“Baby, baby,” Rory whispered, his forehead mashed against her back. “Don’t move, sweetheart. Just stay still. Let me hold you.”
“I’m always right here for both of you,” she assured them, utterly satisfied.
Brock released a heavy breath. “For us and only us.”
It wasn’t a question, yet for some reason she felt as if there was an underlying inquiry. “Of course for you. There are only two men for me, Brock.”
She longed to add, “right now” so he fully understood her feelings for Mitch had never changed, would never change, but she didn’t want to spoil their moment. She feared Brock would never stand by and let Mitch reenter their lives.
Rory kissed her back, shoulders, and neck. “I love you, baby.”
“And I love you.” She tilted her head to the side and accepted his generous kiss.
When their mouths parted, Brock stole away with a kiss of his own. His lips assaulted hers. He pushed his strong fingers through her tangled hair and held her head between his hands. His tongue twirled around hers and he took his time, leisurely exploring her mouth.
Their lips separated and Trixie said, “I love you, too, you know.”
“I just hope the love you receive in return is more than enough to carry you through all the days of our lives.”
Chapter Seven
Cash’s heart was in his throat. If he thought he possessed mad lust for Trixie before he’d actually seen her in the flesh, he had been oh so wrong.
What he hadn’t known, what he had no way of imagining in his deepest, darkest fantasies, was that the little woman had beauty by the balls. She was gorgeous, stark-raving beautiful. Best of all, she was a slut to boot.
A smile tugged at his lips as he reentered the riding stables. He hurriedly grabbed the oblong handle and slid the door open enough so he could squeeze through the private entrance leading to the loft. Securing the deadbolt, he rushed up the twenty wooden steps leading to the apartment he’d chosen to occupy.
Once there, he entered the bedroom. Yanking his shirt overhead, he folded the garment and placed it on the old dresser located next to the bed.
Next, he reached under the mattress and retrieved another one of his favorite Trixie pics, one he’d found right before he’d taken his walk. It had been pinned to a wall inside the pantry.
A wicked chuckle fell from his lips.
There wasn’t any doubt who’d taken the extraordinary pains to place the photograph there. The picture above it was of Stephen Pratchert and the image of Trixie had been pinned sideways, right below a close-up snapshot of Stephen seated on the bed in his underwear.
Cash was particularly fond of the picture. It was one every man on the planet would appreciate. Trixie was dressed in a red-and-white checkered tank, rolled halfway up her belly. Her short shorts were hide tight, showcasing strings and threads for the ultimate country girl look. To top it off, her red lips were painted and puckered, but the best part? Oh Lord help him. The best part was the pose.
With one leg forward, one leg back, a hand placed in the curve of her waist and the other on the back of her head, Trixie was a screaming orgasm for the camera’s lens. Even her nipples were perfectly displayed. The hard beads pushed through the material as if to say, “Look at me.”
Shucking his jeans, Cash reached inside his boxers and wrapped his small pecker in a closed fist.
“I gotchas, babe,” he drawled, trying to sound sexy as he pumped his cock up and down, trying to provoke a rise.
Fiddling with his prick, he sat on the bed, splayed his legs, and clutched her picture in his hand. “That’s right, honey bunch. Open that mouth. Ah yeah. Suck this cock. Hmm. Uh. Hmm. Uh.”
Fuck! He couldn’t come like this. He was trying too hard to imitate those morons she apparently liked to screw.
He released his dick and stared into the dark room. He studied the horse blankets covering what he’d determined must’ve once been a huge bay window, now all boarded up on the outside which was a real eyesore.
He glanced down at his flaccid cock. Talk about a fucking eyesore.
Rage settled in his veins as he considered the earlier event he’d missed. Why had Trixie come there? Why was she with those men? Were they expecting Mitch? Would he arrive soon?
He had gained limited knowledge from his previous conversations with Mitch. Trixie was married to Brock Sheldon, a guy Mitch must’ve considered a friend at one time. Considering the ho-down he’d seen earlier—he laughed aloud at his connotation—he could assume the big guy on the receiving end of that magnificent blow job must’ve been Brock. Too much familiarity existed between Trixie and her blow job recipient.