He worshipped me with his mouth, that sweet, delicious mouth, slanting his lips fiercely against my own, my breath coming out in ragged gasps.
He still held my wrists pinned to the wall, which was a good thing, because my knees had gone weak and I would have melted into the floorboards without his support. He pressed himself full-length against me, his body threatening to imprint itself on mine, my back leaving an impression in the plaster.
The familiar moan stirring in his throat turned me into liquid fire as I wrenched my arms free from his grasp and twined my fingers in his hair.
I was lost.
And I was kissing him back.
His newly freed hands gripped at his shoulder blades, ripping the shirt from his back—ohsweetjesus, Trip shirtless, it was my kryptonite—and made quick work of the buttons of my blouse, before he slipped his fingers across my ribcage, his thumb brushing along the edge of my bra. I smashed my body against that smooth, beautiful, rock-hard chest, devouring his arms, shoulders, neck with my hands, the incredible sensation of our skin in such intimate contact, our mouths opening against one another.
I could have kissed that man forever.
My body thrummed as his sweet, full, insistent lips positively claimed me, his low moaning reverberating throughout my insides. His tongue teasing against mine, his arms crushing my body to his. How could we have denied ourselves this for so many years? How did I live without this overwhelming passion in my life? There was nothing that could compare to kissing Trip. Nothing in the world.
He slid his hands down my hips, curving over to cup my backside, lifting me up and smashing me against the wall again, the framed picture knocking askew on its hook, the side table rattling the bowl that held my keys.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, crossing them against the small of his back, felt the insistent force of his hardened body pressing against me—ohmyGOD—his mouth open against mine; demolishing me, wanting me, threatening to smother me with his animal need.
And then… he started to move.
At first, he was just using his body to keep me pinned against the wall. But slowly, deliberately, his hips started in with a purposeful rhythm, leading me down a road I had no intention of travelling.
“Trip…” I said warily, still thinking I could control the situation, feebly attempting to defuse the both of us before things went too far.
He shook his head, denying me. “Don’t say it, Lay. Don’t. Because I’m not stopping this. I need to be inside you more than I need to breathe right now. But if we can’t do that, if this is all we have… I’m taking it. I’m taking every last bit of you you’re willing to give.”
And that was it. That right there was the line drawn in the sand, and I knew it. If I’d been lying to myself about not crossing any boundaries before, surely there was no denying it now. I could have chosen not to cross it, but my brain was no longer calling the shots as his mouth opened against my neck, kissing and licking and biting, his hands at my ribcage, too afraid to explore further, too far gone not to. They wrapped underneath to cup my ass, pulling me tighter against the insistent, driving knot in his jeans. The demanding pressure of his body thrusting against mine, driving me over the brink, driving me insane. I started trembling in his arms as the electrical currents began to race along every nerve ending, and oh God, could that really happen because of this?
My heart was beating like mad even as I felt it breaking in two. It was too much, not enough, everything I’d ever wanted and nothing I could have. Could a person die from this?
His breathing turned ragged and he groaned against my neck, his mussed hair brushing along my cheek, his body slamming against me, losing it. “Christ, Lay. Tell me you want this.”
I didn’t want to admit it to myself, much less him. But I found myself gasping out, “I do. I want this.”
“Tell me how much you want me.”
There was no denying him anymore. “I want you. So much.”
“Me. Not the movie star, right?”
And that. That one simple question filled with all the vulnerability, all the insecurity, all the truth of this man in my arms is what pushed me right over the edge of reason. For all his seemingly abundant confidence, all his swagger, that defenseless side of him was never seen by anyone. Just me.
His words caused a crack to form within my heart, splitting it down the middle, breaking at the thought of this incredible man questioning his value. The uncertainty he lived with, the need for me to confirm his worth. How could he even ask? Didn’t he know the amazing man he was? Nobody before or since had ever made me feel the way he did. Maybe it wasn’t everything, but it should’ve at least counted for something.
But if he needed me to say it, I could do that. I could do that for him.