Half Empty (First Wives, #2)(57)

Trina kept up as if she’d done the paparazzi dance before.

When they approached the hotel, the man at the door sensed their plight, opened the door, and then cut off Mr. Camera Happy.

Wade took a deep breath when the elevator doors closed.

Trina twisted to stand in front of him, placed her hands on his chest, and pushed him against the wall. Without words, she pressed her body against his and demanded his lips.

It took him two seconds to catch on before his eyes closed and his body gave in to hers. Her lips were open, hungry, and not like any kiss he’d had from her before. He hardened in an instant.

The elevator dinged loud enough for Wade to put a tiny distance between the two of them when the doors opened.

A couple with a teenage son stepped onto the elevator, eyeing them. It had to be obvious what they’d interrupted. It was to Wade, in any event. Trina diverted her gaze from the other couple, her chest heaving as she sucked in silent breaths.

The kid watched them as the elevator made its way up. The parents looked away in silence.

Trina licked her lips.

Wade felt the need to wipe his.

The door opened on the floor of the hotel’s view restaurant and let the family out.

It was Wade’s turn to twist Trina into the wall of the elevator.

Her hands were in his hair, her body molded to his, their lips fused together.

This time, when the elevator announced an arrival to a floor, Wade glanced up to see the penthouse suites level. Instead of breaking her off, he lifted her up and encouraged her legs to wrap around his waist.

He felt her purse slip from her shoulder and catch on her arm as he walked her to the door of their room. Trina’s teeth caught on his neck like a vampire searching for fuel. He pressed her against the door, probably too hard, but she didn’t stop.

Wade found his wallet and slid the electronic key from behind his credit card. It took two swipes for the door to unlock. Once behind the private door, he dropped his wallet, she dropped her purse, and he filled his palms with her ass as he carried her to the bedroom.

His mind focused briefly, wanting to ask if she was sure of this moment, but her teeth grazed against the lobe of his ear as she moaned.

The bed caught his knees. Wade controlled his fall on top of her as the bed cradled her back. The stability offered Trina the ability to push her hips into his. God help him, he saw bright sparks of pixie dust at the thought of sliding into her. The warmth inside his belly reminded him of his teenage years and the inability to control his body.

Ice.

Cold.

Aunt Mavis.

Jesus, he needed to get this together.

He sucked in a breath and slowed everything down.

Trina sighed with him; her fingernails ran up his back and tugged at his shirt.

Wade captured her lips and tasted the mint of her morning toothpaste before he let them go. She lifted her chin, and he kissed her neck until her shirt stopped him.

The smooth texture of her waist was warm against his palm as he inched higher. He was about to ask if she wanted this when she leaned forward and helped him remove her shirt.

She wore a plain white bra, her olive skin a stunning contrast he could sample forever.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I wasn’t planning . . .”

He kissed the top of one breast, silencing her protest; his thumb traced the edges of her bra.

“Oh, God.”

Her head fell back.

He was kissing her, caressing her, and already she was lost . . . he felt like the God she was calling out to and wanted desperately to deliver everything she needed . . . wanted.

Wade pushed her nipple from her bra and pulled it between his teeth until the hardness resembled a large nut.

“Wade,” she called and her hips jolted.

Ice.

Winter.

Texas was hot in the winter.

Her hands found his ass and squeezed.

The moisture at the top of his cock told him to slow down.

Wade captured her hands and pulled them above her head, holding them there. “Stay,” he demanded.

His eyes met the golden depths of hers. “Please,” he added.

Her hips surged, but her hands stayed.

Wade used his lips and tongue to trail a way to her pleasure.

She was wearing cotton pants that slid off easily when she lifted her hips. Wade tossed them to the floor, along with his shirt, as he kicked off the sneakers he didn’t normally wear. He was never so happy to not be fighting with a pair of tight boots when he returned his tongue and lips to Trina’s hip.

“Sorry,” Trina said, her hips reacting to his touch.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He could sense her need as his own.

“Granny panties. I didn’t think . . .”

Wade wanted to laugh, didn’t dare. Plain white, nothing special, yet everything he could ever want. “Hello, Nana.”

Trina chuckled and relaxed once he shifted her undies aside and said hello with his tongue.

He liked this part, and yet seldom had the opportunity to linger for long . . . until now. She tasted like honey. As much as he knew that was a metaphor, he couldn’t help but think it was true. Trina opened to him, her back arched, her foot pressed into his spine as he searched for the part of her that drove the sadness from her eyes. When he found it, he worked it, ignoring his own body until long after her nails left marks, and her honey changed and tasted like sangria. She pulled his hair, forcing him away.