Page 47 of The Trade

“Right,” I agree, but the conviction is missing.You’re about to tell me what you like in bed, Jade. This is a huge fucking deal.

“Okay,” she says, her voice tinged with a vulnerability that draws me in further. “Well, first off, there’d be lots of touching. Oh, and kissing—lots of kissing.”

“Good start,” I say, my heart pounding against my ribs.

She snorts. “Yeah.”

“Where?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip, the taste of my own anticipation filling my mouth.

“The kissing?” she clarifies, and I murmur my agreement. “Oh, um, I guess I’d want him to start with my lips. Then maybe . . . move to my neck.”

“How would he kiss you?”

“He would probably . . . use his tongue,” she whispers, her voice low and shy. “Um—maybe suck on my neck just a little bit, but not enough to leave a mark. Then he might ... move down a little further.”

“How much further?”

“Down past my collarbone.” She sucks in a breath, the sound making my chest tighten. “He would—he’d kiss me there, too.”

“Would he take off your shirt?” I press, my words a threadbare whisper in the quiet darkness of my room.

“Yes.”

“Are you in your bed when he does this?”

“I am,” she says, her voice a soft murmur in my ear. And there she goes again—more fucking rustling.

“Under your covers?” My voice is a rough hush, a strange tightness constricting my throat.

“Mhm,” she breathes out. “And he’s—he’s on top of me. He takes off my shirt, and he ... licks his way down to my nipples.”

“Yeah? He probably pops one into his mouth, doesn’t he? Sucks on it?”

“Mhm,” she moans, but it’s a quiet, barely there sound that somehow amplifies my desire.

“Maybe he uses his teeth,” I suggest, my voice sinking into a low rumble. “Just to lightly nip.”

“He does, and I—I really like that.” She shifts in her bed, and I can picture her perfectly. “I press my legs together as he does it, just trying to get ... a little bit of friction.”

“Jade,” I call out to her, my voice a low warning.

“Uh-huh?” A breathless question.

“Are you wearing those little striped pajama shorts?”

“Uh-huh.” A breathless answer, the rustling growing louder as my imagination runs wild. Because now I know, without a doubt, she’s touching herself under the covers.

“He really wants to touch you. Will you let him?”

“Yes, Theo,” she manages to squeak out. “I mean, he—he can touch me.”

The floodgates open, and there’s no turning back. The image of her body under my touch, the sound of her gasps and moans, drives me to the edge. “He pulls those little shorts down over your hips, pressing his thumb to your clit.”

“Oh,” she sighs. “That feels . . . that’s good.”

“Yeah?” I ask, my own hand finding its way down, the sensation mirroring the picture in my mind. “Then he strokes your pussy nice and slow before slipping one finger inside.”

“Mmm, that’s really good.” The approval in her voice is all the encouragement I need.

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