CHAPTER 21
Jerico
I can’t remember the last time I’ve fucked the same woman monogamously. Obviously, I was monogamous with Michelle, but since her it has been nothing but one-night stands. Since the club opened, it’s just impersonal, kinky fucks. Prior to Michelle, I never had overly serious relationships because I was young and didn’t want one.
It’s been almost a week since I fired those three bitches and Trista made me rehire them. We’ve been carnal with each other every single night since so I know she’s not too mad at me. I was a little pissed at her though, making me take those girls back on. I never change my mind once a decision has been made like that because inconsistency smacks of weakness. Right now, those three women not only think I’m pussy whipped, but they also think I’m soft on my employees and business dealings. And fuck if I can figure out why I gave in to Trista on that. She was clearly distressed to be harassed by those girls, but even more so that I fired them. My original intent was to protect her, but I apparently made things worse. The thing that sucks about it is I normally wouldn’t give a shit about something like that. I wouldn’t have cared Trista was cornered, and I certainly wouldn’t have come in to her rescue. I most definitely am not the type of guy who would fire someone and then go to them moments later and take it back.
These thoughts plague my mind as I stare with mild erotic interest, as well as an undercurrent of distaste, at my computer screen. It’s video of Trista and me on The Deck last night. I don’t need the replay to remind me of the vivid details.
Of how I stalked toward her in The Social Room and pulled her from the hostess stand without a word. She didn’t resist, but I noticed her worrying at her lower lip nervously. I damn well know it’s because she was wondering what everyone was thinking of her. I made one concession when I hit the hallway lobby and asked her, “Do you want this?”
She didn’t hesitate in her response, but it was tentative. A light nod of her head, although I could still see the worry in her eyes about backlash.
“Are you sure?” I repeated. Even though my dick was already hard with anticipation of what I was going to do, I gave her another chance to say “no”.
Her words were clear and convincing so I accepted them, even though they made me feel weird at the same time. She’d said, “Yes, I want this. Besides, we have ten days left on our deal, then I won’t have to show my face in here again.”
“Are you that embarrassed?” I asked her, my gut churning that perhaps I was fucking her up in the head by doing things with her publicly.
She immediately shook her head. “Only to the extent of dealing with those looks from coworkers. It would be different if I didn’t work here.”
It had relieved me I wasn’t corrupting her, but it also reminded me… our time together was limited.
I certainly wanted to make the best of it, so I brought her out to The Deck. We hadn’t fucked out there before, and as I watch the video of what we did last night, I think it might have been the most intimately erotic thing we’ve done together. More so than me eating her out in The Orgy room while men held her legs, or fucking her with Kynan.
I simply pulled her out there, her sexy heels clacking on the clear, acrylic see-through flooring. Everyone’s eyes were on us and I didn’t need to look around to know that.
I felt it.
Everyone wondering why Jerico Jameson was interested in this girl.
What was so special about her?
I was trying to figure that out myself, almost the entire time I was on The Deck with her.
When I pulled her right up to the acrylic wall that let us see the glitter of Vegas but didn’t let the rest of Vegas look in, I turned her so the front of her body was pushed up against the glass.
I wondered about the special hold she seems to have on me as I pulled her dress up around her hips, pressed my body against hers so she was sandwiched between me and the wall, and then slipped my fingers into her underwear and got her off quickly.
You’d never know by the video that such deep thoughts were running through my head. Especially not when she came beautifully on my fingers, then I quickly opened my pants, freed my cock, and put a condom on. Granted… my mind went blissfully blank when I drove into her from behind while she stood pressed against the wall. Her palms were spread on the acrylic, fingertips trying to dig in. Her head was turned, cheek resting against the coolness, and she groaned as I moved slowly in and out of her. My legs were slightly bent to give me better upward momentum, and while I fucked her slowly, I did it deep. Every drive into her pussy, my hips rocked under and my ass muscles clenched violently.
I’m amazed as I watch that my hips have that much flexibility, but when I think about how good she felt around me, I know my body was reacting on its own instinct to maximize every single feeling between us.
Yes, it was the most intimate sex we’d had and we were fully clothed. But it revealed a few truths. One, Trista definitely has some type of hold on me. Funnily enough, she doesn’t even know it and I’ll not admit it. Two, not once last night as I slowly fucked her on The Deck did I get a rush out of doing it in front of other people. They all melted away, and I didn’t think about it at all. I only cared about how wet Trista was and how she made these cute little panting sounds as she rotated her hips, trying to encourage me to go faster. Even as I slid out of her after a massive orgasm that left my knees shaking and smoothed down her dress before I zipped up, I didn’t think about us being in the sex club.
There was only me and her.
“Fuck,” I curse as I realize something’s happening to me that is beyond my control. I tap on a key to stop the video playing and extract the DVD from my laptop. It’s a compilation of the greatest moments between Trista and me. While this would certainly make Jayce’s eyebrows raise, it’s nothing compared to the spectacular footage of her swallowing my cock while Kynan fucked her from behind.
“Jesus fuck,” I mutter a second curse and toss the DVD on top of a stack of printed pictures taken from the video, most of them impressive quality. There’s no doubt it’s Trista being defiled in a dozen different glorious ways.
My stomach churns at the thought of turning these over to Jayce. He’ll be disgusted, think horrible thoughts about his sister. He’ll be beyond furious with me, but that’s what I want, right? To dig the knife in. To get my revenge. To cause him the deepest kind of pain.
With a sigh, I pick up the pile of raunchy revenge. I push out of my chair and walk over to the mahogany built-in that runs the length of my office. It has cabinets along the bottom for storage of business documents, which are locked, and open shelving on the top hutch where I have displayed various knickknacks, photos, and objet d’art the designer picked out. And in the center, there is a large open space that exposes the wall behind. A framed print of Ansel Adam’s famous photograph of the Snake River in Wyoming hangs there. It was a gift from Bridger when The Wicked Horse Vegas opened.
I pull on the left edge of the frame and it swings away from the wall on hinges, exposing a safe behind. It was a stupid touch to put in when the club was built because I don’t have anything that secretive or expensive to protect within this office. I’ve never even locked it and long forgot the combination, knowing my office was secure with the digital security system on it.
I’m going to put it to beneficial use now.
To hide dirty videos and photos of Trista and me.
I throw them inside, shut the safe door, and swing the picture shut.
Shut it all out for now.
Turning, I head to the door and pull the black tuxedo jacket off the hanger before I slide it on. My tie is already in a state of perfection. It’s time for me to pick up Trista for an evening away from The Wicked Horse.
♦
Trista lives in a neighborhood that sits in between middle and low class. When I pull my Range Rover into the short, concrete driveway, I take in the small bungalow house that can’t be more than twelve-hundred square feet total. There’s a “For Sale” sign out front, and it surprises me. Trista hasn’t mentioned she was selling her home, and this kind of bugs me. Since I learned about her niece, I’ve come to know a little more about her because well… in between the fucking, there’s been some talking.
I know she dropped out of college in the middle of her sophomore year because she just didn’t like it, that she hates raw coconut but toasted is fine, and she worked for a douche of a dentist for years who fired her when she had to miss work because of Corinne’s surgery. Trista likes goofy reality shows like The Bachelor and Naked and Afraid because she says they’re so ridiculous they make her laugh, but the only movies she’ll watch are science fiction or fantasy because it’s worth the price of a ticket to be transported out of reality for a little bit. Fuck… I know she won a spelling bee when she was in third grade over the entire middle school, but I don’t know why she’s selling her house.
I make my way up to the front door. It’s still light enough outside to see, but the porchlight is on anyway. I’m not nervous in the slightest, because I keep telling myself this isn’t really a date. I have a black-tie function to go to tonight. When I asked Trista to go with me, it was in lieu of working at The Wicked Horse tonight. It’s part of her employment with me, so absolutely nothing to be nervous about.
Nope.
Don’t care I’m meeting her mom and niece.
I barely knock on the door twice before it’s swung open and I’m looking at Trista’s mom. They look unbelievably alike although her mom’s face is slightly aged and she’s a little curvier. But past that, the resemblance is astonishing. At least Trista will know she’s going to be a knockout when she’s her mom’s age, which I guess would have to be early fifties.
“Hello,” she says warmly and motions me into a small living room with a wide smile. “You must be Jerico. I’m Trista’s mom, Jolene.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, calling on my suave side I’ve cultured over the years since going into private business. I’ve had to schmooze with big wigs, including everything from U.S. senators to sheiks.
I’m prepared to engage in small talk if necessary, but Trista walks out of a small hallway wearing a beautiful, sleeveless gown I bought for her and had delivered today. It’s a deep sapphire blue and made of satin. It’s simplistic yet very elegant with a square neckline and thin crisscross straps across her shoulders. It drops wickedly low in the back. While it’s not overly tight, it perfectly silhouettes her body. She did her hair in a loose bun that sits low on the right side of her head with wisps of hair left out to frame her face and long neck.
She looks simply amazing as I drink her in, perusing her up and down. When I finally catch her eyes, she’s smirking at me. I give her a wink right back and tell her, “You look stunning. I’m glad the gown fit.”
Trista gives a one-time around twirl, and my throat goes slightly dry at her bare back. I sneak a peek over at her mother, who has one arm across her stomach and the other pressed over her mouth where I can tell she’s hiding an extremely affectionate and proud smile if the light in her eyes is any indication.
“So beautiful,” Jolene finally says. “But then, I’d say that if you were wearing a burlap sack.”
Trista rolls her eyes at her mom. “You have to say that. You’re my mom.”
Jolene laughs and waves off her daughter’s comment. Trista walks over to the couch and for the first time, I notice the little girl sitting there, reading a book.
Her niece, Corinne. She looks like any ordinary child would look, and I see the family resemblance although Corinne’s hair is darker than Trista and Jolene’s.
Trista bends over her, putting her hand under Corinne’s chin to lift it so she gets her attention. “Can you say hello to Mr. Jameson?”
Corinne’s eyes cut to me, and she gives a lackluster, “Hello.”
“Hi Corinne,” I say with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Her eyes drop to her book again, and Trista’s eyes go dim with worry.
Jolene walks over to the couch and sits down beside Corinne as she says, “Now, you two get out of here and enjoy your night. Corinne and I are going to read some books for a while and maybe watch a movie.”
Corinne doesn’t react, but I catch the look between mom and daughter that says all at once, “We love this little girl, yet we can’t make everything right in her world.”
Jolene gives a confident nod to Trista—a silent statement that she’s got it covered. Trista smiles and bends over to kiss Corinne’s head. “Night-night, sweet girl. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for pancake day, okay?”
At that, Corinne lifts her head and gives Trista a delighted smile. “Can I help you flip them?”
Trista makes a scoffing sound. “Well, duh. Of course you’re going to flip them, silly.”
Corinne giggles, and the lines of worry around Trista’s eyes disappear.
“Okay, we’re out of here,” Trista says as she turns to me with a smile. I hold my hand out to her, and she takes it. Turning to her mom, I say, “It was nice to meet you, Jolene. And you too, Corinne.”
Jolene gives me a sweet smile as she puts her arm around Corinne’s shoulder. I even get a shy smile from the little girl.
We walk out of Trista’s home and when we hit the sidewalk that cuts over to the driveway, I say, “Corinne having a bad day?”
Trista sighs in frustration. “Danielle was supposed to call her today but didn’t.”
Never met Trista’s sister, but I can categorically say I officially can’t stand either of her siblings.
When we reach the car, I open the passenger door and help her in. When she settles and starts to grab the seat belt, I ask with a jerk of my head over my shoulder at the realtor sign in the yard. “You’re selling your house?”
Trista grimaces. “Trying to. Had a buyer, which would have given me the equity I needed to pay off my… um… loan, but found out there’s a termite problem. So that fell through. I’m kind of at a standstill now because I don’t have the money to fix the damage.”
Oddly, I’m relieved that’s the reason she’s selling, and not because she may be moving away. I give her a nod and close the door.
When I get in on my side, I turn to her. “Do you need some money to get it fixed?”
Trista’s head snaps my way. “What?”
“Money,” I repeat. “A loan.”
Trista snorts at me. “No thank you. My indentured servitude to you is almost up. I need to get out and find a job with real benefits.”
I narrow my eyes at her. “I mean a real loan. With a long-term repayment and low interest. I’d help you out if you needed it.”
Her head tilts to the side. “Why? Your favor to Jayce has essentially been repaid.”
If I tell her the truth, it would be something along the lines of, “Well, Trista… see, I care for you. I think. I’m not sure. I’ve got all these crazy feelings that I’ve never had before. Not with Michelle. Not with anyone.”
But of course, I don’t tell her that because this thing will be over in ten days and we’ll go our separate ways. Whether I use my relationship with Trista to hurt her brother remains to be seen, but I’m not about to give in to admitting any of these feelings that might be nothing more than a passing fancy.
So instead, I just say, “If you need help, call me. If not, that’s fine too.”
“Okay,” she says hesitantly and before it can get anymore awkward, I change directions.
Leaning across her, I open the glove compartment and pull out a black velvet box. I open it and show her the contents.
Trista gasps as she ogles the diamond necklace in horror. “You said this wasn’t a date.”
I grimace, because I did tell her that in a fit of anxiety after I asked her to go to this, then hid behind my excuse that it was part of her job duties to me. “Relax, Trista. It’s on loan from a friend. It turns into a pumpkin at midnight.”
Trista’s chest decompresses with the amount of air she expels in relief, but then I reach into my coat pocket and pull out a much smaller box. Handing it to her, I say, “But… I did buy these for you to wear with the necklace. They’re yours to keep.”
I busy myself with taking the necklace out of the box to undo the clasp. It’s a beautiful graduated diamond tennis necklace that I think Helena told me was a total of ten carats. The diamond earrings I bought are each a carat, although I could have afforded much more and had contemplated something much bigger. But that spoke too much of things I wasn’t ready to talk about, so I went smaller so there was no pressure on either side.
“They’re beautiful,” Trista murmurs as she looks at the earrings.
“Here,” I say gruffly as I hold the necklace up. “Turn around so I can put this on you.”
I easily clasp the necklace around her neck, running my fingers over her bare shoulder when I’m done. I get a blast of satisfaction over the way she shivers. She turns back in her seat, taking her gold hoops out of her ears and putting in the diamond solitaires. Pulling the visor mirror down, she looks at herself with a smile.
“Thank you,” she says without looking at me. Her voice is so warm with affection, I feel my throat constrict. Almost as if she could sense my unease, she adds, “For a non-date… you know, actually just working tonight, I’m taking home a pretty nice haul.”
The tension within me releases, and I laugh at her. “Just the earrings, let me remind you.”
Trista grins as she turns in her seat to face me. She puts a palm on my thigh and squeezes. “Seriously… thank you. The earrings are totally unnecessary but totally appreciated.”
I smile back at her, feeling like I just won something. A prize. A medal. Something big and shiny that denotes I achieved something monumental here. I’m quite afraid the warm feelings I’m developing for Trista are the achievement, and I don’t know if that makes me happy or scared.