Heart Thaw (22 page)

His lips draw with aching softness against the side of my neck. His hands cup me under my jaw and his thumbs caress the sensitive inch of skin just under my earlobes. “One taste and you’re sucked back in. You need more.”

He sucks in my earlobe and laughs when I gasp at the nip of his teeth. “And more.” His mouth moves along my jawline. “And more.”

He finally meets my mouth and kisses me as hard as I hoped he would. I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist. He undoes my bra with one hand and presses my panties down with the other, stretching the lace over my thighs and down my knees.

My nipples press against the soft cotton of his t-shirt and my thighs are scratched by the rough denim of his jeans, but I can’t pull myself away long enough to undress him.

“Do you...do you have a condom?” I gasp after a long, sweet slide of his tongue against mine.

He shakes his head. “Shit. No.”

He drops to his knees in front of me and drags my panties down my calves, around my ankles, off. I’m completely naked, spread out in front of him, and his eyes roam up and down my body, drinking in every single inch.

“Can I…?” He nods to my naked body with his chin, closes his eyes, and pulls in a deep breath.

I sit up on my elbows, squinting at him, my brain too fuzzy from all the sensations spiraling through my body to make sense of his request.

“Can you what?” I ask dumbly.

His smile is slow and smug.

“How about I start, and you just tell me if you want me to stop. Okay?”

My heart hammers. If it was anyone other than Trent asking me, I’d be up and dressed by now. But I trust him. It’s not easy for me, with all my rules and hang-ups, but I decide to let go and trust him to make me feel the things that half scare me.

He shackles his fingers around my ankles and pushes my knees up, kissing the inside of each one, as he waits for my scratchy, “Okay.”

With zero hesitation, his mouth slides down the inside of one thigh as his large hands cup my ass and squeeze. I moan, and he tugs me closer to the edge of the mattress with one sharp yank, his lips skirting around where I pray, hope, wish he’d head. At the last second he detours up the inside of my other thigh and leaves me tight with frustration.

Trent ignores my impatient moan. He takes his time, sucking and kissing the lengths of my legs, his eyes flicking up now and then to meet mine. I want to lie back, but I can’t stop watching him devour every inch of my skin at his completely relaxed pace. He curls his hands up around my thighs, his fingers biting into the soft skin, and pulls them open.

Wide open.

“What are you—?” I start to ask, but he closes his eyes, nuzzles my hip, and asks me one sharp question.

“Do you want me to stop?”

A few seconds tick by. He puts his hands, palms down, on the mattress on either side of my body and sits back, patient and calm as a Buddha statue.

“You don’t have to be in control all the time, Sadie. You can let go.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, my voice shaky.

It’s the most intimate, the most vulnerable I’ve ever felt with anyone before. I’ve never been more exposed than I am at this second, lying open in front of him. And I feel guilty, like I’m not pulling my weight, like he’s doing all the work.

“There’s literally not a single thing in this world I’d rather be doing,” he says, the serious tone mixed with a mischievous grin. “But if you want me to stop, say the word. We go as far as you want to go, Sadie, no further. I promise.”

I’m not sure how or why it works the way it does, but the second he reassures me I’m in control, I want to give in. I’m trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement, but I know in my gut I can trust him to bring me pleasure beyond anything I can imagine.

“Please don’t,” I whisper, swallowing hard as the words tremble out. “Don’t stop, Trent.”

I can’t believe the whimper in my voice, the way I’m begging.

“I love hearing that,” he says, his voice tearing out raw and low.

He runs both hands between my legs, pressing his palms to the insides of my thighs and sliding them open again.

I’ve never felt so naked. Or so turned on.

“Do you like this?” he asks, and, before I can tell him that, yes, I love the way he’s touching me, he dips his head between my legs and licks me.

His tongue slides, long and slow, along every sensitive lip and fold. He only stops to swirl his tongue around my clit over and over, flicking in a rhythm that matches the jerk of my hips. For a few blissful seconds, I let myself go and sink into the naughty beauty of it, but then what’s happening hits fast and hard, waking up the logical, overthinking portion of my brain. I sit up in a rush and grab at his face, shocked at his grin.

“You control this. I’ll stop if you want, Sadie. Say the word.”

I know he will. I know if I ask him to, he’ll stop and hold me or leave or let me screw him or screw me—he’ll do whatever I want.

I brush his hair back from his forehead, staring into his eyes, which shine with a dare for me to do this thing that scares the crap out of me, but fills me with deep, hot desire.

My fingers curl slowly. I ball my fists in his hair, close my eyes, open my legs, and push his head back where it was.

He groans, low and hard, and his tongue goes back to work, faster now, and determined. Every nerve stands at attention, every cell in my body stripped and completely raw.

What I want to do is watch the sexiest guy I’ve ever laid eyes on kiss and suck at my body in this primal way. But he’s doing things that make me weak, and I’m forced to fall back on the mattress, my back arched, my thighs tight against his face.

I fling my arms out and fist my hands in the sheets, pull them up off the edges of the mattress as he licks faster, harder. My head shakes from side to side, and I feel like I’m holding on for dear life, like I’m going to freefall into nothing if I let go.

My toes curl, my hips buck, my entire world focuses on Trent Toriello’s mouth doing delicious, wicked things that make my body unravel and rip the breath from my lungs in ragged pants. His fingers are kneading at my thighs and ass in a frantic rhythm, like he’s enjoying this as much as I am.

Like we’re going in the same direction.

The same sexy, hot, incredible direct—

“Trent!” I gasp, sitting up.

My body starts to shake, low in the pit of my gut, radiating through my thighs, my hips, up and down my spine and over my ribs. I feel like my blood is electric, and I’m wound tight as a spring.

Tighter, tighter—

“Trent!” I cry, shaking hard against his mouth, my fingers knotted in his hair and pulling him close to my body.

In an instant the spring pops and ricochets through me, exploding like a fireworks display. My body spasms, and waves of pleasure lap through me. I let out a half-sob and fall back hard, immediately drained, boneless, a puddle. I feel like a master masseuse just finished a full body rubdown.

I test my limbs, but they’re not cooperating. Not at all. I’m not even sure I can sit up.

My eyes still work. Thank God. Because a satisfied Trent Toriello is a sight well worth gathering my energy to stare at.

There are lots of very fine places to choose from when it comes to looking at Trent—
very fine places
. But I focus on his face, which is currently sporting a proud, mile-wide smile. He looks very, very pleased with himself.

It’s a very sensible look for him.

He’s done…

What he did…

Holy shit.

What kind of magic did he just work over me?

“You okay?” he asks, pressing the hair back from my forehead with gentle fingers.

I try to speak, but I only manage some kind of strangled noise that sounds like a cross between a cough and a squeal. Since I cannot rely on words, I manage a weak thumbs up.

“So it was good?” he presses.

I moan. “Why are you making me talk? That was like some kind of spiritual experience, and I’m just trying to soak it in. Where did you learn to
do
that?” I demand.

“Sixth sense.”

“Do you want me to—?”

I pride myself in being very equitable in bed, but I’m not sure anyone’s ever demolished my every motor skill the way Trent just did.

As the tingle wears off and cold reality hits, it occurs to me that
everything
with Trent is so much more intense.

He makes me think more. He makes me feel more. He makes me want more.

I like it.

Holy mother of God, I like it.

But it scares the crap out of me.

“Uh-oh.”

“What?” I roll on my stomach and look up at him.

He traces circles on my back with the tips of his fingers. I want to lay my head in his lap and fall asleep.

“You look like you’re thinking. Even at two in the morning, after what seemed like a pretty decent orgasm—”

“A freaking
amazing
orgasm,” I correct.

“Well, you’re welcome,” he chuckles, leaning over to kiss me softly.

He smells like sex and
me
. It’s a huge turn on, and I’m shocked at how my body is already responding to him again.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“My pleasure.” He pulls back. “What are you thinking? Or should I even ask?”

When I don’t answer, he sits up more stiffly. “That bad, huh? Should I go?”

“I think it’s probably best. It’s not what I want, but it’s what makes sense.”

“You don’t want me to, but you think I should leave? You’re talking in circles, Sadie. Tell me what you want me to do.”

It’s a challenge. A dare. His shoulders are stiff, his back ramrod straight.

“I...what will we say? Tomorrow?” I stutter, not sure why he’s looking at me like I just pulverized his heart. He has to understand how tangled this all is.

“You’re not sure what we’d say?” he repeats.

Before I can explain, he gets up, rummages in the laundry room and tosses me a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, probably Ella’s.

“It’s cold down here, Sadie. Keep warm.”

I pull the clothes over with chilly fingers. He’s taking care of me, even when he’s storming out.

He turns on his heel, and I scramble off the bed, naked except for the blanket I drape over my shoulders and the clothes he brought to me clutched over my thudding heart.

“Why are you mad, Trent? We didn’t sleep here together last night. And that was smart. It made sense. It’s just logical that we don’t tonight. Right?” My voice extinguishes at his level stare. “Right?” I try again. “I mean, what changed in twenty-four hours?”

His eyebrows shoot up so high, they get lost in his silky black hair.

“
What changed
? You’re seriously going to stand there and ask me
what changed
between us?” He gives a sharp laugh ringed in disbelief and starts up the stairs. “Merry Christmas, Sadie.”

“Trent?”

He doesn’t turn around. I fall back on the bed and lie on my side for a few long, horrible minutes, knees pulled to my chest, trying to think about what I should have done differently, if anything.  I want to talk to him again, but I can already see the kind of sticky, turned-around arguments we’ll get at this late hour after this neverending day.

I mean, I get it, I’m not a moron. I understand why he’s upset. But I can’t just rush into all this. I told my mother I’d end things. I have to ease her into this...whatever this is even is.

If it’s anything.

I groan and beat the mattress with my fists.

What I
need
is space to think about it all.

But I don’t want to end the night with Trent this way. Then I remember—he doesn’t have a ride home! I throw on the too tight shirt and sweats and run up the steps, to the living room, where I figure he’s laid down to sleep on the couch, and I can at least tuck him in, let him know I do care, even if I can’t commit the way he wants as quickly as he wants.

But he’s not there.

I turn around in the living room, cluttered with gifts and illuminated by the brightly lit tree. Maybe he’s in the bathroom? Maybe he took a walk to get some fresh air?

The sound of an engine makes my neck snap up. I rush to the window and look down into the yard where Trent and Ella had a massive snowball fight this morning. There are headlights shining on the pitted snow. Trent is walking toward the waiting car, lanky and beautiful, hands crushed in his pockets. skullcap pulled low over his eyes. He leans against the driver’s side, and the window goes down.

A beautiful girl with curly hair and a model’s face sticks her head out, smiling wide just for him. They talk, laugh, but I can’t make a word out. And then he leans over.

Kisses her.

I
guess
like a friend, I
guess
innocently—but those are the lips he just kissed
me
with, ergo they are
my
lips.