’ve already told him too much. “Thank you for listening.” I throw my arm over his firm abdomen and hold him to me. “I haven’t talked about her in so long. Not even Gia knows.” Truth is, by the time we got close enough where I could share it with her, she had enough of her own demons to wrangle.

  His body stiffens. He kisses my head, slow firm presses of his lips that send a soothing heat through my torso. As he rests his cheek against my hair, I can feel his clenched jaw tick.

  I push up and out of his hold, but he moves his hand back to my thigh, as if he needs to touch me more than I need his comfort. “Enough of the dark stuff, I don’t want Lana’s story to be what you remember about our date.”

  “Our date. You say it like there won’t be others.”

  I did? I guess I did. “Will there be?”

  “If I have my way?” He grins. “Absolutely.”

  Find them, Bea. Make them pay . . .

  Lana?

  I love you.

  “Trix, we’re here.” Mason’s voice calls me from sleep. “Wake up.”

  I blink open my eyes and jerk upright. “Shit, shit . . .” I wipe a light sheen of sweat from my forehead. “Sorry.”

  He chuckles. “For what?”

  “Huh?” I blink over at his grinning face as reality seeps to the surface. Just a dream. I peer out the truck window to see we’re idling in my driveway. “Whoa . . .” I sit up and stretch my stiff neck. “What time is it?”

  “Almost four-thirty.” He smiles sheepishly. “Sorry I kept you out so late.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I notice the sun hasn’t begun to peek up over the mountains, which means I’ll still get a decent nap before I have to be at work. A breath crawls up my throat, and I cover my mouth to avoid a full, gaping, ugly, tired yawn. “Man, I crashed on the way home.”

  “Yeah, you did. Must’ve been all that jerky.”

  My cheeks heat, knowing it wasn’t all the junk food we ate that made me tired; it was the hot and heavy make-out session and the equivalent of an emotional marathon conversation that followed. Which would also explain the dream.

  A tiny tilt of his perfect lips and the memory of him sliding them down my neck send a shiver up my spine. This guy is so sweet and innocent on the outside but sexy in a way that betrays his shining surfer-boy look. And he’s a wonderful listener. At times, when I was talking about Lana, I could feel his anger, as if he felt the pain of my words. He’s the kind of guy a girl could get used to.

  A girl. But not this girl.

  And nothing reminds me of that more than my dream. I’m almost glad I fell asleep on the way home. Lord knows I needed a reminder. I’m living my life for Lana, and until I find her killer, there’s no room for anything else.

  But God . . . Mason. No, I can’t.

  “Thanks for tonight.” I grab the door handle, and a quick flash of confusion crosses his expression.

  “Hold on.” He grabs his door handle to get out.

  “Mason, you don’t have to walk me up.” Please, don’t come to my door. It’ll just make things harder.

  As if he didn’t hear me, he moves from the truck, rounds the hood, and ends up at my door. Before I can beat him to it, he opens it for me. I snag my clutch, scoop up my shoes, and I slide out.

  “What kind of a man doesn’t walk a woman to her door?” The insinuation behind his question drops my gaze to the concrete driveway.

  Every man I’ve ever been with.

  I tuck my hands under my arms in eighty-five degree weather, feigning cold to avoid him holding one of them. We proceed to the f
ront door in silence, and I busy myself with my keys to keep from looking at him and getting sucked into those gentle blue eyes. “Thanks again. Oh!” I start to shrug off his flannel shirt.

  “Don’t worry about it.” He grabs the lapels and pulls the shirt back up over my shoulders, his thick fists meeting in the middle of my chest. “Hold on to it for me.”

  “Is this like an earring thing?” I tilt my head, trying to ignore the heat of his knuckles that threatens to rest against my cleavage. Just one deep breath and—no . . . I shake my head.

  “An earring thing?” He drops his hands, and I’m immediately grateful as I am equally bereft.

  “Nothing. Forget it.” I slide the key into the door, hoping to make a quick getaway, because damn if this man isn’t magnetic or something.

  He chuckles and grips my elbow gently. “Oh, come on. Now I’ll be lying in bed all night”—the heat of his chest warms my back, and I fight the urge to moan and sink into his hold—“thinking about you.”

  Oh no, no, no, no . . . That voice is deep and heavy with something I’m going to refuse to name.

  “. . . and wondering what an ‘earring thing’ is.”

  I turn toward him, my back against the door. Ugh . . . big mistake. He’s so close. I attach my gaze to his chin, hoping it’s a safe place to land, or at least safer than his lips or his eyes. Or that hair, all that blond hair. Gah!

  “It’s what girls do when they want a repeat. They leave something behind, usually of value, so they have a reason to go back.” There, I told him. Now if I could just figure out how to unlock my door from behind my back and fall inside the safety of my house.

  He crosses his arms at his chest, eyebrows pinched, but grinning. “Go back for what?”

  “Usually? Another date, or in some cases, another session of hot sex.” My cheeks heat furiously. Fuck!

  “Is that what I’m doing?” His hand moves toward my face and I almost flinch. If he touches me, that’ll be the end of it. Evading the power of his looks and swagger is one thing, but add on a touch, and I’m screwed. His knuckles glide from my temple to my jaw. “You have no idea what this does to me.”