Page 74 of Sirens
Now was the time to go. To walk away or to put her in cuffs and take her in to where she’d be safe from this snarling need that’d grown claws.
It was go or…
“Well? Are you just going to stand there looking like a deer caught in headlights?” Maggie’s voice was laced with impishprovocation, her bright red hair a fiery halo in the dim light of her living room.
Fuck it.This was his damned apartment. He wasn’t going anywhere.
In two decisive strides, Trent closed the distance between them. Any chance of more banter evaporated as he yanked her close and captured her lips with his.
It was a kiss that spoke of unchecked yearnings, a prelude to promises whispered in the dark. As their lips met, Maggie’s scent—a tantalizing blend of vanilla, jojoba, and something uniquely her—filled his nostrils, stoking the temper that fueled his lust. His hands found her hips, and he pressed his fingers into the soft curves he’d learned only the night before with bruising strength.
Those eyes. Intelligent. Bright. Observant.
She couldn’t see him like this.
Maggie’s breath hitched as he turned her to face away from him before bending over the back of the black leather couch that had seen its share of lazy Sunday afternoons. Trent didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, his zipper was down, the sound cutting through the silence like a starting pistol. His mind was a haze of Maggie—her scent, her heat, the way her soft sex beckoned from beneath the globes of her round and ample ass.
“Yes.”
It was the whisper he’d been waiting for.
As he entered her with a rough thrust, Trent was careful not to cause her any pain. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so frenzied with lust, his thoughts a whirlwind of sensory details and animalistic urges. Yet beneath it all, he was aware of a tenderness that caught him off guard.
“Fuck yes,” he echoed, inwardly bemoaning that he hadn’t been able to wait to undress. If he had, the chisel of his hip flexors would be tucked against her beautiful bare flesh.
He held still for as long as he could. Seconds. Minutes. He couldn’t be sure. Incrementally, the teeth-clenching tightness of her core gave way for his intrusion, relaxing the grip fromthis will be over too soontofits like a glove.
Each brutal thrust was a revelation, a liberation from the man who prized control above all else. Townsend Harbor’s rain-soaked serenity had nothing on the storm that raged in the confines of this soulless living room with its hotel décor.
“God,” Trent grunted, every stroke a testament to the pent-up longing that had simmered between them for far too long. Maggie’s response was a moan that reverberated through his bones, a siren song urging him to abandon the shore for the tumultuous sea of their shared desire. His breath exploded out of him in rhythmic, ragged gasps, his movements becoming more frenetic as his thoughts became more garbled. Reason? Logic? His goddamned humanity?
Those had deserted him the second she bent over.
Maggie was no passive participant; she met him thrust for thrust, a provocative challenge sparkling in her voice.
“Yes. Harder. More,” she said in rhythm to his relentless strokes, her words laced with a devil-may-care demand that set his blood on fire.
Her smoky voice hung in the air like an electric charge, igniting something raw and primal within him. It was as if she’d lit the fuse to a powder keg of emotion that Trent had kept buried under layers of sarcasm, good nature, and meticulous order.
He knew anger—anger at the world, at the job, at himself—but what roared through him now was different. It wasn’t just temper or anger; it was a hurricane of passion, possession, and something even stronger. Something he couldn’t begin to identify.
Something maybe no one had invented a language for yet.
“Damn you,” he growled, the sound almost foreign to his own ears. She was peeling away the veneer he’d polished so carefully over the years, revealing the man who craved the wild, the unscripted—the real. This wasn’t just about sex; it was a seismic shift, toppling the walls he’d built around himself.
“No, fuck me,” she gasped.
He bent over her back to thread his large fingers in the silk of her wet hair, anchoring her neck back tight as he used the tension to truly follow her orders.
“You wanted dirty?” he snarled against the shell of her ear, a warning. A question. An urge building within him.
“Yes. More,” she urged, her voice a blend of defiance and desire.
Fueled by her dare, Trent lifted his hand, hovering for a nanosecond to question whether or not they should cross this new boundary. Then, with a firmness that made them both gasp, he brought it down, spanking her round backside with a force more than gentle but less than punishing. The sound—a sharp, satisfying smack—ricocheted off the walls, mingling with Maggie’s equally lethal cry of pleasure.
After one more pop with his palm, she shuddered and bucked, her moans and mewls crescendoing along with the muscles clamping rhythmically on his cock.
A scream erupted from her that was his undoing.
