Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

He doesn’t put his arm around me. He doesn’t touch me. He just looks at me like he wants to.

“Out of curiosity,” he says, “that money I transferred to your account. Have you spent any of it?”

I haven’t wanted to touch any of it. I want to let it build up, a huge sum to ward off any possible danger.

Still, I slowly nod my head.

“On anything extravagant? Anything silly?”

I swallow. “I bought mangoes.”

He smiles a touch sarcastically, and I reach out and give him a little shove. That’s a mistake. It puts my hand in contact with his shoulder. His bare skin is cool to the touch, and I don’t pull away.

“Hey,” I say. “Mangoes are expensive.”

He doesn’t laugh at me, even though I know that to someone like him—to someone who spends fifteen thousand dollars a month, something I can’t even contemplate, mangoes are nothing. Even though I haven’t moved my hand from the point where it rests on his shoulder, and my thumb itches to caress him.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says. “I’ll pay your parents’ utility bill this month.”

I have some idea how little money he must have. I know exactly how much that would cost him.

“But—”

“Hey,” he says. “No arguments. We’re trading lives. I’m taking that on. If you’re terrified, I should be, too. But you have to do something for me in return.”

I still haven’t moved away, and I know I should. Sitting here this close to him, touching him—I’m giving him ideas. I’m giving myself ideas. Fuck, I don’t know what to do with these ideas. I have a sudden urge to slide my hand down his chest, feeling the ridge of every muscle, the whisper of short, light hairs against my fingers. I could undo his jeans. Find out precisely how much of that bulge there is fabric, and how much is him.

“What?” My throat is hoarse.

“I don’t care,” he says. “Something you wouldn’t normally do. Something risky. Something silly. Go skydiving. Buy a name-brand purse. Do something that terrifies you, something you can’t get out of your mind, that you’ve been holding back on.”

I look at my hand on his shoulder. I’ve never wanted to go skydiving. I’ve never lusted after purses. I’m just getting used to the luxury of the occasional mango. There’s really only one thing I want right now that terrifies me.

“I’m thinking of something.” My throat feels dry. “Something blindingly stupid. Risky. Idiotic.”

“Do you want to do it?”

My mouth goes dry. “Yes.”

“Then go for it,” he says.

For a second, I’m frozen in indecision. It will change everything. It will start a snowball rolling down a mountain, and I’m not sure I’ll escape the avalanche.

Still, I turn to him. I look into his eyes. My hands tremble.

“Okay,” I say, and my voice trembles, too. “Here goes.”

And before I can think better of it, I do the stupidest thing possible: I kiss him.

BLAKE

For a second, I’m too shocked to react.

I don’t know why; this thing has been lurking between us for weeks, never dormant, always present. But she’s been wary, pushing me away, and I didn’t expect this.

My surprise lasts almost no time at all. Just a second’s worth of her lips against mine, her hands, warm against the cool, bare skin of my shoulders.

My last intelligent thought is that I’m not letting this go to waste, and then I’m kissing her back. Wrapping my arm around her, bringing her close so that her body lies flush against mine. My free hand tangles in her dark hair, wrapping it around my fingers, following it up to her scalp, the line of her ear.

She tastes so good—sweet, like an apple. Her hands slide down my chest, leaving a trail of heat, coming to rest on my hips. Tina shifts her weight and then straddles me. My nerves light up at that, sparking with desire.

Fuck, I want her. She’s wearing jeans. I’m wearing jeans. Doesn’t matter that there’s layers of thick denim between us; my body still recognizes the feel of hips pressing against my pelvis. The friction of fabric is rough against my cock, but it’s everything I could have asked for. Her hands rise again, sliding up my chest to rest against my shoulders.

She kisses me like she’s been thinking of this as long as I have, like this kiss has been building from the first day we saw each other. She kisses me like there’s no space between us.

And there isn’t—not much.

I’m not trying to escalate things. I’m not even really thinking about it. But when she smoothes her palm down my chest, my hand creeps up by her side, sliding up until I find the fabric of her bra.

Under other circumstances, I might rip it off. But I don’t want to freak her out. I cup her breast in the palm of my hand.

She gasps instantly. I was already hard; with that, I find myself turning to stone. Needing, wanting, stone.