Page 8 of The Trade Up

I take a deep breath. This could be the most reckless idea I’ve ever had, but I’m pretty sure I won’t regret one night with him.

“Yeah. I think I am.”

Zach holds my hand tightly in his as we walk back toward my car. As we approach the driver’s side door, he puts his hands on my hips, spinning me around to face him while he backs me against the car.

“Are you one hundred percent sure you want to take me back to your place? Because if you’ve changed your mind, you can say so. Or if you’d rather go to my hotel, we can do that.”

I reach up, putting each of my hands on the side of his neck and running my thumbs along his jawline. I am throwing all caution to the wind because suddenly I’m downright ravenous for him. I don’t know where he’s staying, but I know it’ll take longer to get there than to get back to my place.

“I want you to come over.” I lean up on my toes and press my lips to his.

As I predicted, his lips are soft. He sucks my lower lip between his and gently nips at it with his teeth, which has me opening for him as he sweeps his tongue into my mouth. His hands move from my hips, up my sides, and then one hand is on my jaw and the other is in my hair tugging my head backward gently as he takes command. He kisses me like he wants to possess me, and it’s working. I want to give myself to this man and let him own me, even if it can only be for one night.

My arms snake around his neck and suddenly his arm is sweeping under my ass and lifting me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he presses me back against the car door, and the small amount of friction as the hard length of him presses against me has me groaning into his mouth.

“Shit,” he mumbles as he pulls back, and we stare at each other wide-eyed, realizing that we’re standing under a street light in view of anyone walking or driving by—not that there are that many people around this late at night. “We need to get out of here.”

I drop my legs to the ground, but as I do my body slides right along his dick, so he reaches down to adjust himself. His other hand moves behind me and opens my door, ushering me into my seat with a quick, “Let’s go.”

When he climbs into the passenger seat, there’s no way to miss the fact that he’s huge and hard. I let out a small chuckle as I watch him carefully buckle himself in, and when he glances over at me I nod in the direction of his dick and say, “Looks like you’ve got a little problem there.”

“Nothing little about it, sweetheart,” he says. “Now drive.”

About thirty seconds later we’re pulling into the driveway, and he’s letting out a low whistle. “Nice place.”

“The house isn’t mine,” I tell him. “I used to nanny for this family and there’s an apartment above the detached garage—that’s where I live.”

I ease my car into my garage space, then lead him back out and up the stairs along the side of the garage. I note him taking in the pool in the backyard and the same view we just saw from Kerry Park. When we walk into my space and he takes in the wall of windows along the back, he asks, “If you have this view from your place, why do you go to the viewpoint at the park?”

I set my keys in the tray on the countertop of the island that divides the kitchen and living room. “You asked me whereyoushould go, and it wasn’t like I was going to suggest my living room.”

“And yet here we are,” he says, taking a cautious step toward me.

I reach out and grab his sweatshirt, pulling him toward me, and then I look up at him where he’s stopped only inches from me. “Yeah, here we are.”

He reaches out and traces the line of my cheekbone with the back of his fingers, then uses his thumb to tilt my chin up further. And then his lips are on my neck, trailing soft kisses from behind my ear to the hollow between my collar bones, while he unzips my jacket and slips it off my arms and tosses it to the side. Now that I’m in my warm house and he’s kissing my neck, I’m already burning up. So I grab the hem of my sweatshirt with both hands and lift it over my head, forcing him to step back a bit as I do.

Then his lips meet my collarbone and his tongue traces the line from one end to the other, and his hands are skimming up my abdomen on the way to my breasts. I take his hat and toss it to the side, and his sandy hair falls forward against my chest, so I thread my fingers into his hair and tilt his face up to look at me. He looks less boyish without his backward ball cap, or maybe it’s just the hunger in his eyes as he stares into mine, looking like he wants to devour me.

He reaches over his head with one hand, grips the back of his sweatshirt, and pulls it over his head. His t-shirt starts to come with it, but before he can reach down to pull it back on, my hands are gliding up the ridged plane of his abdomen and pushing his shirt over his arms and head with his sweatshirt, and I’m left trying not to drool as he stands before me, his eight pack on display. But more impressive are his shoulders and arms, because every single one of those muscles is cut, too. Even his forearms, and I’m a sucker for built forearms.

“Holy shit,” I say on an exhale. “Do you work out every day?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.” And then he’s kneeling down at my feet and untying my boots. He grips my calf gently as he uses his other hand to slide my foot out, and the care with which he does this is somehow the most sensual thing anyone’s done for me. How he looks at me and how he touches me—it seems almost reverent. He feels like someone who’d take care of me, both physically and emotionally, instead of just using me.

Once my shoes are off, he remains on his knees, sliding his hands up my outer thighs until they rest at the waistband of my leggings. He hooks his thumb in, and looks up at me. “May I?”

“Please do,” I say, hoping he doesn’t notice the wet spot that’s already soaked through my thong and onto my leggings.

He slides them gently down my legs, where I step out of them, and then he looks up at me again, his eyes sliding along the length of my legs, over my abdomen and chest, and up to my face. “Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” he says. “And smart, and—” He lets out an exhale. “—I don’t know…but…” His eyes track lower, and he reaches out and rubs his thumb along the soaking wet fabric of my thong. “Excited?”

“Take off my underwear and find out.”

One corner of his mouth curves up as he says, “Yes, ma’am.” Then he rips my underwear down my legs quicker than I can blink, and he lifts one ankle to help me step out of them, but then he slides that leg over his shoulder and his face is at the junction between my legs. He hasn’t taken his eyes off mine, and though I can tell he’s waiting for me to invite him to continue, I’m unprepared when he says, “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific,” he says, and he’s so close his warm breath caresses my center, which aches for him.

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