Page 75 of Sirens
He couldn’t hold back, even if he wanted to. Maggie’s provocations were a red flag to the bull of his control, and he charged, driven by a need to claim, to conquer…
To connect.
This was their dance, one where humor and tension twirled around each other in a dizzying rhythm, culminating in decisions neither of them meant to make.
They were close, so close to the edge of reason, the brink of utter abandon. And as they teetered there, Trent realized thatMaggie wasn’t just some siren leading him to his downfall. She was the compass pointing him toward a truth he’d long denied—the intensity of living without masks, the vulnerability of genuine desire, and the terrifying thrill of letting go.
That realization sent him spiraling after her into the abyss.
His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart thundering like a drumline as he rode the crescendo of their shared frenzy. Maggie’s back arched, a silhouette of pure feminine desire, her crimson locks cascading down like fiery waves.
She was a vision of voluptuous passion, a masterpiece sculpted by the hands of wanton need.
A goddess in exile.
The world narrowed to the electric connection between them, a circuit completed, energy flowing unchecked. He watched, mesmerized, as ripples of bliss shuddered through her—the way her shoulders trembled and spine arched, lips parted, and skin flushed with the rosy hue of satisfaction. He loved this—her unguarded moments, raw and beautiful.
As the last tremors of pleasure subsided, a wave of anger washed over Trent. Not at her, never at her. At himself. The realization hit him like a cold shower on a steamy summer’s day—he hadn’t turned her in for trespassing during her podcast sleuthing. His legacy, his very identity, was built on law and order, yet here he was, breaking both, all because he couldn’t bear the thought of betraying Maggie.
So he’d betrayed himself instead.
He fought for breath, for sanity, for something to say as their panting hung like mist in the aftermath of their storm.
Finally, he allowed himself to straighten and ease out of her.
She sighed but made no effort to move.
A flush of panic creeped up his neck. “Did I— Are you okay?”
“No,” she said gustily, turning to face him with an expression so pleasantly languorous, she might as well have been drugged.“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay after that,” she admitted with a dopey half-grin. “What else makes you mad? I want to do it again.”
Trent knew she was flirting, but he turned away, troubled. He went to get them both a washcloth before he could rush out an idiotic reply.
Here was a side of him he never showed to the women in his bed. In this country, he had to be extra careful of perceived sexual aggression. It was a word he avoided at all costs.
Culturally. Vocationally. Sexually.
She would never understand. As incredible pleasure still thrummed through his every nerve ending, shame followed quickly as the victor’s memento mori.
Instead of allowing him to brood, Maggie turned to face him, eyes alight with a hunger he recognized. Because it was the same insatiable one that lived inside of him.
“Come back from wherever you’re going,” she whispered, shaping her hand to his jaw. “It doesn’t look like a happy place.”
Slowly, deliberately, she reached for the hem of his damp shirt, her fingers dancing along the fabric before she peeled it away from his slick skin. Trent stood exposed, every defined muscle testament to his disciplined life, but in this moment, it was Maggie who held the power.
“Seems like I’m not the only one who’s been hiding things,” she teased, tracing the lines of his abs with a mix of wonder and ownership. Her touch ignited a different kind of heat within him, one that simmered with tenderness beneath the boiling surface.
“I’m an open book,” Trent responded, a wry smile playing on his lips. But behind the humor lay an unspoken truth—a camaraderie that went deeper than flesh, a bond forged in the fires of vulnerability and trust.
Maggie’s moan of appreciation was a siren call, and Trent felt himself irresistibly drawn into the depths of her oceaniceyes. With the confidence of a woman who knew the power she wielded, she guided his hands to the small of her back, pressing against him as if they were two pieces of a puzzle that the universe had finally decided to click together.
“Let me show you how it feels to really let go,” she whispered, her breath a warm caress against his ear. She led him down onto the couch, her movements slow, deliberate, like honey dripping from a spoon. The frenzy of their previous encounter melted away, replaced by an exploration that was no less intense but far more profound.
Trent was lost in the sensation of Maggie’s curves beneath his fingertips, the softness of her skin contrasting with the hard lines of his own body. She moved atop him with a rhythm that seemed to speak directly to his soul, a languid dance that was at once new yet achingly familiar.
The way she looked at him, with such trust and openness, made something inside Trent stir—something he’d kept shackled for far too long. Her eyes held not just passion but a playful challenge, as if daring him to dive into uncharted emotional waters.
She’d plunge first if he wasn’t careful.
