Page 48 of The Trick

He opens the door, letting in an unpleasant smell of stale booze with him. Piling into the passenger seat, he says something, but I’m not paying attention. I can’t stop staring at her car as she drives to the end of the parking lot, blinker flashing, waiting to turn.

“Don’t even think about it,” my brother says.

“What?” I mumble, shifting the truck into drive.

“She’s bad news,” he warns.

As if that deters me. If anything, that only makes me want to know her more.

“Who?” I ask.

“Not to mention out of your league” he adds, in his usual condescending tone.

My fingers grip the steering wheel tighter, knuckles beginning to whiten.

“Who is she?” I ask again, louder this time.

“I said forget it. She’s out of your league, bro.”

Ha, hot and out of my league? Don’t tempt me with a good time. First order of business after I drop him off and call Cam is to figure out what this Horror Whores thing is so I can use it as my way to get closer to her.

Slamming my foot on the brake, he slides forward.

“What the fuck, Maddox!” he shouts.

I watch her car drive away as I turn to him. “I asked who she is. Now tell me.” I command, puffing my chest out, reminding him that if it weren’t for mom chiming in my ear daily to “play nice,” I would fucking crush him.

He raises his hands up with flat palms in defeat. “Jesus Christ, you really are mad.”

I grit my jaw, releasing an audible roar.

“Sorry, I’m just joking,” he begins, even though I know he’s not.

“Name,” I mutter, like a possessive caveman.

“Blair Van Tassel.”

Hmm, Van Tassel, how delightfully cliché. Living in Sleepy Hollow with a last name like Van Tassel is just about as cliche as living here with the last name Crane.

I’ve never been one to believe in something so delusional and trivial as fate, but this feeling that lingers in my veins, settling itself into my chest, makes me think that I saw her tonight for a reason. I have a feeling that Blair Van Tassel will not only be my next pursuit, but the last victim of my forced affections.

CHAPTER 21

A blanket of ominous air washes over me, making me feel like I’m drowning as my body is held captive by a vibrating sensation where my legs are being spread apart by a pair of large hands.

I turn my head to the side, dirt scuffing against my face, but my eyes remain shut. I feel like I’ve succumbed to a vat of quicksand, my whole body feels like it’s sinking, falling deeper into the abyss of pleasure his mouth is creating.

I feel his greedy hands knead and squeeze the flesh of my ass with the same intensity that his mouth is humming at my center. I hate how good he makes me feel, even when it shouldn’t.

Again, I try to open my eyes so I can watch him drown in my pussy but my lids squeeze shut even tighter when my hips buck forward, causing my back to arch as I ride the wave of anorgasm that I don’t even think I’m coherent enough to have.

Squeezing my thighs around his head, I release a moan of both pleasure and pain which makes him hum harder against where I am writhing against his face.

“Fuck,” he groans, planting a surprisingly gentle kiss to my clit. “You taste even sweeter when you’re asleep. You’re so fucking wet for me.”

His confession sends a surge of warmth to my core. His mouth lingers on my swollen lips and using the torn muscle of his tongue, he licks the remnants of my orgasm up. Another hum sounds from his lips, this time more sinister as it's preceded by a drawn out laugh. “Wake up, little hellcat,” he taunts, cracking through the fog I’ve been forced into. I want to open my eyes, though my lids still feel heavy.

Slowly I drag my palms against the dirt, I try lifting myself up when a searing pain begins to burrow itself at my temples. With each shift of my hands, the pain intensifies. I try working through it, but that stinging sensation peaks when a jagged rubber sole kicks at my hand.

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