Chapter Five Chapter FiveBree fell asleep in his arms. She woke up as he placed her on a bed. And it was a sign of how emotionally drained she was that she didn’t even ask where she was as he crept in next to her. If she were honest, she wanted him there.
She went out like a light. And when she woke the next morning, Bree realized that crying in his arms had helped.
She rolled over, Trent’s arms falling from her sides, which was where they’d stayed all night. And as Bree turned to face him, she realized how much she’d missed this—missed a man’s company. And though she never would have thought it was possible, she actually felt relaxed in Trent’s company, likely because he’d proved himself trustworthy in more ways that one.
She reached out a hand, gently wiping a lock of hair off his forehead. He looked both familiar and unfamiliar. The nose was the same, as was the jaw—but there the similarities ended. There were lines around his mouth and eyes, wrinkles that hadn’t been there before. His lashes were still long, especially while he was sleeping, but the mouth had changed. No longer boyishly thin, it had matured, appearing almost sensual now.
Who was this man? she found herself wondering. Who was this stranger who tried to help her even though he hadn’t seen her in years?
She leaned forward and kissed him.
His eyes sprang open.
Bree drew back in alarm.
He smiled.
And she reminded herself there was nothing to be afraid of—not from him.
“Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” she answered.
“Sleep okay?” he asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Good.” He sat up. Bree felt that momentary stab of panic, but it faded when he turned away from her, dangling his feet over the edge of the bed. “There’s towels in the bathroom and a robe hanging on the back of the door.” He went over to a huge chest of drawers, opening first one and then another. “Here’s a T-shirt and an old pair of sweats you can change into.” He didn’t turn and hand them to her, just tossed them in an armchair. “I’ll go make us some coffee.”
And then he left, Bree feeling her brows lift at the suddenness of his departure. He hadn’t even asked how she was feeling. And if she was doing better. How odd.
But it wasn’t until after her shower, when Bree was sitting on the edge of his bed admiring his bedroom, that she understood the problem. He still wouldn’t look at her when he said, “My turn to take a shower.” And then, so low that she probably wouldn’t have heard him if his spacious house wasn’t so quiet, he said, “A cold one,” under his breath.
Stupid, Bree. Of course that’s what the problem is. He is a man after all—not a saint.
Yes, but he’d been so gentle.
And had probably woken up with a woody, which was why he’d left the bed so quickly.
“Thanks for the clothes,” she called out to him.
He didn’t even acknowledge the words, just went into the bathroom without a backward glance. Bree stared at the closed door, certain Trent was trying to hide from her. What would he do if she walked in on him? she wondered. What would she do?
One thing she did know: after today, she doubted she’d ever see him again. She was scheduled to fly out tonight, which meant if she wanted to give it one more try . . .
No, she told herself with a firm shake of her head. She couldn’t ask that of him. He’d done so much already.
Yes, another voice urged.
Because after waking up in his arms, there was one thing she did know: she wanted to be normal again. She wanted it with a fierceness that made her stiffen in resolve. She didn’t need a woman to turn her on. That had been a mistake. Trent wasn’t a mistake. He was an honest, caring man.
She got up from the bed, her nails digging into her palms.
Now or never.
She could see Trent through the glass of the shower, his head resting against the tile wall, eyes closed.
He was stroking himself.
Bree froze. His butt cheeks clenched as he pushed against his hand, water dripping down his head and onto his fingers.
Let him be, Bree. Obviously he’s busy.
Because of you, she admitted to herself.
He started to move his hand faster now, and for a second she remembered that first night. Remembered the pleasure she’d experienced just from watching him. And though anxiety made her stomach tighten, the sight of him working himself made her warm and swell.
She wanted sex.
“Trent.”
He didn’t hear her at first, just continued to work himself, his knees bending as he pressed himself into his hand.
“Trent,” she said again.
He turned his head, peered out at her from beneath a stream of water.
“Let me do that for you.”
He slowly straightened, his head coming out of the stream of water so that he looked sweaty and flushed. Bree had a moment of hesitation.
I can’t do it. God help her, she knew by now Trent wouldn’t hurt her, but a part of her still didn’t trust.
And then she saw the cord. It hung around a shower curtain that decorated one side of the stall. It was gold, and braided and obviously sturdy enough to tie a man’s hands.
Would it help? Would it make her feel better?
Regain your power, a voice sounded in her head—something she’d read in a self-help book not too long ago. That same book had prompted her to get on a plane and find Trent.
“Turn around,” Bree said, stepping toward the shower.
“Bree—”
“Please,” Bree begged. God help her, she didn’t need him protesting. She needed him to keep quiet. To just let her do this.
He turned around.
She unhooked the cord, then opened the glass door. Hot air made heavy by steam instantly clung to her face. Trent didn’t say a word as she grabbed one arm, pulled it behind him, then grabbed the other, wrapping the cord around him as tight as she dared.
“Oh, man, Bree,” she thought she heard him moan.
She took the robe off quickly, before she could change her mind, though to be honest, knowing his hands were tied helped. She felt more confident, and more important, in control.
“Turn around,” she said.
He faced her, a golden god glistening with moisture, his dick rosy red and fully engorged from his manhandling.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked.
Her eyes shot to his, the words giving her another jolt of power. She stepped back, sitting down on the vanity behind her.
“Make me ready for you,” she said, spreading her legs.
“Bree.”
“Please,” she asked.
He stared at her for a long second, then slowly sank down. Bree tingled, one of those delicious, pre-coitus tingles such as she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She scooted forward and watched as his tongue flicked out to work her. If he tried anything, she’d use her feet to knock him back on his ass.
But he wasn’t going to try anything, and the realization gave her power. He was dipping his tongue in her now, his eyes looking up at her. Watching him mouth her, feeling his teeth nip at that tiny ball of pleasure—the one that sent hot tingles through her labia. She used one of her hands to spread for him, encouraging him to take her button into his mouth. He did, sucking on it like it gave out the sweetest nectar.
“That’s it, baby. Fuck me with your mouth,” she ordered, hearing herself use the crass language and liking it. The words excited her, just like pushing out some of her essence turned her on—He suckled her and she threw her head back, clutching the counter.
They started a rhythm, one that began with his tongue flicking inside her, then swiping up her hot, swollen valley. And she could smell the tangy sweet essence of herself, liked the scent so much she dragged a finger up her valley so she could taste herself. He watched, his mouth sucking her harder. Jeez, her tits were so hard, she couldn’t resist touching them. She squeezed one, pinching her nipples as she pulsed out more of her juices for him to taste.
It was just like last night, only better, because what she really wanted—what she suddenly realized she would always want more than any woman’s hot tongue—was his cock.
“Put it inside me,” she said, opening her eyes in time to see his own go smoky with desire. “Do it.”
Somehow he stood, and she saw his cock pointing in her direction, his rod swollen from lack of satiation. God, she wanted it. There. Right there, she thought, guiding it to her.
Trent’s lips were tight as his dick entered her, stretching her to the point that she gasped. “Fuck me,” she panted.
He bent down to kiss her.
She pushed him away. “No,” she ordered. “Just fuck me.”
He thrust. Bree just about screamed. Pleasure. Oh, Lord, the pleasure. She’d forgotten because no amount of manual stimulation, no amount of female manipulation ever felt as good as a man. Never.
He drew out and pushed into her again. Bree watched his chest rise and fall, his veins standing out along the line of his shoulder and into his arms. She angled her hips, leaning back a bit as he pumped, her clit so coated with sex juices that she could hear each slap of his body against her own. The veins of his neck had started to bulge, Bree knowing he was about to come.
She tightened her vagina around him.
He groaned. She did it again, enjoying the sense of power it gave her to watch him come unglued.
“Bree,” he groaned, his thrusts so hard, she had to clutch the counter to keep, from moving. He was there, right there—that spot that made her want to squirt all over him. He wanted to come inside her, too. She felt him swell as he prepared to fire off his load.
Maybe that’s why she did what she did next.
Without thought she pushed him away. He staggered back, his dick slick and wet, a tiny stream of cum dribbling out of the end.
She tensed, waiting for him to say something, to get mad, to yell at her.
He didn’t say a word.
Bree felt something shift inside her, something that made her shoulders straighten in determination, that made her feel ashamed and relieved and grateful all at the same time.
He still hadn’t moved.
She went down on her knees and took him in her mouth, ignoring her own need for release. She wrapped her mouth around his head and gobbled down all her salty essence. He gasped, bent his knees. Her vagina pulsed in sexual satisfaction as she suckled on the sticky taste of herself. She knew he was going to come—and quickly—took the first squirt down her throat, swallowed, then drew back and worked his staff for more, satisfaction filling her as another hot stream shot out and landed on her chest.
“Jeez,” she heard him moan, and looked up to see him staring down at her. His dick hadn’t softened one bit and so she knew she wouldn’t have any problem when she turned around, giving him her ass.
“My turn.”
He didn’t need to be told twice, just pushed into her as she rested her upper body against the cold counter, spreading herself wider and wider as he pumped and pumped and pumped.
She screamed, wanting release, craving release. He worked her harder and harder.
She didn’t come.
She changed positions, letting him pound into her from the front, her legs wrapping around his middle. He was grunting now, thrusting and thrusting, their thighs slapping and slapping.
She wasn’t going to come and the more she tried, the further and further it slipped away until she was just a shell, tears streaming down her face.
“Stop,” she gasped.
Trent kept working her.
“Stop,” she ordered, hitting him on the shoulder. That got his attention. He froze. Bree pushed him away, tears of anger and disappointment falling from her eyes.
“Bree, what’s wrong?”
But she didn’t answer, couldn’t answer because she knew if she did, she’d lose complete control.
Trent watched her walk away, shock holding him immobile. But then he bent down and picked up the robe she’d discarded, throwing it on as he ran out the bathroom door.
“Bree. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said, her hand wiping at her eyes as she went to his armchair and grabbed the shirt and sweats he’d left for her.
She was getting dressed?
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Leaving?” he all but shouted. “What are you leaving for?”
“I’m giving up,” she said, tugging on his shirt. It hung past mid-thigh. “Throwing in the towel,” she added, bending to pull on the sweats. They were too small for him, but they absolutely hung on her tiny frame. She didn’t seem to mind. “Calling it a day.”
“Throwing in the towel on what?”
She turned to face him, and the sadness in her eyes, the dismay and, yes, the anger, made Trent want to go to her, to pull her into his arms, to hold her like he had last night. “On me,” she said softly.
But he knew if he tried to touch her she’d only run away. Hell, it looked like she was doing that anyway.
“Bree, don’t go. We’re making progress—”
“Progress?” she said. “You call what I just did to you progress?”
“You’re not afraid of me.”
“I tied you up.”
“Which gave you confidence.”
“Fat lot of good that does me when I can’t have an orgasm.”
His brows lifted. “Is that what you’re upset about? You didn’t come?”
“No, Trent, I couldn’t come.”
“Probably because you’re emotionally wrung out—”
“Stop it, Trent,” she shouted, stomping her foot. “Just stop it. Quit making excuses for how messed up I am.”
“You have a right be be messed up. What you went through would mess anyone up.”
“And so I guess I have a right to tie you up too?”
“I don’t mind.”
“And why is that, Trent? Why do you let me do whatever I want?”
He took a step toward her, wanting her to see the answer in his eyes. “Because I’ve always cared for you. We go back way too many years for me to turn my back on you now.”
“Then there’s something wrong with you,” she snapped. “A normal man would have told me where to go that first night.”
“Why? So you could seek out some other man you felt ‘comfortable’ with? You might have broken my heart all those years ago, Bree, but I wasn’t about to let you do that.”
And he could see the anger drain away, see the sadness that once again entered her eyes. “Well you don’t have to worry about that anymore, Trent. I won’t be trying this again for a very long time.”
“No, Bree. That’s not the solution. You should keep working at it.”
“With you?”
“Yes, with me.”
“So I could leave you once again?”
“It might not end up that way.”
“Yes, Trent, it would,” she said softly, her eyes brimming with tears.
Damn it, he hated to see her cry. Hated to see the pain in her eyes. It made him want to pound his fists. “Please, don’t go.”
But she closed the distance between them, lifting up on bare toes to kiss his cheek. “Good-bye, Trent. I can’t thank you enough for putting up with my nonsense the last couple of days.”
“No,” he said, reaching for her shoulders. “Don’t go.”
“I have to,” she said, turning and scooping up her clothes and shoes before walking away.