To Catch A Cheat Part 26

"No time like the present." He grabbed the box of flavored condoms, took the remote from her, and then grabbed her hand.

"Does that mean you're going to take the day off?" she teased, as he led her to the bedroom.

He grabbed both sides of the s.h.i.+rt she was barely wearing, since only two b.u.t.tons in the center held it on her body, and he yanked them apart. The b.u.t.tons popped obediently off and landed softly on the floor, and the s.h.i.+rt quickly followed.

"Oh, no you don't," Marissa said. "This time, you're not starting on me until you're naked, too."

"Gotta love a lady who gives orders," he said and wasted no time unfastening his jeans, then dropping them to the floor. His erection held her momentarily speechless, and she reached out to stroke the hard length that she'd tasted only moments ago.

"I want you inside me," she whispered.

"Which is exactly where I want to be." He picked her up and laid her on the bed, and while she watched, he sheathed his p.e.n.i.s with a condom. Marissa squinted at the wrapper. "Oh, no," he instructed. "Don't even think about investigating the flavor of this one. I can't wait long enough to let you taste it, not this time. I've wanted inside you all week, and besides, you've already thoroughly tasted me."

She licked her lips. "You were delicious."

"You're going to be the death of me, Rissi," he said, grinning as he climbed onto the bed and boldly eyed her nudity. He moved between her legs, then leaned over her, those smoky eyes drinking her in as Marissa sucked in a breath and waited for him to push inside. It'd been a long time, way too long, since she'd had a man inside her, and more than that, she'd never had Trent, and that was what she wanted more than anything. Bracing his weight on one arm, he ran his fingers through her hair, then softly kissed her lips. "Rissi?"

"Yeah?"

"I know you want to try that vibrator, and I do, too," he said, running the back of his hand down the length of her neck, then trailing his fingertips across her right breast. He caressed it, then leaned down and kissed the aching tip. "But this time, our first time, I want it to be just us."

Oh. Wow.

Rissi nodded. Sure, she wanted to try out all of Amy's things, but what she really wanted, more than that, was to be one with Trent, without any more obstacles than a condom between them.

"And," he said, his voice almost a growl.

"And?"

"And I'd planned to take the first time slow and easy, to show you how much it means to me that you're letting me have you, completely . . ."

Rissi waited, knowing a "but" was coming.

He took a deep breath, let it out slow. "But I'm afraid this time won't be slow, or easy. I want you so bad it hurts."

She pressed her elbows against the bed and leaned up, kissed him pa.s.sionately, more than merely exploring him, but feeding on his desire, and hers. Her tongue mated with his, as his body rolled on top of hers and his p.e.n.i.s nudged her center. Then Rissi broke the kiss and trailed her lips along his jaw, to his neck, and she sucked the s.e.xy curve between his neck and shoulder, then bit him hard. "I don't want slow and easy," she said, arching her hips to put her hot center against his rock-hard length. "I want hard and fast and fierce, and I want it now."

Trent pushed her shoulders against the bed, then claimed her mouth with unreserved intensity, his lips pressing almost painfully against hers, but her body reveled in the torture, and in the undeniable sensation of his p.e.n.i.s pus.h.i.+ng against her wet opening, and then forcefully pressing inside. She pushed against the sweet invasion and screamed in hot, delicious pleasure as he moved powerfully within her intimate core and set her climax free.

The only thing better than hot and spicy food is a hot and spicy woman to share it with.

-TRENT J JACKSON

Chapter 22.

Marissa inhaled the zesty aroma of green onions, yellow onions, and bell pepper, as the vegetables sauteed in a big glob of b.u.t.ter that definitely proved Cajun chefs didn't count fat grams. Her personal chef leaned against her and pressed his pelvis against her behind.

"How's it going?" he asked against her ear.

She wasn't completely certain he was talking about the food, since they'd been "going" very well all day. They never stopped for lunch, instead deciding to christen every room of the apartment, and the hot tub, and make certain to try out each and every one of Amy's marvelous toys. Marissa still tasted a hint of caramel apple ma.s.sage oil on her tongue, along with more than a hint of Trent. In fact, their only brief break occurred when the delivery guy brought the groceries, and even then, Trent pinched her behind every time the guy wasn't looking.

He wrapped his arms around hers and gently moved her wrist to help stir the veggies, while she rocked against him and hummed her contentment. So this was what cooking with a man was like. She definitely had waited too long to try it. Then again, she rarely cooked at all, with a man or without, but she vowed to change that. This was fun, preparing her own meal, and something that was actually edible at that. Or she a.s.sumed it would be. They weren't done yet.

She tilted her head toward his, which was covered in the tall white hat he'd worn last night. "Where did you get that?" she asked, a giggle creeping forward at the end of the question. He looked hilarious with that Pillsbury doughboy thing sitting above his fine chiseled face. It looked extremely odd . . . and undeniably charming.

He smiled, kissed her cheek, and then winked. "Go on, admit it. You like me in a hat. Women find hats s.e.xy," he said. "I read that somewhere."

"I don't think I'd consider that the type of hat we find s.e.xy," she said. "When I think of a s.e.xy hat, I think of a Stetson, or a baseball cap, or even a derby kind of thing, but I can't say I've ever thought of anything remotely like this when I thought of a guy in a hat. And I definitely have never considered a chef's hat in the s.e.xy category," she said, turning back toward the pot and stirring.

He stepped away from her, and she heard a familiar rustle of clothing, and then something hit the floor. Before she turned to look, she suspected she knew what she'd see, but it didn't make the vision any less surprising. Or outrageous.

"You are absolutely crazy," she said, staring at the naked man in the kitchen, particularly at the most prominent part of him. Then it moved. "Oh, my."

"Dare you," he said.

"To what?"

"Cook. Naked." He turned and opened one of the kitchen drawers and withdrew another chef's hat. "Or, you can wear this, and we'll match."

She laughed. "And what will I do if any of this pops out on me?" she asked, pointing to the hot bubbling b.u.t.ter and veggies in the pot.

He grinned, dropped the hat back in the drawer, then scooped up his jeans and slid them on. "Okay, you've got a point, but someday, we're going to cook naked together."

Marissa smiled and decided not to tell him, again, that this was their last day together. She'd enjoyed spending time with him, having s.e.x with him, learning how to cook with him, and basically, doing everything with him for the past few days. But that was all it could be, a few days of no-strings sensual entertainment, because no matter how much she tried to convince herself that she could actually give a relations.h.i.+p with Trent Jackson a go, she knew she wouldn't.

He moved beside her, then added garlic powder and paprika to the mixture in the pot. "Okay, darling, since we're cooking with our clothes on, we might as well keep this show rolling. Stir that for me."

Marissa did, but she also wiggled her behind against the front of his pants in the process.

"Hey now, you were the one who didn't want to cook naked," he reminded her, opening a can of golden mushroom soup, pouring it in, then adding a can of water. "Keep stirring."

"Yes, sir, Chef Trent."

He nodded his approval at the rich brown mixture in the pot, then added a pound of crawfish tails. "Looks perfect. Now we let it simmer twenty minutes, and then we'll be ready to taste your first crawfish etouffee."

"You don't mind having it again tonight?" she asked, stirring the crawfish into the gravy.

"Are you kidding? I could eat etouffee every meal of every day for a week, and still want more. That's the Cajun in me, I guess."

"Amy and Candi won't believe it when I cook for them."

"Or when we cook for them," he said and gave her that s.e.xy smile that made her knees turn to jelly.

"Trent," she started, but stopped when her cell phone rang in the living room. "Can you take over?" she asked, kissing him softly before edging away.

"Oh, sure. I knew somehow you'd turn this around and have me cooking for you again, darling. I'm learning how you operate, and just so you know, I'm onto you."

"Yep, I've been planning for the phone to ring at precisely this moment all night," she said, punching the Talk Talk b.u.t.ton. "h.e.l.lo." b.u.t.ton. "h.e.l.lo."

"Marissa?" Mona said, her voice barely audible over the loud music and squealing voices in the background. "Is that you, dear? Can you hear me, honey?"

"Mom?" Marissa sat on the couch and pressed the phone closer to her ear. "I can hear you, barely. Can you speak up? Are you at one of the shows?"

Mona giggled into the phone. "Oh, baby, we left Branson last night." She laughed some more.

"I thought the senior center bus wasn't heading back until tomorrow." Evidently her concern was evident in her tone, since Trent switched off the stove, shoved the pot to the back burner, and came to sit beside her on the couch.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I don't know," she whispered. "Mom? Are you still there?"

"Yes, baby. You know, I shouldn't have called. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow. It's just that I'm so excited. The happiest night of my life, really, and I wanted you to know."

Marissa swallowed, tried to control her racing pulse. "Mom, you've been drinking, haven't you?" Mona Kincaid couldn't handle alcohol, at all, which was a big reason that Marissa never drank more than a margarita. She'd seen what happened when her mother did, but every time before, Mona had ended up crying as though she'd lost her best friend. Or, more accurately, like she'd lost her husband. Every time Daniel Kincaid had waltzed out of her life-correction, their their lives-Mona had turned to a drink, or five, and Marissa ended up having to help her mother through the pain. But there had been years without her mother getting upset and smashed over Marissa's father. And Mona wasn't upset now. In fact, she was laughing hysterically. "Mom!" Marissa repeated with conviction, "Tell me where you are." lives-Mona had turned to a drink, or five, and Marissa ended up having to help her mother through the pain. But there had been years without her mother getting upset and smashed over Marissa's father. And Mona wasn't upset now. In fact, she was laughing hysterically. "Mom!" Marissa repeated with conviction, "Tell me where you are."

"I'm at my wedding reception, honey. In Gatlinburg. Remember that little white church on the mountain, the one where I said if I ever got married again, I'd get married in that church? Well, that's where we got married, and now we're celebrating. I'm sorry, sweetie. I wish you could've been here for the wedding, but we were so anxious"-more giggles-"and it's such a dream come true."

Marissa's breath came in sharp, harsh pants. Her mother was married? To whom? "Mama," she said, working hard to keep her voice calm. "Who did you marry?"

Trent leaned forward as though trying to hear the conversation through the tiny phone, but Marissa couldn't look at him. She closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle. Don't say you've done it again, Mama. Don't say you've done it again, Mama.

For some reason, her simple question caused a fit of belly laughter to echo through the line. "Oh, baby, you know better than to ask that," Mona finally said. "But here, I'll let him tell you."

Marissa held her breath, and listened to her mother calling to her new husband. Her husband. Her husband.

"Honey!" Mona yelled, then lowered her voice as Honey Honey apparently neared. "Did you get me another piece of cake? Oh, thank you, dear. b.u.t.ter cream is my favorite, you know. Hey, come here, baby. I've got someone on the line who wants to talk to you." apparently neared. "Did you get me another piece of cake? Oh, thank you, dear. b.u.t.ter cream is my favorite, you know. Hey, come here, baby. I've got someone on the line who wants to talk to you."

The distinctive chorus of "You Make Me Wanna Shout" filled the air, and a loud clunk indicated that Mona had either dropped, or thrown, the phone.

"Hang on. Sorry about that," the deep baritone said into the line. "I apologize. My-my wife called you by mistake, I believe. May I ask who I'm speaking with?"

Marissa's head pounded feverishly. She didn't have to ask any more questions. She knew. And the realization pierced her like a knife to the heart. It was starting again. No, it had had started again. And, as always, she would be the one picking up the pieces. started again. And, as always, she would be the one picking up the pieces.

"h.e.l.lo?" the familiar voice repeated. "Is anyone there?"

She swallowed, frowned at Trent, then answered. "Hi, Daddy."

"Oh. Rissi," he said, clearly at a loss for words, something rare for Daniel Kincaid. "Mona, you called Marissa?"

"I wanted her to know how happy we are, honey," Mona said over the music in the background. Then Marissa heard the smacking of her mother's kisses. She was probably swooning all over him, something that he was used to, when it came to her. The whole idea of it made Marissa's stomach churn.

"Listen, sweetheart," he said into the line. "I know what you're thinking, but this isn't like before. Really. There's a lot going on here-a lot that's been going on-that you, well, you don't know about yet. We were going to wait and talk to you in person tomorrow, but your mother wanted to celebrate with champagne, and I guess she decided to call you while I went for more cake."

"Daddy," Marissa said, her head throbbing. "Are you sure that . . ." She couldn't even finish the sentence.

"I won't hurt her, Rissi. I swear it."

"Let me talk to her, hon," Mona said, and apparently took control of the phone. "We'll tell you all the details tomorrow, sweetie. But I wanted you to know how happy I am, how happy we both are. This has been the best week of my life. A dream, really."

Marissa nodded. This had been the best week of her life, too, a dream, with Trent. But now, with one phone call, it'd turned into a bit of a nightmare, and one she'd had before. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Mom. I'm glad you're so happy."

"Thanks, sweetie. And tell that sweet Trent h.e.l.lo for me, okay?" She disconnected, and Marissa dropped her cell phone on the couch.

"My parents got married."

Trent's face was solemn. Obviously, he'd picked up on the fact that this wasn't exactly a joyous occasion, at least not for Marissa.

"I don't think she can handle it if he does it again."

"You mean if he cheats on her again?" he asked, apparently trying to offer supportive conversation.

While she didn't exactly need support, she did need to talk to someone, and through the past couple of days, she had bonded with him, not only s.e.xually, but emotionally as well. They were learning about each other again, in a different way than they had as children, and right now, he was about to learn plenty about Marissa, and her crazy family. "That was why we moved that year, when I was thirteen. His cheating. I think I told you before," she said, her mind fumbling over their conversations the past few days. "Anyway, we left, and they stayed apart until I graduated from high school. Then Daddy came down to see me graduate, they ended up in bed together, and before you knew it, she married him. Again. She moved back to Atlanta, and I stayed in Florida, thinking my life was finally taking a turn toward normalcy. And then, halfway through college, she calls me from Atlanta crying, saying he'd found someone else. Again."

Trent nodded, and frowned. "What did you do?"

"Moved out of the dorm and got an apartment near campus, so she could come back down and live with me until I got my degree. Then after school, I got a computer-programming position in Tallaha.s.see, and Mom stayed there with me. She got a job working at the Tallaha.s.see Democrat Tallaha.s.see Democrat as an ad rep, but she never really adjusted to Florida. However, she said she didn't want to move back to Atlanta, where her friends were, by herself." as an ad rep, but she never really adjusted to Florida. However, she said she didn't want to move back to Atlanta, where her friends were, by herself."

"She wanted you to move back, too."

Marissa nodded.

"And you did."

Another nod. "I know it sounds crazy, but she really needed me. She needed to know someone wasn't going to leave her."

"The way your father did."

"Yeah."

Trent took an audible breath, eased it out, then wrapped his arm around her and gently folded her into his embrace. "Maybe it'll be different this time," he said, his hand gently moving over her spine. He was trying his best to make her feel better, to make her find a glimmer of hope that perhaps this situation was a good thing, perhaps her father wouldn't cause another heartbreak and run. But Marissa couldn't get over the truth of the past.

She shook her head against Trent's chest. "I can't even think that way," she whispered. Then she eased away from him and fought the tears burning for release. "I'm sorry, Trent. I really want to be alone and think. If it's okay with you, I'm going to take a hot bath and go to bed."

"You don't want to eat something?" he asked, and even though Marissa hadn't had a bite since breakfast, she suddenly had no appet.i.te whatsoever.

"No."

"And I suppose you don't want company, a friend, to hold you while you sleep?" he asked, and the concern in those smoky eyes touched her heart.