Trade Me (Cyclone #1)(69)

“Before you ask me about that,” Blake says, “yes, if you puncture the earth’s crust deep enough, you do find a store of time. Not magma. That’s a myth started by the great geology conspiracy. And before you start making snarky comments about how companies are going to start mining it and using it, I want to point out that Cyclone is already doing just that. How do you think we stay ahead?”

I take a breath. He doesn’t tell me why he’s telling me this story. He doesn’t have to. My mouth feels dry. “Sounds legit.” I try to sound unaffected. “It’s not any less plausible an explanation than a hunter and a scorpion.”

“Precisely. It’s like they always say. Never let a little thing like light pollution stop you from finding constellations.”

“They always say that?”

“No?” He glances over at me. “Then what do they always say? You tell me.”

I want to believe. I want to think that there are other stories. I want to believe that we could be one.

I take a deep breath and then I point, far out over the water, to the lights of the Dumbarton Bridge.

“There,” I say. “That’s Ling-ling. She’s a dragon. Many years ago, she made a bargain with the residents of the land.”

“You need to say ‘a bargain she made.’”

I squeeze his hand. “Am I telling the story or are you? I’ll let you know when we get to the epic part.”

“Sorry. Back to the bargain.”

“She would carry them on her back for a period of fifteen years. But if anyone forgot the end of the contract and crossed after the bargain ended, that person she would devour.”

“Do Chinese dragons even eat people?”

“She lives in the Bay Area,” I say severely. “She eats a westernized diet.”

“Good point.”

“In any event, Ling-ling fell in love with a college student named Kenesha Walters. Kenesha’s mother crossed the bridge with her daughter every day, and when Kenesha graduated, she started working at the same place as her mother. Ling-ling can’t bear to be parted from her love, so for now she stays in place. But one day, Kenesha is going to find a job closer to home. And then, Ling-ling will feast.”

“I love it.” He turns to me. My body hums as he slides his arm around me. And then, very slowly, very methodically, he sets his lips on mine. There are no stars, not a single one visible. Still, I can feel the light of constellations, of things born out of our imagination. Of epic fights to the death. Of a dragon-love so powerful that it transcends species and time.

His kiss makes me think that this can be real, that we could be a story. His hands come around me, sliding underneath my t-shirt to hook around my belt. We could be there, two lovers set in the constellations below us.

Tina and Blake, placed by the gods in lights, constantly reaching for one another and never quite touching.

“That’s just the thing,” he says. “Maybe all the stories have been written about the stars. Fuck the stars, then. They’re light years away, and they don’t give a shit.”

We’re touching now. His hands are warm against my skin; his lips devour mine. I run my fingers down his chest, past his waist, letting them rest on hard thighs. I disappear into his kiss. Into the give and take, the cycle of tongue and breath. He lights me up, setting me ablaze until I’m breathing hard. Until my hands brush the hard rod of his erection through his jeans.

His breath breaks. “God, Tina.” His hands slide up my ribs, the fingers of his right hand brushing against my breast—lightly at first, and then with more fervor.

“This can be anything we make it,” he says.

There’s no relief, not from the want that floods me. I want him—his body—hard inside me. But I want more than that. I want this evening, all of it. I want to forget how close we are to the end. I shut my eyes and kiss him harder.

He takes a fistful of my shirt in his hand and pulls me on top of him. Our lips meet, hungry.

“Want to go back?”

“Your dad. Is your room soundproofed?”

“Actually, no. But he’ll be occupied. And he won’t hear a thing, so long as we’re quiet.” He finds my mouth again, kissing me hard.

I pull away breathlessly. “Is that a challenge?”

Blake considers this. “Hell, yes. It is.”

And then we’re going back, running in the dark, pelting through the front door. A light to the left signifies that his dad is still working even though it’s now past midnight, past the time he predicted he’d finish—but Blake doesn’t call out in greeting. Instead, he grabs my hand and leads me up the stairs. He stops halfway, pressing me into the wall and kissing me harder. His hands clench around my hips; I can feel him hard against my belly.

I’m not sure how we manage to make it to his room, but as soon as we’re in, we’re kicking off shoes. As soon as mine are gone, Blake grabs hold of my jeans by the belt buckle. He undoes it and then slowly, slowly, slides my pants down.

Before I can even think to return the favor, he pushes me onto the bed.

“Remember,” he growls, “we have to keep it quiet.”

Then he’s over me, spreading my legs wide, settling his face between my thighs. Licking me. After more than a week together, he knows exactly what I want him to do with his tongue. Where to go. How to hesitate just long enough for the anticipation to build—and how to surge forward. I have to grit my teeth not to moan aloud.