He sits on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees for a moment before leaning back slightly. He doesn’t smile, but there’s a glint of something softer in his eyes—pity, maybe, or patience. He tilts his head just enough to catch my gaze.
“Paparazzi are going to be all over this the second it breaks,” he says quietly, voice rough. “Every camera. Every headline. You’re going to have to act like you’re in love with me. We’re going to need to sell it to them. No doubt. No hesitation. They need to believe this is real.”
I swallow hard, my throat dry. “Act like I’m in love with you,” I say, more to myself than to him.
“Yeah.” He shifts, planting his hands flat on the bed on either side of his thighs. He leaves space between us, as I sit nex to him, but his presence is like a storm. “We’re not going to let them spin some story. We’re going to give them one. Ours. You ready for that?”
“I…I don’t know,” I whisper.
His eyes soften but his voice stays low, deliberate. “Then we start small. You’re going to kiss me.”
The words hit me as my eyes go wide. My breath snags in my chest. “I… I don’t know how.” My voice is a whisper, almost a plea. “I’ve never—”
“You can’t really do it wrong, Dove,” he says, his lips tilting in the faintest ghost of a smile. “But I’m not going to touchyou. My hands are staying right here.” He presses his palms harder into the mattress, knuckles white. “You’re going to kiss me. At your pace. Your choice. You don’t owe me anything, but honesty. You want this to work?”
I nod, a small trembling movement. My heart beats wild against my ribs.
“Then show me,” he murmurs, voice lower now, coaxing, steady. “Come here. Kiss me.”
I draw in a breath, my fingers curling in the blanket beneath me. His eyes never leave mine—green, steady, unflinching. He isn’t leaning in, isn’t reaching for me. He’s a wall of heat and tension sitting completely still. Waiting.
Slowly, I shift closer, my knee brushing his. I can smell him now—clean soap, rain, something darker beneath it. My hands shake as I lift them, hovering in the space between us, not sure where to land.
His voice is barely a whisper. “That’s it. Just you and me, Dove. Whenever you’re ready.”
I lean in, heart hammering so loud it drowns out everything. His eyes don’t move, don’t waver. They hold me there like a tether, steadying me. My lips part as I take a shaky breath, my fingers brushing lightly against his knee for balance before curling into my lap again.
“I don’t…” My voice is barely a sound. “I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t,” Trey murmurs, voice a low rasp. “There’s no wrong way. Just come closer.”
I inch forward until I’m so close I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. His lashes are dark, casting shadows on his cheeks. His mouth is relaxed, parted just enough to make my stomach flutter.
“Eyes on me,” he says softly. “Good. Now just… lean in. Let it happen. Don’t think about it.”
My heart feels like it’s trying to escape my chest. I close the last inch between us, pressing my lips to his. It’s soft, hesitant—a brush more than a kiss. His mouth is warm, still, not pushing back, not claiming, just there.
“Again,” he whispers, voice rougher now but still steady. “A little slower this time. Breathe. Let it be what you want.”
I exhale, trembling, and lean in again. This time my lips linger on his. The world tilts, narrowing to the taste of him, the way his breath hitches just slightly but he keeps his hands planted on the bed like he promised. I feel his jaw tighten under the soft skin of his cheek as I tilt my head a little, trying to copy what I’ve seen in movies but softer.
“That’s it,” Trey murmurs, low and coaxing. “You’re doing perfect, Dove. Good girl.”
I press my lips to his one more time, a little firmer now, a small, shaky sound escaping my throat without meaning to. His scent, his heat, the quiet patience of him—it all spins together until I feel like I’m floating just above myself.
When I finally pull back, my lips tingle, my heart still racing with the way he praised me. Trey hasn’t moved. His hands are still where he put them, palms flat against the mattress, knuckles white. His green eyes are darker now.
“See?” he says softly, voice a little hoarse. “You didn’t do it wrong. You couldn’t.”
I touch my lips, stunned by the lingering warmth. “That was…” I don’t have the word.
Trey tilts his head slightly, the faintest curve tugging at his mouth until, just for a heartbeat, a real smile breaks free. It pops his dimples, deepening the sharp lines of his jaw. The sight of it knocks the breath from my lungs. He’s striking even when he’s stone-faced, but like this—smiling, his dimples showing, the edges of him softened—he’s breathtaking. Beautiful in a way that feels dangerous, like looking straight at the sun and realizing you can’t look away. A swarm of butterflies takes flight in my stomach, wings brushing every inch of me until I’m dizzy.
His smile lingers for a fraction of a second longer before his eyes darken again. Trey leans in just enough for his breath to graze my cheek, his voice a low growl that curls down my spine.
“Get used to it, Dove,” he murmurs. “Because the world’s going to think you’re mine now…and until this is over, I’m going to make them believe it.”
Chapter fifteen
