Page 53 of Trade It All

“We need to pack up,” I murmur, my voice lower now, steadier, the words coming easier with her pressed against me. “Get you over to Addy’s.”

I don’t tighten my hold. Don’t keep her there longer than I should. Even though every part of me wants to. Even though the thought of her not being with me tonight doesn’t sit right anywhere in my body. But this—this is what she needs. And I meant what I said. So I force myself to ease back just enough to look down at her, my hands still resting on her like I’m not ready to fully let go.

“As much as I hate it,” I add quietly, something honest slipping through before I can stop it, “I want you somewhere you feel safe.”

She leans back just enough to look at me, her fingers still twisted tight in my shirt like she doesn’t trust herself to let go. And when she shakes her head—something in my chest tightens before she even speaks.

“Make me forget, Dean.” The words don’t come out rushed. They don’t sound panicked. They land soft… but they hit hard. “Make the memory of the first time you stepped foot into my home a good one… not something from a mad man.”

I’m already shaking my head before she even finishes. Because I hear what she’s asking. And I hear what she’s trying to bury. “No,” I start, the word firm, immediate, already set in place before I can soften it.

Because this—this isn’t something I’m going to take from her. Not like that. Not when I know what she’s really asking for. But then—“Please.” It’s quieter. Smaller. And it cuts straight through me. My jaw tightens as I look down at her, really look this time, past the words, past the request, into the way she’s holding herself together just enough to stand here and ask me for this instead of breaking.

She’s not asking for distraction. She’s asking for control. For something that feels like hers again.

My hand moves before I think about it, sliding up from her back to her jaw, my thumb brushing lightly along her cheek—careful—until I’m holding her face steady, keeping her right here with me instead of letting her slip into everything that just happened.

“Look at me.” My voice is lower now. Not sharp. Not demanding. But there’s no room in it for her to look anywhere else. She does. Of course she does.

“I’m not going to make you forget.” The words come slower this time, deliberate, measured, because I need her to hear every part of it. “Because none of that gets to be erased like it didn’t happen.” Her fingers tighten in my shirt. I feel it. But I don’t stop. “He doesn’t get to take this place from you,” I continue, my thumb brushing once more along her cheek, grounding instead of soothing. “He doesn’t get to turn your home into something you have to run from or bury under something else.” Her breath catches. But she doesn’t pull away. So I lean in just slightly, closing the space between us, not touching her the way she’s asking for—not yet. “I’ll give you something better than that,” I murmur, my voice dropping, quieter now, but heavier. Something she can feel. “I’ll give you new memories here.”

My forehead rests lightly against hers, my grip steady, unshaking. There’s a pause. A breath.

“I don’t touch you because you’re trying to forget something,” I add, softer now, the edge gone completely. “I touch you because you want me to.” My thumb presses lightly under her chin, lifting her just enough to keep her eyes locked on mine. “And right now, you’re asking me to take something from you that you need to keep control of.” My voice drops even further. “You don’t need me to make you forget, Maddie. You need me to give you control.”

Chapter 25

Maddie

Ilookathim,really look at him, and the panic that was clawing at my throat five minutes ago starts to settle into something else. Something hotter. Something that feels like power.

"I want you to take it, Dean," I whisper, my voice steadier than I expected. "I don't want to think about who was in here. I want to think about you.”

Dean’s expression softens, but his eyes stay dark, focused. "That’s exactly how this works, Baby. You’re the one in charge of my control. If at any point this is too much, or if you just want it to end, you say the word."

I take a breath, my heart thudding against my ribs. "Red Hots," I say, the ridiculousness of the words a sharp contrast to the intensity between us. "That’s the word."

"Red Hots," he repeats, his voice like velvet. He reaches down, taking my hand and placing it on his thigh, right above the knee. "And if you can't find the words? Squeeze right here. Three times. If I feel that, I stop. Instantly. Everything else stays outside that door. In here, it’s just us."

He stands back, his massive frame creating a shadow that feels like a shield. "Now," he commands, and the shift in his tone makes my stomach flip. "Get on your knees, Maddie.”

I obey, the carpet soft beneath me, my gaze fixed on his belt. I’m not small because he’s making me be; I’m small because I want to be exactly where I am.

"Good girl," he praises, the words vibrating in the air. "Now, I want you to reach out. Pull me out. I want you to be the one who starts this."

My fingers are shaking as I reach for him and undo his belt, the heat of him radiating through the fabric. I free him, my breath hitching at the sight of him—thick, heavy, and entirely mine.

"Look at me while you do it," he rasps. I look up, meeting his hooded gaze as I guide him to my lips. "Slowly. Take as much as you want. Show me how much you need this.”

I take him in, the slide of him against my tongue a sensory overload with his piercing that finally pushes the image of my ex out of my mind. Dean’s hand finds the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he doesn't push. He guides. He waits until I’ve adjusted, until I’m the one leaning forward, before he starts to move.

He works himself into my mouth, his rhythm steady and demanding, his breath hitching as I take him deeper. Every time I hit the back of my throat, his grip in my hair tightens just a fraction, a silent praise that makes me want to give him everything.

When he finally pulls out, he’s breathing hard, his face a mask of primal focus. He doesn't move toward the bed. Instead, he walks over to the armchair in the corner of my room and sits down, his legs spread wide, his hands gripping the armrests.

He looks like a king on a throne.

"You're doing so well, Baby," he murmurs, his eyes scanning every inch of me. "But I’m not done with you yet. Come here. I want to see you ride my dick. I want to see you take exactly what you want from me right here in the middle of this room.”