Page 54 of The Trade

“We should go back to my place now.”

I laugh, shaking my head at her bold proposition. “Hang on. Aren’t we supposed to have a proper date first?”

“But this was a proper date,” she argues, her tone playful. “I picked up a bat, hit some balls. Had an absolute blast.” Her smile is cheeky and utterly convincing. “Now, I’m ready for the next part.”

“But we didn’t even have dinner yet,” I point out, my voice almost a whine.

She waves her phone with a triumphant flourish. “That’s what takeout and modern technology are for.”

I tilt my head back, staring up at the sky as I contemplate my next move. “Fuck it, you win. Let’s get out of here.”

Her sigh of relief is almost comical. “Thank God.”

She takes me by the hand as we run to my car, laughing and stumbling in our haste to get home. I wrap an arm around her waist. She brushes her fingers against my hips, my shoulder, my bicep as she clings on for dear life.

Every soft touch sends a jolt of anticipation straight to my head, stopping for just a lightning-quick moment inside my heart. The engine rumbles to life, and her hand finds a comfortable spot on top of my thigh. While lust courses through my veins, there’s a deeper warmth that settles around me now.

I know it’s still early days, but I can truly see myself falling for this girl.

It’s more than just wanting her. It’s the little things—her soft smiles, the spark in her eyes when she talks about her favorite show, the way she handled that fucking baseball bat. The easy intimacy we’ve built from spending just a few short moments together.

I’d thought this kind of realization would send me into a tailspin, but instead, it’s like reaching a calming oasis. Despite the weight of what I’m feeling, there’s a reassuring sense of rightness to it.

The drive back feels quicker than expected, and soon we’re parked outside her apartment. She gives my hand a gentle squeeze, a silent promise of what’s to come.

“Home sweet home,” I murmur past the gravel in my throat.

Her gaze meets mine, filled with expectation and desire. And there’s an open invitation there, too—an offer to dive deeper, to truly understand the girl who’s turned my world on its head.

And damn, am I ready for it.

By the time we make it up to her floor, the anticipation is nearly eating me alive. She unlocks her front door with shaky hands, dragging me down the hallway and into her bedroom.

“Shan’s not home tonight,” she whispers in my ear, a subtle tremor in her voice.

Her words barely register before I have her pinned against the wall, my fingers threading gently through her hair. I’m kissing her before I can think, my mouth seeking hers with a hunger I can’t control.

Oh God, the taste of her is so fucking good.

Her soft lips brush against mine, our tongues gently stroking one another. My grip tightens in her hair as I deepen the kiss, reveling in the soft heat of her mouth. And when she bites down on my lip, it’s almost too much.

I pull back, letting out a groan as I trail my hands over the sweet curve of her breasts, her hips, her ass. She rocks against me, seeking friction, seeking release, as she presses her heat into my thigh.

As my fingers slide under the hem of her T-shirt, I look for a sign of approval in her eyes. The moment she nods, I peel the fabric off her, revealing the lacy white bra underneath. The sight of it against her flushed skin is more intoxicating than any drink I’ve ever had.

She arches her back off the wall, reaching behind with one arm to unclasp the hook. I stifle a groan as she shrugs the tiny, delicate straps away from her shoulders.

Oh,fuck.

My mouth waters at the sight of her perfect tits. Barely more than a handful, her plump teardrops are marked by rosy, red nipples. Goddamn, the real thing is so much better than the fantasy inside my head. I reach up to cup them with both hands, gently squeezing until she’s moaning beneath me.

Then, I lower my hands, fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts. “Can I?”

“Please,” she rasps, inching forward to attach her lips to my neck.

At her request, the scrap of fabric joins the growing pile of clothes on the floor. And when my own shirt follows suit, there’s an undeniable look of appreciation in her eyes.

“Mmm,” she hums, her gaze roving over me like a physical touch. “You’re so damn hot.”

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