In the Wake of Wanting (41 page)

“I will.”

“Still,” Coley says. “He was just walking me up to tell me good night. I mean… it’s one thing that we were on a date. I’m definitely staying in the guest room,” she avers.

“Definitely,” I agree.

“Guys!” Pryana interrupts. “We don’t care. As long as I’m not putting you out, Coley.”

“No, not at all. Trey’s a really generous host. The bed is more comfortable than any bed I’ve ever slept on, the guest room has its own private and
pristine
bathroom, he puts candy on your pillow, he gives you a glass of ice, cold water before you go to bed, and he has your favorite coffee waiting for you when you get up.”

“That sounds amazing,” Pryana says. “Not sure he’d do that for just anyone…”

“He’d do it for you,” Coley says, nodding her head as she carries her bag to the bathroom.

Pryana moves to Coley’s bed and settles in under the covers. “Pree, did something happen at your place to scare you?” I ask her.

“Just a bad dream,” she says. “I keep having them.”

“I wish I could help.”

“I wish we could get him behind bars for good.”

“I do, too. Danny’s the best lawyer in the state,” I tell her. “With the best firm. Asher’s team plays dirty, but I have to believe the good guys are going to win this. I know all his best players are on your case.”

“I know. Your dad is so kind for hiring him.”

“My parents want justice to be served, too.”

“Thank them both for me. Will you?”

“Of course.”

“Are you ready?” Coley asks me.

“Yeah. Good night, ladies. No more nightmares, Pree. Carman’s your safe place. Get some sleep.”

“I will,” she says.

As we ride down the elevator, I take her bag and then look seriously at Coley. “Don’t oversell my generous host qualities, or I may have Pryana staying in my guest room next time instead of you staying in my bedroom. And for the record, I’ve never done that stuff for anyone.”

“Not Za–”

“Not anyone,” I speak over her.

After walking back to my place, we head upstairs, and Coley deactivates my alarm–just because she can. I make sure she reactivates it correctly before setting her pillow and bag in my bedroom. I shrug out of my jacket and hang it in my closet, leaving my shoes in there, too.

“Are you expecting any calls tonight?” I ask her.

“No.”

“Phones off,” I suggest. “I want to live in this Trey and Coley bubble tonight, and I don’t want to be bothered.”

“I like that,” she agrees, handing me her phone. I turn them both off and set them on the kitchen island.

After we both freshen up a bit, I meet her back in the main living area. She’s looking out the glass door that opens to the patio. “It’s a night of beautiful views,” she says.

“For me, it’s only going to get better.”

“And for me,” she adds as she turns around. I run my fingers through the length of her hair and settle my hands on her hips. “I’ve gotten to see most of your body when we’ve gone swimming; don’t think I didn’t admire your sexy abs… or legs… or that I don’t drool over your arms on a daily basis.”

“Oh, jeez,” I say as I roll my eyes. “Well, thank you.”

“I love a swimmer’s body.” Her hands slowly traverse from my lower back to my hamstrings and then back up again, causing goose bumps to break out over my skin.

“So do I.” I move in for that private kiss that I should have reserved for this setting in the first place. It’s quieter here, and I listen to the sensual sounds our lips make as they meet and move together and apart. The respiring starts off as deep breaths coming from two separate bodies functioning autonomously, but soon merges into one united being, gasping at the same time, fighting for the same air as the kiss takes on a life of its own. Either she’s in control, or something else is entirely, because it feels as if some power greater than me is delivering elements of passion–some substantial, some modest–each time her lips meet mine, and in return, I’m receiving a different type of affection and warmth. It’s something that I have no word for yet, but I crave it more, and every time my lips leave hers for merely a second, they feel lonely and out of place. I’m getting more and more light-headed, wanting to breathe less and less.

I hold her close to me and feel her body all over while I’m guarding her, protecting her, keeping safe the woman who I hope will soon give herself over to me. My impolite hands have explored the skin beneath her dress, have dipped beneath the cotton undergarment she’s wearing, have unhooked the bra that fastened in the back–all without me asking permission. The urgency of my need doesn’t allow for that sort of time.

Coley pushes me away. “Wait.”

“Okay,” I say, panting in sync with her. She lifts her dress from the hemline over her head quickly and drops it at her feet. Looking into her eyes, I reach for the straps on her shoulders and bring them down slowly, sliding off her bra. I step back, suddenly overwhelmed at the sight of her. “Oh, Coley, standing before me is all the beauty this world can offer.” I still have trouble breathing. “You truly
are
the essence of life; the quintessence of beauty. Had I any breath left after that kiss, you would have taken it away all over again.”

That smitten look I’ve seen on her face comes back as she reaches for my cheeks and pulls my lips to hers for more. While we kiss, I unbutton my shirt and shrug out of it. She removes my belt for me, and then undoes my slacks. They fall easily from my hips. I step out of them, kicking my socks off, too, in the process. Her cold hands slide up the front of my undershirt, pressing into my abdominal muscles while I massage the base of her neck, causing her to moan in relaxed pleasure. She pushes up on my shirt, and I back away long enough to strip out of it. Blood is coursing through my body quickly, keeping every part of me warm–no,
hot
–even though there’s a chill in the air. With Coley’s nearly-naked body pressed against mine, I know she’s cold. I pull her over to the couch, intent to warm her up.

I sit down, but stop her before she does. We both reach for her panties at the same time. I let her push them down her legs, instead keeping my focus on the one part of her body they’d left obscured to me. I’m admittedly impaired with lust, taken in by the heady sexual tension that continues its dance around us–the marathon dance that had begun weeks ago and showed no signs of tapping out.

My unsteady hands reach out to this sanctuary that is her graceful form; my own merit, in question.

“Laureate, how is it that you are in this apartment with me tonight and with no one else?” My fingertips skim the skin below her ribcage. I glance up at her, awaiting her response.

“Trey Holland, how is it that you noticed me in the first place? I always had my sights on you. You were untouchable. Impossible. It was absurd to waste wishes upon stars on you. That’s how unattainable you’ve always been to me.”

I swallow at her response, letting my hands flit loosely across her skin. “Why did you ever think you wanted me like that without knowing me, Coley?”

“Did I misjudge you?” she asks. “Or did I believe you into existence? Aren’t you the man I wanted you to be? Mannered and strong. Polite and kind. Intelligent and good.” I recognize the words from her sonnet. “Intense and serious. And surprisingly more than all of this. Oddly sentimental and romantic? But then so passionate, too, as I’ve learned in the past few hours.” She steps toward me, taking a position in my lap with one leg on either side of me. As I lean back, I put my finger under her chin and guide her face to mine. Our kisses are quickly out of control again. Her hands grip the cushion next to my ears; mine caress her shapely breasts. Her skin is flawless everywhere–apart from that one scar that I feel with the pad of my forefinger.

I break our kiss to push her back and press my lips to it, examining it. It’s about two inches wide starting at her sternum and going over her left breast. Whoever mended her wounded body stitched her too tightly; the scar makes it obvious the skin was sewn together.

As I’m trying to catch my breath, I run my thumb over the blemish. “What happened?”

She shakes her head and smiles. “Later.” There’s sadness in her eyes when she says this.

I lean up to kiss her, softly and reverently, pushing her hair back gently. When I pull away again, I look in her eyes once more. “Trey and Coley bubble,” I whisper.

“Yes,” she says.

“Okay.”

And just like that, the frenetic touching and tasting and testing of each other continues. My briefs hide nothing from her, but consciously or not, her body knows how to handle it. She moves against me on her own, and I get twice the pleasure in her doing that. It feels good for me, but listening to the “mmmms” and “aaaahs” that quietly escape her do a little for my ego, too.

Putting my hands on her back, I move my lips to her neck, then to her shoulders and collarbone, and finally to her breasts. “Oh, God, Trey.” She dips her head back all the way, letting her long hair tickle my ankles and feet. One of her hands grasps at her upper thigh, drawing my attention there–possibly deliberately.

How do I ask her this without sounding completely crass?
I hear fifteen-year-old Callen in my head–the Callen who was clearly overcompensating, being hyper-masculine and hiding his homosexuality. The word
pussy
is the only word in my head right now. All he would talk about was
eating pussy
, only to find out later he never actually did. “Do you like oral? Receiving it?” I ask her, wanting so badly to please her this way but remembering how uncomfortable it made Zaina. Literally, my mouth is watering. It’s an involuntary response to
her
.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“Good, because there’s this feral part of me right now that’s being driven to insanity by your pheromones or something. I want to taste you so badly right now.”

“Do it. Please?” she begs.

“Up,” I say quickly, lifting her easily and holding her into my chest with one arm. I look beside me and toss both of the large throw pillows on the floor between my feet.

“What are you…”

“Careful,” I say as I lay her back again in a position similar to the one she was already in. “All the way…” I help to straighten her legs out next to me.

“Oh, my God, Trey…” She settles against the pillows, shifting them to make herself more comfortable. “What are you doin–ohhhh.” Her knees slightly bent at my sides, I lean over and lick her between her legs, looking her in the eyes as I do it. She tastes sweet and tangy; the word
piquant
comes to mind and stays there. It’s heavenly. I keep nibbling and kissing and tasting and licking. There are moments when my intemperance makes me forget I’m doing this for
her
pleasure and not mine. Fortunately, they’re the euphoric sounds she’s making that bring me out of those moments, so I think we’re both getting something out of this.

She digs her fingernails into my calf muscles and hitches up her hips, using her feet for better leverage. “Jesus Christ, Trey, this is the sexiest thing I-ohhhh… oh, God… oh, God…” She closes her eyes and throws her head back as I suck and kiss and lick and pay attention to what she likes the best. One of my hands fondles her breasts, hopefully helping in my efforts. “Fuck!” she finally yells. “Fuck! Yes! Right there! Trey! Trey! Ohhh! Yes!” One of her hands releases my calf and moves to my hair, pulling it painfully. I suffer through it as she continues to shout, wondering if my neighbors can hear her. No one has ever screamed like this in my apartment before. I smile as I continue to kiss, watching her as she tries to breathe, still cursing me and moaning and chanting my name.

Both of her hands fall to the floor. I kiss her inner thighs and the front of her legs, wanting her lips but waiting for her to calm down before I pick her back up. She needs her breath. I run one of my hands up and down the middle of her torso, enjoying the rise and fall as her lungs try to recover.
I did that
. She reaches up to hold my other hand in hers.

“Come here,” she says as she scoots away from the couch and pillows.

“You know that’s real hardwood,” I tell her. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Please come here.”

I kick the pillows out of the way and kneel between her legs, putting my forearms under her shoulders and cradling her head in the palms of my hands so it’s
not
on the solid floor. I lie down on top of her, though, and deliver to her the kisses I discover she was craving as badly as I was. These are slow and deep and romantic.

“Watching you eat my pussy made it twenty times hotter,” she says.

“Fuck, did you just say that out loud?” I grind into her, another reflexive action that she caused simply by speaking this time.

“You can’t ignore the dirty words when you’re a poet, Trey. Sometimes they’re the only words that work. Tell me.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t it twenty times hotter that I just said ‘eat my pussy?’”

“Oh, God, yes.” My lips crash into hers, my hips thrust into her body, and I feel her cool hands exploring beneath my underwear. We need to go to my bedroom. “
Now
.”