8. Trick
8
TRICK
I shouldn’t be here.
It’s not like I planned this. I’m not some creep hanging out in bushes for fun. I stayed behind for a reason—to make sure Crow’s buddies don’t come sniffing around for her. From what I know of the kind of racket he’s into, they like certain types of girls, and a girl like Marie? A sweet, innocent thing with those big brown eyes and that way she has of making people lean closer when she talks? She’d go for a lot.
And that thought makes my stomach twist.
This isn’t some random girl we’re talking about. This is Marie. Preacher’s kid. The girl we watched grow up from braces and braids to…whatever the hell she is now.
I should be keeping watch, scanning the swamp, the street, the shadows under the trees. But instead I’m here, standing at her window like some creep. Watching her is not the assignment. I know that. But I can’t make myself move.
I mean, she’s always been shy—blushes if you so much as wink at her. But tonight, when she hugged her dad and ran inside, there was something else in her eyes when she looked at me. A flicker of…what? Invitation?
Maybe that’s what I want to believe. Maybe she’s having some kind of trauma thing in her head, and I’m taking advantage. I don’t know. But I don’t want to look away.
It feels wrong, sure. Like I’m breaking some unspoken rule. Me and the guys share everything—the house, the truck, the shop, the business. We’ve been sharing since forever. That’s what makes us work. But this? This feels private. Intimate. It’s not something you share. Not yet, anyway. I don’t feel too bad about it.
All I feel is the steady thrum of something I can’t name, pulsing under my hand and making it hard to think.
She’s a woman now, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her that way since the moment she came back from Boston six months ago, all long legs and a shy intelligence that drew me in. I told myself it didn’t fucking matter. She was still the same girl who used to hang around the shop, stealing glances at the tattoos and grinning when we teased her about her bookishness.
But she’s not the same girl. She’s a full-grown woman. And that’s what makes me damn hard. It’s not the fact that I knew her before. It’s the fact that I have no clue what she’s capable of now.
And I never would have thought she was capable of putting on a show like this.
Gasping for breath after she came, writhing on that little toy of hers…it makes me wonder what she’d do with something bigger. Makes me ache to find out.
It’s not just the heat of it that gets to me. It’s the fact that it’s her.
I shouldn’t feel this way. I know that. It’s all kinds of wrong. But I can’t help myself. I’ve been stroking it ever since I knew what she was doing in her bed. Her toy is quiet, but she isn’t.
Thank fuck.
Her naked body got me harder than a hammer in no time, and I couldn’t do anything but jerk off since I heard her moans. I can’t think straight. Can’t look away, even though it’s the right thing to do.
I gave up caring about the right thing a long time ago.
I lean my hand on the painted cinder-block frame next to her window. It’s my turn. I murmur to her, “Keep going.”
And thank fuck, she does.
Watching this pretty thing go at herself, it’s the stuff dreams are made of. Her sweet, soft body undulating, rocking, fuck. I want to be on top of her, feeling her do that. Making her do that.
It’s all I can do not to lose it right now.
But I don’t want to give her the wrong impression. She’ll never want to go at it for real if she thinks I can’t last.
The words come out harsher than I want them to, but I can’t help it. “Put it inside. Go in and out.”
She bites her lip and slides that toy inside her pussy, making me shake. Almost there. She works it back and forth, as if it’s me inside of her. My balls draw tight as sweat slides down my cheek. The familiar throb grows with every stroke. So close.
But then Marie whimpers, “Please.”
I grunt, “Now,” as I unleash myself, coming on the dirt. She grabs her pillow and holds it over her face, but I still hear it. Her cries of pleasure are imprinted on my soul.
Post-nut clarity hits hard. There’s no coming back from this. Not now. Not ever.
If she doesn’t close this window, I am crawling inside.
The thought alone is enough for my dick to try and stand at attention again. As I tuck myself away, I murmur, “Shut the curtains, baby girl, or I’m coming in there to finish this.”
That’s the only way I won’t tear into that house and into her.
As if under a spell, she stands up, and I’m even more stunned. Seeing her from a distance was one thing, but as she comes near to the open window, I can see every inch of her luscious body, and I need to pounce. I could knock the screen out of the way in a blink. I should just?—
She closes the curtains without a word.
The rest of the night is less eventful—just swamp critters and the occasional engine down the street. No people.
Pine needles and twigs crunch underfoot as I make my way to our house. The sun’s starting to rise, and dew coats everything, so my black boots are wet and shiny. It’s just a few miles away, not enough time to figure out what the hell I’m telling the guys.
I have to tell them, don’t I?
Yeah. I do. They’ll want the details.
But I know Sam is gonna give me shit. Hugo? I’m not sure. We’re all tight with Preacher, but he and Hugo have had each other’s backs more often than me or Sam. Only by circumstance, not by choice. We’d all be there for each other if given the chance.
Which is why I have no clue how to handle any of this.
Our house is a big place, all sleek lines and glass windows, perched on a hill that overlooks the parish. Hugo insisted on it when we were looking for somewhere new, something about needing “luxurious surroundings” to match his “refined sensibilities.” Sam and I gave him shit for it, but in the end, he was the one footing most of the bill, so we didn’t argue.
I kick my boots off at the door, my body aching from staying up all night, and head to the kitchen. Hugo’s already there, sitting at the marble counter with a mug of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.
“You look like hell,” he says without glancing up.
“Good morning to you too,” I mutter, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring myself a cup.
Sam walks in a few minutes later, his hair damp from a shower and his stubble shaved. Of course.
“You stay at Preacher’s all night?” he asks, his tone clipped but not unkind.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a long sip of coffee. “Didn’t see anyone else around.”
Sam nods, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “Anything happen?”
I hesitate. I could lie. I could say I didn’t see anything unusual, didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. They’d believe me.
But that’s not how we work.
“We need to talk about Marie,” I say finally, setting my mug down.
That gets their attention. Hugo raises an eyebrow, and Sam straightens slightly, his expression darkening.
“What about her?” Sam asks.
I glance between them, trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a total creep. “She…she knew I was there. Last night. On watch.”
Sam frowns. “Okay?”
“And she, uh…left the bedroom window open.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Hugo smirks, setting his mug down. “And you’re telling us this because…?”
“Because she let me watch her…” Shit, just thinking it now, I’m getting hard. “She let me watch her play with herself.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hugo asks, his accent peeking out.
Sam runs his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Trick. Are you sure she knew you were there?”
“It wasn’t an accident,” I say quickly, my face heating. “I mean, she knew, and she didn’t…she didn’t care. Well, not at first. At first, she started to play with her toy?—”
“There were toys?” Hugo asks, amused.
“Just the one—a vibrator—and when I realized what was happening, I made sure to say something and let her know I was there…but I had my dick in my hand before I could think.”
“You did what?” Sam asks rhetorically.
“Yeah, and I don’t know, we looked at each other, and it was like we knew what we wanted. I gave her a nod, and she went back to business. We ended up finishing together.”
Sam looks like he’s trying to process what I’m saying, while Hugo just looks entertained.
“Let me get this straight,” Hugo says, leaning forward slightly. “You think Marie wanted you to watch her in her bed?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, raking a hand through my hair. “But she didn’t close the window. And she wasn’t exactly being shy about any of it.”
Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jesus, Trick. She’s Preacher’s daughter.”
“Like I don’t know that,” I snap, my frustration boiling over. “You think I don’t know how wrong this is? I’ve been trying to ignore it since the day she came back, but last night…”
I trail off, my chest tightening. Last night changed everything.
“It’s not just me,” I say quietly. “You’ve noticed it too. The way she looks at us. The way she acts around us. She’s not a kid anymore, Sam.”
“No,” Hugo agrees, his voice calm and measured. “She’s not.”
Sam doesn’t say anything, but I can see the conflict in his eyes. He’s been fighting this as hard as I have, maybe harder.
“I don’t know if it means anything,” I admit. “But…I hope it does.”
Hugo’s smirk fades, and for once, there’s no teasing in his expression. “Aye,” he says softly. “Me too.”
Sam exhales slowly, his shoulders sagging slightly. “This is dangerous,” he says, his voice low.
“No kidding,” I say, giving him a small, humorless grin.
But dangerous or not, there’s no going back now.