Aubrey
The past few weeks have flown by. The bakery’s been pleasantly busy, and I’ve been elbow-deep in wedding cake trials. Now, with the big day almost here, I’m gearing up for the six-hour drive to Pinecrest to deliver the finished cake.
Unfortunately, that also means spending six hours in a car with Trent Gibson—there and back. I’ve tried everything to get out of it, but no excuse felt convincing enough to leave him behind without raising suspicion. So, like it or not, we’re road-tripping together.
It’s fair to say the whole thing has me feeling more than a little anxious.
My go-to coping mechanism? Cleaning. The bakery’s had three deep cleans this week alone, and at home, I’ve scrubbed every inch of every surface—twice.
Still, I keep finding reasons to clean. At this point it’s anything to distract myself until I have to pick Trent up tomorrow morning, bright and early.
Thankfully, playing Morgan Wallen through my speakers has kept me sane. I’ve been singing at the top of my lungs while scrubbing everything in sight.
The music cuts out mid-chorus, and I pause, grabbing my phone from the counter and roll my eyes the second Trent’s name flashes across the screen. I swipe the message open just as the song kicks back in.
Trent: What time are we leaving tomorrow?
I lock my phone without replying and go back to cleaning when another ping interrupts me.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, snatching the phone again.
Trent: Ignoring me isn’t going to help.
I consider locking the screen again, but I already know how this goes. He’ll just keep messaging until I give in, and honestly, I don’t have the energy for that kind of back-and-forth right now.
Me: Be ready for 5 a.m.
He replies almost immediately.
Trent: Can we take my truck?
Me: Why would we take your truck when I have a perfectly good car?
Trent: It’s bigger. More legroom. Easier on my leg. You can leave your car at my place.
I stare at the screen for a second, then sigh.
Me: Fine. Whatever.
I lock my phone again and toss it across the counter with a finality that makes me exhale a long and slow breath, before reaching for the cloth and going back to wiping down the sides.
To say I’m struggling with the idea of being alone with Trent tomorrow is an understatement.
Ever since he ended things, I’ve done everything I can to keep my distance—and for a while, he let me.
But after the accident, after the walls I’d so carefully built started to crack, he’s been more persistent. More present. More there.
And I think that’s what scares me the most.
Because after everything that happened, distance is the only thing I’ve had any control over. It’s the only thing that’s kept me grounded. I don’t trust myself around him—not when his words have always meant more to me than they ever seemed to mean to him.
***
Trent’s fingers move in slow circles over my bare back as my head rests against his chest. I can’t help but get lost in the steady beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath.
I close my eyes, letting the moment sink in, even if I know I’m pretending it means more than it does.
It’s not the first time we’ve been like this. Since this started a few months ago, we’ve barely been able to keep our hands off each other, and his rule about staying “normal” around people—especially my family—has become harder and harder to follow.
And as incredible as the sex is, and my god, it’s incredible—it’s more than just the physical.
The moment Trent touches me, my body comes alive, every need and desire surfacing in a way no other guy has ever inspired.
But unlike anyone else, Trent doesn’t try to control or suppress it—he encourages it.
Still, it’s moments like this that I love the most: lying in his arms, our bodies tangled together, sweat still clinging to our skin, feeling the quiet after the storm.
But that’s also what scares me the most—the way I lose myself in him, the way my heart pounds, the way every part of me seems to forget the world outside his arms.
“How is it always so good?” Trent’s voice cuts through my thoughts.
“What—sex?” I ask, trying to keep it casual.
“All of it,” he says softly. “Sex, us… everything about it feels right. I crave you every second of every day.”
My chest tightens at his words. It’s like he’s reached inside my head, and plucked out the thoughts I’ve been trying to bury, and spoken them aloud. And part of me wants to melt into him, but another part fights the reality of what we are—what we said we’d keep this as.
I don’t answer, unable to find the words causing him to shift slightly so he can see my face. “Why is it so different with you?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. Because to say more would be to admit the truth I’ve been trying to ignore—that maybe it’s because we’re meant to be, that maybe he feels what I feel, that maybe the rules we made don’t matter anymore when being together feels… right.
In one swift movement, Trent pulls me onto him, catching me completely off guard. My hands press against his chest, searching for something steady as my thighs settle either side of his.
A shiver runs through me at the press of him—warm, firm, unyielding against me—and my breath hitches. I close my eyes, trying desperately to slow the frantic beat of my heart.
The touch of his hand against my face makes my eyes flutter open. When I look down at him, I fight the surge of emotions lodged in my throat as his gaze roams over my face and traces the contours of my naked body, memorizing every inch.
“You’re so beautiful… so perfect. How the hell did I resist you for so long?” he murmurs, though I’m not sure he actually wants an answer.
His hand drifts slowly down my cheek, along my collarbone, brushing softly against my nipple causing my breath to catch at the touch.
“So fucking responsive,” he murmurs, a smirk fading into a groan as I grind against him.
“So are you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of our hearts.
Beneath me, Trent flexes his hips, his hard cock bumping against my clit, making me nearly lose my balance. His hands grip my hips, steadying me as he moves me back and forth with deliberate, torturous pressure.
“Look at my dirty girl… already so desperate for me,” he taunts, rocking my hips and striking my clit in the most exquisite way.
“Trent,” I moan, my hands cupping my breasts, brushing and pinching my aching nipples.
“There she is. Look at you… you’re a fucking dream.”
“Please,” I beg.
Trent sits up, capturing my chin between his fingers, eyes dark with need. “Please what?”
“Please… fuck me.”
With effortless strength, he lifts me just high enough that the tip of his cock teases at my entrance. I writhe against him, desperate to sink down onto him.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, his hands locking around my hips like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
My breath catches. “What?” The word comes out thin, shaky—because I’m not sure he understands what he’s asking. What it means to me.
He leans in, lips brushing my jaw, his voice a slow, deliberate demand. “You can only have me when you say it. I want to hear it, pretty girl.”
I freeze. Just for a second. Because he thinks this is a game, some kind of filthy tease but he doesn’t realize that this—this—is the one thing I’ve wanted from him long before we ever crossed that line.
My heart hammers against my ribs, too loud, too desperate.
And even though I shouldn’t—even though saying it feels like peeling my chest open and handing him everything—I can’t stop myself.
The truth breaks out of me in a trembling whisper, “I’m yours.”
His eyes darken, and with a growl he slams me down onto him. “Fucking mine.”
***
I shake the memory from my mind and wipe the tears that have slipped down my cheeks. I have no idea how I survived Trent the first time—truthfully, I’m not even sure if I did—but one thing is certain: being alone with him in any capacity feels like stepping into a storm I can’t escape.