Never Say Never Read online

  "I'll think about it." She rolled onto her side, away from him.

  Usually, Trent pulled her into his arms, at least long enough for her to begin to feel sleepy, but this time he let her alone.

  It wasn't the unbridled enthusiasm he would have loved to have heard, but at least she hadn't said a flat out no.

  That was something, he guessed. And he would take what he could get, at this point.

  Chapter 5

  "He asked you to what? I know I've been gone for a while, but do what now? You're sleeping with your nemesis, the man you said you hated down to your toes, that you said you'd off yourself before you'd ever say a civil…"

  Stevie frowned. "Fuck you."

  Maureen simply held out her hand, which had Stevie frowning even deeper.

  "What's that about?"

  "You owe me."

  "I don't owe you shit, Mo."

  Her friend's eyes glazed over, like they did every time she waxed eidetic. "It was thirteen years, four months, two weeks and four days ago."

  That routine sounded eerily familiar to Stevie, and she didn't like it one bit, even though it wasn't a routine with Mo. She actually knew all that kind of shit. "All right, all right, what is it? Spit it out without all of the extraneous details, please."

  "I told you when you came crying to me after you'd met him and you were all 'I hate his guts' –"

  "That's a shitty impression of me, by the way. Too whiney."

  Maureen gave her doubtful look. "Uh, no, unfortunately, it's not. At all."

  Stevie blew a loud, tequila-flavored raspberry across the table at her. "And?"

  "So, you were hating on him, calling him names, gold digger and such, and we argued whether a man could be a gold digger."

  By this time, Stevie was glaring.

  And Maureen finally got the hint that death was imminent if she didn't get to the effing point. "You were so passionate about how much you hated him, I told you that I thought all of that emotion was just the other side of the coin, you know, and that you'd end up sleeping with him. I thought you were going to punch me out, right then and there, over the pot stickers at Chow's. You were so full of venom that you bet me a hundred dollars that would never, ever, happen. You said you wouldn't even fuck him with someone else's lady parts. So," she waggled her fingers. "Pay up. You know I need the money. I'm a teacher. I'm one of the working poor."

  "So do I, and so am I!"

  Maureen took a bite out of a mozzarella stick before replying, "Please. Your father owns a company that is awfully close to a Fortune 500, if not actually one. The man you're – for want of a better word – dating is filthy rich because of it. I, on the other hand, go home alone, to my one bedroom apartment and my ramen soup and my requisite single lady's cat every night, and he's a mean S.O.B."

  "You know my father told me from any early age that unless I wanted to work in the company that he wasn't going to let me coast on his own success. I'll get a small amount when…"

  She was totally unprepared for the tears that choked off her words.

  Her friend grabbed both hands in her own. "Steves, are you all right? What brought that on? Is he treating you okay, the man you always purported to hate?"

  Speaking of the devil made him appear at Stevie's elbow. And as soon as he saw that she had been crying, he didn't hesitate for a second to scoop her up and put her down on his lap, reaching for a napkin to blot away her tears and holding her tight to him when she would have slipped off his lap. Only when he'd gotten them dried, murmuring softly to her the entire time, did he turn to the woman who was sitting, with her mouth literally hanging open, to extend his hand.

  "Hi, I'm Trent Lazenby. You must be Maureen Belden."

  Maureen looked awestruck, and it took her a moment to respond. "Yes, I am. It's nice to meet you, too. I've seen you from afar, but I've never had the opportunity to meet you, under penalty of death."

  He smiled ruefully. "Yeah, that's pretty much how Stevie prefers me, too, from afar."

  "Trent!"

  "But I managed to whittle down her resistance some, luckily before we began to draw social security."

  That got both women chuckling, but Maureen was like a bulldog with a bone, much like Trent when he got his teeth into something, so she wasn't going to just let Stevie's tears pass without finding out why she'd been crying.

  And she had to admit that she was impressed by Trent's behavior with her best girlfriend. She'd seen his arms contract around her supportively, and he'd caught one of her hands in his, looking down at her as if he thought she was the stars and the moon and the reason the sun rose every day all wrapped up into one neat little package.

  "You haven't told her?" she heard him murmur to her softly.

  Whether she realized it or not, Stevie buried her face against his neck. "No. I haven't told anyone."

  "Well, it's your decision, my love. I won't tell anyone unless you say it's all right to do so."

  That got Maureen's curiosity going, and her relatively hardened heart melting, but she held her tongue.

  And then, unlike most men she'd ever known, Trent simply remained quiet, holding and rocking Stevie a bit on his lap, just being there and offering her the simple comfort of his physical presence.

  And what a physical presence it was, too! If she hadn't been Stevie's best friend, she would have given her a run for her money. The man was everything any red-blooded hetero woman could possibly want, apparently, and she would have given just about anything she owned to have a man look at her like that.

  She was going to have to get Steves drunk enough to spill the beans about how all of this came about. She'd bet it was one juicy story, and she wasn't going to get the full scoop in a restaurant, and especially not with Stevie's – obviously former – nemesis cradling her like a long lost child.

  "Daddy's not well," Stevie finally admitted softly.

  "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry about that." Maureen automatically reached across the table for her friend's hand, and Stevie leaned over to grab Mo's.

  "It's not...you know, going to happen next week, but the doctors didn't give him much more than a year or so to live, if he's lucky."

  She had not told her father that she knew. She wasn't even sure she could do that, at least not until she had to, and she had to admit that Trent had been nothing but supportive. He'd essentially said to her what he'd just said in front of Maureen, that he'd do whatever she thought was best; he'd back her decisions regarding it completely.

  Since her father hadn't mentioned anything to her about being sick at all, which didn't surprise her in the least since they were hardly bosom buddies, Stevie had decided that she'd follow his lead for as long as she could.

  "Please don't tell anyone else about it."

  "Of course not, Steves. No one will hear anything from me."

  And Stevie knew that her friend was as good as her word. Hell, Mo was better at keeping secrets than she was!

  Trent never did let her get off his lap, and she watched Maureen looking at them as if they were some kind of fairytale couple.

  And in some ways, Stevie could understand how she thought that.

  Trent was...well, the ultimate man…or rather, the ultimate man for her, anyway. He was very attentive, even when work kept him away from her, which it did quite often. He called her frequently just to say hi, texted her with updates about when he thought he'd be home from business trips or just home in general, emailed her stupid stuff when he was bored and Skyped with her at night.

  She'd never had sex via Skype before.

  It was an interesting experience, but it was no substitute for the real thing!

  She hadn't acquiesced to living with him, as he'd proposed that first night, but instead he practically lived with her, in her tiny place, except when he was going to be so late that it made more sense for him not to awaken her and to stay at his apartment in the city, but that was a rarity.

  He called if he was going to be late, and always brought some kind of
small present home for her. Even just something silly, like a mug that read, "There's a chance this could be tequila" – whenever he went away on business – and had already begun to suggest that she accompany him when she was able in the summers and on school vacations.

  Trent always asked about her day and, what was even more startling, he actually listened to what she had to say, asking pertinent and thoughtful questions, even remembering the names of and asking after her friends, like Maureen, even though he'd never met any of them until that night.

  And he was almost eerily perfect with her, loving, creative, strict but fair, and able to practically kill her with orgasms any time he wanted to, sometimes with barely a look. He was that damned good.

  One night they were at her place, as usual, and she was unexpectedly less gushing than usual, so she rummaged around in her nightstand drawer to try to find the bottle of lube she kept there.

  "Sorry for the delay," she said while still rifling through crap, finding everything but what she wanted. "Lip balm. Toothpaste. Shuh-der. Cat lax!!!" She dissolved into giggles at that idea.

  Not given to fits of unbridled mirth as she was, Trent nonetheless grinned. "Well, it would probably be slippery just by definition, I would think..."

  She never was able to come up with the bottle of lube she'd been looking for, because Trent had said something she'd heartily wished he hadn't. "Did you say toothpaste?"

  "No. Nope. Uh-uh. No toothpaste here," she lied baldly, sneaking the small travel sized tube back into the drawer.

  But no such luck.

  Sometimes having someone around who paid very close attention to you could really get you into trouble, as she was just discovering.

  "I saw that."

  Stevie went preternaturally still, like a deer in headlights. "Saw what?" She tried to sound innocent, but she had never been able to pull that off successfully, even when she was.

  From behind her, appeared a long, muscular arm roped with veins and it's equally impressively sized hand, fingers outstretched. He didn't say a word.

  He didn't have to.

  She knew she was already in trouble. He'd caught her in a lie, and she had no illusions that she was going to get by with a scolding.

  Not that she wasn't going to be scolded; it was just going to go hand-in-hand with what he had begun to refer to, not so delightfully, as a blistering.

  And, unfortunately for her, it wasn't a misnomer in any way.

  Stevie located the offending stuff and dropped it into his hand, which curled around it as his arm curled around her.

  But she didn't find herself over his lap, or bent over the end of the bed, or anywhere she expected to be. Instead, he leaned her back against several of the fluffy pillows that were scattered around her bed, rucked the t-shirt she had appropriated from him up under her arms, knowing that just being exposed to him like that, bare the rest of the way down, got her terribly excited, and slipped between her legs.

  This forced her to watch him as he put a dab of toothpaste onto his tongue.

  She couldn't control her urge to jerk her legs away from him, to close herself off, but he was much too fast for her, rearing back and binding her ankles together with one of his athletic socks, then looping them over his shoulders again and hunkering down between them.

  Stevie could smell the mintiness of his breath, and it made her stiffen her entire body as if she thought he was going to wreak havoc on her, her safe word, for the first time, on the tip of her tongue.

  Luckily, Trent was sensitive enough – at least when it came to her – to stop, noticing that she was behaving very unlike her usual self.

  And as much as he wanted her respect, he certainly didn't want her to be afraid of him.

  "What is it, baby girl?" he asked, keeping his tone mild and inquisitive, not wanting her to think he was angry with her in the least, because he wasn't.

  He was horrified to realize that there were tears in her eyes as she answered him, and that was all it took for him to immediately move to her side and cradle her against him.

  Stevie fairly blubbered her response. "I tried toothpaste once," she confessed, coloring a bright pink. He loved that she was still so easily embarrassed by things such as this. "When I was – when I'd just learned how to –" She couldn't quite say it to him "And it burned so bad! I had to go run and take a shower, and even that didn't help."

  Trent simply held her, rocking the both of them gently, letting her cry it out for a very short time, then taking a hold of her chin and tipping her face up to his. "I'm sorry you had a bad experience with it when you were – how old?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Mmm, you were a naughty one, weren't you?" He winked at her and was rewarded when she almost smiled back at him. "But, you're not fifteen. And neither am I. And despite the nefarious things I know you still think about me…"

  Her blush became almost neon, and she bit her lip.

  He wasn't wrong, and he knew it before he said it. He tried to live his life with as few illusions as possible, and this was one he had long since forced himself to face.

  "I would never, ever hurt you in a way that I knew you wouldn't get anything out of, unlike being spanked, which I think gives you a sense of security and being looked after that you didn't have while you were growing up. I've probably had a little more experience with this kind of thing than you have, and I would never let you feel abused there or anywhere else in any way, and an unpleasant burning sensation in that region would definitely qualify. I know it goes against your religion," he teased, trying to joke with her, "But a little trust in me wouldn't necessarily be out of place in this situation."

  He knew he should have known better than to try to be funny when what he said had the opposite effect than he had intended, and she burst into tears, wailing, "I'm sorry!"

  As he held her, he vowed out loud, "That's it. From now on, I'll leave the comedy to Chris Rock."

  Eventually, she calmed down. Unlike most men, he didn't spend his time trying to get her to stop crying. He simply held her and comforted her, letting her cry it out, then explained gently that he had been trying to be flip and funny and had, of course, fallen flat on his face.

  "But I meant what I said. I know what I'm doing and you're safe with me."

  And overall, as much as she might not like to admit it, she did feel that he did his best to protect her.

  As he took his place between her legs again, he reminded, "You're still getting a blistering for lying to me and trying to hide the toothpaste, though, but I'll keep you safe through the whole thing."

  Stevie rolled her eyes. "Your idea of safety..."

  She still shuddered when she watched him put a tiny dab of the stuff on his tongue, but she couldn't object to how it made her feel, which was nothing like what she'd experienced years ago.

  It was a lovely, intense tingle, but nothing frightening or painful. He swirled his tongue all around those sensitive tissues, setting every bit of them on edge, then leaned back, as far as her ankles around his neck would allow, and blew on them.

  The intense, acute sensations had Stevie arched up off the bed as best she could. He had made it a rule that, when he was loving her with his mouth, she was to keep her arms at her sides unless told otherwise. She had a tendency to try to reach down and not just touch him, which he wouldn't have minded in the least, but try to push him away, and that, plus the way her legs were trapped around his head, had her in an unusual position. She shuddered her way back down as he reached up to tweak a nipple and lap at her from top to bottom then back again, excruciatingly slowly, paying rapt attention to all of her most sensitive spots in between, and finally engulfing her clit in his surprisingly cool but deliciously warm at the same time mouth.

  That obscene contrast was what got her, what brought her to the brink and left her there as he applied all his talents to keeping her just this side of the chasm she so desperately wanted to jump into.

  At one point, spurred on by the way she was trying to
writhe while still obeying him, her expressive whimpers and moans and mewling and the way her hips rose to offer herself as a sacrifice to his appetites for her, Trent raised his head and lay his chin on her mons and caught her eye.

  "You are amazingly beautiful like this. If I could, I'd keep you on the verge of an orgasm every minute for the rest of your life." She watched the big man shudder. "You make me want to take you, in the most raw, primal sense of the word."

  And seconds later, after he'd thrown her into the abyss himself, he did his best to follow her into it. Leaving her ankles bound and rolling them both, with her landing atop him, so that her back was to his front, he jammed his swollen to purple cock inside her. He inserted his legs between hers and then spread them, forcing hers wide apart while he used his strength to press her down onto him every time his hips lifted himself into her.

  She was still contracting hard around him, and his fingers on her clit, squeezing just slightly, tapping the very tip lightly, then rubbing along the sides had her literally howling with her second release.

  And he was only just beginning.

  By the time he disconnected himself from her, she oozed bonelessly off him to lie there in a completely used up, helpless heap.

  They slept, with him wrapped protectively around her, for an hour or two, but his rumbling stomach woke him, and when he got up to pee she noticed the distinct lack of heat and woke up herself, following after him into the bathroom.

  As was his habit, he remained awake until she returned and he could wrap himself around her again.

  But the beast had awakened within her, too.

  "I'm hungry," she whispered loudly.

  "You have a spanking coming, too," he mentioned.

  "I'd rather eat," she stage-whispered back.

  His lips found that tender spot just beneath her earlobe. "Eat first, spank later."

  "Eat first, sleep later."

  "You'll sleep better after you've been spanked. You always do. You're more obedient, too, for a couple days, anyway."

  Preferring not to dwell on the punishment aspect of what had rapidly become her life with him, Stevie got up and went into the kitchen, returning in a relatively few minutes with a large, flowered, oval tray, on which three ramekins sat, surrounded by all sorts of edible finger food goodies.