Page 19 of Power Surge

My entire core aches as he withdraws to the tip only to thrust deep. My pleasure-filled cry is cut short as his teeth sink into my lower lip and tug it into a pitiful whimper.

His cadence quickens, thrusting hard. Every nerve tingles; my thoughts and concerns vanish. All I can do is give myself over to his control.

Each time he sinks deep, he swirls his hips, driving pressure to my clit. Breathing shallow, eyes closed, I lose all grasp on reality as I tumble into a mind-clearing orgasm. Tremors rack down my spine as aftershocks pulse with his determined thrusts. I fall limp, only staying upright with his support. He presses his lips against the shell of my ear, a harsh grunt pushing past as he finds his release, shoving himself as deep inside me as possible.

His panting breaths fan through my hair where his forehead presses to the freezer beside me.

The hold on my wrists loosens, and he carefully helps lower them to hold behind his neck. Tingles erupt as blood rushes to my fingertips. A soft caress along my outer hip before he eases my leg from around his waist.

My muscles twitch at the sudden exertion, but I couldn’t care less. “Damn, I needed that,” I mumble into his hair. With a deep inhale, I savor the unique spicy scent that is all Trey Benson.

“I don't resent you.” The confession is a mere whisper.

I shake my head. Dipping both hands beneath the collar of his T–shirt, I scratch my jagged nails along his upper back.

“Let’s not do this here, not now. Let’s go to my room where we can talk freely. I think we both have a lot to get off our chests.”

The loss of him from between my thighs leaves a void in my heart and core. Trey assists me back into my damp panties and skirt before tucking himself into his jeans.

“Commando, huh?” I question, biting my upper lip as I work to piece my shirt back together. With a huff, I give up. Gripping the two ends, I secure the sides together in a tight eighties-style knot. The upper portion still gapes if I don’t hold it together, but at least now I'm not flashing who's left in the White House at this late hour. “Shit. They'll know what we were doing when I walk out looking like this.”

His honey brown eyes eat up every inch of me, devouring me with his still hungry gaze. “Pretty sure your scream already gave them a hint. But don’t worry, I know those guys. They won’t say anything.”

Peering up, I smile, feeling a little better about the unconventional situation I’ve found myself in. Shirt situated enough to be decent, I grip his hand and interlace our fingers. Without a shred of embarrassment or shame, we walk out of the kitchen, my chin held high. The Secret Service agents don't give a second look to my haphazard appearance, simply fall in step behind us. I wince as the evidence of our sexcapade slips past my panties and begins to lazily trickle down my inner thighs. Quickening the pace, I accelerate my barefooted steps down the carpeted hall.

Inside the master bedroom, I don't pause, continuing my beeline to the attached bathroom. The ripped shirt goes first, then my bra, stripping as I move. By the time I step through the glass shower door, I’m completely naked. The immediate steady flow from the rainfall showerhead drenches me in cold water for half a second before changing to scalding.

I breathe out as I step farther under the spray while a leering presence looms nearby, lingering in the middle of the bathroom.

“Sorry,” I mumble, my words more bubbles than actual words. “I was sticky.”

At his nonresponse, I turn, putting the pounding water to my back to face Trey.

His hands are shoved deep into his front pockets, his thick hair hanging in front of his downcast face.

“Okay,” I state, putting force behind the word, hoping to gain his attention. “Out with it. Tell me. What's going on, Trouble?”

“I don't know,” he admits, the words muffled by the water pounding around me.

I release an exasperated sigh. “Trey, really? Don't—”

“I'm telling you the truth, Randi. I don'tknowwhat the hell is wrong with me. I'm a fucking mess inside.” Lifting his head, he meets my searching gaze. “So much changed in a short period of time, and I… I'm….”

“Lost?” I offer.

He nods and shrugs in the same move. Him uncertain, almost broken slices deep into my heart. Making quick work with the fragrant body wash, I clean myself. Pressing the faucet handle down, I turn off the downpour of water, only a few trickles escaping the chrome shower head. Water streams down my bare legs and chest as I step from the steam-filled shower. Normally the sight would urge him into action no matter if we’d just made love or not, but now Trey just stands there unmoving, his focus on the marble tile floor.

Using the fresh towel that magically appeared in place of the one I used this morning, I dry off and then wrap it around my chest, securing it by tucking it into itself.

“Trey,” I say while attempting to tame my thick damp hair into a messy bun. “I'm not a mind reader here. I have zero idea what's going on inside that head of yours. Remember that conversation in Hawaii? That we need to tell each other everything?” I pause until he answers my question with a reluctant nod. “Well, this is one of those times. You tell me what's bothering you. Don't be embarrassed or afraid if it all seems… heavy. You confronted your parents on some shady and quite troubling shit and got shot all in the same twenty-four-hour period. It was a lot. But I need you to talk to me, tell me. Don't push me away by saying it’s nothing.”

The last of the water trickles down the shower drain while the overhead fan hums, absorbing some of the humidity from the thick air.

“I can't tell you what's wrong when I don't know myself,” he says, hesitantly pulling his stare from the floor to me. “I don't even know where to start.”

I sigh and nod, completely understanding where he’s coming from.

I remember those periods when everything seemed too much to understand, much less explain to someone. How many times did I lose myself in my studies because those emotions were overflowing? How many times did I avoid people in general to keep from being forced to acknowledge what was going on inside? Understanding through trauma, which is exactly what he went through with the shooting and his parents, is difficult for anyone to process, but especially him. Someone who's never really known true devastation. He's lived a cushy life up until this point, always knowing if he failed, his family would catch him.

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