Page 121 of The Trade

Teeth grazing her bottom lip, I pour every ounce of my pent-up longing into the tangle of our mouths. The air around us grows thick as she peels off her shirt, revealing the delicate lace of her bralette. The sight of her half-naked body, flushed with arousal, is pure, divine torture.

She’s beautiful. She’s perfect. But she’s not mine.

“Wait.” My chest heaves, breathless as I force out the words. “If I can’t have you tonight, all of you, then we shouldn’t do this.”

“You’re right.” She places both hands on my shoulders, reeling back. “I’m sorry.”

For a split second, I merely gaze at her, the ticking of my racing heart the only sound echoing through the charged silence.

“Oh, fuck it,” I rasp.

My mouth finds hers again, then trails down to the sensitive hollow of her throat, my kiss drawing a breathy moan from her. My fingers dance across the small band of fabric holding her bralette together, unhooking it with ease. With a casual toss, the lace joins the growing pile of discarded clothes.

Our breaths come in sharp, ragged pants. As our eyes meet, there’s an unspoken agreement, a silent acceptance of the illusion we’ve created and the inevitable heartbreak it might bring.

Both of us are pretending that this one night won’t flip us inside out.

But right now, that looming heartache seems insignificant. I can’t bring myself to care about anything but the woman beneath me. So, I carry on, flipping her onto her back, her legs splayed out in front of me.

“Tell me what you want,” I demand, waiting as she shimmies out of her pants.

“You.I want you, Theo.”

Her confession stokes the fire inside me, a roaring blaze that threatens to consume my every thought. Hastily, I shed the rest of my clothing, my erection straining for release. Her fingers move to discard her panties, but I stay her hand.

“Leave them,” I command, my voice raspy with desire.

Her brows furrow, but the sight of my naked body seems to dispel any lingering doubt. I waste no time as I slip between her outstretched legs, my thumb brushing against her clit. The raw, primal desire to fully claim her overpowers my intention to savor the moment—to lick her, taste her, feel her climax on my mouth.

A shiver racks through her body, her back arching off the bed as she whimpers, “Please.”

“Please what?”

Her gaze flits to the throbbing length of my arousal, leaving no doubt about what she desires.

Throwing caution to the wind, I fumble for a condom in the drawer of my nightstand, tearing open the foil package with a determined tug. The latex barrier in place, I position myself at her entrance, the fabric of her panties pushed aside.

With a slow, measured thrust, I push into her warmth. Her gasp is my reward, the sweet friction of her tight heat luring me deeper. The rhythm of our bodies synchronizes, timed to the beat of my thudding heart. I cup my hands around her breasts, squeezing and kneading as her hips roll against mine.

She’s moaning, soft and breathless as I rock into her. It’s a slow, torturous pace, but it feels so fucking good. Her nails dig into my biceps, and my balls tighten, an orgasm threatening to spill out of me.

Yet, I’m desperate to prolong this pleasure, to stretch out these precious moments before the inevitable end. But her hand wrapping around my throat dictates otherwise, choking the breath right out of me. The world blurs around the edges, my pulse pounding in my ears.

When my climax finally tears through me, I swear I see stars.

She follows soon after, her thighs clenching around me as she shudders in the throes of her own orgasm. Then we’re locked together, sweaty and breathless, lost in the afterglow of our shared high.

The rest of the night is a hushed, delicate silence punctuated only by our soft breaths and the rustling of sheets. We clean up, curling against one another without a word, our bare bodies entangled under the soft blanket. And then, we drift off to a dreamless sleep.

I know I told her I would respect her decisions, but in this particular instance, her decisions are bullshit. She wants me to renounce our relationship for the summer. She thinks we can work on ourselves, live a drama-free summer without jealousy, insecurities, and doubts.

But that’s not reality. Instead, I’ll be spending the whole summer pining over her, wishing I would have done more to change her mind. Wishing I would have told her that I’m so fucking in love with her that it burns.

And that the idea of being apart feels like drowning.

But I guess my feelings are pointless. Because when I wake up the next morning, she’s already gone.

36

---