Page 104 of Trusting You

A clap of thunder sounds, making me jump despite the steady hold of Locke’s arms.

“It’s just the weather,” he says. “Everything’s fine.”

Water mists down on us, and I blink; then falls in spaced-out splatters. In seconds, it comes down in an all-out downpour.

We don’t move.

Locke’s lashes clump with water, droplets fall down his chin and dampen his hair.

He doesn’t move.

Locke lays his lips on mine, and I draw them in.

The silk of his tongue versus the sharpness of his stubble—it tingles, scratches, sets me alight with fiery electricity slick with rain. I lift up on my toes to bring him deeper, to let his tongue dance.

His hands score down my back, then press me closer, his skin melting so deep into mine, I’m sure he can feel the hardened tips of my nipples.

When a rumble comes from deep within his throat, vibrating my lips and mirroring the thunder above, I know my power.

Of their own accord, my fingers explore, drawing on the ridges of his abs, painting the lines of his obliques with water. When I reach his belt, I fumble—remember where we are—and cup his hardness instead.

The rumble turns to a growl. He reaches for the back of my neck, his athletic fingers tangling in my wet hair, and yanks our mouths apart.

“You do that to me again,” he warns, rain water dropping from his nose and onto my face, his eyes burning as bright as a daylight sky, “I can’t promise what I’ll do in return.”

“I want this,” I breathe, and if it’s because of what we just went through, what I’ve been enduring for months, I know I’m right.

I want to feel again.

I want to be pleasured, bask in the glow of goodness, for once. Even if it’s brief. Even if it can only be one night.

“Take me home, Locke,” I say, and when I lick my lips, it’s with purpose. He breathes hard through his nose. “And do anything you want to me.”

Locke doesn’t speak. He acts. He throws me into his arms and sprints the last block to his apartment.

“Locke, your knee!” I say, for what I feel is the millionth time.

“Don’t care.” His words are short, along with his breath. “Do. Not. Fucking. Care.”

We reach the door where he sets me down, fumbling in his pants for his keys. On impulse, I get up on my toes and scrape my teeth across his neck. My lips must be cold against his skin because he shivers.

“You’re mine.” His gaze is dark with promise when I draw back. “I’m going to tear that dress off you right here and now.”

“Do it,” I dare.

I feel light, so high and free that I don’t care if he strips me naked at his front door and fucks me in public.

Locke gives a feral grin like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I peel off his shirt, let it puddle to the ground. Then I unzip the lower back of my dress and smile.

Locke doesn’t bother with the time-wasting task of slipping my dress all the way off. Instead, he lifts one of my thighs, reaches down for my underwear and, realizing I have none—

“You’re home!”

I almost slip and fall flat on my ass. Locke drops my leg like deadweight.

Astor’s gaze ping-pongs between us as she props the door open with one hand. “I heard you guys talking outside. Wanted to make sure you two were okay. It’s already on the news.”