Last Time We Kissed_A Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I'm not just another woman. I'm his, the one he's wanted for years. I'm going to make him come so hard he can't think.

  It's another minute of frantic thrusting before I wonder if that's possible. Trent leans in, bowing my legs, grinding in deeper and faster, the better to ignite my clit. His lips fall on mine with a hunger, a groan, a muffled word I never expected.

  It sounds like, “finally.”

  “Fucking finally,” he grunts again, breaking the kiss, running our foreheads together. “It's even better than the thousand times I imagined fucking you, Amy Kay. All the nights I beat my dick to you, to us, to having you under me. Fuck!”

  “Trent, yes!” His name hangs on my lips. I kiss him again, quick and messy, loving how the friction wrings more pleasure out of him the harder and longer we fuck.

  The pain and discomfort in my virgin flesh fades. Our hips collide, faster and faster, and soon I'm in a headlong rush toward my second O, wishing so bad he'd come with me.

  I want him losing control. I want him giving up. I want him breaking deep inside me, filling me, surrounding the edgy strongman act so I can see his soul bared for just a few impossible seconds.

  “Trent...”

  “What did I tell you, Amy Kay?” he growls, slowing his thrusts until I stare into his eyes. “Screams. Only thing I want leaving your mouth when I'm balls deep and damn close to coming.”

  God, yes. I want it.

  Want him to join the frenzy in my veins, my pulse, pinching my legs tight to him to draw him in deeper, harder, closer to the beautiful end.

  Come the hell with me, Trent Usher, I beg inside my head, too lost to make words with my lips.

  My mouth gives him screams aplenty.

  They tell him everything. My pussy betrays my deepest want, my need, every time it convulses around his cock; sucking, pulling, pleading.

  Trent. I grab at his arms, hold on tight, and buck my hips into him.

  A small gasp escapes his throat. His rhythm changes. Before, a gradual rise in tempo and tension, but now the wall is down.

  Trent! He's thrusting harder, doubling his speed, his amazing ass clenched under my ankles. If this is what it is to be power fucked, then I'll never have it any other way.

  Trent, Trent, Trent!

  Can't think. Can't breathe. Can't do anything except stare into his fierce eyes offering their conquest, and try to keep up with his rhythm.

  I lose the battle I barely knew was happening inside me in an instant. His huge chest swells, I hear him take a guttural breath, and then he goes absolutely ballistic between my legs. Lightning electrifies every nerve, bringing me off.

  Bringing me down.

  I come so hard on his cock I think I lose my vision, my hearing, my tactile sensation all at once. But I can still hear, still feel where we're joined together, and what comes next drives me to places I never knew existed.

  There's a rough hand in my hair, tugging like mad, holding me down as he slams his last full measure into me. Then there's a swelling against mine, his cock growing bigger, brandishing new heat against my walls.

  “Fuck, Presh. Fuck!” It's the last thing I hear. Then the pleasure becomes so deafening it drowns out everything.

  It's just me and him. Trent and Amy Kay, lost in each other, the cord to the universe severed by orgasmic bliss.

  We come beautifully. It's a lovely chaos, sweat and flesh and thudding hearts, madness and hoarse screams. I don't even bother to hold mine back, knowing we've got this huge place to ourselves.

  Even if we didn't, I'm not sure I'd be able to care or stop.

  Trent has officially fucked me into ruin.

  And I already want him to do it again and again and again.

  I don't open my eyes until I feel him pull out of me, sated for now. It won't last long, and I'm looking forward to it.

  Trent ties off the condom, leans over the bed, flicks it into my bin. “You sure housekeeping won't squeal?”

  “Oh, no. Julia Davis likes me too much to tell mom or dad unless I'm really doing wrong. I'm also eighteen now. Legally obliged to screw your brains out without consequences, Mr. Usher, or did you already forget?” I nuzzle my face against his chest, fingers dancing across his rigid muscle. Reaching up, I pat his cheek, loving the five o'clock shadow there.

  More like nine o'clock if I'm being honest. He hasn't shaved in at least a day. Picturing him with a beard just makes me wet all over again.

  “I forgot all kinds of things after that,” he says, stroking my cheek, then bringing my face up to his. “You fuck like a mad woman, Presh. Or a desperate one. All the years playing good girl must've made you horny as hell. Love it.”

  The new flush scorches my cheeks, giving me away. It's strange how good he is at making me feel so bare, so honest, especially when I'm completely naked. “Good. Then you'll help a girl make up for lost time,” I whisper, brushing my lips against his.

  I pull back before he can kiss me. His eyes are narrowed, annoyed, but so turned on. If I look down, I know I'll see him getting hard again, ready for a second round.

  “So we're going casual then? Making this all about the sex? Good. No need to talk to Maxwell.”

  “Idiot!” I play-punch him in the shoulder.

  Bad joke. It makes me laugh because I know he'll talk to dad soon. I'm so incredibly lucky to have him. To have this.

  He grabs my little wrist, a rich dark chuckle in his throat, and pulls me into another divine kiss.

  We thought we'd found paradise that night, and nothing could ever ruin us. If we'd had the faintest hint of the evil waiting the very next day, I wouldn't have been so naïve.

  Or so defenseless.

  The world would make me pay dearly for ever thinking a Happily Ever After was in our cards.

  Present Day

  Dreams. Nightmares. Memories.

  They blur together restlessly in my afternoon sleep. I pull the sheets tighter, hating how I wake up with my heart pounding, and slightly wet.

  Dreaming about our first time does that.

  Then I remember I hate him, and the new Trent Usher I met downtown is a far bigger asshole than the boy I left behind.

  I crash back down into the pillows, hands over my face, hating the pale gray Seattle sun seeping through a crack in the curtains. The sandman easily chases me down a second time and works his magic.

  Hate, confusion, frustration, and lost love form a strange geography in my sleeping mind. I hear voices. Remember the morning after our first time.

  I woke up to an empty bed, our sex sheets still wrapped around me. Trent was gone.

  But the house wasn't empty. I crept out of my room, following the voices, ears pricked up and heart doing nosedives for no good reason. I couldn't miss the edge, the anger in their words, right away.

  “Fuck you, Usher. I don't need your brains to bail me out of this one. It's too damn late for second thoughts. You were the one who said we needed to raise capital, remember? Hell, if this money isn't good enough for you, maybe I'll just throw the whole wad at something else. I'm doing this for you, like a good friend and business partner. I listened to what you said. I –”

  “Jace? Shut the fuck up. You're doing this for yourself, and you know it. No other reason why you'd even be this stupid, putting yourself and everybody else in danger. We need to get rid of this shit.”

  There's a brutal pause. They're somewhere near the main door. Whatever touched the fight off, it's serious.

  Last time I heard Jace use that wounded tiger tone, he wound up punching poor Michael Bowens. It was after the kid tried to come between him and his fling with Georgia Whats-her-face a couple years ago. I stop by the stairs, just out of sight, too afraid to see their faces.

  Too afraid because, Jesus, what is this?

  “No one's getting caught, Trent. No one. A fucking pit behind the boathouse is the last place in the world anybody'd ever look.”

  “They don't need to be looking, asshole. Somebody just needs to find it. All it tak
es is a nosy person passing by on a boat, or one of your gardeners, or fuck, maybe a rich kid flying a drone. You'll wish it were Amy Kay or your folks. Anybody else will nail your dick to the floor. Same with my folks, and I sure as hell won't blame them after the bullshit you pulled on our property.”

  Jace stops, snorts, bile in his voice. “You're forgetting one thing: it's my house, fucknut. My money. My deal. I'll be by later to get my crap out of your ma's garden. You don't want a piece of this, fine. Here's the fucking door.”

  “Nice, asshole. Giving me the same courtesy you extended to ma after she put you up, did your laundry, cooked us food all summer.” More fury explodes in Trent's voice.

  I hear one of the heavy double French doors out front spring open, slapping its safety stopper against the wall. “Shut up. Take your perfect angel act the hell out of here. Don't come back. I'll send somebody by your place for my stuff later. You rat me out, you mess with my shit, I will kick your ass, Usher. Hard.”

  “Hilarious.” He draws in a ragged breath, and then whispers in a low growl, like he's right in my brother's face. “To think, I wasted five fucking years trying to tell everybody who insisted that you weren't an impulsive idiot, Jace. Stood by you like a brother. Good luck living under house arrest with Maxwell. If I can't stop you from fucking up your life, dear old dad will before you crash his campaign with no survivors.”

  I lean forward, straining to hear more, but I can't make out the next few muffled words.

  “Stay the fuck away!” Jace roars. “This was your idea, your scheme, your business. I promise, if you go digging any of that shit up and dumping it without my permission, we'll have problems. Don't take matters into your own hands, cock.” I wince, hear sneakers screech on tile, like he's lunging for Trent's throat. “You're not family, asshole. Never were. My parents. My house. My sister. You want to keep that perfect goddamn grin of yours intact, you'll keep away from everything. I'll pick up the pieces and we'll be done.”

  Back in the present, I wake up with Jace's furious words stuck in my head. Ringing.

  All these years later, I wish I'd heard Trent give a parting shot, tell my idiot brother he loved me, how he wouldn't walk away for anything.

  Oh, but he did. He showed me how little.

  We learned the entire truth the next day from a crying, shaken Jace. He showed us who the real wolf was all along, how foolish I'd been to ever trust him.

  Speaking of Jace...I look down because the ringing hasn't stopped. It's not just in my head. My phone vibrates, nearly shaking itself off the nightstand.

  “What?” I hit the accept call button, pressing the cool screen to my ear.

  “Building will be out of commission for at least a week, sis. Christ, can't believe the mess there, I'm glad you weren't hurt.” Is he? He says it like a footnote, and not the whole reason I'm flat on my back exhausted, every bone in my body aching. “I know you're only out here for a couple weeks. Won't be practical to do much with showing you the floor in person, but if you'll let me send over some pics, I'd love to get your thoughts. We can still hash it out ”

  “Hmmm.” I pretend I'm deep in thought. “Actually, bro, I've got a better idea: find yourself a real interior designer. First chance I get, I'm hopping on the first flight to Spokane, away from this shit show.”

  “You can't!” He realizes how stupid that sounds as soon as it's out of his mouth. His next words are cold, but calmer. “Hell, sis, I wish you wouldn't, I mean. My hands are real busy here putting out fires. Clients have to meet with our boys and girls at noisy coffee shops and they don't like it. It's hell on confidentiality. We need a place to hang our hats again. Restore trust. Something worthy of a patent firm dad built. I need your help.”

  He sounds so small, so crushed, almost on the brink of the same suffering I saw that week our lives changed forever. Heat stings my cheeks, angry, unable to shake off the dreams.

  “Just send the stupid pictures, Jace. Schematics, too. I'll look them over. But I'm still planning to skip town the second I have a chance.”

  “Really? Without even a visit to see me, or mom and dad?” He knows my guilt triggers and he pushes them deep. “Seriously a shame, sis. Where are you staying? I'd come down there, convince you stay myself, but I'm in the thick of it. Some really nasty surprises this morning. Not just the stuff with the firm...”

  I blink, searching his words, wondering what he's hiding. Nasty surprises, he said. Trent's doing?

  It isn't like him to back down so easily. Or hold his cards tight. The Jace I know should be pitching a non-stop fit until I agree to work my butt off fixing up the office, and tell him I'll stay in Seattle.

  “What's going on?” I whisper, wondering if I can handle more bad news.

  “Nothing, nothing, just Linds jumping down my throat. She's under the weather lately, that's all.” He's so tight-lipped every time he mentions my ex-best friend.

  The one he married.

  “Whatever, you're right, I don't want to know” I tell him, pinching my eyes shut. My temples begin throbbing all over again. “Good luck.”

  “Yeah. Do me a favor and stay another day, Amy Kay. I'll be out there the second I get a chance to chat over drinks. Sorry, I know I haven't been real sympathetic to the crap that happened. Heard you got stuck in the elevator and all.”

  “It crashed, Jace. Slid right down the shaft and smashed into flames. Less than a minute after I crawled off it. It would've killed me if –” I stop. Just short of praising Trent Usher, who saved my life, and now seems hellbent on ruining my brother's.

  “Shit. Didn't know. That's gotta shake a soul up.”

  He has no freaking clue. None whatsoever.

  It's left me in pieces. “No promises. I'll think it over, Jace. I need some time,” I tell him, wishing for sweet silence. I almost hang up, but my conscience won't let me. “Oh, yeah, Trent's in town, by the way. Says he's gunning for you. We had a...run-in at the office yesterday. Same elevator.” There are no words for what really happened.

  “Usher? Fuck me. That explains a whole hell of a lot. It must be him. I've gotta go.”

  He hangs up first. Another surprise. Usually, he'll kill to have the last word.

  Whatever he says, I see where his priorities are.

  I'm once again stuck helping a man who doesn't want to help himself. I pull up the airline app on my phone, eyes lazily drifting over flight schedules.

  I'll think about it, like I told him, but not much.

  I'm so done. So ready to get the hell out of here and have a normal night's sleep in my own bed.

  Lindsey keeps invading my head with her snake-like smile, too. I can't believe we were ever inseparable, once upon a time.

  Things were never the same after the hell that started after the best night of my life.

  Lindsey never saw my brother's flaws like I expected. She ran.

  Or did she? She was there at the right time, right place, to lend him a shoulder to cry on. She saw money, power, an opening to worm her way in at my family's weakest hour. What started as a hookup became a way to sink her claws in.

  Two years later, my frenemy was Mrs. Jace Chenocott. It's just a miracle they haven't had a kid yet. Then there'd be no avoiding the awkward family gatherings, where I try to talk to Linds like a normal human being, without my eyes betraying me. They want to tear her in two for stepping where she never belonged.

  I push the uncomfortable thought away and listen to my rowdy stomach. I rummage through the stack of papers on the dresser for a room service menu. A simple burger, medium well, with garlic fries and a giant Butterfinger shake sounds delish. I stop just short of booking flights while I'm waiting for my food.

  I decide to clean up instead. A nice hot shower strips the melancholy grease off my heart and the exhaustion from my bones. After, I pad into the room, digging through the messy pile I've left in front of my half-open suitcase, searching for a change of clothes.

  There's a scrap of paper tucked into my pocket. It's the stuf
f from my purse I pulled out and stuffed inside this morning, before I crashed out. An envelope.

  I don't remember what's inside until I lift it up, hold it under the lamp, and see the opening sentence.

  I hope you go to hell, Trent Usher...

  Fitting. And incredibly frustrating.

  My hate letter was with me the whole time on that hellish ride. I never showed it to him once.

  Crumpling the paper in my hands, I whip it into the waste bin with a snarl. My stomach growls something fierce as I'm pulling my pants up, waiting for the knock at the door a few seconds later.

  Dinner. I tip the man wheeling the cart, waiting for him to leave.

  Five bites in, I regret my order. My stomach is slowly eating itself alive and I've still got no appetite.

  Awesome.

  Somehow, I can't get my mind off the stowaway letter I just trashed. Or the insufferable bastard it's addressed to.

  It was written years ago. More for my mental health than anything I'd ever seriously mail.

  Now, that's different. My feelings haven't changed. Seeing him, hating him, kissing him all over again left bruises on my soul.

  He can't get away with it so easy. Especially not while he's trying to ruin Jace!

  My eyes drift over to the nightstand where I've tossed my purse. Inside, the small slip of paper he gave me before I gave him hell. It hasn't gone anywhere.

  I have his room number.

  It wouldn't be hard to fish the letter out, drop it at the front desk, pay the postage, and give Mr. Asshole Usher a parting shot he'll never forget. You can't buy therapy this cheap.

  No. Don't be stupid, I tell myself.

  I think the same thing again in every sullen bite, trying to enjoy my food. The shake goes down easier, thankfully. I need the sugar rush.

  If I'm ever too sick at heart to feed my shameless sweet tooth, then I know for sure it's time to see a doctor. Or a mortician to check my pulse, I guess.

  For the moment, I'm safe. I'll wait to book my flight, and ignore the stupid documents I'm expecting Jace to fill my inbox with anytime now. I'm in control, half a city away from Trent, I hope, though it hardly feels like enough distance.