Chapter Nineteen #2
“You’re wet for me already,” he says, like it’s the best thing he’s learned all night. His eyes are locked on mine, his touch maddeningly slow. “Is this how turned on you get from my cock?”
I bite down on my lip, almost worried he’ll think I’m too easy, but the wicked grin that spreads across his face tells me getting that wet from giving him oral is a turn on for him too.
“And here I thought I’d have to work for it.”
“You do,” I manage, even though my voice shakes.
That earns me another grin. Dangerous. Knowing. His fingertips trail lower, dipping into me for just a second before sliding back up. My thighs twitch at the teasing glide.
“Trey …”
“Hmm?” His tone is all innocence, but his thumb presses just enough to make my breath stutter.
“Stop teasing.”
“I like teasing,” he says, leaning down until his lips hover over mine. “I like watching you squirm for it.”
Another slow slide of his fingers has me gripping his shoulders, arching against his hand. “Please,” I whisper.
“Please what?”
My patience snaps. “Please fuck me.”
The groan that rumbles out of him feels like a reward. He positions himself between my thighs, his tip pressing at my entrance. The first push makes my breath catch, my body stretching to take him.
“Good girl,” he says, keeping his gaze on me like he doesn’t want to miss a single reaction. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that to me.”
He thrusts into me further, pulling a moan from my lips. His teeth grind at the feeling of being inside of me.
“Christ, you’re tight,” he mutters, like he’s talking to himself, his gaze fixed on where we’re joined. He holds there, buried halfway, like he’s savoring the moment—or giving me a chance to adjust.
The weight of him inside me is almost unbearable in the best way, and my thighs tremble against his hips. He’s already pulled one orgasm from me and left my body sensitive and ready for another release after having him in my mouth.
“Move,” I whisper.
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
Impatient. Needy.
He sinks the rest of the way in, slow enough to make my toes curl, deep enough to knock the air out of my lungs. A low sound slips out of me—part moan, part gasp—and his own breath hitches in response.
For a beat, neither of us moves. His hand braces beside my head, the other hooked under my thigh to keep me open for him. Then he starts, deliberate and controlled, each thrust measured like he’s mapping every inch of me.
Every time he pulls out, the drag makes me shiver. Every time he pushes back in, it’s deeper, thicker, more consuming. My hands roam over the solid planes of his back, nails catching lightly when he hits just right.
The air between us is heavy. I catch his gaze, locked on me like he’s memorizing every inch of me. My pulse kicks harder, because I want to remember every moment of feeling like this with him.
“So this is what it feels like,” he says, his voice panting through every thrust.
“Like what feels like?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“When you fit someone like they were made for you.”
My throat tightens so fast it’s hard to breathe, the words hitting somewhere deep. How am I supposed to leave him now? How can I go through with a wedding to a man I don’t love when I feel this pull to Trey?
Before I can recover, he thrusts again—deep, slow, deliberate—and my body just breaks for him. The coil inside me snaps, heat flooding every nerve until I’m arching into him, clinging to him, my core squeezing him so tight it’s almost unbearable.
He’s right there with me, holding out until my release drags him under. His hips jerk, a guttural groan tearing from him as he spills into me, both of us trembling through it until all that’s left is the sound of our ragged breaths filling the room.
He kisses me tenderly. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but the truth is, I’m not sure if I’m okay.
The sex was incredible, better than I’ve ever had with anyone else, but it’s not just sex with us.
There’s more to this, and we both know it.
Whether Trey wants to realize what he just said in the heat of the moment, it still feels true.
We do fit together like we were made for each other.
He slides over to the side and I see the dog tags around his neck. I gently pick them up in my hand to look at them.
“John Parker?” I say, reading the name, confused as to why it doesn’t say Trey Hartley.
His eyes drift over to the dog tags. “My best friend. He died in the explosion that took out my hearing.”
“Trey…” I say, knowing that there is no way for me to understand the loss and pain he must have gone through that day. I stare back down at them. “Are these the same ones you wear every day?”
“Yeah,” he says softly, as if the memory is taking it back somewhere, “I don’t have mine anymore.”
My eyebrows stitch together. “You don’t have them anymore? Did you lose them in the explosion?”
He shakes his head. “I buried John with mine. I kept his. He saved my life that day. I wouldn’t be here without him.”
I’m just about to ask him to elaborate when he sits up gently. I let go of the dog tags with so many more questions unanswered.
“I should get rid of this condom, and we should both wash up,” he says. “How about a snack before round three?”
I get the hint.
Story time is over.
Whatever I want to know about Trey is his story to tell, and I have to live with the fact that he may never want to share that day overseas when he lost his best friend. I just wish he knew that I’m here for him, whether or not he ever feels ready to tell me.
The truth is, in a few more weeks, I’ll be married to someone else. That is … if I can go through with it after knowing what it feels like to “fit someone like they were made for you.”
He slides to the end of the bed and then he walks over and gives me his hand to help me off the bed. We both enter the bathroom—Trey discarding the used condom into the trash and both of us wiping up quickly.
He comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my middle, lowering his mouth to the side of my neck and kisses me in front of the mirror.
I was afraid that asking about the dog tags would put a damper on the rest of the night, but Trey is back and flirty as ever.
I grab my robe, and he wraps a towel around his middle before we head downstairs.
“What sounds good?” I ask as I open the fridge.
“Anything that’s easy. I only get another day and a half with you before Adeline gets back so whatever gets us back upstairs is fine with me,” he says, poking around to look through the dining room, office, and living room that are on the lower level.
There are still boxes from when the movers brought back everything I packed and moved to Jameson’s before the wedding.
I like that he’s curious about my place. Jameson has only been here once in the six months we were engaged and never looked around. Maybe because he figured I was going to put the townhouse on the market since I was going to move in with him.
“You have a lot of unpacked boxes,” he says.
“Yeah, well…” I say as I open the freezer and pull out a pint of cookie dough ice cream. Okay, I’ve lost it, I know. “I’m not sure that I should unpack them at this point.”
It’s not lost on me that I never put the townhouse on the market. Even after Genevieve gifted us one of the mansions in the Holiday Trust as our wedding present. Maybe I knew something then and I wasn’t willing to face it?
Trey heads back towards me, as casual as ever, but I can see that my answer to not unpacking the boxes is the reality that neither of us want to discuss right now.
Instead, he glances at the pint of ice cream, and I see the smirk start to form. Cue Trey’s gloating.
“Cookie dough ice cream…” he says, walking up and taking one of the two spoons I laid out. He pops off the top and takes a big spoonful. “You know, someone once told me that this is the most boring flavor of ice cream on the face of the planet.”
I grab the pint from him, taking my own spoon and scooping a bite. “Yeah, well now it tastes like you.”
His smirk deepens. “So, basically, you’re saying I’ve converted you. My influence is powerful.”
“You wish,” I say, but the grin tugging at my lips gives me away.
He leans a hip against the counter, eyes narrowing playfully. “You didn’t even like cookie dough before me. Now you’ve got a pint in your freezer. What’s next? Wearing my jersey to bed? Trading your wine nights for hockey game replays with me on the couch?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t push it.”
“Too late.” He digs for another bite, but instead of going back to the counter, he wanders toward the fridge like he’s just casually taking in the space. My stomach does a little flip when I realize where he’s heading.
And sure enough, he stops dead in front of the dry erase board propped above the nook where I usually drop my purse and hang my keys. Sticky notes littering a small corkboard that hangs on the wall. And next to it? The dry erase board where I have my list for going through with the wedding.
But he’s already reading it out loud, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring each word. “Reasons to marry Jameson…” He turns, one brow arched, spoon still in his hand. “This should be good.”
He starts to read the list out loud.
“He’s a great business partner.”
Trey tips his head, eyes glinting. “Mm, bet I could be better.”
He reads the next one. “I gave him my word.”
He makes a low sound in his throat. “You’ve given me a lot more than that in just one night.” He looks over his shoulder and winks.
“Oh my God, Trey…” A nervous chuckle bubbles out. I’m not sure if I like him reading this list now.
He takes another bite of ice cream and then continues.
“I’ll get to keep my CEO position.” One corner of his mouth lifts. “You’d keep it with me too. Just give me five minutes in a locked conference room with your board of directors—hell, I’d have them promoting you.”