Page 86 of Trust

I circle the table. Her gaze follows every step. I extend my hand, offering it as I have before. As always, she trusts me enough to take it.

When she stands in front of me, I slowly reach for her jaw, giving her every second to pull away. She doesn’t. Her wide eyes stay locked on mine, but she’s not afraid. My fingers trace the curve of her cheek, tilting her face up toward me. Then, against my better judgment, I kiss her. It’s fierce, rough, and fueled by everything I’ve held back.

My mouth claims hers, and she opens instantly, as if she’s been waiting. Her mouth is warm and the moment my tongue slides against hers, she shudders. Her hands rise, palms flat to my chest, fingers dragging over muscle as they climb higher until they’re tangled in my hair, and she pulls me deeper.

Her eyes stay on mine after I break away. “So, what did I win?” she asks with a cheeky smile.

I sweep a loose strand of hair from her cheek and tuck it gently behind her ear. My thumb lingers against her skin. “Shower with me?” My voice is low as I invite her to join me, every word heavy with intent.

She blinks, a staggered no leaving her mouth. It’s more reflex than conviction.

My grin is sly, almost taunting. “All right,” I murmur and step back. “Your call.”

I grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one smooth motion. Her eyes follow every inch of skin I uncover, no shame in the heat there.

The tension between us draws tight, stretched to breaking, but I back off. At the doorway, I turn. “I’ll keep the door open.”

Then I’m gone, hoping to hell she follows.

BLURRED LINES

Sara

The kitchen is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the blood in my ears, a rush that will not settle. He’s gone. The image of his bare back, that crooked smile, and his last line, I’ll keep the door open, loop in my head. My fingers clamp around the water bottle until my knuckles ache and the plastic buckles. Everything in me stutters, like a glitch I can’t reset. I hate that he does this: offering the idea of having a choice. He even has the nerve to frame it like a prize. Cocky much? I thought that was Cash’s thing.

Chris never pushes, never demands, and I know I can walk away without being questioned. But somehow, I end up exactly where he meant me to be, by my own choice.

That game in the forest woke something in me. The thrill of running and hiding set my blood on fire. I wanted to win, but I also wanted to be caught, to find out what he’d do. The memory of how hard he was beneath me is still carved deep. In hindsight, I love that I had that effect on him. But the second I felt him, all my bravado drained away, turning me almost shy. I am not shy. My thoughts keep circling the same vision: steam curling around naked, wet muscles. I can’t make it stop. An invisible pull takes hold, lifting me from the chair and urging me into shaky steps toward the stairs. My body is drawn forward despite every fiber in me warning me to stay.

I move on autopilot, up the stairs and into his room. A wave of warmth rolls out from the bathroom. The shower is running. My heart riots. It’s an alarm, a last chance to turn back before I cross that line.

On bare feet, I slip into the humid bathroom. The rhythm of water on tile and skin makes my knees go weak. I undress slowly. First my tank, then my sweatpants. In the mirror, I check my appearance. My body has changed. Lean muscle speaks of strength, and a new confidence dictates my every move. I like being fit.

This time, I ditch the underwear too, but wrap a towel around me. It’s little more than a flimsy gesture of modesty.

The room smells of soap. I reach the edge of the walk-in and pause. He stands with his back to me, water streaming down his shoulders, hands in his hair, working shampoo through. Muscles roll beneath wet skin.

My mouth dries. It’s not fear that holds me still this time. It’s desire.

His hand slicks back his hair as he rinses, then he turns to face me. There’s no surprise in his expression, as if he sensed me there. His knowing eyes meet mine. His face carries a smile I’ve never seen on him before. He just looks... happy.

He steps closer, his voice sliding through the steam. “You amaze me every day.”

My lungs stall.

He tugs lightly at my towel. “You want to hold on to this?” he murmurs. His fingers stay on the fabric until I shake my head.

His eyes don’t waver. I’m less sure, less experienced, but when he looks at me like this, none of it matters.

My forehead barely reaches his Adam’s apple. He tilts my chin with two fingers. “You don’t have to be shy with me.”

The towel loosens and crumples softly somewhere near our feet.

Chris gathers me in his arms and kisses me. One hand remains on my chin, holding it in place, while the other strokes up my back, over my neck, and then curls into my hair.

For the first time, I feel his skin on mine—anybody’s skin on mine. He guides us backward beneath the spray without breaking the connection. His kiss is deep. With every swirl of his tongue, I lose myself in it even more. He steals my breath, leaving only him in its place.

His mouth moves along my jaw, then lingers at my ear. “Turn around.”