Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)

Trent rolls over and spends a long moment gazing at me with a grim mask, eyes full of grief. When he answers, his voice has turned husky. “Because forgiveness has the power to heal.”

If only that were true, Trent. I struggle hard to keep from frowning. I wonder how different our pasts must be for him to have a tattoo promoting forgiveness when I’m wearing one symbolizing the very reason why I can’t forgive.

There’s another long pause and then Trent’s sly grin is back, his arms nestling his head again. “Clock’s ticking here …”

I shake the seriousness away. Propping myself up onto my knees to get a better view, my eyes drift over his lips, his jaw line, his Adam’s apple. They roll leisurely down his chest and I make a point of leaning in and parting my lips near his nipple. I hear his breath hitch, and I’m sure he can feel my breath against his skin. I pull back as I continue further down, checking once to see if he’s watching me. He sure is.

A nervous twinge stirs in my stomach and I focus on the feeling for a second to realize that I adore it. It makes me feel alive. And I decide I want more than just a twinge so I push it, sending it into overdrive as I reach up and skim the elastic band of Trent’s briefs with my index finger. It’s not hard to see that he’s aroused. I curl my finger underneath the elastic band …

And find myself on my back in a split second, with both my arms over my head, my wrists pinned beneath one of Trent’s strong hands. He’s hovering over me, holding all of his weight up by that one arm, grinning. “My turn.”

“I’m not done yet,” I fake pout.

He smirks. “Tell you what, if you can last five minutes with the same level of scrutiny—without moving at all—I’ll let you finish.”

I make a tsking sound but inside I’m screaming. “Five minutes. Easy.”

Trent cocks his head, his arched brow telling me he can see through my bullish exterior to the melting pile of goo beneath. “You think you can handle it?”

“Can you?” I ask, twisting my mouth to fight the stupid nervous grin ready to expose itself. Just those heated blue eyes boring into my face is enough to unravel me. “What if I lose?” I realize this might work to my advantage either way.

Somber eyes flash and I sense the shift in the atmosphere. “If you lose, you agree to talk to someone about the accident.”

Sexual blackmail. That’s what Trent has up his sleeve. He’s breaking his going slow rule in hopes of making me talk. My teeth grind in response. No way in hell I’m agreeing to this. “You’re a natural at ruining the mood,” I force out, squirming beneath him.

But he grips me tightly. He leans forward, his lips grazing mine as he begs, “Please, Kacey?”

I close my eyes, trying not to let that gorgeous face glamour me. Too late. “Only if I lose, right?”

“Right,” he whispers.

My competitive side answers for me before I can think this through. “Fair enough.” I. Will. Not. Lose.

I see the wide grin stretch across Trent’s beautiful face and my body tenses up. “You’re going to play fair right?”

“Yes. One hundred percent fair.” There’s a teasing darkness in his stare, and I realize I’m in trouble. I watch as he sits back on his haunches, towering over me on the bed, those blue eyes leaving my face to drift over the length of my body, in no obvious rush. “This isn’t fair yet,” he murmurs. Leaning forward, two hands settle on the edges of my dress on my shoulder. He pushes down.

I gasp as my dress—a stretchy tunic style—slides off with a little bit of tugging on Trent’s part to get it out from under me. Trent’s thumb runs along the scar on my shoulder as his hands move down the length of my body, taking my dress with him. I’m left in nothing but my strapless bra and a thong. I hold my breath as Trent soaks up every square inch of my body—every curve, every detail.

He leans forward, his hand sliding beneath my back. “Still not quite fair.” I feel his fingers play with my bra hook and I suck in a gasp. He wouldn’t. The supporting tension in my bra gives way as Trent unhooks it. When his hand moves away, it comes with all covering of my breasts. “There. That’s fair.”

I. Will. Not. Lose.

I’m determined not to move, even as I lay all but bared to Trent’s prying eyes and evil smirk. I’m mulish enough to believe I can do it too. But then Trent leans forward, his mouth only inches from my breasts as I had done to him, and I’m fighting tooth and nail against the urge to squirm. I gasp as his breath coasts over my skin and my nipples instantly harden. When he peers up at my face, I have to close my eyes. I can’t handle the look in his. It’s full of heat and desire and intentions. He chuckles softly as his attention shifts further down. Cool air skates down my abdomen. “You have an incredible body, Kacey. Mind-boggling.”

I make an unintelligible sound of acknowledgement.

“I mean, I could just stare at it. And touch it. All day long.” I don’t know what it is about Trent right now—his smooth voice, his actions, his proximity to my body— but desire is tearing through my will power and congregating in my lower abdomen, planning an insurgence.

And he hasn’t even touched me.

I peek through one eye to see the tops of Trent’s shoulders, straining with muscle as he shifts further down, stopping below my belly button. I struggle to see the clock. Another three minutes. I can last three minutes. I can … I can … Trent’s index finger runs along the front of my panties just as I had done to him and I let out a soft moan before I can stop myself. Looking down, I see him watching me now, biting his bottom lip, his arrogant smirk gone.

His eyes stay locked on mine as his index finger curls under the elastic band and begins to slide down.

Like a violent wave crashing into me, I come completely undone. Swirls of haze and light fill my vision and I’m floating on seven layers of clouds, my muscles gone from rigid as a pole to pliable putty, and I don't ever want to lose this high.

With deep ragged pants, I faintly notice Trent hovering above me again a moment later. Hot lips touch my collar bone as he grazes it.

“You lose,” he whispers in my ear with a soft chuckle. Then he’s off the bed and pulling his jeans on. “Tanner’s outside.”

“No I didn’t.” I mumble as an afterthought, breathless. How the hell can he call that losing?

***

“You okay here alone?” Trent whispers as I sip a glass of orange juice and watch the sweaty man work on the door. When I raise an eyebrow, he chuckles. “Of course you are. I forgot you kicked my ass.”

“A bag of sand kicked your ass, remember? Where you off to?”

His hand touches the small of my back and he presses me against his body as he whispers in my ear. “Cold shower.” Shivers run down my spine and I’m ready to drag him back into Storm’s room, but he makes a beeline out of the apartment before I can get my claws into him.

“Who lost, again?” I call out in a high-pitched voice, smiling.

I quietly watch Sweaty Door Guy work as I read through a magazine, still glowing from the morning with Trent; enough that this guy’s hairy ass crack peeking out from loose faded blue jeans doesn’t faze me. Livie has staggered through, half asleep and on her way to school. When I suggest she skip the day, she looks at me like I suggested she marries the repair man. Livie doesn’t miss school for anything.

I’m reading an article on Ten Ways to Say You’re Sorry without Saying the Word when Storm’s soft voice calls out, “Can I please get by?”

Sweaty Door Guy cranes his neck, sees Storm, and fumbles with his hammer as he clears a path for her curvy frame. She stalks through, matching my smile, two tall Starbucks in her hands. “Do I need to change my sheets?” She winks.

“Ohmigod, Storm!” Fire burns my face as I see Sweaty Door Guy eyes widen. Storm can be inappropriate sometimes after all. I quickly change the topic. “How’s Mia?”

The reminder of last night dashes her humor and I regret asking. “She’ll be fine. I just hope she doesn’t remember any of it. She doesn’t need to remember her father like that.”