by Ellis Marie
His confusion slowly drifts away, the crease between his brows disappearing as I take another step forward. I see him glance down to my bare legs, and I swallow the panic that flits through me.
This is Trent. Only Trent.
“You thought that you’d never find someone because you didn’t deserve it and I thought the same. I never thought I’d find better than what I had,” I correct myself. “Than what I was given.”
Another step.
His eyes are locked on to me, but his body is unmoving, as though now, he is the one who is scared to stop me from speaking. From opening up.
“But we found each other, despite everything. That proves we were wrong.” Another step.
Now, I’m only a small distance from him, and I’m unsure if it’s the steam from the shower or just my body heat that’s making me sweat.
“I thought I knew what love was,” I choke out, my throat clamming up. “But since I met you, I’ve not been so sure, and after thinking for so long that I didn’t deserve love, I—”
My words are cut off as the voice in my head claws its way forward, threatening to tear it all away from me given the chance and warning me that I’m making a mistake, that I’ll get rejected.
I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let my past stop me from trying to have a better future. I’ve waited for this. I’m not going to just sit around. I have to take it for myself.
My chest heaves with the breath I release, the negative words floating away with it. Like a tide that’s drifting outwards. For the first time in years, my head feels clear.
I can do this.
I only realise that I’m crying when my vision blurs, and I have to blink away the tears. The sight of Trent standing with his breath held lets me know that I’m not the only person who is feeling this—who is waiting to see if I can say it.
“I think that we might deserve love because I think I’ve found it despite everything . . . with you.”
His eyes glow brighter like a spark has ignited with my confession.
Just say it.
The thing that I have refused to acknowledge. The feeling that has been growing for weeks and weeks like a seedling waiting to sprout. The look in his eyes that I pretend I don’t notice whenever he smiles and reaches for me. The look I know is in my eyes too.
“I love you, Trent.”
The words are barely out of my mouth before his arms are around me, pulling me the rest of the way into his body. His lips find mine feverishly but with a gentleness that warms my heart. I can barely think as I wrap my own around his neck, trying to pull myself closer to him, if it’s possible.
My body caves into his touch, my worries growing wings and fluttering away with every taste of his tongue on mine.
His fingers dig into my sides as he pulls back, his forehead pressed to mine with the most beautiful grin I’ve ever seen spreading to his cheeks.
“You love me?” he asks. I giggle, biting my lip as I nod. “Well, thank the goddess for that. I’ve wanted to say it for weeks.”
His words make my heart leap. I can barely begin to explain how much my head is spinning. I feel like I’m on a cup ride at Disneyland, waiting for it to stop and lose the magic but it doesn’t.
I continue to spin.
“I’m going to get dizzy!” I squeal, hitting Trent gently as he actually turns us, hooking his arm under my bum. “Trent!”
He laughs and stops, lowering me gently to the ground while he raises his hand up and pushes my hair back from my face. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm, like a drummer in a parade.
“I love you, Elle,” he says matter-of-factly, as though it takes no thought at all. “More than the mate bond, more than life. More than anything else, mon coeur. I love you.”
He grabs my face between his hands, squishing my cheeks slightly as he leans in until our noses are brushing.
“I love you, Annabelle Williams.”
I know that he means me in my entirety, that he’s trying to tell me that there isn’t a part of me that he doesn’t love. For the first time ever, I’m not clinging to the name and the memories of it. The only people who ever called me that with love are dead; I’m not Annabelle anymore.
“Just Elle,” I correct softly, watching how, if anything, my words only make him smile wider. “Your Elle.”
His mouth is back on mine. I revel in the kiss, feeling my toes curl as my body touches his. I can sense the burning in my core beginning, like a fire growing with every touch, every kiss. His back bends down as he pulls me in closer to him, and our bodies flush against each other as our lips break apart. Trent’s mouth moves across my jaw and down my neck, wet kisses littering my skin.
The scent of him combined with the sparks that seem to emit from his lips make me feel intoxicated. I cling onto his biceps to steady myself. I tilt my head back with a slow drag of his fingers. I gasp at the sensation, his grip tightening.
I can feel him as though we don’t have material between us. All it does is make my entire body clench, my mouth turning dry at the thought.
“Trent,” I whisper, a breathlessness to it that I’ve never experienced before.
My voice seems to break his planned actions. He lets me out of his grip as he releases my body and taking a step backwards, his hands coming up automatically.
I already know that he’s going to apologise. That he’s taken my whisper as a plea, but it’s the completely wrong kind.
I don’t want him to stop.
“Sorry, I got carried away. F*ck.” He winces with his jaw gritted and eyes closed tightly. “Sorry, Elle. I didn’t mean to—”
I lift my hand and place it on his bare chest, watching the way his body shudders. His breath hitches as my fingertip trails along his skin.
A switch inside me has flipped; there’s no denying it. Despite the shake in my voice, I know what I want and what I’m ready for.
“You said that you’d fill my head with good memories,” I remind him, curling my fingers around the hairs on his chest while my other hand runs along the waistband of his shorts. “So do it.”
He grabs my hand right as my finger tucks into the indentation on his pelvis, my nails scraping with the movement. My excitement grows, my eagerness to see the parts of him that I’ve longed for making my cheeks flush and the breath is snatched from my mouth.
“I don’t know what’ll happen.” His words come out strangled, in pain. “My wolf . . . I don’t . . . I’ve never—”
My movements stop, my mind catching up to his words with a stunning realisation.
There are two of us who are nervous about this.
I have been so focused on if I want to do this that I didn’t even think about whether Trent had any reservations about it. I just assumed that he would have been experienced or wanting to, but . . .
Is Trent a virgin?
My face must show that I’ve figured it out because his cheeks start to blush. He looks away from me, the vein in his neck popping as he releases my arm, muttering apologies.
I almost want to laugh. How is this giant beast of a man still surprising me with how sweet and tender he really is?
Just when I think I’ve got him figured out, he throws a curveball.
“You’ve never . . .” I trail off, lifting my brow as I push through the awkwardness. “Done anything?”
I’m not trying to sound like I’m giggling, but it’s almost impossible to contain. Not because I think it’s funny that he’s never been with a girl, but because the idea of me being more experienced in something than Trent makes me giddy. If anything, all he’s doing is making me more comfortable and more willing to be vulnerable with him because it seems like he’s at his most vulnerable right now.
“I’ve not really had the opportunity for it,” he mutters, still looking at the corner of the room and away from me. “I’ve never wanted to . . .” He sounds as though he’s annoyed with himself. All I can think of is how much I want to be with him—this broken and nervous boy who
has been too scared to ever be with someone in case he lost control.
His hands cover his face as he mutters under his breath, swearing at himself with a raspy voice. “F*ck.”
I step back from him, a feeling of resolution settling in me as I clear my throat, cutting off the tangent of insults that he has started to call himself. My hands skim down the length of my clothing, stopping when the material runs out.
“I meant what I said,” I interrupt, curling my fingers around the bottom of the fabric. “There isn’t a part of you that I would turn away from.”
He freezes at my words, his hands slowly falling from his face as mine slowly rise, his astonished gaze following them.
I swallow down the fear I have, bending my arms as my underwear comes into view, shortly followed by my stomach. There’s a moment of hesitance when I get to my chest. Not because of the marks on my body or the scars that have been left behind by the people who hurt me, but because I’m braless.
And I don’t know if Trent quite knows that.
Don’t be a p*ssy.
I take a breath, pushing away the thoughts of rejection and that I don’t look good enough as I lift the T-shirt over my head. While it tugs over my chin and slides along with my hair, I notice that Trent has not moved. His hands are still lifted to below his jaw and his mouth hangs open, catching flies.
“I’m completely and utterly yours,” I state shakily, dropping the shirt to the ground with a soft thud. “All of me.”
His fingers flex, his nostrils flare. Everything in me tightens.
“Mi reina,” he growls. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I whisper, stepping closer. I look up at him from beneath my lashes. “But I want to.”
With a featherlight touch, I take his hand, guiding it to my ribcage. I press it against me gently, letting his fingers splay out on my skin and following the shape of my bones.
I take his other arm and pull it around me, letting it encircle my back as I step into him. My bare chest softly brushes up against his.
The only sign of him not being made of stone is the steady rising and falling of his chest; otherwise, I would have thought he’s petrified.
“I love you,” I say again, trailing my hand up and over his pecs before curling my fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. “All of you.”
He’s almost cautious at first, like he’s testing the waters of a hot bath, slowly sinking his palm into the dip of my hips. My breath hilts as he applies more pressure, forcing our bodies to connect. He watches me as he moves his hand, bringing it higher, but at a snail’s pace—as though he’s waiting for one of us to pull back . . . but we don’t.
The pant of his breath fans my face, ragged but strong. He circles the soft skin that’s beginning to pucker under his touch. My body has never felt so alive and my mind so quiet. It’s as if he’s a puppet master, and I’m just waiting for him to start pulling my strings. My body reacts to him in ways that I can’t explain.
“Trent, please.”
It’s a breath—a carnal desire begging to be listened to.
And he responds.
Suddenly, my world’s shifting, softly squeezing the part of me that he has tortured. It’s a sharp sensation, almost painful but too delicious to stop. I can only moan as his lips cover mine again, his tongue invading with a gentle yet dominant stroke.
I’m putty in his hands, my back bending into him as he massages my body, kneading it so expertly that I forget any idea of him being inexperienced.
I have never felt like this—so free and wanting. I crave more with every passing second, and my head is screaming at me to listen to my body and give in to the sensations.
So this is what it is meant to feel like?
As his grip finds its way lower, I involuntarily grind into him. The feeling causes a guttural sound to vibrate from my chest and my teeth catch onto his lip. As my nails scratch along his spine, he growls and tears it away, but I cling onto his neck, forcing him to stay only a breath from me.
“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, mi cielo,” Trent rasps, our heavy breaths puffing together. A bolt of courage lights up from inside of me at his words, the visual effects that I’m having on him only helping to increase it.
“Actually,” I counter, sliding my hand down his flawless skin until it’s resting on a very prominent part of him. “I think I have an idea.”
As I curl my fingers, I watch the way his mouth pops open and his eyes squeeze shut. I don’t have any doubts of what feels good. If anything, my knowledge is the one thing I know I can rely on. I’m enjoying watching Trent crumbling at my touch—much like I have been since I met him.
With a grin, I slip my hand beneath the material with ease, feeling silk beneath my fingertips.
The effect ricochets through his body, his shoulders slumping forward as his fingers dig into my back. After a moment, my thumb glides, and he throws his head back. A hiss escapes his lips, and an explicit curse follows it.
My mouth finds the soft flesh of his body. I trace my tongue along his collarbone, nipping at his neck. As my hand moves below, he continues to shake, mumbles of something echoing around us, but I don’t even know if it’s English.
He stumbles, and one of his hands leaves my body, steadying himself on the counter behind us, which I can feel digging into my thighs.
I haven’t felt this confident in years.
I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror, and everything I’m feeling heightens. The knowledge that with a simple hand, I can do this to someone as dominant as Trent is a power rush. Seeing his huge body quiver because of me sets my feminine pride in overdrive.
“Look,” I whisper, gripping Trent’s jaw as I tilt it down and then to the side of us. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I gasp at the glow of them, the ferocity that he’s watching me with. I move closer to his ear, brushing my lips against the soft skin of them.
“I kind of like this,” I tease, almost not believing my voice with how sultry it sounds. “You shaking and me in control.”
I hear a creaking sound from behind me. Is he going to break all the surfaces in the house with his grip?
“Elle,” he says like a warning but also a plea, as if he doesn’t know whether he wants me to stop or continue.
“What is it?” I ask innocently, my lashes fluttering as I hold his gaze.
“Y-you—” He curses again.
“I didn’t know that I could have this power over you,” I drawl, the words rubbing against his ear. The fire in my core burns the more that I see him twitch. When I catch the dark gleam in his eye, I almost howl in delight.
“Let go,” I whisper, my hand speeding up as a croaked moan rises in his chest. “Alpha.”
With a crackling cry, Trent’s body shudders. His back curves forward as his arms fly out to catch himself, his head landing in the crook of my neck. I hold his shaking figure, the animalistic sounds cutting through his throat, making every part of me quiver.
That was quicker than expected.
When he lifts his head from my shoulder, I can feel the droplets of sweat left behind. It sinks into my skin, travelling to my toes.
I try to hold in my grin upon seeing his flabbergasted expression, but it’s almost impossible. He narrows his eyes as he notices, a playful but carnal look taking over his expression. I’ve never seen him look so attractive— panting and sweaty, with eyes full of adoration and surprise.
I push out of his hold cheekily, stepping away from him and towards the shower, which is still running—the soft billows of steam suiting my flushed feeling.
“I’m going to clean up,” I sing and even from across the room. I can feel the breath that he takes . . . the strength that he’s trying to control.
I know I shouldn’t push him, but I can’t seem to help it. It’s like my body knows exactly what it’s doing, and my head is just along for the ride.
Without breaking eye contact, I slide the material of my underwear down my leg
s, making sure to drag it out as long as possible. As I straighten back out, a sound of strangled disbelief leaves Trent.
Although I feel sure, I still haven’t imagined what his reaction to my naked body would be. A small part of me is still cowering internally, fearful that I won’t be enough, but by the sound that follows me into the shower and the expression on his face, I don’t think I have anything to worry about.
Stepping under the water brings a wave of pleasure over me. The sensation of it hitting my tender skin only adds to the anticipation that is rising, threatening to burst.
Is he going to follow me?
It’s not long before a different kind of heat envelopes my back, and I know the answer. Staring at the shiny, dark tiles of the shower, I can just make out a slight reflection behind me but only an outline. I’m completely at the mercy of the figure looming over me. He brushes my hair gently, pulling it all to one side without touching me anywhere else. I straighten my spine at the proximity.
I wait for the feeling of unease, for the flashbacks, or broken memories, but they don’t come. The only thing that begins to fill my head is the memories of how his hands felt around me and how big he felt in mine. My heart rate shoots up as a tingling sensation breaks out across my skin, like a warning that he’s going to touch me.
He trails his knuckles along my exposed neck, following it down to my collarbone and then over my breasts, not stopping to spend any time. I gasp at the quick sensation, moving my body forward. He shoots his arm out to stop me, pulling me into his chest as a low chuckle hits my ears.
“I must say,” he murmurs, his curled fist drawing figures of eight on my lower belly. “I quite liked that side of you. So fearless and confident.”
His lips make a home on my neck, and I pull my head to one side without being prompted, desperate for more attention.
He obliges, planting sloppy kisses mix with the water cascading down my body and my knees shake while trying to remain constant against the ever-battering waves of desire. His scent is a perfect combination of musky and gritty, and it’s a struggle to not turn around and devour him.
I try not to whimper as his fingers swoop lower, ghosting over the spot that feels like it’s on fire and, instead, tickling the lines of sensitive skin that frame my legs.