Trade Me (Cyclone #1)

Blake considers this. “Hell, yes. It is.”


And then we’re going back, running in the dark, pelting through the front door. A light to the left signifies that his dad is still working even though it’s now past midnight, past the time he predicted he’d finish—but Blake doesn’t call out in greeting. Instead, he grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. He stops halfway, pressing me into the wall and kissing me harder. His hands clench around my hips; I can feel him hard against my belly.

I’m not sure how we manage to make it to his room, but as soon as we’re in, we’re kicking off shoes. As soon as mine are gone, Blake grabs hold of my jeans by the belt buckle. He undoes it and then slowly, slowly, slides my pants down.

Before I can even think to return the favor, he pushes me onto the bed.

“Remember,” he growls, “we have to keep it quiet.”

Then he’s over me, spreading my legs wide, settling his face between my thighs. Licking me. After more than a week together, he knows exactly what I want him to do with his tongue. Where to go. How to hesitate just long enough for the anticipation to build—and how to surge forward. I have to grit my teeth not to moan aloud.

He’s relentless and I’m so close to the edge. I slide my fingers through his hair, guiding, urging him on. I’m close, so close. Pleasure sweeps in, so undeniable. When I come, my hands clench against his scalp. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out, and the orgasm goes on and on and on in endless surges. And when the tide finally recedes, Blake lifts his head.

He gives me a self-satisfied grin. “My turn.”

“My second turn,” I tell him.

“That’s what I said.” He strips off his jeans and underwear in one smooth motion. His shirt comes off. He pulls me to my feet and takes off my shirt, undoes my bra.

Then he kisses me. We’re naked, skin to skin, and I can taste myself on his lips. I should be boneless with pleasure, but I can feel my desire rising.

His has already risen. I run my fingers down his length, feeling him, listening to the change of his breath. God, I’m going to miss this. I’m going to miss this so much. I’m feeling too much, too much more than just the physical. Blake is an ache deep inside me.

“On all fours,” he whispers in my ear, and I comply.

I hear the wrinkle of a condom wrapper, feel his hands on my hips. Then there’s the brush of him against me from behind and the swell of want. He enters me, hard and sweet. I bite my lip, refusing to cry out.

“God, Tina.” His hand rests against my behind. “God. This is so fucking good.”

It’s more than good. I can feel every stroke of him against my sensitive flesh, can feel the tension in his body as his thighs slap against mine. I take him, feeling him in me. Feeling the tide rise in both of us. My orgasm rises as his does; I crest just before he does. My throat feels hoarse from the effort of not screaming.

And then his thrusts get harder, firmer, faster. I feel a burst of heat as he comes, and I’m so sensitive by now that I moan.

He laughs. He’s breathing hard.

He pulls out. I turn to look at him—at his wide, blue eyes, his hair, tousled by my hands. I try. I try so hard not to care, not to want, not to love.

It’s too late. I’ve been lying to myself for weeks.

God, this is going to hurt.

19.

BLAKE

There are times when you find yourself in perfect harmony with another being. Like after you’ve taken a risk, faced your biggest fear, and found yourself blinking in the dust as a wall crumbles in front of you. Like after a perfect evening of constellation watching, followed by the best sex of your life.

It’s more than just a moment. The past and the future join hands in a clasp that cannot be loosened. My fingers trail through her hair. Our bodies tangle, warm with exertion, comfortable with each other.

She looks into my eyes. Tina isn’t smiling, and I know why—because she’s scared, because she’s feeling vulnerable. Because, like me, she doesn’t want this to end.

I lean in and find her lips with mine. I don’t know how this will work. I can’t see any details. The only thing I know for certain is that I’m holding her now and I don’t want to let go.

She looks up at me. The moon filters through the blinds, casting zebra stripes across her face. I don’t want to ruin this moment, don’t want her to pull away when I tell her the truth. But I can’t stay silent.

“Tina.” I lean in, pulling her close, and she comes to me. Her body is soft; she settles against me, her head resting against my shoulder in an act of complete trust.

There is no way I’m letting her go. Not today. Not tomorrow. Hell, no.