Page 45 of Trigger's Temptation

“I don’t know what came over me,” I whisper, my voice raw. “I’ve never lost my temper like that.”

Trigger’s hand slides into my hair, his grip firm but careful, tilting my head so I can’t look away.

“While it was a huge fucking turn-on watching you put that skank in her place,” he murmurs against my jaw, his lips ghosting over my skin, “I want you to talk to me instead ofreacting and running, Little Kitten.” His mouth trails lower, slow, teasing, his breath hot against my throat.

“Then you would’ve learned she came on to me.” His teeth graze my pulse point, making me shiver. “And you handled it before I could.”

My fingers dig into his shoulders, needing something solid to hold onto. Something real.

“Looks like you’re rubbing off on me,” I groan, my breath hitching as his fingertips trace a line of my spine.

“I’d rather be rubbing something else off.” Trigger’s voice is thick with hunger.

He kicks my door shut with the heel of his boot. The moment his lips crash back onto mine, we’re lost, all heat, all need, all recklessness. He carries me to the couch, his body pressing me down into the cushions, his weight deliciously heavy against me.

I widen my legs, welcoming him in. Trigger nips at my bottom lip, his mouth claiming, demanding, intoxicating. Then he kisses lower, down my throat, along my collarbone, between my breasts. Each press of his lips brands me, staking his claim.

“This,” Trigger murmurs against my skin, his teeth scraping as he yanks my shirt over my head, “is mine and only mine, Little Kitten.”

His shirt follows mine, ripped away in one fluid motion.

“Jesus, you need to warn me when you do that,” I rasp as heat pools low in my belly, a desperate ache I can’t ignore.

He smirks, his eyes dark with amusement and something far more primal. I barely have time to think before he shifts his hips, grinding into me, a low, wicked groan spilling from my lips at the friction.

“That’s what I love to hear, Little Kitten,” he growls. “Keep making those noises, and I won’t take my time with you.”

I arch into him, my nails biting into his back. “I don’t want slow and gentle, Carter.” My voice is a breathless plea. “I wantyou to fuck me.” The way his body tightens, the way his pupils blow wide, I know I’ve snapped whatever restraint he had left.

Trigger moves fast. My jeans and panties are gone before I can process it, and the rest of his clothes are discarded just as quickly.

I lean back against the couch, exposed, open, ready. Trigger’s gaze devours me, dark and heated, like he’s about to consume me whole.

“Come take what you want, Carter.”

He does. One thrust, and we’re joined together as one. It’s not just sex. It’s desperation. Possession. A silent promise wrapped in fire and friction.

He moves with purpose, with force, with need, and I match him, my body arching into his, taking everything he gives.

I don’t know where I end and where Trigger begins. All I know is that I don’t want this to stop. Because for the first time tonight, since waking up in that suffocating darkness, I finally feel something other than fear.

I feel alive.

The heat between us lingers in the air, thick and charged, but as the last waves of pleasure ebb, something colder creeps in.

Reality.

I lie against Trigger, my body still humming, my heartbeat trying to settle. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, his breath still ragged against my temple. For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then, just when I think he’s asleep, his arms tighten around me.

"You were shaking when I got here," Trigger murmurs, voice rough but laced with something gentler now. "Not from me. From before."

I don’t answer. I don’t want to talk about the nightmare, the feeling of failure, the accusations that I didn’t help, the screamsthat never make it past my lips. I don’t want to admit that I woke up feeling like I was drowning, my mind a cage I can’t escape.

But Trigger sees through me. He always has.

His fingers trace slow circles on my bare back, grounding me with silent reassurance.

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