Strike (Gentry Generations) Read online

  “In this house?”

  I shook my head.

  He liked my answer. He liked it so much he reached down with one hand and broke the flimsy waistband of my thong. Maybe I should have been mad. The thing hadn’t been cheap. But it turned me on and I kind of hoped he’d get rougher.

  “Look at you,” he scolded gruffly, “so ready to get fucked on your pink bed you’re practically shaking.”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “When we met I wondered if you were an uptight good little girl.”

  “I’m not. That’s the last thing I want to be.”

  Dalton casually slid a condom on. “So what do you want?”

  I tried to pull him closer. “You know what I want. I want you to fuck me hard.”

  He seemed to be carefully considering the idea. “I think you need to do a little work first.”

  I was aching, frustrated, thrilled. “What kind of work?”

  Dalton abruptly rolled over to his back on the bed, settling me on top of him in a straddle. “Start riding,” he ordered.

  Our eyes remained locked as I guided him inside slowly, my muscles stretching to accommodate the massive invasion. He braced his hands on my hips but let me set the rhythm. It was fast, frenetic. I’d ridden him exactly like this before and every time I was astonished by how good it was, how powerful I felt with this kind of control between my legs. Dalton gave me the moment, holding back as I came and shook and then came even harder. Then with a low growl he tightened his grip and used my body with a savage urgency.

  “Fucking hell, baby,” he groaned he came.

  When I felt the last of the spasms subside I curled up against his chest. “I know,” I whispered.

  Dalton stroked my sweaty hair. “Come with me tonight.”

  “To the club?” I hadn’t returned to Aqua Room since that first disastrous visit. Dalton always let me know I was welcome anytime with any guests I felt like bringing but no matter how trendy the place was, the thought of being among the fast crowd still left a sour taste in my mouth.

  “To the club,” he said, yawning, “or you can just come home with me.”

  “But you’ll be working.”

  “And then I’ll be home. In the meantime you can relax, watch the sun set on the patio with a glass of wine and order the priciest room service items available.”

  I snuggled closer to him. “That sounds incredible.”

  “It could be.” He kissed me tenderly. “Come home with me, Cami. I want to wake up with you.”

  “I want that too,” I whispered and let him roll on top of me. We made out like teenagers, slow and exploratory. Until Dalton needed more. I was ready too, opening my legs and arching against him so that he could fit easily. But Dalton had other things in mind. His mouth was between my breasts, then on my belly, daring to move lower every second. Despite his big meeting he hadn’t shaved today. When I felt him between my thighs I shivered over the coarse feel of his jaw against my skin. It was too much. I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed the bars of the brass headboard and moved my hips in time to his tongue. I wanted to scream when I felt him withdraw and I looked down to find him staring up at me with a triumphant expression.

  “Say you’ll come home with me,” he demanded and punctuated the order with a torturous thrust of his tongue.

  I arched into his mouth, moaning freely and not caring if Cassie or the neighbors or the entire state of Arizona heard me. God, I wanted to come. I needed to come. My hands were slick with sweat and slipping down the headboard as I bucked against the sweet agony being inflicted by his tongue.

  “Say you’ll come, Cami.”

  “Dalton,” I gasped.

  “Say it.”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll come. Oh, god. Fuck. Dalton!” I trailed off into a small scream as the world exploded in brilliant colors behind my closed eyes and wave after wave of beautiful pleasure broke me and left behind a gasping, shaking mess. I’d never felt remotely owned by anyone in my life but at that moment Dalton Tremaine owned me. I wanted to inflict the same feeling on him so I got on my knees beside the bed.

  “Let me,” I whispered.

  He wore the strangest look in his eyes as he sat up and gently pushed my hair out of my face. “Cami, you don’t have to.”

  I responded by taking him deep in my mouth. He shuddered. He gripped my head with both hands and moved me the way he wanted. I was happy to cooperate. And when he came I swallowed without hesitation.

  “Damn, honey,” he panted and lifted me up, cradling me to his chest and then easing back onto the bed. There was never anything more right than the comfort of his arms. I could have stayed there. I could have slept there. Actually, I did sleep there. For a few blissful moments I dozed off and began to wander through dreams of starry skies and happiness.

  I bolted upright as if I’d been shot. “What was that?”

  Dalton sat up and listened. “Sounded like a car door.”

  My mother’s voice floated from the kitchen. “Cord, the coupon isn’t on the kitchen table after all. Can you check the living room?”

  Holy shit.

  My father’s answering voice was close. Too close. “I don’t see it anywhere, Say. You sure you didn’t stuff it in your purse?”

  The side door opened and slammed shut. “What the hell are you guys doing in here?” Cassie’s exasperated voice demanded from the kitchen.

  “We live here,” my father announced.

  My mother laughed and explained that she’d been saving a coupon for free movie passes and they’d forgotten to bring it with them. Had Cassie seen it by any chance? By the way, why was she still sitting out side when it was so hot? And who left a pair of shorts in the middle of the kitchen floor?

  Meanwhile, I was scrambling around on the floor in search of my clothes and Dalton’s clothes because we were both completely naked and he was just sitting there shaking with silent laughter, which made me want to kill him a little.

  “Put your pants on,” I hissed, hurling them at his head.

  I struggled with my shirt and ripped it in the process, then gave up and grabbed a pink throw blanket, figuring that if the worst happened and my father saw fit to break the door down for some obscure reason it was better to be covered than uncovered.

  Speaking of the door…

  I did lock it, didn’t I?

  In one of those frozen horror movie moments everything in the world disappeared except the door to my bedroom. Someone rapped on the wood three times.

  “Cami?”

  It was my father’s voice.

  “Oh Cord, I found the movie coupon!” my mother yelled from the kitchen.

  Dalton stood up and zipped his pants. He still looked terribly amused by the situation and I was seized with a sudden terror that he was going to casually open the door and greet my father on the other side.

  “Yeah, Dad?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound hysterical, hoping it didn’t sound like I’d recently enjoyed half a dozen orgasms and then given an energetic blow job.

  “You okay?” my father wanted to know.

  “Yeah. I was just, uh, meditating and I don’t want to break my pose.”

  “I see,” my father said and I shut my eyes, willing this moment to disappear, wondering if I could persuade anyone that Dalton was in here just moving furniture around at my request. Without most of his clothes on.

  “Cord,” my mother said and it sounded like she’d joined him just on the other side of the door. “Let’s go. We’re going to be late for the movie.”

  “Where’d you find the coupon?”

  “In my purse.”

  “I thought you looked in your purse when we were at the restaurant.”

  “I thought I did too. Is Cami in there? Cami, honey, are you not feeling well?”

  “She’s fine,” my dad said quickly. “Let’s go, babe.”

  As I heard my mother’s heels proceed down the hall I exhaled weakly. Dalton chuckled. I glared at him, wondering what in the h
ell was entertaining about this situation.

  There are several subjects must remain forever unacknowledged in order to maintain peace of mind.

  The first one is that your parents have sex.

  The second one is they might be aware that you have sex too.

  If neither one of those topics is ever documented then everyone will be much happier.

  “By the way, Cami,” my father called on his way out, “tell Dalton that there’s a thunderstorm on the way and I can see he was stupid enough to leave the fucking windows of his truck wide open.”

  My mother murmured something. Angus The Dog barked. The side door opened and shut as my parents left. I stood in my bedroom letting my father’s words sink in.

  “Oh my god,” I said with my head in my hands.

  Dalton hugged me. “Relax.”

  I reached for the nearest dresser drawer and pulled out some clothes. “I can’t relax. Every fiber of my being is cringing with abject mortification right now.”

  There was a soft knock on the door.

  “Sorry,” Cassie said on the other side. “I tried to distract them.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Cass,” I grumbled, pulling a tank top on.

  Dalton’s arms circled me, pulling me close. I let him. I breathed in the warm vaguely minty scent of his skin and rested my cheek against his heart.

  “I bet it’s been a while since you got caught in a girl’s bedroom by her dad,” I said.

  A low rumble of laughter vibrated in his chest. “Actually I’ve never been caught in a girl’s bedroom by her dad.”

  “Then I guess you’re not as worldly as I thought.”

  “I guess not.” He played with my hair. “You know, Wild Spring has one of the best golf courses in the state. I ought to make a courtesy gesture and invite your dad out for a game.”

  I jerked my head up to see if he was serious. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be the most awkward encounter ever. Anyway, you told me you don’t even like golf.”

  Dalton shrugged. “I don’t. But maybe it would help break the ice.”

  To my knowledge my dad had never picked up a set of golf clubs in his life. And I doubt he’d be excited to play any kind of a game with the man who was screwing his daughter. More than likely he’d be tempted to grab a club and take a whack at Dalton instead of the golf ball. But I couldn’t deny that Dalton was very sweet to have the thought. He wanted my dad to like him. And even though I didn’t need any more reasons to be crazy about him, he’d just managed to add one more.

  The sky was rapidly darkening outside. A flash of light was followed by a low growl of thunder.

  “Storm’s closing in,” I warned. “You should go see to your truck.”

  His big hands wandered up and down my body. “Can’t talk you into coming with me?”

  “I think I might have tested my parents’ patience enough tonight.”

  “You’re not a kid, Cami. You can do what you want.”

  “I know. You’re right.” I kissed him. “But I have to get up early for work anyway. There will be other nights, won’t there?”

  He pressed against me. “You’re damn right there will be other nights.”

  We found Cassie in the living room, sitting on the couch with Angus and reading through some antique cookbooks that Aunt Truly had found for her at some rummage sale. Aunt Truly was exceptional when it came to discovering such special little gifts. For my fourteenth birthday she gave me a set of fountain pens that I cherished to this day.

  Cassie smiled at the sight of Dalton and me together before she returned to browsing through her cookbooks.

  The storm looked like it might pass by to the south. That happened often this time of year, these fierce summer storms that brewed out of nowhere and vanished just as quickly.

  Dalton took his time kissing me out on the sidewalk. Then he backed up a step and studied me for a moment. “See you tomorrow, gorgeous,” he promised before heading to his truck.

  “Yeah you will.” I looked up at the streak of lighting in the distance. A question occurred to me as Dalton started the ignition. I poked my head in the open passenger window. “I mean to ask you something. Do you know a woman named Carmen? Like maybe an employee?”

  “Carmen.” He repeated the name and then slowly shook his head. “Not ringing a bell. Why?”

  I thought of the call from George Atwater. “No reason.”

  “You okay?”

  “Sure. I’m great.”

  He looked unconvinced. “Call me later if you want.”

  “Won’t you be busy?”

  “Camille, I’m never too busy for you.”

  I shook my head. “You’re going to ruin me by talking like that, Dalton Tremaine.”

  “That’s been my plan all along.”

  I stepped back and waited for him to pull away from the curb, wishing passionately I was beside him. I almost chased after him but instead I watched his taillights disappear and tipped my head to the sky in time to feel the first rain drops.

  I had been wrong about the storm passing by. It was here after all, directly over my head.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dalton

  Once every three months or so I get to feeling guilty about living only twenty miles from my dad and barely seeing him so I make an effort. I usually regret it almost immediately.

  Seeing Cami interact with her close-knit family might have been the thing that made me pick up the phone this time. My father was too busy to talk to me but said I was welcome to stop by for lunch at his new burger joint in Chandler.

  Actually his exact words were, “You can drop by for a few minutes if you feel like it.”

  As if he couldn’t care less whether I did or didn’t. But since we don’t get to pick our family and we aren’t all winners of the Gentry lottery I made the drive early one afternoon.

  I was sorry I did.

  My father’s barking voice reached me from the parking lot and I cringed involuntarily with the surge of rotten memories.

  “Oh get the fuck up. You don’t need any fucking water. You want to be a loser all your sorry life, kid?”

  Terry Tremaine was in the kitchen berating his staff over a ruined batch of French fries. He merely nodded coolly in my direction when I appeared and then returned to yelling at the fry cook. I ordered a hamburger combo at the counter and sat down at a table without knowing if or when my father would choose to join me.

  He emerged a few minutes later, looking harassed and irritable. It was his usual expression so I didn’t think much of it. He did offer me a handshake, which was more enthusiasm than I was used to receiving. I ate my hamburger and listened to him carry on about how everyone on earth had a shitty work ethic except for him and if he didn’t watch over all the details the whole world would go straight to hell. Sometimes I wondered how in god’s name my mother stayed married to this guy for nearly two decades.

  When he finally got around to asking how things were going with me I could tell he wasn’t impressed by my answers. I talked anyway, hoping something would spark his interest. I described the club’s success, the plans for the training center. I told him I was seeing a great girl who made me happy.

  None of it mattered, not to him.

  “What about the game?” he asked impatiently.

  I felt the scowl take over my face. “Game’s over, Dad. You know that.”

  “Because you threw in the towel,” he said flatly. “It was easier to give up instead of work hard.”

  My jaw tightened. “It was time to move on. I was designated for assignment. I never did fully recover after my last surgery and I was never going to play in the majors again.”

  He exhaled loudly, irritably, facing away and shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what kind of an idiot he was sharing a table with. Then he turned my way and gazed at me with familiar disdain. “You still have the talent, Dalton. You always did. But what you never had was the drive, the initiative. You never stopped being fucking petrifi
ed of success.”

  Something inside of me clenched and released. He had no idea what the hell he was talking about. How hard I’d worked, how much agony I endured trying to rehabilitate my way back to being the player I’d once been. When I was a kid I had no choice but to endure being called a coward, a pussy, a screw up. Things were different now. I had a choice.

  I stood up and glared down at him, this wretched man who was never happy with what he had. He was determined to be miserable. And he would always shove away anyone who might add some meaning to his life.

  “I feel so fucking sorry for you,” I told my father. “You’re just hell bent on being an unhappy bastard.”

  He shrugged, unmoved by the insult. “You only get one shot at greatness, kid. If you can’t hold onto it that’s no one’s damn fault but your own.”

  With nothing else to say I left him sitting there at the table. I didn’t even clean up my lunch tray.

  Instead of driving straight back to Wild Spring I took a turn around the old neighborhood. My father still lived in the same house and to my knowledge he lived alone. I wondered if it ever bothered him to remember the fact that he’d once had a family. I wondered if he ever heard the echoes of me and my brother running through the house. I wondered if there were moments now and then where he missed the rowdy noise of his sons a fraction as much as he missed the sports career he’d never really had.

  On my way out of the neighborhood I drove past my old high school. Summer school was probably in session. Chase Gentry might even be in there.

  Sometimes I thought I owed Chase Gentry more gratitude than I owed my own father. Chase was only my teacher for a year but it was a year when I had felt like I was drowning. My mother had gone in one direction, my brother in another. My father and I were the only ones remaining in the house on Canal Street and life grew grim. On the surface I had everything; good looks, varsity letters, more friends than I could even acknowledge. But inside I was sinking and somehow my teacher caught on to that. Or maybe he just went the extra mile for all of his students, offering a little piece of daily encouragement that meant the world. We’d kept in touch after graduation and last year when I found myself back in the valley he was one of the first people I contacted. Somehow I never got around to telling him that he was at least partially the inspiration for the training center. Because of him I knew that one kind adult can make all the difference in a kid’s life.