DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF ME (The Thorntons #4)

Chapter One Lizzie Thornton grabbed her ex-boyfriend Trent Younger by his lapels and hung on for dear life as he kissed her, certain that she would either collapse at his feet or melt into a puddle from the heat of his touch. Trent growled deep in his throat, something animalistic and rough, and it sent shivers down Lizzie’s spine. He smelled so good—smoky and cedary—and he kissed like a fiend. He hadn’t kissed like this when they’d been teenagers, that was for sure. Back then, they’d both been tentative, learning how to kiss each other. This Trent Younger, though? He was anything but tentative. He licked at the seam of her lips, and she let her mouth fall open in surrender. A tiny voice in her head whispered that she should push him away and end this, but that voice got smaller and smaller until it disappeared entirely. She pressed against him, running her hands through his hair. He gripped her ass as he deepened the kiss. “I want you,” he muttered, kissing down her neck. “God, Lizzie, I want you. Tell me to stop.” She shook her head. “I want you, too.” Her hands shook as she ran them down his chest. She felt his heart pounding as fast as hers was. “Don’t stop.” He groaned, swooping in for another kiss, and everything faded as they kissed like neither of them had kissed in ages. Like they’d needed each other for so long that kissing was necessary for survival, like breathing or eating. A feeling both hot and overwhelming welled within Lizzie, but along with that feeling was the sound of the sweetest music drifting through her consciousness. Trent’s kisses made her want to sing. There was no other explanation. She and Trent had fallen fast and hard for each other their senior year of high school until it had all fallen apart. Lizzie had had to run away, because being around Trent hurt too damn much. She’d said she wanted to pursue her music, and she had. If that also meant leaving Trent, her family, and her past behind? She’d told herself it was worth it. “Come back to my place.” Trent leaned his forehead against hers. “Goddamn, Lizzie, I shouldn’t even ask you that, but I don’t care.” She shook her head. “Too far.” Grabbing his hand, she led him into the house—her parents’ house and her childhood home. Everyone had gathered for Lizzie’s brother Harrison’s wedding, and the reception was still going strong. Since Harrison was the eldest Thornton child, his wedding had been the greatest event in this family since he had become a full-fledged physician. He was also the one Thornton who’d managed to fulfill their parents’ expectations. Lizzie sure as hell hadn’t. She’d wanted to be a musician despite her parents’ protests, and she’d done as she’d pleased. And now, she guided Trent through the darkness of her parents’ palatial home, secure in the knowledge that nobody would notice their absence at the reception. Trent laughed a little when they got to the stairs. “I remember the way,” he said quietly. “Although I distinctly remember climbing up a trellis more than once to get to your room.” Lizzie smiled at the memory. “Do you want to climb the trellis?” “Hell no. I’m not breaking my neck before I get you in my bed,” he growled in her ear, his hand squeezing her ass. He lightly s*****d her cheek, which made her yelp. “Get a-moving.” She saluted him. “Yessir.” Maybe it had been from the champagne, or from the darkness, or maybe it was that Lizzie couldn’t deny the connection she still had with Trent Younger, but she couldn’t be surprised at this development. Not really. When they reached her room, they practically fell on each other, tearing at each other’s wedding attire without a thought to the silk ripping or buttons popping off. When Lizzie wore only her bra and panties, her feet still clad in her tall heels, her legs bare of hose, Trent kissed her with a ravenous hunger only matched by herself. He’d grown up into such a delicious man. As a teenager, Trent had been handsome, yet almost sweet. Earnest. They’d both been so innocent, so sure that love would see them through anything. And then tragedy had struck, destroying the fragile love they’d placed all their hopes on. Lizzie started to tremble then, although she didn’t know if it was from Trent’s kisses or from trying not to remember the past. If she let the memories overwhelm her, she would shut down. She’d shoved her grief so far down that sometimes she could believe it didn’t exist. So she concentrated on Trent: on the way he tasted, the way his eyes glinted in the dim room, the moonlight providing the only illumination. How he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing all the tattoos swirling across his arms and chest. He hadn’t had one tattoo at age eighteen; now, at twenty-seven, he was covered in ink. Lizzie marveled at the patterns, tracing them reverently. Her heart stopped when she realized one tattoo was of a treble clef, and she almost asked him if that was for her. At his look, she bit her tongue. It’s not like that between us anymore. It hasn’t been for years. Trent cupped her breasts, brushing his thumbs over her n*****s. She saw him smile in the darkness. “These are bigger,” he murmured. “How’d you manage that?” She covered his hands with her own. “Magic,” she whispered. “I always knew you were some kind of witch, Lizzie Thornton.” That made her laugh. He picked her up in his arms and, without further ado, tossed her onto the bed. She laughed, her giggles increasing when she realized she was wearing her heels still. She bent down to take them off as Trent stripped out of his dress pants and shoes. She forgot what she was doing the moment he wore nothing but a sultry grin on his handsome face. Memories collided, and she couldn’t help but remember the first time they’d made love. They’d both been virgins, unsure yet eager, touching each other everywhere and learning what they both liked. When she’d first seen Trent naked, she’d blushed so red that he’d laughed at her. She’d countered that he’d blushed, too, and they’d both been flushed with need and a tinge of self-consciousness that first time. It had been the most beautiful moment in her young life. Now, though? The sweetness of their first time couldn’t compare to the heat of the present. Trent’s c**k was hard and long, and Lizzie reached for him, loving the heat against her palm. Trent groaned as she stroked him with her hand. He tangled his fingers in her hair that had fallen from its coiffure. “I’ve dreamed of this. Your hands on me. You naked and looking up at me.” She squeezed him; he swore. “I’m not totally naked, though,” she pointed out. Moving her hands away, he said, “Then we should take care of that immediately.” He stripped her of her bra and panties before they rolled across the bed and kissed like mad people, not caring that it was messy and artless. Lizzie needed his hands, his kiss, his body. She needed him so much it hurt. Her n*****s had tightened and she knew she was soaked already. When Trent kissed down her torso, licking her belly button, she pleaded with him. This Trent knew his way around a woman’s body. Her heart clenched at that, knowing he’d been with other women, but it had been nine years. She’d had other boyfriends, other lovers. But her emotions had never been interested in fairness or logic. It hurt all the same, although she pushed the hurt aside like she did every other negative emotion. “You’re so soft.” He inhaled the scent of her, his stubble rough against her lower belly. He kissed lower, above the patch of dark curls, and Lizzie began to tremble. Her belly coiled, and she knew with only a few touches, she’d lose herself. She sat up, her back against the headboard, as Trent gave her a long lick through her glistening folds. Her head thunked against the headboard; she ran her fingers through his hair, gripping the strands harder as he licked her faster, harder. When they’d been teenagers, she’d been too shy to try oral. The thought of anyone getting so close to that part of her had been almost unthinkable. But now, she bucked against his mouth and told him where she needed him, any shyness melting away. All she felt was an intense desire that spread throughout her whole body, from her head to her fingers to her toes. Trent mouthed her clit as he pushed one finger inside her. Lizzie bit her lip to keep from screaming. In one quick movement, Trent pulled her down the bed, lifted her legs onto his shoulders, and lifted her s*x up to his mouth like a chalice, allowing him better access. He thrust his tongue inside her, rubbing her clit, and Lizzie saw stars in her vision. Throwing an arm over her eyes, she concentrated on the sensations, the sounds, the way Trent groaned her name. “Don’t stop,” she moaned, arching and moving with him. “Don’t stop, please.” “Never.” He rubbed her clit harder. “You coming, baby? I want you to come all over my mouth.” She bit her hand as one more stroke of his fingers sent her flying. She arched, shaking like a leaf, his tongue pushing her o****m to continue. On and on, she came, and by the time she’d collapsed in a heap onto her pillows, she could barely remember her name. Trent propped his head on his hand as he gazed down at her. “You okay?” She laughed, pressing her hand against her pounding heart. “You just killed me, and based on the smug look on your face, you know it.” His smug expression only got more smug, if that was possible. With a little growl, Lizzie pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him. That smug look on his face transformed to one of agony as her wet center brushed his c**k. He gripped her hips, like he didn’t know if he wanted her to move or to stay still. To torment him a little more, Lizzie trailed one hand up her torso to cup her breast while the other hand delved below. Trent swore, long and low, as she played with her breast and slid her fingers through her slick heat. She smiled, loving the power she held over him. The power she still held over him. How does it feel like no time has passed at all? Trent let her play for about five seconds longer before he tipped her over onto the bed and crawled on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him as he kissed her, spreading her legs so he could settle between them. But then he kissed her chin as he got off the bed. “I’ll be right back.” Going to his pants, which had been tossed unceremoniously onto the floor, he opened his wallet and fished out a condom. Lizzie raised her eyebrows. “Came prepared, did you?” “I try.” He gave her a look that she didn’t want to interpret right now. Instead, she watched him sheath his c**k in the latex before he climbed on top of her again. The moment, once filled with levity, seemed to change into something more intense. Lizzie’s throat closed as Trent’s body pressed her into the bed, his smell and his warmth almost overwhelming. She touched his cheek right as the tip of his c**k pressed against her entrance, and she gasped when he slid inside in one smooth movement. “Are you all right?” he rumbled. He smoothed her hair from her face. “Lizzie, are you okay?” She wasn’t okay—but not for the reasons he thought. How could she ever be okay with this man looking at her like this, with him filling her, her heart filling with all the emotion she thought she’d overcome ages ago? She’d never be okay around Trent Younger, because he was the one person on this earth who unsettled her as much as he anchored her. She licked her lips. “I’m okay.” She brought him down for a kiss right as she lifted her hips, which pushed him further inside her. They both groaned. Trent started to thrust, his movements slow and steady, his c**k stretching her until she wanted to scream. She couldn’t catch her breath; she strained under him, needing more of him, all of him. “I got you. I got you.” He kissed her cheek and then her lips, and as the kiss deepened, his strokes deepened inside her. He filled her endlessly, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room. Lizzie felt the edges of her o****m gathering together again. If she’d thought the first o****m had killed her, she was fairly certain this second one would spell her demise. Trent grabbed her legs and sat up, his gaze never leaving hers. She’d forgotten how he maintained eye contact during s*x like this, how he wanted to see her expression change as he claimed her. When they’d been teenagers, it had been sweet. Now, it only set her further aflame. The room smelled of sweat and s*x, the headboard bouncing against the wall, noises bursting from Lizzie’s throat each time Trent filled her. She moved with him, and he muttered her name. A sheen of sweat covered his forehead. When his mouth twisted, she knew he was close. She pressed a finger against her clit, but Trent moved her hand away. He rubbed her, circling and circling, pounding into her. And as she came, she saw his eyes flash in the darkness before he closed them. He let out a low groan as he came a moment later. His grip on her hips was so tight he’d probably leave bruises, but Lizzie didn’t care. She loved the feeling of his c**k twitching inside her as he came, the way he said her name. The way he lost himself in his own pleasure in that moment. After taking care of the condom, Trent wrapped her in his strong arms. Lizzie wanted to cry. She didn’t know if it was from regret, or joy, or because she didn’t know how to feel right in that moment. She stared at the swirl of the treble clef tattoo on his left shoulder, focusing on that design until the wetness in her eyes disappeared.