Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
41
Payton
We remainin a state of limbo.
The days pass and turn into weeks. He never kisses me again.
I find that I dream about it.
Think about it.
Fantasize about it.
It’s all that occupies my brain.
Sure, I’m plenty busy.
Between the appointments with the pricy in-house physical therapist he hired, Trent helps me do exercises to strengthen my ribs and foot. I’m always exhausted. Pushing my body to recover.
My concussion is gone, which is good, and I’m healing nicely.
I’ll probably even be able to stop wrapping my ankle soon. I’m lucky it isn’t a break, just a sprain.
The truth is, I don’t need to work with a physical therapist, but Trent wants to make sure I’m strong, and I humor him.
Although he’s made no attempt to be physically intimate with me again, he spends a lot of time with me. Whether we’re eating, reading, or watching TV together, he’s by my side often. He works in his home office instead of driving to his company’s building. If I need him, I know he’ll be at my side within seconds.
Reading to me is one of those things that he started to do after the concussion, but I’ve grown so accustomed to it now. Every night, as I settle into bed, he sits by my side, and I curl in close to his body, and he reads in that gravelly, deep voice of his.
It’s sheer perfection.
The only thing that would be more perfect is if, after this chapter is done, he made a move. But I think he’s trying to prove his self-restraint first—I’m just not sure if he’s trying to prove it to me or himself.
Tonight, I wait for him to finish before I pounce, ripping the book from his hands and throwing it across the bed.
I am tired of waiting.
The kiss is slow at first.
His lips on mine, my mouth parting his.
Then we start to move together. It reminds me of a very slow dance. One you spend months preparing for, and as you finally start to move, your heart beats faster, and you feel like your eyes are closed, and you are left spinning.
It’s exhilarating.
Our tongues circle.
The kiss deepens and becomes desperate.
Months of pent-up emotions pour into it.
I allow myself to become lost in the kiss. I allow it to wash over the past. To erase the pain and hurt I felt at the hands of this man. At the hands of everyone else, too.
I get swept away in the moment.
I think only of the good things.
The things about Trent that make him a good man. The tenderness in his eyes right now. Every piece of him I see that others don’t.
I bask in that feeling, in that warmth.
He tightens his embrace around me, pulling me closer to him, wrapping his arms tighter around me.
There is no separation between our bodies now.
A moan escapes my lips.
“Are you okay?” he asks against my mouth.
“Yes,” I mutter back.
“Does anything hurt?”
“No.”
He loosens his grasp as if he is going to let go, and I tighten mine.
“Don’t you dare stop kissing me,” I basically growl.
I’m desperate for this man.
“Are you—”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
He chuckles against my lips, and then his hands move below my ass, holding me tight.
Finally, after a few minutes, he pulls back and looks down at me with hungry eyes.
They devour me.
They tell me all the things he wishes to do to me.
I want all of them, mine beg back.
When he doesn’t do anything, I speak, “Please don’t end this.”
“I’m not sure,” he mutters to himself.
“But I am.” I grip onto his shoulders tight like I’m afraid he’ll part from me. “I’m sure. I want you. Don’t deny me this. I need this.”
His head inclines into a nod.
But he doesn’t say anything, so I’m not exactly sure what he’s doing when he steps back.
Is he leaving?
Staying?
He must see my confusion because he smirks at me.
That smirk drives me insane.
Then his hand lifts the hem of my shirt until I’m left in nothing but a skimpy lace thong.
His sexy smile deepens as he removes it, too.
“Now that you got me naked . . .” I trail off with a lifted brow, gesturing to him.
He begins to undress, too.
Both of us are fully naked. Admiring each other.
I will never get enough of this man.
The look he gives me makes me feel like I’m on fire. A raging inferno.
Ready to combust.
He drops to his knees in front of me.
My heart flutters with excitement.
My limbs begin to shake as I wait for him to touch me.
It feels like this moment has been in the making for so long in my mind, and I’m busting at the seams to feel him.
He presses a kiss to my knee, and then he starts to trail his mouth up my thigh.
Finally, after what feels like the longest, sweetest torture, he answers my prayers and places a kiss where I need him the most.
His tongue licks.
It’s slow. Too slow.
I wiggle my hips.
He laughs, and I want to smack him, but then he presses a finger inside me, and all thoughts of beating him up are long gone.
I’m mindless now.
A quivering mess.
Breathless.
Needy.
He quickens his pace, and I’m falling over the edge. An ecstasy-filled moan escapes my lips.
I’m fully sated, but I still crave more. He’s an addiction. I whisper his name as I come down from the high. It’s a plea for more.
Then he’s moving, and I watch through hooded lids as he rips a condom open and slides it over his length.
I shimmy back up the bed and wait for him.
He moves like a predator, stalking, ready to devour me whole, crawling up my body. When he reaches my face, he frames it with his hands. His touch is gentle. Caring. I swallow hard at the movement, breath hitching when his thumb brushes my neck.
He returns it to my cheeks, rubbing just before the corner of my lips.
Our gaze meets.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
I’m basically panting.
I know it sounds desperate, but I’m not embarrassed because he is too. I can feel his hardness pressing against my thigh. It throbs.
Trent laughs at my tone, but then he is kissing me, and I part my legs wider in invitation, allowing him access.
“Trent,” I groan as he makes me wait. “Fuck me already.”
He groans.
When he does nothing but smile against my lips, I scold, “Now.”
This is just like us, to fight even when in bed.
Slowly, he guides himself deep inside me. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, probably allowing me to adjust to his size, but when I’m about to open my mouth and tell him to move, he does.
He pulls out.
Thrusts in.
Pulls out.
Thrusts in.
He continues this slow and steady pace.
In, out.
The feeling is too much, yet I hope it never ends.
It’s amazing. Like him.
With each press of his body within mine, I moan and wiggle against him to go faster.
Harder.
His movements pick up. He answers my pleas until both our breaths accelerate as we chase our release together.
Together, with a gasp, we find it.
“Don’t move,” he orders once we both come down from our euphoric high.
“As if I could?” I laugh, and he walks away.
A few seconds later, he returns with a soft towel and cleans me off.
He’s so tender.
I hope this never ends.