Page 53 of Trick's Trap

Undulating like a siren, she rocked back, swallowing his length up, enveloping him in her sublime heat. “Fuck, you feel so damn good.”

This was better than drinking. It was better than any drug he’d tried. Hell, it was better than winning at poker.

That’s good. Cause once you marry her, you’ll never win a game again.

That didn’t matter. He’d willingly lose every hand if it meant having this for the rest of his life.

Trick let his head fall back, languorously pumping in and out, letting his rhythm build slowly and then fast until his hips were slapping against her satin and gold backside. The feel of her was everything.

The only thing that would have made it better would be to take off the condom, to feel her naked heat wrapped around him. He’d only skipped protection the one time. As much as he knew he wanted to marry and have a family with Tahlia, they didn’t have to start right away. She deserved to see the world and have some fun before that—as soon as he got rid of the threat hanging over them.

Sweet Jesus. Tahlia was moaning now—literally his favorite sound in the world.

Trick hissed involuntarily when she flexed her inner muscles, clenching around him, threatening to strangle his length. He tried to count hotel staff in his mind, anything to last a little longer, but Tahlia wasn’t helping.

The curve of her ass, the line of her thighs as she strained against him—not to mention that long sweep of golden skin of her back. He’d never seen anything sexier.

Her long brown hair was too much of a temptation. Trick nudged her down until she was lying flat. He licked the back of her neck, wanting her taste in his mouth. He took hold of the length of her hair, wrapping it around his fist as he pounded, fucking her until he went blind.

Unable to hold out any longer, he let go, erupting with a convulsive wrench. Tahlia unsuccessfully buried a scream in the mattress, shaking and shivering as she climaxed with him.

When his awareness returned, his face was buried in Tahlia’s hair. It smelled like vanilla. There was also some in his mouth.

He removed the strands with his index finger before shifting to trace the line of her hips with his fingers. A faint white web of tiny stretchmarks marked them but they only enhanced her beauty, saving her from being utterly perfect.

“This may be the wrong time to ask this, but I was wondering if you wanted to move into my suite.”

“What?”

Tahlia’s voice was hoarse, as if her throat hurt from screaming.

It’s a good thing the walls are pretty soundproof.

He was still having a hard time speaking, too, but he needed to get this out. “It’s more of a symbolic move. You can still use this suite as an office. But perhaps, you could move your clothes. We spend every night together anyway. I want to make it official.”

Tahlia twisted to meet his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? It may be symbolic, but you’d still be giving up your space.”

He couldn’t bring himself to pull out of her, and she was wondering if he minded living together?

He kissed her. “Waking up with you every morning is my current plan for the next fifty or so years.”

She wiggled out of his arms, but only to turn around to face him in order to press her gorgeous lips to his.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’ll move in with you.”

“I hope you don’t mind, giving up what little space I’ve been giving you.”

Her mouth quirked, but her eyes began to shine suspiciously. “I’ve been alone all my life. I don’t need space.”

Trick rolled over, pinning her back to the bed. “Good. Cause you’re not getting any, not any time soon.”

Chapter 23

Tahlia hurried down to the Parisian-style café on the ground floor. It was one of her favorite places in the hotel. From the intricate art-nouveau lithographs gracing the walls to the brass accents on the coffee bar, it personified the Paris of her imagination, a spot she hoped to experience in person someday.

In the meantime, she drank strong coffee and ate chocolate and almond croissants pretending, quite easily, that she was in France without ever leaving the safety of the hotel.

Patrick told her only the decor was French. In truth, the layout of the cafe had been modeled after a little place he liked in Morocco. That didn’t matter to her. Regardless of the true inspiration, it was beautiful.

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