Sneak Attack (5 page)

After shoving her into the darkness, I kicked the door closed. Before she had a chance to speak, I had her sprawled over the desk, ass up. She didn’t wait for me to tell her to spread her legs. She did it for me, tilting upward so that I could yank down her pants with no resistance. My hand dropped to my zipper, my urgency fueled by the way she was moaning for me, arching and digging her bare, unpainted nails over the cheap wood grain.

Dim light slipped through the slats on the blinds but it was enough for me to see her writhing, already tempting me beyond reason. I wasn’t even inside her yet and my dick was already soaked with pre-come, so painfully hard that one touch of my own hand nearly pushed me over the edge.

If I didn’t get inside her soon, buried so deep that she was all I could feel, I was going to lose my frigging mind.

I pushed my cock against her damp, swollen pussy, and I couldn’t restrain the sound in my throat. Ownership. Need. Love. They combined into a crazy mixture that had me driving into her in one brutal stroke, mindless to anything but the relentless squeeze of her flesh around mine.

Mia and me, the way it should be. Always.

“You think I was hard for her? For anyone but you? Ever?” Wild thrusts punctuated the questions that burst from my lips. I slammed my hand on her spine, forcing her lower so I could tunnel as deep as I needed to go. She accommodated me, flexing her hips, rotating that hot little ass that could make me come all by itself. “I was thinking about you, last night. Fucking me against the wall, drawing blood down my back. You like doing that, don’t you? Sinking in your claws, just to make sure you can still make me bleed.”

She whimpered, the ripples of her pussy around my length the closest thing she gave to a reply. But that wasn’t enough for me. Not anymore.

I slapped her bottom, hard. She cried out, the sound low and needy, and pressed her cheek to the wood. Her eyes were shut, her mouth open as her whimpers slipped free. I waited until her skin bloomed pink enough that I could see it even in the limited light and then I slapped her other cheek, using my palm not to soothe the sting, but to push it deeper into her flesh.

Maybe we were dysfunctional. Right then I didn’t fucking care. I needed to mark her, she needed to hurt. I was the only one who could make her ache this way. The only one who loved her enough to keep her safe while I gave her pain.

“God, Tray.
Yes
.” She scraped her nails over the side of the desk, using her other hand to tug at the front of her top. Her skin flashed in my peripheral vision. Fuck, she’d pulled down her tank and freed her breast from her bra. That taut nipple tormented me, bouncing as I rode her hard. I reached over and claimed my prize, twisting the hot peak between my fingers. “God, I’m going to—”

“Wait for me.” I used my chin to shove aside the braid at her nape, finally finding flesh. I closed my teeth over the area at the base of her skull that would make her scream and forged even deeper, swiveling so that I rubbed every spot she needed me to rub.

In this way, at least, I knew her. In every other, she was a mystery wrapped in an enigma covered in barbed wire and glass.

My heart surged in my chest, its beat frenetic for her. Only for her. She sent the blood crashing through my veins, the heat suffusing my skin. Every part of me tuned to her, inexorably.

Holy fuck, I loved her.

My fingers strummed her nipple, alternately soft and abrupt, confusing her senses. Layering need upon need until we were both shaking and sweaty, rocking the desk so hard that I half expected one of the legs to snap. My teeth grazed the back of her neck again and a tendril of her hair caught on my lips. “Now, baby. Now.”

“Yes. Now.
Please
.”

That single word from her was always my undoing. I heard it so rarely.
Please
.

I pulled out and pushed deep once more, holding as the pressure in my spine and balls and heart finally exploded in a shout I smothered against her shoulder. She cried out again, still rolling her hips, carrying me away with her as her orgasm barreled through her system, hot and endless. Her pussy pulsed, milking my dick like a fucking champ. I fisted my hand in her hair and dragged her head back, craning my neck until I could cover her mouth with mine and feed her the last air I had left. Sharing that just as I shared everything else.

She trembled beneath me, a fresh jolt moving through her when I sucked on her lower lip. Her eyes opened, her drowsy gaze fastening on mine. In it I saw everything she didn’t say. It had been weeks since she’d told me she loved me, but I saw the truth shining there, buried so deep that maybe even she’d forgotten.

One way or another, I had to dig it out of her again. I’d done it before. She’d fallen in love with me against her will, and if I had to hold that will hostage to get what I needed from her, I damn well would. I’d always backed off when I sensed she needed space, not wanting to dredge up anything painful from her past. But maybe it needed to be dredged. Maybe I needed to take the risk that
my
chains were exactly what she craved.

“You made me say I was yours last night.” Her voice vibrated with something dark and hot. Leftover desire, nerves, simple need. “You didn’t return the favor.”

My hips seemed to move all on their own, driving my softening cock deeper into the recesses of her body. She made a choked sound, like a trapped scream. One I felt duty bound to help her set free.

“Make me, Mia,” I breathed.

Challenge lit in her eyes and she slapped a hand on the desk, causing her breast to sway, nipple still tight. Her pussy clasped me so hard that she stole my last remaining breath. Then she kicked me back and pivoted to kneel before me, her hand closing around my happily abused cock. She licked her lips, eyeing it with abject appreciation. Some girls would shy away from tasting themselves on their lover’s flesh. Not Mia. She lapped at the head of my dick with relish, the hungry noises emitting from her throat stoking my briefly sated lust higher.

I knew how difficult it had once been for her to enjoy this act. That she could—and that I could with her, knowing her past—proved we’d come a long way, even if we still had miles to go.

“I own this.” Her warm breath bathed my slick skin, soaked with our arousal and from her slippery mouth. Her fingers tightened at the root and she sucked the head, her lips forming a perfect seal as she hummed over my shaft. She moved back long enough to whisper against the tip. “You put it anywhere else and you’ll wish you hadn’t. Got it?”

In spite of my newly pained condition, I grinned and slid my hand into her wildly messy hair. Messing up Mia was my favorite thing to do. “Actually there are a few other places I’d like to put it.” She tensed and I nudged my knee between her breasts. “There.”

Her shoulders visibly relaxed and her tongue snaked out again. “Mmm.” Her eyes flashed up to mine and held while she slowly, sinuously licked my cock. God help me, it was a miracle I didn’t blow again, that fast.

“You have other places it could go too.” I tugged on her hair, drawing her head back so I could thrust gently into her mouth. “Someday when I’m spanking that fine ass, maybe I’ll do more. And you’ll let me. You’ll beg me to.”

Her only answer was to reach behind me and spank
my
ass hard as she hauled my dick deeper into her throat. There wasn’t any dark, dirty thing I wanted to do that my girl wasn’t down for. We were matched, right down the line.

I couldn’t help chuckling even as an inadvertent spasm of my hips nearly sent her tumbling backward. She never let go, lips or hands. Her throat undulated with every long suck.

Fisting a handful of her braid, I directed her the way I needed, cursing from the decadent pleasure of her throat opening up for me. Groans left me in staccato bursts, and another flex of my pelvis sent her clattering into the desk again. Her mouth never stopped working. Damn, I was so fucking close already.

Then my gaze zeroed in on the punching bag in the corner.

And the small hill of sand beneath it.

I
didn’t have
a ton of confidence in my ability to give head. Sure, I’d done it plenty of times. Other than with Tray, none of those times had ever been anything close to romantic. I wasn’t sure repetition had lent me any skill in that arena, but Tray had never complained.

Before today, he’d also never pulled out of my mouth when I was doing my best impression of a deep throater and walked away.

First time for everything, right? Especially bad things. Those particular ones you never forgot.

“Umm, hi. Wasn’t done yet.” I wiped the back of my hand over my cheek and shifted to watch him stalk across the room. He grabbed his waistband and dragged his pants up his legs, leaving me goggling.

That was one magnificent butt he’d just hidden from view. The handprint I’d left on the right cheek glowed red, a primal statement. Mine. All mine.

Take that, Brit bitch
.

“Have you been using this today?” He crouched in front of the heavy bag, running his fingers over the floor.

I frowned. Guess the BJ wasn’t happening. I’d been enjoying it too. His was the only dick I’d ever wanted in my mouth. The others…

The others weren’t allowed to intrude. My head was too full already. I had enough trouble keeping Darren out. I’d be damned if I gave an all-access pass to my thoughts to the men I’d sucked off for money in the back of the bar, back when I hadn’t valued my mouth as more than a way to make extra cash.

Amazing how a year could feel like more than a lifetime.

“No.” Sighing, I cleaned up with a couple of tissues then tugged up my pants. I pushed my boobs back into place in my sports bra and adjusted my tank. “I worked out in the gym today.” I’d needed to hit an actual body rather than a bag but I kept that part to myself.

Tray shot a narrow-eyed glance at me over his shoulder. “So I saw.”

The words he’d used sent a shiver through me. They were too close to
I see you.

Was the caller a reporter on the trail of a story? Some sensation mongerer? Maybe an old deluded fan from my fighting days? I just didn’t know. Waiting for their next contact was making me mental.

I hadn’t gotten a hang-up call today, which broke the pattern. Perhaps my stalker was moving on. I hadn’t freaked out and run—as I’d done the last time someone had decided to play phone tag with me harassment-style—so it was possible they’d turned their attention elsewhere. I so rarely hoped for anything that maybe the universe would give me a pass this time.

“Check this out.” Tray spun the bag around, revealing a large tear in the side. It wasn’t immediately visible. At least it hadn’t been to me, and I’d come into the office after I’d arrived two hours ago. He gripped the seam in both hands, holding it open so I could see the breadth of the cut—closer to a slash, possibly from a knife—while more of the bag’s sandy innards spilled onto the floor.

A fucking
knife
.

My vision swam and I stumbled back into the desk, catching my hip hard on the corner. I cried out, more from surprise than pain.

“Jesus fuck, Mia.” Tray shoved the bag away. He’d taken two steps toward me when the door banged open.

“Get your hands off her,” Giovanni snapped, falling silent as he took in the scene. Me leaning against the desk, my hair probably all messed up to shit, Tray halfway to me with the damaged bag twisting on its chains behind him. Tray’s shirt was still rolled halfway up his torso and his lips were smeared with my lipstick.

Whatever Costas thought was happening, clearly wasn’t.

“Excuse me?” Tray’s voice had gone to pure ice. “I don’t recall inviting you in here, Costas. So get the fuck out.”

Giovanni held his ground. “I heard slapping as I came up the hall, but I waited until I heard the crash and her crying out before I came in.” He swept his blue-black eyes over me. Coolly assessing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m f-fine.” Shock made me stutter. Who the hell ever tried to be my savior except Tray?

I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around my
boyfriend
doing it, never mind Costas, a man Tray and I had no love for. The fact that I’d willingly sparred with him a short while ago had more to do with right place, right time and my need for a workout than a lessening of my distaste. Nothing could do that. Not even him trying to play hero when he so didn’t need to.

Tray pulled down his shirt the rest of the way. Good thing since his torso was all scratched to hell from last night. Or a tussle with a wild cat in the underbrush. “Of course she’s fine. What’s your problem? Never heard people fuck before?”

“Tray.” The protest was halfhearted. I knew this was some kind of male peeing on a tree routine. Since I’d just engaged in one with big blue eyes out front, I couldn’t judge.

Giovanni crossed his arms over his broad chest. Tattoos rippled up and down his arms, the colorful ink covering every inch of his skin. “It didn’t sound like any freaky shit to me. It sounded like someone getting hurt.”

Tray strode to the window to yank up the blinds, flooding the room with sunlight. “The one who got hurt was me. She slapped
my
ass, asshole.”

“You slapped mine first,” I muttered, fighting a grin when Tray shot me the
look
. The look that said I’d better be quiet.

I’d listened to that look approximately…never.

“Yeah, I did. And since you were coming at the time, I didn’t think you minded.” Tray kicked the weight bag, causing the thing to erupt like a damn leather and sand volcano. Grains poured onto the floor, kicking up enough dust to make me sneeze.

“Sorry.” Tray grabbed the broom and dustpan in the corner and started sweeping up the mess. I sneezed two more times.

“What the hell?” Giovanni crossed the room, seemingly oblivious to Tray’s glower. For a guy who would’ve been a natural in a Nordic ski calendar with his surfer blond hair and ocean blue eyes, Tray definitely knew how to glare someone into submission.

If only Giovanni was paying attention.

“Who did this?” Giovanni demanded, turning to me. Evidently we’d bonded during our sparring session and I’d missed it. Who knew that a guy heaving you over their back would give them the warm fuzzies in your direction?

Then again, that wasn’t far from how Tray and I had hooked up, so maybe I ought to keep my better moves to myself when fighting with men who weren’t my boyfriend. Just in case high kick action activated a mystery switch in their peen or something.

“I must not have made myself clear.” Tray cracked his knuckles, loudly. “Get the fuck out of my office before I ram your balls so far up your throat your tonsils get jealous.”

“Tray, cool it. Unless you want me to take you by the arm and lead you out like you did with me and Little Miss Crumpet.” While I rebraided my hair, I met Giovanni’s gaze. “He didn’t hurt me. And if he had, I would’ve wanted it.” My neck went hot at the admission, but if Tray could be blasé about sex, so could I.

“What about the bag? Did someone break in?”

“Did you leave the door open?” Tray asked me before I could answer Costas’s question, glaring at Giovanni as if his hard stare alone could vaporize him.

“Guess I must’ve.” Shrugging, I moved closer to Tray and rubbed his arm while we studied the bag together.

My heart was still racing a mile a minute. I just wanted this all to go away. Most likely this had nothing to do with my phone stalker, but how could I be sure?

I didn’t want to deal with the fallout if Tray discovered what I’d been hiding. Even if I came clean now, he’d flip.

This whole business was screwing with my head. I’d worked my ass off to become the kind of person who faced things straight on—God, I was even in freaking therapy, and that was basically the anti-Mia way of life—and now I was regressing. Fast.

“It could be anyone. With all the new people who come in and out of here on a daily basis…” Giovanni pinned me with his stare. “You’re going to report this and go through the channels.” It wasn’t a question.

While I didn’t appreciate his tone, I didn’t react like Tray. He pushed in front of me, ready to take any and all invisible bullets. “This isn’t your concern. Got it? You tried to play Good Samaritan and it failed, so I’d advise you to get the fuck out of here before you need one to help you.”

“This may not be my concern but it’s not only yours either. Lots of people attend this gym. If someone’s causing shit—”

“Oh, I get it. You’re afraid your little girlfriend Vanity might get roughed up. Or are you more concerned about the other Anderson sister?” Giovanni said nothing, his mouth flattening. “If you think I believe for a minute that you’ve backed off there, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for, Costas. And that’s saying plenty.”

“Tray.” I gripped his wrist, forcing him to face me. What was his deal? He’d never liked Giovanni for obvious reasons—the fight they’d had last winter, the last of Tray’s career, being a big part of it—but he was positively rabid toward him today. “We’ll report it,” I said to Giovanni, though I didn’t take my eyes off my boyfriend. “Can you leave us alone now?”

“Fine.” Giovanni crossed the room and stopped in the doorway. “You might want to give her more credit, Fox. She knows her own mind. You’d do well to remember that.”

The instant the door shut behind Giovanni, Tray slammed his fist into the desk. “Did he mean you? Was he trying to tell me he knew your mind better than I do?”

“I don’t think so.” Smothering a sigh, I rubbed Tray’s back and gave in to the urge to lay my cheek on his shoulder. “I think he meant Carly.” Possibly.

I’d never been sure of anything when it came to Costas, except I didn’t like the guy. There was more to him than his ground-and-pound fighting style and the slick charm he used on the women who flocked to him. I just didn’t know if that
more
was better or worse.

Tray shifted toward me and brushed my jaw with knuckles that had already gone red. “He thought I was like my father. That I’d gotten pissed and decided to show you some ‘discipline.’”

For a moment, no words came. He’d hinted at trouble in his family before, but he’d never come this close to acknowledging that trouble was physical. That his father had harmed his mother…and maybe him too. “He made a mistake.” I covered Tray’s hand on my face with my own. “He doesn’t know you. If he did, he’d understand that you could never do that to a woman. Hell, I begged you to fight me, fair and square, and you refused.”

Tray glanced toward the window, a muscle ticking in his temple. “But what if I could?” He brought his gaze back to mine and the pain in his beautiful eyes made my breath catch. “What if I did?”

“That’s not you. You know that. I know that. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

“I’ve hit you. Last night with your tattoo…” He broke off and pulled up my shirt, his fingers tender as they stroked over my ribs. “I made you cry.”

“Goddammit, no. Don’t change what happened into that.” My voice shook, but not because I was afraid. I couldn’t believe he’d allowed such thoughts to take root for even a second. “I’m the one who wants to hurt. You give me that because you care, because you want me to feel good.”

“And you can’t feel good without it.” His eyes searched mine while his fingers caressed my heated skin. I heard the question—and the plea—buried in his words and damn if it didn't make my throat swell.

If I wanted pain, falling in love had been an excellent choice. It hurt all the time.

Not because of him. Because of me. I wanted so much to be what he needed. I couldn’t stand being part of the reason for the confusion and self-loathing in his expression.

“I…I’m not sure.” I wet my lips and tightened my grip on his hand. “I suppose I could try.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “I’m not saying I want wine and roses.”

“No, you’re saying you want to see what else we are besides slapping asses and rough fucks over a desk.”

He dragged his thumb over my side, rubbing his calloused skin against mine. Even while we spoke of changing things up, he was offering me subtle bits of pain. Smoothing the way. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s part of why he hit her. If he was an adrenaline junkie like me and never channeled it right. Maybe instead of getting it out through fighting like I did, he pummeled his wife.”

Only training kept me from rearing back at his statement.
Pummeling
his wife? Christ. We were more alike than I’d even realized. How much had Tray been hiding as well?

“No. It’s not about that,” I said quietly. “Violence isn’t about excess energy. It’s about wanting to prove you can control someone else. That’s not you.”

Questions whirled in my head but I didn’t ask them, not now. He’d never opened up like this to me before and I didn’t want to do anything to close the valve.

Of course, I’d never asked either. I’d seen the signs that something was off between him and his parents and instead of pressing to find out why, I’d gone with the easy answers he’d given me. His dad wanted him to be a lawyer. To be the respectable son he’d always envisioned. To live his life under his command.

Tray’s family might be wealthy, insanely so, but a gilded cage was still a cage. After my experience with Darren, I had more reason than the average person to understand that.

“Maybe it’ll be different now that I’m not fighting. I could get to the point where I just erupt. Look how I was with Costas.”

“Costas gave you a severe eye injury and handed you your ass when you weren’t used to losing. If it hadn’t been for that fight, you might still be in the game.”

“Handed me my ass?” His mouth twitched. “Honey, don’t sweet talk me so.”

I didn’t laugh. “You know what I mean. You have reasons to dislike him. Then all the crap with Carly, him lurking around her…you were trying to protect her and you still don’t trust him. All that shows is how incredible you are.”

“You forgot one vital element of why I was so pissed at Costas.”

“He practically interrupted us during sex?”

“There is that.” He stroked my lower lip. “He also got to fight you this morning. Probably had his hands all over you. You sweated with him.”

“Sweating. Oh yeah. So intimate.”