“Trent,” she whispered. “I’m trying. I really am.”
I didn’t know what she meant exactly, if she was trying to trust me, trying to believe she wasn’t dragging me into a mess, or trying to see herself the way I saw her, but I knew it was true. Every part of her was trying.
“I know you are,” I said. “I see it every fucking day.”
She leaned into my hand like she needed the contact. Leftover tension from my conversation with Jameson eased in the nicest damn way, slow and happy, and when I pressed my mouth to hers, the kiss wasn’t fast, or hard, or hungry.
I brushed hair behind her ear and savored every moment of having her soft lips against my own. I gave her all the time in the world to pull back if she wasn’t ready, but she didn’t.
She lifted her chin, meeting my mouth with a soft, searching pressure that caught me completely off guard. After the day we’d had, I’d expected hesitation. Maybe even outright rejection, but she kissed me like someone who’d rather have been doing this all along.
Her fingers slid to the back of my neck, tentative and warm, and my whole chest tripped over itself. I deepened the kiss just a little, letting her set the pace instead of demanding the way my body was trying to insist. It was killing me, but she wasn’t just a fuck or a one-night stand.
I’d had plenty of those over the years and it’d conditioned me to move fast. Take control. Fuck hard.
Charlotte pulled back for a second as if she’d sensed I was handing her the reins, her breathing suddenly shaky and eyes wide in the dark. “I don’t, uh, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“Yes, you do,” I said quietly. “You’re doing exactly what you want to do.”
“But—”
I shook my head, brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “Stop thinking.”
Her eyes widened. “That’s not really in my skill set.”
I laughed softly and her smile broke through. She moved her head closer to mine again, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Whatever I want?”
“Whatever you want, baby.”
“What if what I want is for you to, uh, well, you know.”
“Say it.”
She let out a soft groan. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I took her face in my hands and made her look into my eyes. “Let’s set some new ground rules.”
“Now?”
“Yep.”
She sighed. “Like what?”
“Like when it’s just me and you,” I murmured, my voice getting husky as I dragged her closer to me. A soft hiss escaped before I could bite it back when her soft warmth brushed against my rapidly hardening cock, but I exhaled through it. “You get to say exactly what you want to say, no matter what it is. It can be filthy, offensive, mean, or whatever else. Just say it.”
“What else?”
I felt a smirk sliding across my lips. “I want to hear you. Your pleasure. Your opinion. Doesn’t matter. As long you’re there.”
“I think I’m starting to get the drift,” she whispered, snaking her palm down the length of my abdomen to the waistband of my boxer briefs. “Fine. I’ll play. I don’t want to be the one thinking tonight. I don’t want to have to decide what’s going to happen. I just want to feel. To be with you.”
“I can do that.” I kissed her again and I didn’t hold back.
Her body pressed closer to mine, her knee brushing my hip when she hooked her leg around me. I slid my hand down her spine, but our movements weren’t rushed or frantic. She fitted herself against me, her warmth against my rigid cock, the sounds of our ragged breathing and moans filling the air.
I rolled us gently, hovering above her and her hands slipped under my shirt, her fingertips skating over my ribs, and I felt every point of contact like she’d drawn lines of heat across my skin.
Her voice was a whisper against my mouth. “Trent.”
