Ten Tiny Breaths (Ten Tiny Breaths #1)(48)

His eyes narrow slightly, but he obliges, smoothly flipping over so I can admire the ripples in his back, his broad strong shoulder, and the span of script that stretches from blade to blade.

My finger trails it softly, spiking goose bumps across his skin. “What does it mean?”

He starts to answer, but then he pauses, like he’s hesitant about telling me. That makes me want to know a hundred times more. I wait quietly, tracing it back and forth with my fingernail. “Ignoscentia. It’s Latin,” he finally whispers.

“What does it mean?”

“Why do you have five ravens on your leg?” he throws back at me, a rare hint of annoyance in his tone.

Dammit. Of course he’d ask that. I’d do the same if I were him. I bite my bottom lip as I weigh my options. Do I shut him down again or do I give him a bit to get a bit? My interest in Trent outweighs my need to keep everything hidden.

“They’re for all the important people in my life who I’ve lost,” I finally whisper, hoping to God he doesn’t ask me to name them. I don’t want to name the one that represents me.

I hear his sharp intake of breath. “Forgiveness.”

“What?” That word hits me like a punch to the chest. Just the sound of it—so impossible—leaves me nauseous. How many times had the counselors pushed me to forgive those guys for killing my family?

“My ink. That’s what it says.”

“Oh.” I exhale slowly, my fists balling up to stop my hands from trembling. “Why do you have that on your back?”

Trent rolls over and spends a long moment gazing at me with a grim mask, eyes full of grief. When he answers, his voice has turned husky. “Because forgiveness has the power to heal.”

If only that were true, Trent. I struggle hard to keep from frowning. I wonder how different our pasts must be for him to have a tattoo promoting forgiveness when I’m wearing one symbolizing the very reason why I can’t forgive.

There’s another long pause and then Trent’s sly grin is back, his arms nestling his head again. “Clock’s ticking here …”

I shake the seriousness away. Propping myself up onto my knees to get a better view, my eyes drift over his lips, his jaw line, his Adam’s apple. They roll leisurely down his chest and I make a point of leaning in and parting my lips near his nipple. I hear his breath hitch, and I’m sure he can feel my breath against his skin. I pull back as I continue further down, checking once to see if he’s watching me. He sure is.

A nervous twinge stirs in my stomach and I focus on the feeling for a second to realize that I adore it. It makes me feel alive. And I decide I want more than just a twinge so I push it, sending it into overdrive as I reach up and skim the elastic band of Trent’s briefs with my index finger. It’s not hard to see that he’s aroused. I curl my finger underneath the elastic band …

And find myself on my back in a split second, with both my arms over my head, my wrists pinned beneath one of Trent’s strong hands. He’s hovering over me, holding all of his weight up by that one arm, grinning. “My turn.”

“I’m not done yet,” I fake pout.

He smirks. “Tell you what, if you can last five minutes with the same level of scrutiny—without moving at all—I’ll let you finish.”

I make a tsking sound but inside I’m screaming. “Five minutes. Easy.”

Trent cocks his head, his arched brow telling me he can see through my bullish exterior to the melting pile of goo beneath. “You think you can handle it?”

“Can you?” I ask, twisting my mouth to fight the stupid nervous grin ready to expose itself. Just those heated blue eyes boring into my face is enough to unravel me. “What if I lose?” I realize this might work to my advantage either way.

Somber eyes flash and I sense the shift in the atmosphere. “If you lose, you agree to talk to someone about the accident.”

Sexual blackmail. That’s what Trent has up his sleeve. He’s breaking his going slow rule in hopes of making me talk. My teeth grind in response. No way in hell I’m agreeing to this. “You’re a natural at ruining the mood,” I force out, squirming beneath him.

But he grips me tightly. He leans forward, his lips grazing mine as he begs, “Please, Kacey?”

I close my eyes, trying not to let that gorgeous face glamour me. Too late. “Only if I lose, right?”

“Right,” he whispers.

My competitive side answers for me before I can think this through. “Fair enough.” I. Will. Not. Lose.

I see the wide grin stretch across Trent’s beautiful face and my body tenses up. “You’re going to play fair right?”

“Yes. One hundred percent fair.” There’s a teasing darkness in his stare, and I realize I’m in trouble. I watch as he sits back on his haunches, towering over me on the bed, those blue eyes leaving my face to drift over the length of my body, in no obvious rush. “This isn’t fair yet,” he murmurs. Leaning forward, two hands settle on the edges of my dress on my shoulder. He pushes down.

I gasp as my dress—a stretchy tunic style—slides off with a little bit of tugging on Trent’s part to get it out from under me. Trent’s thumb runs along the scar on my shoulder as his hands move down the length of my body, taking my dress with him. I’m left in nothing but my strapless bra and a thong. I hold my breath as Trent soaks up every square inch of my body—every curve, every detail.