Chapter 12
EVELYN
Trent pulled me close again, his mouth finding mine with renewed urgency. I tugged his shirt up, my hands exploring the warm skin of his back, kneading the hard muscle beneath my fingers. He hissed when I accidentally bumped his shoulder.
“Sorry,” I murmured.
“Don’t care.” He caught my bottom lip between his teeth, sending a sharp bolt of pleasure through me. His right hand slid under my shirt, fingers splaying across my ribs, thumb brushing the underside of my breast.
I fumbled with his belt, fingers clumsy with need.
We’d been interrupted at the motel before I could really see him, before I could touch him properly.
The memory of his weight on me, of how close I’d been to coming apart beneath him before the window shattered, made me desperate to finish what we’d started.
My fingers closed around his thick cock through the opening of his jeans, and I gasped at the heat of him, the rigid length filling my palm.
“Fuck,” he growled, his hips jerking forward involuntarily.
In one swift movement, he spun us around and pressed me against the wall, his good arm braced beside my head, his body caging mine. His eyes were almost black in the dim light, pupils blown wide with desire.
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about this?” he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble that vibrated through me. “How many nights I’ve lain awake remembering the taste of you?”
He grabbed my wrists with his right hand, pinning them above my head.
The sudden assertion of control sent a jolt of heat straight to my core.
This was a different Trent than the one at the motel—more deliberate, less frantic.
His mouth claimed mine in a bruising kiss that left no doubt who was in charge.
“I need you,” I whispered against his lips.
“You’ll have me,” he promised, “but on my terms this time.”
He released my wrists only to grip the hem of my shirt, tugging it up and over my head in one smooth motion. The cool air of the cabin pebbled my bare nipples, and I shivered as his heated gaze traveled over me.
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”
His hand cupped my breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak until I arched into his touch, desperate for more. Then his mouth replaced his fingers, hot and wet as he sucked my nipple between his teeth, applying just enough pressure to make me gasp.
“Trent,” I moaned, my fingers tangling in his short hair.
“Quiet,” he commanded, lifting his head to look at me. “Sophia’s still asleep. Can you be quiet for me, Evelyn?”
I nodded, biting my lip to stifle another moan as his hand slid down my stomach to the waistband of my jeans. He made quick work of the button and zipper, then pushed them down my hips along with my underwear. I stepped out of them, now completely naked while he remained mostly clothed.
“This isn’t fair,” I whispered, tugging at his shirt.
A slow, predatory smile curved his lips. “Who said anything about fair?”
He backed me toward the narrow bed until my knees hit the edge. With gentle pressure on my shoulders, he guided me down until I was sitting before him. The position put me at eye level with the substantial bulge still confined by his jeans.
“I want to see you,” I said, reaching for his belt again.
This time he let me push his jeans down his powerful thighs. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the head already glistening. I wrapped my fingers around him, reveling in the way his breath caught.
“Jesus, Evelyn,” he hissed as I leaned forward and wrapped my lips around him.
His hand came up to cup my face, thumb tracing my bottom lip. I opened for him, taking his thumb into my mouth, sucking gently as I continued to stroke him. His eyes darkened further, jaw clenching with restraint.
“That’s enough,” he said roughly, pulling his thumb away. “Lie back.”
I obeyed, scooting back on the narrow mattress as he kicked off his boots and jeans, finally as naked as I was. The bed dipped under his weight as he knelt between my spread thighs, his good arm braced beside my head.
“I’ve dreamed about this,” he confessed, his voice low and intimate. “About having you spread out beneath me again. About making you come so hard you forget your own name.”
His words sent liquid heat pooling between my legs. I reached for him, but he caught my wrists again, pinning them above my head.
“No touching,” he ordered. “Not until I say so. Tonight, I’m in control.”
A thrill shot through me at his dominance, so different from his careful restraint earlier. This was Trent unleashed, demanding and confident.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, noting my reaction. “You like when I take charge.”
“Yes,” I admitted, my voice barely audible.
“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his lips brushing my ear. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anyone but me.”
He released my wrists to trail his fingers down my body, tracing the curve of my breast, the dip of my waist, the flare of my hip. I kept my hands where he’d placed them, understanding the unspoken command. His touch was both reverent and possessive, marking each inch of skin as his.
When he finally reached the apex of my thighs, I was already embarrassingly wet. His fingers slid through my folds with ease, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves that made my hips buck.
“So wet,” he murmured approvingly. “Is this all for me, Evelyn?”
“Yes,” I gasped as he circled my clit with torturous precision. “Only you.”
“Good girl.” His praise sent another rush of heat through me. “I want you to remember who makes you this wet. Who makes you feel this good.”
He slipped a finger inside me, then another, stretching me slowly as his thumb continued to work my clit. The dual sensation had me writhing beneath him, desperate for more.
“Please,” I begged, forgetting his order for silence. “I need—“
“I know exactly what you need,” he interrupted, curling his fingers to hit that spot inside me that made stars explode behind my eyelids. “And I’ll give it to you. But not until you’re right on the edge,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear.
His thumb circled my clit as his fingers worked inside me, finding that perfect rhythm that had my hips rising to meet each stroke. My body tensed, pleasure building with each expert touch, and just when I thought I might shatter, he withdrew completely.
I whimpered at the loss, my eyes flying open to find his face hovering above mine, his expression a mix of hunger and control.
“Not yet,” he murmured. “I want to be inside you when you come.”
He shifted his weight, positioning himself between my thighs. I felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, teasing but not entering. The anticipation was exquisite torture.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded, his voice rough with need. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” I breathed, hands still obediently above my head. “God, Trent, I’ve always wanted you.”
He pushed forward then, entering me in one slow, controlled thrust that had us both gasping.
The stretch and fullness were overwhelming, my body accommodating his size with a pleasure that bordered on pain.
When he was fully seated inside me, he paused, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
“You feel incredible,” he groaned. “So tight, so perfect.”
I wanted to touch him, to run my hands down his back, to pull him closer, but I remembered his command and kept my arms where they were. He noticed and rewarded me with an approving smile that sent warmth blooming in my chest.
“You can touch me now,” he said, as if reading my thoughts.
My hands flew to his shoulders before I remembered his injury.
I carefully avoided his left side, instead trailing my fingers down his right arm, feeling the muscles flex as he held himself above me.
His skin was hot to the touch, slick with a fine sheen of sweat that made him glow in the dim light filtering through the curtains.
He began to move then, setting a deliberate pace—deep, measured thrusts that hit exactly where I needed him.
Each stroke sent pleasure spiraling through me, building higher with every rock of his hips.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, changing the angle just enough to make him hit that perfect spot inside me.
“Yes,” I gasped, forgetting to be quiet. “Right there.”
He covered my mouth with his hand, his eyes locked on mine. “Shh,” he reminded me. “Can’t wake Sophia.”
The thought of my daughter sleeping in the next room should have doused my desire, but somehow it only intensified the forbidden nature of what we were doing. I nodded against his palm, promising silence. He replaced his hand with his mouth, swallowing my moans as he increased his pace.
The pressure was building again, that familiar tightening low in my belly.
I dug my nails into his back, trying to ground myself as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm me.
He must have felt it, the way my body tensed around him, because he slipped a hand between us, finding my clit with unerring precision.
“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice a rough whisper against my ear. “Let go, Evelyn. I’ve got you.”
His words pushed me over the edge. My release crashed through me in waves, my body clenching around him as stars exploded behind my closed eyelids. I bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, tasting salt and skin as pleasure consumed me.
He followed moments later, his rhythm faltering as he buried himself deep inside me. I felt the pulse of his release, the way his entire body tensed above me before slowly relaxing. For a long moment, we stayed like that, connected and breathless, his weight a welcome anchor.