he'd have lost Rick's friendship forever. He'd never make an asshole move like that. Even kissing her right after they broke up was questionable—for all the good it had done him. She'd had one foot out of Pennsylvania and wasn't looking back. No, things had played out the way they were supposed to. Cyn wasn't his, and he'd have to accept that.
He stole a glance at her, and dark, hungry eyes met his. His resolve melted. If she made a move, he was done for.
***
Anticipation and want gnawed at Cyn's stomach. Trent's animal gaze pierced her. He looked utterly civilized in his tailored suit and starched shirt, his dark hair smooth and neat. But she sensed the pheromones emanating from him, the raw scent of desire, his lean, toned muscles ready to spring with the right encouragement.
Her breath caught at the sight of Bernadette Holt weaving through the crowd. A chill rushed through her. Bernie had been pretty enough in high school, but now she was gorgeous—long legs, shiny auburn hair, and a red halter dress advertising her assets.
Prickles of pain jabbed her heart as a memory floated in her mind: Trent and Bernie kissing in the back seat of Rick's car on a trip to Hershey Park the summer between junior and senior year; the queasy feeling in her stomach, which she hadn't yet recognized as jealousy.
The nausea came rushing back when Bernie laid her hand on Trent's arm. Hell, no. Bernie wasn't getting Trent tonight. She'd had her taste. It was Cyn's turn.
Whirlwind that she was, Bernie took over the conversation, trying to set up Jordan with a classmate she thought was gay. At her side was Max Martinov, the class geek who'd made a fortune with a tech company he'd founded in college. He'd had a huge crush on Bernie in high school, which she'd never returned but used to her advantage. She'd treated him like her personal slave—a role he seemed happy to continue playing, fetching her a drink to soothe her stern look.
Holy shit. Cyn stared at them, the realization dawning. She's a Domme. And Max…
Cyn shook her head. What her classmates did in private was none of her business, and she didn't want to know.
She clutched Trent's arm possessively, staking her claim. Bernie could have the tall, blond, and handsome billionaire who served at her pleasure. Trent belonged to Cyn.
His gaze swept over her as a smile touched his lips. Her stomach hollowed out. She ached to kiss those lips, draw him into her mouth. Not here, though, in front of Rick. She would keep it friendly, despite the throbbing pulse of desire.
She let go of Trent's arm but stayed close, the crush of the crowd an excuse to stand with her hips and shoulders pressed to his side. His hand idled in the middle of her back. It felt so good, that quiet gesture of possession. Yes, make me yours. I want to be yours.
When Bernadette strolled off to greet some newcomers, Max trailing behind, Cyn said in Trent's ear, "Bernie looks gorgeous, doesn't she?"
"Not half as good as you."
His words melted her insides like sunlight on ice. Her world narrowed until Trent was all she could see.
***
Cyn gazed up at him, looking vulnerable and a little lost despite the determined set of her jaw. He'd seen that look a hundred times before, her open heart steeling itself against the pain. He wanted to encompass her in his arms and drive away whatever fears haunted her.
I can take care of you, Cyn . Let me love you. The silent plea echoed in his mind as his eyes drank in the curves of her heart-shaped face. The rational part of his brain yelled at him to chill, but the rest of him was gone, falling into the hot atmosphere of Venus.
She met his gaze, then shivered.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No, but I need food, or that wine will go straight to my head." She grabbed his hand and led him to the appetizer table. Her hand was tiny and soft, almost like a child's, and the sensation of her fingers on his skin wrapped his heart in a choke-hold.
Just for tonight , he told himself, for old times'
He stole a glance at her, and dark, hungry eyes met his. His resolve melted. If she made a move, he was done for.
***
Anticipation and want gnawed at Cyn's stomach. Trent's animal gaze pierced her. He looked utterly civilized in his tailored suit and starched shirt, his dark hair smooth and neat. But she sensed the pheromones emanating from him, the raw scent of desire, his lean, toned muscles ready to spring with the right encouragement.
Her breath caught at the sight of Bernadette Holt weaving through the crowd. A chill rushed through her. Bernie had been pretty enough in high school, but now she was gorgeous—long legs, shiny auburn hair, and a red halter dress advertising her assets.
Prickles of pain jabbed her heart as a memory floated in her mind: Trent and Bernie kissing in the back seat of Rick's car on a trip to Hershey Park the summer between junior and senior year; the queasy feeling in her stomach, which she hadn't yet recognized as jealousy.
The nausea came rushing back when Bernie laid her hand on Trent's arm. Hell, no. Bernie wasn't getting Trent tonight. She'd had her taste. It was Cyn's turn.
Whirlwind that she was, Bernie took over the conversation, trying to set up Jordan with a classmate she thought was gay. At her side was Max Martinov, the class geek who'd made a fortune with a tech company he'd founded in college. He'd had a huge crush on Bernie in high school, which she'd never returned but used to her advantage. She'd treated him like her personal slave—a role he seemed happy to continue playing, fetching her a drink to soothe her stern look.
Holy shit. Cyn stared at them, the realization dawning. She's a Domme. And Max…
Cyn shook her head. What her classmates did in private was none of her business, and she didn't want to know.
She clutched Trent's arm possessively, staking her claim. Bernie could have the tall, blond, and handsome billionaire who served at her pleasure. Trent belonged to Cyn.
His gaze swept over her as a smile touched his lips. Her stomach hollowed out. She ached to kiss those lips, draw him into her mouth. Not here, though, in front of Rick. She would keep it friendly, despite the throbbing pulse of desire.
She let go of Trent's arm but stayed close, the crush of the crowd an excuse to stand with her hips and shoulders pressed to his side. His hand idled in the middle of her back. It felt so good, that quiet gesture of possession. Yes, make me yours. I want to be yours.
When Bernadette strolled off to greet some newcomers, Max trailing behind, Cyn said in Trent's ear, "Bernie looks gorgeous, doesn't she?"
"Not half as good as you."
His words melted her insides like sunlight on ice. Her world narrowed until Trent was all she could see.
***
Cyn gazed up at him, looking vulnerable and a little lost despite the determined set of her jaw. He'd seen that look a hundred times before, her open heart steeling itself against the pain. He wanted to encompass her in his arms and drive away whatever fears haunted her.
I can take care of you, Cyn . Let me love you. The silent plea echoed in his mind as his eyes drank in the curves of her heart-shaped face. The rational part of his brain yelled at him to chill, but the rest of him was gone, falling into the hot atmosphere of Venus.
She met his gaze, then shivered.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No, but I need food, or that wine will go straight to my head." She grabbed his hand and led him to the appetizer table. Her hand was tiny and soft, almost like a child's, and the sensation of her fingers on his skin wrapped his heart in a choke-hold.
Just for tonight , he told himself, for old times'
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