Chapter Thirteen

Cora made her way back to Liv’s house, eager to see Trent after making her decision about collecting on their sexual chemistry. Anticipation burned through her veins, churning her up inside. So what if this was about scrubbing the memories of her bad relationships away? So what if it was for nothing more than feeling good and wanted and desired, even if it meant absolutely freaking zip in the long run?

As she drove, her eyes widened at the darkly shifting shapes overhead. Trent had told her summer storms could sneak up quickly, shattering the sky and drenching the earth before disappearing as quickly as they came.

This is not a bad omen. This is not a bad omen.

She barely made it to the house before the storm hit. It was incredible to watch the sky shift from vivid blue with fluffy marshmallow clouds to roiling shades of inky navy and rich, deep purple split only by streaks of pale gold lightning. She jumped out of the car and made a break for the front door, head bowed to the pelting rain. The cool droplets were almost a relief from the heat, but they came so thick and fast that she was drenched in seconds.

Cora gasped as her sandals skidded on the wet concrete, and when she looked up, she saw the front door was open and Trent was standing there.

“Come on,” he said. “It caught me, too. I only just beat you home after picking up some tools from Nick.”

“This rain is no joke.” Cora’s breathing came a little hard from the shock of being wet and cold after a long day of bone-melting heat. Her white T-shirt was all but glued to her skin, and her hair trickled chilly droplets down her back as she stepped into the house.

“One of the quirks of the weather here,” Trent replied, raking a hand through his hair and shaking off the excess water.

His T-shirt was also glued to him. It clung to every muscle in his work-honed body, from the broad “carry the world” shoulders to the hard pecs, rounded biceps, and rippled abs. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was desert dry. Even his shorts were clingier than normal, the light tan fabric dark in patches. As Trent bent over to take off his boots, Cora couldn’t help but stare. She’d never really been sure why exactly people used the peach emoji to represent an ass; her flat butt certainly didn’t look like a peach.

But now she knew. Trent had peach-ass perfection.

“You all right?” he asked, looking up as he yanked one boot off and then the other.

“Uh-huh.” She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I feel like you’re staring at me.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Have I torn my pants or something?”

This was it, her crossroads. They were alone in this house, shielded by the bad weather—and really, what was more romantic than a thunderstorm? Was she going to chicken out again and go hide in her room? Or was she going to seize the opportunity to be wild and carefree and totally not like herself?

“Your ass looks like the peach emoji,” she blurted out. Immediately, she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. “That…didn’t come out right.”

Maybe she was doomed to be celibate. Whatever gene other women had that made them sexy and sultry and all those good things was obviously lacking in her. No amount of etiquette school had ever really drummed the awkwardness out of her.

“How was it meant to come out?” Trent stood and nudged his boots to the wall with his foot. Water dotted his skin—highlighting the corded muscle in his neck and arms.

“Umm…” Cora smoothed her hands down the front of her stomach, something she tended to do when she was nervous. And right now she was more than a little nervous.

Trent was hot. Like, stick him straight on a magazine cover without any photoshopping kind of hot. His bright blue eyes tracked her every anxious movement, and the corner of his lip hovered somewhere between smile and smirk. He knew he was good-looking. Hell, he probably had women with much more finesse and sexual prowess throwing themselves at his feet every damn day.

Women who probably had the first clue about coming on to a man.

“I’m not very good at this,” she said, though whether it was to herself or to Trent, she wasn’t totally sure.

Maybe this was one of those cases where actions should speak louder than words? Her fingertips drifted to the hem of her T-shirt, and she toyed with it for a second—pros and cons dancing in her mind like sprites—before she peeled the fabric up and away from her skin. She bent her arms, hoisting the T-shirt over her breasts and then her head before releasing the wet fabric so that it landed with a thud on the floor.

“I would say you’re damn good at it,” Trent said, swallowing. His eyes were darker now, smokier. Or maybe it was the shifting of the clouds outside, while the rain thundered down, branches scratching against glass and thunder warning them there was more to come. “But I thought you weren’t ready.”

“Maybe I am now.”

Cora slowly toed off her sandals and nudged them to one side, mimicking what he’d done a moment ago. When she reached behind her, feeling for the clasp of her bra, Trent held up a hand to stop her. The disappointment was like a knife to her gut. She could see he was attracted to her—see it in his eyes, in the taut pull of his lips. In the growing outline of his cock behind his wet, clingy shorts.

The sight almost took her breath away. She was a puddle of wanting, of need and desperation and every other type of vibrating energy all twisted together. Her whole body hummed, like each cell was a tuning fork and he was the catalyst for it all.

“Wait.” He came closer, hands splaying out across her hips. His fingertips were cold from the rain, but her body was fiery hot. Molten. “You’re either ready or you aren’t. I don’t do maybe.”

She swallowed, fear and lust and anticipation a tornado of temptation inside her. Why did she feel so stripped back? So raw? Maybe it was because he wasn’t letting her skirt the edges of things. He wasn’t letting her get by without voicing her desires, clearly and distinctly. To speak up for what she wanted, which didn’t come naturally.

All her life, she’d been told what to want, what to chase, what her dreams and aspirations should be. But Trent wasn’t telling her anything.

He was forcing her to be active in her desires instead of passive.

“I am ready,” she said resolutely. The sureness of her words trickled through her body, giving her strength and determination. Fortifying her. It felt empowering to claim her desires, to state boldly and clearly what she wanted. It made her feel like a new woman. “I want to sleep with you.”

“Then I think we’re skipping ahead a few steps.”

“We are?” She tipped her face up to his.

“Yes.” He touched his forehead to hers, warm breath skating over her skin, hands sliding around her back. “We have to start with a sweet kiss.”

He brushed his lips over hers, the kiss so soft and gentle, it had no more weight than a memory. His thumb smoothed over her jaw, and Cora wound her arms around his neck. It was like sinking into a warm bath.

“Then something a little sexier,” he said.

This time when his lips met hers, the kiss was hot and open. Sensual. Exploratory. His tongue swept the inside of her mouth, and his hands tracked slowly down her back to the curve of her butt. He tasted warm and smooth, smelled like rain and salt and wanting. She melted into him, and it was like she was no longer a person, just a manifestation of her desires. She was liquid and floating, drowning in his kiss.

“What’s next?” she gasped when his lips moved to her neck, sucking, nipping, scraping. His chin was rough with stubble, and when he nuzzled the crook of her neck, it was like being showered in sparks.

“Body contact.” He drew her close to him, lining her body with his.

Everything was hard…everything. From the coiled muscles in his arms to his fingers as he kneaded her backside. To the hard ridge of his erection digging in to her belly. To his kiss, which was deeper and more and perfect.

“I like this bit,” she murmured as her head rolled back, letting his hands move over her.

He walked her backward until she hit a wall. No, not a wall. Glass. It was the back window, and she splayed her hands out behind her, palms sliding over cool smoothness as Trent kissed her again. His hips ground against hers and she let it happen, willed it to continue. Begged with her body to go further.

“Are we at the undressing part yet?” she asked, her voice ragged.

Trent laughed, and it was the most gravelly, growly, sexy sound she’d ever heard. “We can be if you want.”

She nodded, heart hammering in her chest.

“Can I do the honors?” He traced a fingertip along the line of her bra, and Cora thanked her past self for having the decency not to wear her “comfy” bra today. This one had a touch of lace at the edge and a little bow between her breasts, like the cherry on top of a sundae. It was sweet and it made her feel pretty, but right now she was sure she’d feel better with it off.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Please take it off.”

Trent palmed her through the lace and satin cups, squishing her boobs together and planting kisses in the line of her cleavage. The rough bristles of his stubble were fire against her delicate skin, but in the best way possible. And when his fingers found the clasp at the back—not fumbling and cursing like her ex always had—she almost sighed in relief when she was set free.

The roughness of his fingers was heaven against her hot skin, and her nipples beaded immediately under his touch. They were tight, aching. Like the inside of her belly and deepest part of her sex and her heart and her lungs. Everything was aching for him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, lowering himself so he could take her breasts in his hands, thumbs flicking over her nipples. “Everywhere. All places.”

“Please,” she begged, not even sure exactly what she was asking for.

When his mouth closed around her nipple, she cried out, her voice drowned by the crack of thunder outside. Her body was a riot of sensations, cool glass at her back, hot mouth at her front. The weight of her shorts felt like too much, and the seam of the thick denim rubbed at her most sensitive part when she squeezed her legs together. She rocked back and forth, trying to get the friction she needed there.

His tongue and teeth and lips stoked the fire burning inside her, and when the heel of his palm slipped between her legs, mercifully giving her pressure right where she wanted it, she almost wept with relief.

“That’s it,” he murmured against her breast, pulling his hand away briefly to lower the zipper of her shorts before snaking his hand inside. “Take what you want.”

It wasn’t perfect. Her panties were still a barrier, but she was already running toward the cliff edge of release, and nothing could stop her now. He kissed her and ground the heel of his palm against her sex and she rocked, rocked, rocked against him.

Then she was flying, orgasm splintering and fracturing, and she gasped huge lungfuls of air. Her muscles clenched. They pulsed. They sang. When she came, she buried her face in his hair and screwed her eyes shut, blotting out the senses she didn’t need so that she could feel as much as possible.

When she floated back down to earth, there was nothing but the sound of her own breath and the rain. And the crackle of excitement. Trent’s arms were around her, cradling her, as she clung to him.

“I like that bit, too,” she said softly, feeling her cheeks flush. But there was nothing to be embarrassed about. Didn’t a woman deserve a ground-shaking orgasm every so often? Didn’t a woman deserve to feel wanted and beautiful and powerful?

And she did feel that way. Even if she sucked at knowing the right thing to say or how to be sexy or enticing. Even if her scars and insecurities were deep. Even if she’d had fleeting thoughts that her life was going nowhere and nobody would ever love her again…if they ever had in the first place.

“See, and what if we’d rushed straight over all that?” He stretched up to his full height but kept her tucked against him. Wet T-shirt pressed against her cheek. “That would have been a tragedy.”

“Agreed.” But she wasn’t done, not by a long shot. “Unless you want to stop?”

“No bloody way.” He tilted her head back and kissed her slowly. “Do you want to stop?”

“No bloody way,” she echoed with a grin.

“I’m going to start calling you my little cockatoo if you keep mimicking me,” he said.

The nickname warmed her heart, and that was a little scary. Because her heart wasn’t invited to this dance—neither was her brain. This was strictly a hands and mouth and down-there-bits only kind of occasion.

“I don’t care what you call me, so long as you take me to bed.” Okay, so maybe she did have a few moves up her sleeve. Apparently, all she needed was one orgasm to get her sexy talk on.

“Why don’t we watch the storm?”

“Outside?” Her heart skipped a beat.

“Sure. You’re not afraid of anyone seeing, are you?” His smile was so wicked, it made her sex clench.

The house was pretty isolated, with its long driveway and densely packed trees and sprawling block. No would see them… Would they?

“Do you have a blanket?” she asked.

He nodded. Lowering himself to his knees in front of her, Trent placed a kiss at her navel and worked her denim shorts over her hips. Then her lace-trimmed panties followed and she was fully naked. He pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders, rubbing over her arms and shoulders, as if drying her off.

There was something really gentle about Trent, something caring and sweet that she wouldn’t have immediately spotted. Because the first thing one noticed was how strong he was—physically and personality-wise. He knew what to say, knew how to touch her, and did it all with supreme confidence. Trent was a practiced seducer, and he would be a skilled lover beyond what she’d already seen. No doubt about it.

But even though this was nothing but chemistry, he never made her feel like an object. Like he was driving toward his own pleasure and she was just a vehicle.

“You have to get undressed, too,” she said, sucking on her lip as she soaked him all in. He was physical perfection from head to toe. And yeah, it was a little intimidating.

His hands went to the hem of his T-shirt, and he peeled it up, revealing all the ridges of muscle she’d felt only moments ago. Then it was the belt at his waist, and the sound of metal on metal was like a thunderclap in the quiet room. Then his zipper, fabric being pushed over his hips and his socks following. He left his underwear on.

He was even more glorious when mostly naked, but it was the sparkle in his eye that she was most attracted to—the playful, spontaneous, no-holds-barred nature of him. The proof that, he was as good on the inside as on the outside.

“Come here and share that blanket with me.” He reached for her, opening the huge piece of fabric and wrapping them both up, skin to skin. “You’re like a sexy burrito.”

“What? Burritos are not sexy.” She laughed, squirming when he turned her around so her back was at his front. “They’re squishy and messy and…”

“Delicious, just like you.” He pressed his lips to her temple.

“Smooth talker,” she said, letting his warmth seep into her. “I might have to watch out for you.”

Trent could easily fill her head with tempting thoughts and dangerous ideas.

He walked her to the door while they were both still wrapped up, and it was awkward and funny and she laughed harder than she’d ever laughed before. “I feel like I’m in a sack race.”

“Stop whinging,” he said, nipping at her ear.

“Whinging?”

“Complaining,” he said with a teasing tone.

“Oh, you mean whining.”

“Nah, mate. We say whinging here.”

She giggled. “Mate.”

“You are a little cockatoo.”

Eventually he let her have the blanket and he strode outside to the back deck, his ass perfectly on display in tight black underwear. Peach indeed.

They cuddled up on an oversize wicker chair, which was padded with a big, comfy cushion. The roof out back, which Trent called a veranda, protected them from the rain. It was magical to watch the storm waging its war on the land. She climbed into his lap and draped the blanket over them both, his body protecting her from the chill in the air.

The clouds shifted, like God himself was blowing them across the landscape. When lightning flashed, illuminating all the shapes in the sky, Cora sighed. Even in brutal weather, this place was impossibly beautiful. As they sat, Trent’s hands roamed her body beneath the blanket, skating over her shin and her knee, tracing the inside of her thighs. Teasing her.

“Could this be any more perfect?” She sighed.

“This was what you wanted, huh?”

“A hot man and a thunderstorm? Hell yeah.” She laughed when he waggled his eyebrows. “I’m glad you ended up being here.”

The statement popped out before she had a chance to wonder whether it was telling too much, giving too much away. Instead of allowing him time to ponder what she meant—or let herself go into an anxious thought spiral—she turned to him, clasping his face with her hands and bringing his lips down to hers. He tasted like heaven, and the feeling of his strong, rough hands on her body made her want to float away. Taking her time and not rushing straight to what she’d been taught to view as the “finish line” was new. He seemed content to touch and taste and explore, learning her curves and what she liked. And she did the same, raking her nails down his chest and watching for the flare of excitement in his eyes. Shifting so she could reach down and palm the hard length of him through his underwear.

When she freed him, sighing at the feeling of him skin to skin in her hand, the blanket suddenly felt too hot. Shrugging, she let it slip down to her waist. The cool air peaked her already hardened nipples even further, and Trent’s hands came to her breasts.

“So good,” he said, his eyes rolling back as she stroked him.

She shifted in his lap, turning to straddle him on the big wicker chair. There was room for a whole football team on the damn thing, and she wanted to take full advantage of the space. “It’ll feel better when you’re inside me,” she said huskily.

“How did we go from ‘your butt looks like the peach emoji’ to that?” he teased, catching the edge of her mouth with his thumb and parting her lips. “Holy hell.”

“I guess I needed warming up.”

“You’re not warm, Cora. You’re making the sun look like a glacier.”

Who was this man? And who was she when she was with him—a siren? A seductress?

“I stand by it,” she said with a saucy shrug. “Your butt does look like the peach emoji.”

He laughed and splayed his hands over her thighs, his thumb stroking her tattoo etched into her skin. “And you don’t think you’re a butterfly yet?”

She looked down, her eyes catching on the ink that she looked at every day, reminding herself there was more to be done. “I’m a work in progress.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I think I need more work than most people,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Here’s the conclusion I’ve come to,” Trent said, continuing to run his hands up and down her legs in that beautifully soothing manner. “Nobody’s got life figured out, and the ones who seem like they have are simply better at hiding their shit.”

“Their shit, huh?” She smiled. “Is that the technical term?”

“Pretty sure it’s what all the top psychologists would say, but what do I know? I’m just a blue-collar guy.”

“There’s no just about it.”

Trent was a force—maybe people didn’t see that about him because he was so affable and fun-loving and unpretentious. But Cora was the kind of person who looked deeply, who tried to find the true essence of a person under all their disguising layers—layers she knew intimately because she wore them, too. Trent was more than a joker.

“Can we stop talking now?” she asked, leaning forward. “As lovely as this has been, and as much as I’m enjoying this storm, what I really want is…”

He raised a brow, a sexy smirk dancing on his lips. “Tell me.”

“You.”

He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to hers and coaxing her lips open. His hands drove up into her hair, fingers threading through the strands and cradling her head, making her feel precious and cared for and…loved.

No, not loved. Never loved.

It was a star too high to aim for. All she wanted now was to feel good physically. To feel wanted and desired and to be able to return that want and desire. The rest…well, it had no place here.

Scooping her up, blanket and all, Trent strode into the house, still kissing her. Cora wrapped her arms around his neck, hanging on as she was swept into his bedroom and laid gently down on the bed. He disappeared for a second to grab a condom from his wallet. While she waited, Cora stretched out on the bed, letting herself sink into this delicious fantasy. Letting herself wonder what life might be like here with a man like him. With a passion like this.

When he came back into the room, he stood before her, naked. Inviting. The hard jut of his cock left her mouth dry.

“Good?” he asked in a way that wasn’t really a question. Trent knew he looked like a last meal and Christmas morning and fireworks rolled into one.

“Do you want me to stroke your ego?” She beckoned him to the bed.

He took a moment to roll the condom down onto his length, and he tossed the foil packet onto the floor. Awareness raced through her veins as the bed shifted under his weight and he crawled forward, muscles coiled and eyes like a hurricane.

“I want you so bad,” he said, his accent even more pronounced with the lust thickening his words. “I wanted you so bad the second you set foot in this house.”

“Really?” The word was a whisper.

How could he have wanted her then? She was a mess, a broken woman made of parts barely held together with hope and concealer. She’d been a shadow of herself, a mere sliver.

“Really. The fact that you didn’t turn tail and leave, that you wanted to help fix things and do your part, the fact that you were so beautiful and stubborn and sweet… God.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t resist wanting you.”

The revelation made her heart swell. How had he seen something in her then that she couldn’t even see in herself? It was like smoothing a balm over her soul, tending to the emotional cuts and bruises in a way that made her feel whole again.

She reached for him, pulling him toward her with an instinctive need to have him close. Her body sank farther into the mattress as he came down on top of her, muscular thighs parting her softer ones.

“Now,” she breathed, her body already crying out for more. “I want you.”

In the past, Cora had been a little self-conscious in bed, not finding her confidence until she had been with a man a few times and felt more comfortable around him. But Trent had tapped into something deep inside her, like flipping a switch that had needed the cobwebs to be dusted away.

She felt safe with him. Not judged.

“Don’t rush me,” he drawled, taunting her. One hand ran over her body, cupping her breasts in turn and tracing a line from her navel to her sex.

“Please,” she begged. “I need…I need you.”

As he pushed inside, her body gave in to him, melting and yielding and turning to liquid pleasure. The weight of him pressing her into his bed consumed it. It burned her up from the inside out because she felt truly beautiful in his arms.

She felt…cherished.

He moaned against her lips, his hips moving back and forth in deep, fluid strokes. Cupping his face, she pulled him to her and kissed him with everything she had. His lips probed hers, tongue delving into her mouth. Bodies fused together, finding a rhythm. His pelvis brushed hers with each stroke, fueling the fire he’d begun with his hands not long ago.

Everything else evaporated. Her past pains and insecurities stripped away as if nothing existed but right now. No past, no future. Only the glorious present.

“Trent, I’m close.” She rocked her hips up to meet his, her body quaking again.

Her hands fisted in the sheets and she arched, shattering with him inside her. Her cries echoed off the walls of his room, and a second later Trent followed, his face pressed hard against the side of her neck as he roared in release.

As she lay there, heart full and body sated, she couldn’t help but feel that she wouldn’t be leaving Australia the same person as when she arrived.