by Vivian Gray
“Well, that’s no fun,” Trigger said.
His response took me by surprise, and I wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. “You think drugs and alcohol are fun?”
“No, but there are a lot of fun things people become addicted to.”
“Like?” I asked, eyebrows raised in a challenge.
“Television, online shopping.” He paused to think, and then a slow smile spread across his face. “Sex.”
I nearly spit out my water.
“It’s a very real affliction,” he said. “I’d hate for you to miss out on it just because you were afraid you’d become addicted.”
My brain was working so hard to decipher what he was saying, and come up with a response, that I ended up just staring at him. Was he flirting with me? I’d been trying to connect with Trigger, trying to create a bond so he’d be interested in me, even though I was one hundred percent sure I was so far below his league it was laughable. But now, he was flirting?
My heart began to beat harder, and I was worried he’d be able to see it through my shirt. I realized then that I was still wearing my work uniform. The skirt was long and a little poofy to mimic a 1950s’ poodle skirt, and I left the top buttons of the white button-down open because showing a little skin dramatically increased the amount of tips I earned.
I also realized that Trigger was staring at my chest. I bit back a smile.
“Trust me, I haven’t missed out on anything,” I said, hoping the words sounded as smooth coming out of my mouth as they sounded in my head.
They weren’t true, of course. I’d had enough bad sex in my life to last a lifetime, mostly with lousy boyfriends or guys I’d had a few dates with. They were selfish and acted like it was some kind of race to see who could finish first. Spoiler: they always finished first.
“Good,” he said, running his fingertip through the condensation around his glass, leaving trails in the water droplets. “For a second, I was afraid I was going to have to show you what you were missing.”
His words sent a jolt through me that was so strong, I was certain that I was going to come right there at the kitchen table without him even touching me. I had never been so ready in my life. My lower body pulsed with need and desire, my heart thundering against my rib cage. I was so busy trying not to melt into a puddle of throbbing body parts that I couldn’t even think of anything to say.
So, I didn’t try. I just kissed him.
Chapter Eight
Kenna
I had never been a bold person. In every aspect of my life, I was quiet and subdued. I did my best to get by and tried not to make any waves. But at that moment, I wanted to make waves. I wanted a tsunami.
Trigger didn’t react right away when I kissed him. He just sat in the chair, his hand still wrapped around his glass, while I leaned down, grabbed his face, and pressed my lips to his. His lips were stiff and resistant, and I was worried he’d push me away, that I’d misread the signals. But then, just as quickly as my worries came, they disappeared.
He opened his mouth to me, his lips becoming soft and pliant, and he wrapped one hand around my neck, the other around my waist. He stood up, and our bodies were flush together. I had to tilt my head back to reach his lips, but he bent down to make it easier, dipping my entire body back to deepen our kiss.
Our mouths fit perfectly together. There was no knocking of teeth or pulling apart to catch a breath. I didn’t need air. Trigger shifted slightly against me, and I felt his hardness on my leg. If there had been any question about his enthusiasm, it was gone now. He felt huge against my thigh, and my excitement far outweighed my nerves.
I wrapped my hands around his neck, feeling the muscles and tendons there as he slipped his tongue into my mouth and explored me. I ran my fingers through the wavy hair at the base of his head and groaned.
Trigger pushed me back until my body was wedged between him and the countertop. I couldn’t move, and I didn’t want to. He continued kissing me while his hands moved around to the front of my body. His fingers found the buttons on my shirt and undid them one by one until I slipped the shirt off and dropped it on the kitchen floor. He pressed his palms against the lacy material of my white bra for a moment before his fingers dipped below the material, pinching and massaging my nipples.
I couldn’t remember ever being wetter than I was at that moment. Usually, I had to beg men for foreplay, but Trigger seemed to be enjoying it. Every time I groaned or rolled my hips, he seemed to take it as a challenge to make me moan louder, longer.
He ran a flat palm down my midsection and slid past the waistband of my black skirt. Before I even knew what was happening, his hand was flat against me, his palm pressing against my most sensitive spot. I broke away from the kiss, breathing hard, my mouth open in expectation of the pleasure that was about to come. And come it did.
Trigger ran his fingers up and down my slit twice before dipping inside my white panties and pushing into me. I leaned forward and bit down on his shoulder, trying to stifle the moan that wanted to force its way out of me, but Trigger only took that to mean he should add another finger.
“Oh God,” I moaned, leaning my head back against the upper cabinets, opening my legs to give him better access.
“Does that feel good?” he whispered, his voice low and husky.
I nodded.
“Tell me,” he said.
Dirty talk? I’d never done dirty talk before, but I wanted Trigger to enjoy this as much as I was. I didn’t want to be a disappointment to him, and God, it really did feel so good.
“It feels good,” I moaned, squeezing my eyes shut as he pulsed in and out of me. As he pulled out, his fingers curled into me, massaging places inside of me I didn’t even know existed. My legs began to shake. “Incredible. It feels incredible.”
“What does?” he asked, whispering against my ear, his lips tickling my skin.
“Your fingers inside of me,” I said without hesitation.
Then, his fingers were gone, and I worried I’d said something wrong, but he was unzipping my skirt and letting it fall to the floor. I was standing in my bra and underwear, Trigger’s eyes burning across my skin, and I wanted to see him, too.
I pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and it fell to the floor with a heavy leather thud. His arms were murals of color and lines and art that disappeared beneath his shirt. I wanted to see everything, all of him. I grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. His body was hard and tan and completely covered in tattoos. Each tattoo was an individual painting on the gallery wall of his body, and I ran my fingers across his skin, admiring each one.
“Beautiful,” I said, outlining a blooming rose that took up most of his ribcage.
Trigger placed two fingers under my chin and lifted my face. His pupils were blown wide, his lips parted. For the first time, he looked out of control, and it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. In one movement, I jumped up to sit on the counter, pulled him into the space between my legs, and kissed him. Hard. I was done with foreplay. I wanted him inside of me. I wanted to make Trigger lose control. I wanted him to feel so good he lost his mind.
He wrapped his arms around me and undid my bra while my fingers fiddled with the button on his jeans. I tossed my bra into the pile with the rest of my clothes while Trigger stepped out of his jeans and boxers at the same time. He moved back into the circle of my legs, and I felt him pressed against the delicate material of my panties.
“Take them off,” I begged, our foreheads pressed together.
He didn’t waste a second. He slid my panties down, his fingers burning a trail down my legs, and let them fall onto the floor. He bent down and pulled something out of his jeans. It crinkled, and I took it from him, realizing what it was.
I tore the package open with my teeth, my eyes never leaving his, and then I dropped my attention lower. Past the beautiful collage of his body down to the hammer between his legs. He was huge, and I bit my lip, my nerves finally catching up with me. But I trie
d to swallow them back.
I pressed the rubber ring against the tip of him and slowly rolled it into place. Trigger exhaled, releasing a small groan as my fingers pushed down towards his base. Then it was on, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling his body closer to mine.
He was the perfect height. His hips were level with the countertop, so when I pulled him closer, his length pressed against my opening, and then he was stretching me open. I leaned my head back and then threw myself forward, my head resting on his shoulder as our bodies melted into one another.
I kept thinking I couldn’t take another inch, and then he would back out for a moment and push forward, creating more space. When I finally felt his hips flush against mine, I let out the breath I’d been holding and just held him against me.
“You’re so tight, Kenna,” he said, grunting into my ear.
I liked the way my name rolled off his tongue. I liked being the person who made him feel this way. I rolled my hips, and he growled, his fingers digging into the soft skin of my thighs. He wrapped his hands around my legs and pulled me to the very edge of the counter until I thought I’d fall off.
He slid out of me slowly, allowing me to feel every inch of him, and then, in one thrust, he pushed himself back into me. I arched my back and groaned. I clung to his shoulders as he did this over and over again, slipping out of me and filling me again. Each time he pushed back into me, it took my breath away. I was never prepared for how full he could make me feel.
He sped up the pace, our bodies slapping out a fast-paced rhythm. My legs trembled around him, and my breath was coming in irregular spurts. And then his hand slid over the top of my leg and found my center. His thumb drew a circle around my most sensitive spot, and I fell apart.
The electric jolt that went through me felt powerful enough to stop my heart and send my hair on end and leave smoke coming out of the ends of my fingers. It was powerful and shocking and incredible. I gasped and began rocking my hips into him as fast as I could, riding the tidal wave of my orgasm from top to bottom, not wanting to miss a second.
“Come for me.” Trigger groaned against my neck.
“Yes, yes, yes.”
I’m not sure how many times I said it. I didn’t seem capable of saying anything else or stopping. I just felt so good, and I wanted him to know it. My body felt warm, but I couldn’t stop shivering, and I clung to him, a heaving, shivering mess until my body stopped pulsing and clenching and I felt limp and lazy.
“Oh my God, Trigger,” I said, kissing from the edge of his shoulder across his collarbone and up his neck. “Oh my God.”
He pulled back and smiled at me for a second, clearly pleased with himself. And then, still inside of me, he wrapped his arms under my butt, lifted me up, and moved backward until he lowered himself onto the kitchen chair. I was sitting on his lap, but my feet could touch the kitchen floor, and I began rocking back and forth.
I moved slowly, at first, trying to find my rhythm, but Trigger placed his hands on my hips and began pushing and pulling my body on top of his, directing me to what felt best for him. I loved the way he took control, the way his large hands dominated my waist and I felt the power of him with every thrust.
But I wanted to be in control now.
I pressed my hand into his chest, and he stilled. I grabbed his hands and dropped them to his sides. He pulled his brows together in confusion, but as soon as I began drawing circles with my hips, his eyes fluttered closed. I lifted myself straight up and dropped back down. He grunted.
I did it again and again, moving faster each time until I was bouncing on top of him. His hands moved back up to my waist, but they didn’t seek to direct me or instruct me, they were just there to give him something to hold on to.
His fingers moved over my ribs and up to my breasts, pinching and pulling my nipples until they came to points. I grabbed the back of the chair and arched my back, giving him full access to my body as I ground myself down onto him.
I felt his body tense beneath me, and then he was lifting me into the air. I opened my eyes, surprised, but by the time I could react, I was on the kitchen floor with Trigger on his knees in front of me. He angled my hips up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and hammered into me with abandon.
He squeezed his eyes shut and thrust into me with every bit of power he had. My entire body vibrated, and I felt my second orgasm rising up, a tiny spark, at first, that slowly grew into flames that licked across my body and down my limbs.
Trigger groaned and held himself against me. I felt him pulsing into me, his strong hands gripping my waist, and it was enough to tip me over the edge, as well. I shivered and quaked around him as we came at the same time.
When we finished, he collapsed forward, his head laying against my chest, and I stroked his hair, thinking I had never felt better than at that moment.
“God, I want to do that again,” he said, turning his face, so it was perfectly between my breasts.
I laughed and stroked his hair. “I’m ready whenever you are. That was incredible.”
“Don’t you need to sleep?” He looked up at me. His hair was a mess where my fingers had tugged and pulled on it, but even disheveled, he looked incredibly sexy.
“I didn’t plan to sleep tonight anyway. Buzz is supposed to stop by tomorrow,” I admitted.
He sat up straight, the delirious look in his eyes from a moment ago replaced by a cold rage. “He’s coming here? Why?”
“Money. He still wants my mom to pay up. I don’t know what he’ll do when we don’t have the money.”
Trigger pulled me to my feet and pressed a hand to my cheek, his skin warm and soft. “I’ll stay with you. He won’t do anything.”
“You don’t have to,” I said, though I wanted him to stay with me more than anything in the world. “You’ve already saved us enough. I don’t know how to repay you for all you’ve done.”
He smiled ever so slightly, one eyebrow quirked up. “I think I have a few ideas.”
He pulled me into his arms and carried me down the hallway to my bedroom. We tangled ourselves in the sheets, stroking and sucking and pleasuring each other until the sky began to lighten, until we couldn’t keep our eyes open, and we fell asleep, naked and wrapped up in one another.
***
Trigger
I’d never stayed the night at a woman’s house before. I’d fallen asleep a few times, but I always slipped out before the sun rose, not bothering to leave a note or my number. It was easier that way. No messy breakups, no explanations. We would have our time together, and then I’d be gone.
When I woke up in Kenna’s room, sunlight was pouring through her window and falling across the bed in bright stripes. I squinted against the brightness and stretched before I realized where I was.
I turned and saw Kenna. Her face was smooth and peaceful. Her forehead was almost always creased in worry or, in the case of last night, pleasure. Seeing her perfectly at ease was a new experience. Her skin was pale and bright. Her blonde hair tumbled around her shoulders and fanned around her as if she were underwater. I reached out and touched the ends of it, unable to resist how soft it looked.
I snapped my hand back and held it against my chest. What was I doing? I didn’t stay the night with women I’d slept with, and I definitely didn’t stroke their hair while they were sleeping. Kenna was going to get the wrong idea. She was going to think I was her boyfriend or some shit like that. I was not boyfriend material. Not for Kenna or anyone else. I had too many women on rotation to commit to any one person.
But sex with Kenna had been unreal. The best I’d had in so long. She was soft and sexy, and I had wanted to live in that moment forever. But I couldn’t. Real life began the moment the sun rose, and now I wanted out. I needed space.
Kenna rolled over with a groan, and I froze. I wasn’t ready for her to wake up. When she woke up and saw me, I’d have to make a decision. Either pretend everything was fine, that I wasn’t freaking out, or bail. Could I do that
to her?
From the moment she’d wrapped herself around me outside of Buzz’s after I’d saved her, I had found weird pleasure in the way she looked at me. So many people in the world looked down on me. Because of my tattoos. Because of my motorcycle club. Because of my history. But Kenna only ever had admiration – despite the few times where she’d rightfully called me an asshole. I didn’t know if I’d be able to handle disappointing her.
And then there was Buzz. The thought of the oaf touching Kenna, hard and ready to assault her and use her, made me feel sick with rage all over again. What would he do to her when he showed up and realized that she and her mom still didn’t have the money? Could I really leave her to deal with that mess on her own?
I pressed my head back into the pillow and suppressed a sigh. I had to stay. I couldn’t leave her. But I didn’t have to stay in bed with her.