Tempting Tricks (Tempting Nights #2)

Chapter Ten

~Trick~

I ’ve been sitting in this club every night for almost a week. Hoping she’ll come. Hoping she’ll give in to her desire. Hoping she gives in to me. It’s Thursday, six days since I last saw her in the coffee shop. It might be time to admit defeat, but that’s something I’ve never done easily. I even cancelled every appointment Cory had scheduled for me at Temptations this week. I don’t need the damn money, and anyway, this is more important to me.

The only saving grace is that my dreams are now being invaded by her instead of flames and screams. If you can call that a grace. Thoughts of her torment me almost as much as the ghosts of my past. I want her more than anything I can ever remember wanting, and I know she wants me, too. I feel it in my bones—well, one in particular—every time we’ve been near each other. After seeing how she reacted in that room with me, I know she also needs me. She needs what I can give her. What no one else has shown her.

I take a large taste of the bourbon in my glass and shift in my chair. My cock is throbbing against the zipper of my pants just thinking about her. I need to do something about this, and I’m not sure I can wait any longer. I need to surrender to the reality that she hasn’t come, nor does it look like she’s going to. My eyes stray to the bar, to the stool that Samantha is currently residing on. I know she can provide what I need, even if she’s not really who or what I want right now. As if she can sense me staring at her, she tilts her head and returns my gaze, a seductive smile lifting her lips. I nod my head, just slightly, but it’s all the invitation she needs to slide off the stool and saunter over to me.

She sinks gracefully into the chair next to me then reaches across the table, taking the drink from my hand to bring it to her mouth. She sips slowly, her eyes closing as she swallows, a hum of appreciation vibrating from her throat. “You’re drinking the good stuff tonight.”

She places the drink back in front of me as I nod in reply. I don’t really feel like small talk right now. “Looking for something better?” Her brow arches as one side of her mouth moves up suggestively.

I grip the glass, raise it to my lips slowly, and down the contents in one swallow, my eyes never leaving hers. The glass thumps against the coaster when I drop it back to the table, and I stand and extend my hand to hers. This doesn’t require a conversation. This isn’t about making her feel wanted or pretty. She rises and slips her hand into mine, following where I lead.

When we reach an available room, we enter and I shut and lock the door behind us. She drops my hand and leans against the door. “What do you need?”

I walk to the wall, scan the inventory available, and pull a two-foot cane off a hook. It has eight individual pieces of hard rattan that are tethered together by a leather band. When the hard wood hits your flesh, it expands, intensifying the pain and punishment provided by the person yielding it. As I turn to hand it to Samantha, eyes sparkling in pleasure, my cock throbs in approval.

“Get undressed,” she commands, any warmth to her tone now gone. I pull my shirt over my head then bend to unlace my boots to remove them. I unbutton then slide off my jeans, my length springing up against my navel hard and ready. She watches me, her tongue sliding against her lips as her gaze locks below my waist. I stand straight and wait for her next order.

She moves to me instead, closing her fingers in a light grip around my cock, stroking it several times as she drags the cane down my thigh. Her hold tightens as she clenches my girth, her nails biting into my tender flesh. I hiss when she yanks down, forcing me to my knees. I swing my gaze up, wincing as I hear the whoosh of the cane before it connects with the skin on my back.

“Head down!” she barks.

I bend forward, placing my weight on my elbows in front of me, kneeling on all fours in front of her. My eyes lock onto the small pair of panties that just landed on the floor in front of me. She bends down, picks them up, and begins wadding them into a ball. She holds them in front of my face. “Open.”

I dart my eyes up to hers. My hesitation results in another sweeping motion of her arm with the cane landing squarely between my shoulders, my mouth falling open as I groan. She uses this to her advantage, stuffing the material in my mouth as she leans in close to me. “You might as well get used to the taste of my pussy now.”

Nodding in compliance, I keep my eyes glued to the carpet. “Crawl over to the bed and place your arms out flat against the mattress.”

I do what she says, the dense material of the carpet digging into my knees, scraping them raw. I deserve this. I deserve this humiliation. I’m here and they aren’t. It’s the mantra I keep repeating in my head. I lay my arms out flat across the bed, my entire back naked and exposed for her.

She steps up beside me, and I feel her finger brushing across my shoulders. It takes me a second, but I realize she’s tracing the letters of my tattoo. It’s confirmed when she speaks again. “All pain is fleeting?” She snickers. “Let’s test that theory, shall we?” Her finger stops and is replaced by the eight sharp tips of the cane. I feel her press her bodyweight forward, the sharp tips digging into my skin before she drags it heavily down the length of my back.

I arch into the bed, my fists clenching, and growl through the pain as the points sear through my flesh.

“Yes, I know that hurts,” Samantha coos above me. “But doesn’t it feel good?”

I moan through the material in my mouth, drool leaking over my lips and down my chin as I try to speak. “More.”

“With pleasure,” she purrs, and I groan in relief when the cane crashes against my lower back, sending lightning exploding across my flesh, any thoughts of her, of them, lost, my mind now consumed by the storm of pain she’s providing .

I lose track of how many times she hits me, all coherent thoughts scattering to the wind with each blow she delivers. My body feels like it’s humming from the vibrations of her efforts, my cock limp after coming several times, my mind temporarily free. My hands are no longer clenched but splayed out in front of me, relaxed and welcoming the pain.

The blows stop, and I hear the cane thump to the ground, Samantha panting above me. Her fingers reach in and pull the now soaked material of her panties from my mouth. “Get on your knees.”

I lift my body, and she spreads her legs wide, balancing on her feet, in front of me on the bed. “Make me come,” she demands, fisting my hair as she pushes my head between her legs. I inhale deeply as I’m lowered, her scent strong, her arousal obvious. I lose myself in the soft, wet folds, my fingers and tongue feasting on her offering until she screams out her relief. I fall limply to the floor, wishing it was Belle’s taste on my lips instead of hers, the last thought before I pass out.

“ W hat the hell is wrong with you?” Trey storms through my door, walks by me, smacks me across the forehead for good measure, and continues past me to my bedroom.

“What the fuck?” I throw the game remote on the table, Kane jolting awake with a yelp beside me as it crashes against some empty beer bottles, and stand.

“It’s Saturday, asshole,” he yells from my bedroom.

“And?” I throw back, completely lost as to what the problem is.

He appears in the doorway of my bedroom, my Armani tux hanging from his hand. “Ball? Charlotte? Date?” He frowns. “Ring any bells?”

“Shit.” Yep, I did tell him I would take Charlie to the ball in his place since he has to work tonight. “I forgot.”

He carries the tux to the bathroom door and hangs it over the top. “Clearly.” He enters the bathroom and turns the shower on. “She’s been down there for over an hour getting ready with Gabby. If you stand up my very emotional, very pregnant fiancée, I’ll kick your fucking ass.”

“I’m not going to stand her up.” I stroll to the bathroom, yanking my shirt over my head as I stalk past him. “I just forgot.”

“Yeah, get your head out of your ass.” He takes a sharp breath. “Jesus, Trick, really?”

I still and turn, returning the hard stare he’s giving me. He motions to my back. “That has to stop.”

I take a step closer to him, invading his space. “Don’t tell me what to do with my fucking body.”

“It’s not good for you,” he seethes back.

“And don’t tell me what’s good for me.” I turn back around, slide my sweats off, and step into the hot water. “You don’t have a fucking clue what’s good for me.”

We’ve had this discussion many times, and it always ends the same way. I don’t know why he keeps trying. This is my fucking pain to deal with. Not his. “Tell Charlie I’ll be down in thirty minutes.”

I grab the shampoo off the shelf and watch through the dripping glass door as my friend shakes his head in defeat and leaves, the door slamming a minute later.

Even though I’m pissed, I shrug that off and feel worse that I forgot about this damn ball. Most of the staff at the hospital goes, and because Trey is a physician’s assistant, and not one of the medical doctors, he has no choice but to work the E.R. shift this evening. Charlotte and her best friend Gabrielle are both registered nurses at the hospital as well, and there was no way in hell they were going to miss a chance to get dressed up for a ball. Enter me, hero of the day, and fill-in date for Charlie.

Normally, Charlie and Gabby would have just gone together, but Gabby has just started dating some cop, and he’s going as her date. I can’t wait to see how that turns out. Gabby breaks more rules than anyone I know, especially that taking money for sex one that she often does at her other job, an escort at Temptations.

I finish my shower and shave, because damn, when did I grow a fucking beard, and put my tux on. I run some gel through my hair, spray on a bit of cologne, and look at myself in the mirror. On the outside, I look like a pretty decent guy. I frown. Too bad I know what really lurks under this disguise…