Page 18 of Power Surge

“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not,” he states, his focus slipping to just over my shoulder.

“Yes it is. I’ll show you, how’s that? I’ll start with this impromptu amateur hour counseling session.” He arches a brow with a condescending tilt of his head. “Fuck me,” I groan. Massaging my temples, I lean fully against the counter. “You're a dick for pushing me away, you know that?”

“I'm not… I’m not pushing you away, Mess. Don’t take it so personal. I'm simply processing, that’s all.”

“For the past three weeks?”

“I was fucking shot, damnit!” he roars. “Cut me some damn slack, woman.”

“Slack? You want me to cut you some slack because you’re ‘processing’?” I add a sneer to the end of the air quotes in hopes of pissing him off. “You know what I'm processing? The fact that I’m carrying the legit weight of the free world on my shoulderswithoutmy boyfriend to support me.” This gets his attention. Those light eyes focus back on me, searching my own. “And I don't know why you resent me for that, since you're the one who convincedmeto take the damn job.”

“I don't resent you, Randi. It's just—”

“I've needed you every day, Trey.” Looking to the ceiling, I fight the tears that want to fall. “It's not that I can't do all this alone. I know I can. I've been through a shit of a life and fought for every single step forward I've taken. But I don'twantto do this alone. I don't want to be in this role, in this city, without you near me, with me.”

“Mess,” he whispers. Shaking his head, he runs a hand through his hair and tugs at the ends. “We’ve talked, texted. I am here.”

“No you're not.” Ignoring the warning bells, I jam my pointer finger to his sternum with each word.

He reacts lightning fast, grabbing my wrist to keep me from poking him again.

My heart sprints at the feel of his tight grasp holding me firm. And because there is something really wrong with me, the area between my thighs slicks with desire. I wet my upper lip, and his eyes track the small movement. Desire floods into his darkening stare while the restrained anger that was evident the moment he walked in the door still radiates off him.

Neither of us moves. Heat and passion spark between us.

I know what he needs. What we both need.

“Do it,” I breathe.

Without warning, his lips crash against my own, our teeth connecting amid the searing kiss. I scrape my fake nails along his scalp before gripping a shaggy section of his hair. This isn’t sweet or tender. It's angry and devouring, using all our pent-up stress and aggression to fuel the raging passion between us. Back and forth, we struggle for control with each tangle of our tongues and nip of our lips. A cool wall of metal meets my back, the air in my lungs leaving in a violent whoosh.

With an animalistic growl, he relaxes his hold on my waist only for rushed fingers to slip between the small gaps between the buttons of my dress shirt. I gasp, the shock quickly morphing into blinding desire as he rips the shirt open. Buttons fly around the kitchen, pinging on the tile floor and counter.

Chest heaving, I arch my back, head pressed to the unrelenting freezer door, effectively thrusting my breasts into his face, demanding attention from his talented lips and teeth. He gives a harsh tug on the soft lace demi cup, and my breast pops free, exposing my already hardened nipple. Gripping his hair, I attempt to urge him faster as he licks a thin line down the pounding vein along my neck with the tip of his slick tongue.

My hips jolt forward, seeking connection at the scrape of his teeth against my hard nipple. Adjusting his stance over me, Trey slips a muscular thigh between my legs. His knee dips beneath the hem of my pencil skirt, shoving it north to bunch around my hips.

Weight forward, his hard thigh seals between my own, applying agonizing pressure to my hot, slick core. Dignity gone, I grind down on his thigh, providing the friction I'm desperate for. His cool palm sizzles against the overheated skin of my stomach as he skims a hand around my ribs and down my back. Without missing a beat, he unfastens my skirt and works the zipper down.

A whimper escapes at the loss of his lips on my breast and his leg between my thighs. With a swift yank, the Gucci pencil skirt drops to the floor, pooling around my bare feet. I say a quick prayer of thanks to the unicorn gods that I ditched the heels and hose earlier beneath the presidential desk.

Shutting my eyes, I focus every nerve ending on his demanding grip around both hips. His thumbs draw tight circles just above my thong before hooking the elastic band. The near painful scrape of his nails down the inside of my ultrasensitive thighs as he drags the thong toward the floor hurls a breath-catching shiver through my body and soul.

The moment he stands from his low crouch, I fumble at the front of his jeans with desperate fingers, eager to pop the top button and work the zipper down. Just as I connect, he swats my hands away. Half confused, half pouting I peek up through my dark lashes.

There’s a deviousness in his half smile, one that sets my pulse racing even faster with anticipation. Without a word, he gathers both my wrists in one constricting grip and guides them high up over my head. The cold metal of the fridge is a stark contrast to my overheated skin along the back of my arms and wrists where they now connect with the smooth surface.

I watch in fascination as the hand not restraining me works to pop the button of his dark-wash jeans. Frustratingly slowly, he drags the zipper down, his hard cock bursting free immediately without the confines of boxersorbriefs.

Allowing the jeans to sag halfway down his hips, Trey grasps his dick, giving it a tight-fisted pump followed by another as he focuses at the apex of my thighs. The wetness dribbling down my inner thighs is no doubt visible under his scrutiny.

A bead of precum wets the head of his swollen cock. After a swipe of his thumb, he lifts the smear to my dry lips and shoves it deep into my mouth. My tongue swirls around the digit, licking every last drop, the salty taste of him driving me even deeper into a lusty haze. Without warning, he pops his thumb loose, leaving me whimpering for more until his lips slam against mine once again as he slips a hand beneath my left knee, hiking it high over his hip.

I moan against his mouth as I feel him slide between my folds. Up and down he travels, never dropping low enough to breach my entrance. I squirm, lifting to my tiptoes. The grip on my thigh and wrists constricts, a silent command to stop struggling for control.

Without warning, he raises me higher and slams through my core, thrusting deep. The tips of my right toes scrape the tile as he pins me back with his steel-hard cock, my thigh hooked around his waist. Panting, Trey presses his forehead to my own.

He still hasn’t moved inside me, driving me nearly to the brink of insanity. I yank against his grip, eager to clutch his firm, round ass and urge him even deeper, but his hold doesn’t budge.

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