Rough Tumble (9 page)

A moment of ‘was this a good idea’ crossed through, but it wasn’t fast enough. His lips topped hers. Arms wrapped around her waist. His fingers that had always remained politely across the middle of her back reached low and were over the top of her ass. Not grabbing. But there. Resting.

Firing her blood, tingling her skin under his touch. His lips teased, pressed at the corners of her mouth. She stepped into him. Put her hips to his. Had his hard abs and chest against the front of hers. Those fingers just resting on her lower back curled and tossed a shiver up her back.

His lips pressed over hers and she opened for him, accepted his tongue sliding across hers. A moan rumbled in his chest, hummed against her breasts. He pulled her against him and she pulled against his neck. Wanting closer. Needing him closer.

And if she had it her way, with less clothes on.

He cupped her ass and lifted, turned, putting her on the kitchen counter. His hands traced down her thighs, and she opened her legs for him, hooked her ankles together at his back and pulled him between her.

“Tonya.”

“Yes,” It was the safest thing she knew to say that wouldn’t stop this. A thousand times, yes. Stopping—not an option.

Faintly, that bothersome part that lurked in the back of her mind, reminded her of what she was putting to risk. Reminded her that he was by all accounts, a best friend to her and just over the last few days she’d nearly lost him and it had been some of the hardest days of her life thinking he wouldn’t be back.

Damn that thing in the back of her mind. He kissed against her jaw. She opened her mouth to say his name. Something, anything. But he was kissing her. Hungry and wanting. His hands were under her shirt. The rough pads of his fingers caused her stomach to tighten and release. Caused her thighs to squeeze and grip him, then release.

Wanting so much. His mouth was on her neck, going along the curve into her shoulder. That stupid worry was back. She squeezed her eyes tight, willing it to go away, but it just wouldn’t leave. “Trent.”

He stopped. He didn’t lift. His face was turned against her throat and fingers stroked along the curves of her bra. Restless and needy. His touches never ended, only flowed from one part of her to the next.

“I don’t know.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to screw up what we have.”

“I know.” He sighed. The kisses stopped.

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Lay there like a bleeding, disappointing lump that was going to weigh her down. “It’s not that I don’t want this. I do.”

“Me too.”

“Do we need to think about it?”

He shifted. The hard, long firm ridge of his member stroked against her. Oh God. Could she be done thinking now? Please?

His hand caressed up her arm. “Do you want to think about it?”

“Not so much.”

He cupped her cheeks and leaned against her, turned her face to him. His breaths were full, deep, forcing his chest to press to her then releasing. “Then what are you doing thinking?”

She shook her head and gripped his shoulders enough to know she wasn’t planning to let him go. “No idea. I blurted. I shouldn’t blurt. No one should blurt, really. Should be outlawed.”

He leaned forward, put his mouth over hers and shut her up. Thank god, cause it didn’t look like she was going to anytime soon, which was two levels way past dumb, because oh my, oh my.

His mouth was some part of heaven. Surely. Had to be. Sweetened from sugar cake. Spicy from him. He pressed easy, then rougher. Her head fell back and he pressed against her. Hands slid from her shoulders and arms down her waist, back under her shirt again. Oh yes, oh yes, oh
yes
.

He wadded the shirt in his hands, lifting. She didn’t want to, but she released his shoulders to lift her hands. No idea where her shirt landed. No idea where his landed after she stripped it off either. He gripped her by the hips, jerked her forward to the very edge of the counter.

Her forehead was on his. Noses nearly touching. She stared into him as he stared back. Was he asking? Was he waiting? She wasn’t waiting. Not anymore. She leaned into him, pressed her mouth back to his, wrapped her legs around his waist.

That was it. For the waiting or pausing or second-guessing or maybe just staring into her eyes for a moment. She didn’t know. He pulled her off the edge of the counter. His hands cupped her ass, fingers curled and squeezed as he turned and carried her to the living room.

She released him for a moment, for air first. “My bedroom is the other way.”

“I know.”

“We can go in there.”

“We’re not.”

His mouth covered back over hers and who gave a shit where they landed? Not her. Not a chance. The couch was closer anyway. She was flat on her back and he was on top of her.

Hello, heaven. Nice to see you.

His weight stretched comfortable across her body. Every last inch of her thrilled to the nines for having this moment. With him and then just having it. Being touched. Being wanted. Being desired. It seemed ages ago. The touch of a man, his weight, scent, heat, all of it so foreign nearly.

So forgotten.

With Trent, it was new. Awakening. Fresh. Dare she say it, nearly like the first time? His lips against her jaw, down her neck. Her toes curled, and all over she tingled. Yes, yes she could say it. It was so much like the first time. Only thousands of times better.

He pushed to his elbows, and simply smiled. No rush. No hurry. Deep eyes she could lay here and become lost in. So close that she could clearly see the flecks of gold and darker browns in his green eyes.

He pushed hair away from her face and cupped her cheeks again. Kept her face lifted to him and just held her a moment.

Her arms were pinned under him, so she wrapped him best she could around his sides and back. Considering how broad he was, it wasn’t much.

He leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I want this. I have wanted it for a while.”

“Me too. It’s part of why I told you the truth.”

His brow lifted and realization ran over her brain.

“I mean, I didn’t just tell you so we could do this. I wanted to tell you because we’re friends, and I was tired of lying. I had hoped it could lead to this, to something more, but I didn’t know if you felt the same.”

His forehead touched hers. He kissed at the corners of her mouth, whispered against her lips. “I told you I was deceitful. You didn’t listen. You didn’t know because I didn’t want you to know I felt the same.”

She studied him a moment, she couldn’t imagine Trent being anything but open, honest. Her sweet, adorable Trent. The way he spoke, looked into her, she wondered what else lurked behind his deep eyes. What secrets had he not told her? Deep, life altering ones? Things like hers he buried and hid? There was only one way to find out and she wanted to know. She wanted to know every last inch of him and then relearn it all over again. She turned as he started to kiss her cheek and caught his mouth on her lips.

That was the last of the talking. Or thinking. Or anything besides feeling. His weight shifted over hers. Her thighs parted and he settled between her legs. Through her jeans, through his jeans, the firm ridge of his erection was strong.

His kiss never ending. A constant movement of lips over lips. Her head tipped back, tongue slid against hers and his spicy taste filled her. Pushed her pulse up another notch.

She wanted more, needed more.

Chills scattered across his back, wave after wave, new ones replaced old as she stroked her fingertips against his sides. Up firm muscles to his ribs, almost to his arms and then as far down as she could reach. To the waist of his jeans. Just far enough she could edge her fingers under the snug denim. Not close enough she could get her hands in there and grip.

He shifted and moved. Kisses worked down her neck, across the top of her shoulders. The farther down he moved, the less and less of him she reached. She pulled her arms free and wrapped him around his shoulders. He inched lower down her. Each adjustment down her body, pinned her further to the couch. Left her at his mercy as open mouth kisses moved between her breasts. The light dusting of facial hair scrapped and hitched her breath.

She held him by his head as he drew one tight pointed tip of her in his mouth.

She arched into him. Needing so badly. Was wound so tight. After all this time. The years of celibacy she wanted more right now. More of his touch. Rougher at that. Wanted all his weight.

She combed her nails across the top of his head, tugged him against her breasts. His moan vibrated against her chest as he nipped her. She yelped, but wanted it again.

“Trent,” she whispered on a barely-there breath. In a voice so desperate and wanting it didn’t sound like hers.

He stroked down her side. His hand moved over the cuff of her shorts and he gripped her thigh. Nearly pinched, but not to the point of pain. Tips of his fingers moved under the denim. Blunt nails edged against her panties.

“Yes,” she managed to force out past her dry mouth. He found her mouth again and kissed. Inched back up her body as his lips pressed hard to hers.

Absolutely yes. Back over the top of her, her arms were trapped above his shoulders. Forced to just his neck and top of his back when there was so much more she wanted to find. Clothes she wanted to remove. She couldn’t move instead. Basically trapped under him. She tried lifting her hips. To gain something. To inch those fingertips playing with the elastic of her undies a little closer to her center that was begging to be touched, stroked. Rediscovered.

Everything in her was balled up tight, waiting and hoping for more. Anxious for that pivotal moment when everything would fall over and become an exciting moment of blankness in nothing but feeling.

If she could just move.

But nothing. She cried out. “Trent.”

He lifted up, mouth released her breast and she all but cried out again. No, not stopping. Stopping, pausing whatever in God’s name he thought he was doing was not the answer.

He searched her face. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you?”

He pushed off the couch, her arms were able to lower, get under him and she caught him by the waist of his jeans and jerked him back. “I’m trapped, and I just want more. It’s been a long time.”

A full-on male pride smile turned up his lips. She should probably roll her eyes at him, but she couldn’t. Because he was awesome. And yes, he was that good and they hadn’t even gotten their pants off yet.

With a wicked grin, he leaned back and flicked open the fly of her shorts. Dragged the cutoffs slowly down her legs until she couldn’t stand it. She bent her knees up, kicked her legs, flicked her feet, trying to get the shorts the rest of the way down, but they were caught between her knees. She dropped her head back with a hard breath.

He traced a finger from her lips, all the way down between her breasts and the tip slipped under the top of her panties. “You’re cute when you don’t get what you want.”

“You’re not funny.”

He kissed the tip of her nose, pushed up on his knees and pulled her shorts down the rest of the way, tossing them to the floor. He leaned forward, hooked her panties in under his thumbs and pulled those down and off too. “I’m patient.”

“Is that why you’re still wearing your pants?”

His mouth back over hers was his answer. He shifted his legs. Moved so he lay to the side and not over her. His hand strayed between her breasts. Backs of his knuckles slid over her belly until his pinky was close enough to caress the very top of her opening.

And pretty much lit her on fire. If fire was a bowl of wanting, needing, sinful goodness waiting to be savored and explored until she fell apart.

Then her waiting was over. He moved closer. Stroked and caressed. Stole her breath. Took her from one level of extreme to another and that was the end of her. Nerves shattered. Mind emptied. She faced into the warm turn of his neck and breathed the scent of him in. Spicy, welcoming. Trent. Home. He was her home, her rock. Her guy that she wanted to wake up to tomorrow. Yes, he was that good.

He moved again. Shifting his weight around and working on the button of his jeans. She moved, trying to help, but found her fingers useless. Too numb and lost in sensation. The zipper lowered. He shifted and she put her hands on his flat stomach. Stroked his lower belly. Going for what she’d imagined. What she wondered about.

Wanted to know more about. He pushed his jeans down to his thighs, she slipped her hands in the waist of his cotton boxers, and he stopped moving. Breath just stopped in his throat. Hands stilled on her as she wrapped her hand around him, rubbed her thumb over his tip.

Half trapped under him, basically pinned to the couch, a surge of power moved through her. Filled her, firmed her grip. And he caught his breath. His eyes squeezed shut. A groan vibrated through his throat.

Liquid pearled out the tip of him and she smeared it over his length. Hard steel became soothing damp…steel. She gripped him tight. Stroked him up then down.

He whispered her name. Breathy. Soft and low toned voice. The sound of her name raking off his tongue over and over shuddered through her. She touched him more. Had both hands in his pants.