“Here’s to warm fires and good friends,” I say, tossing back the shot. The fiery liquid slides down my throat and does the job I said it would of warming me inside and out. Trace hesitates, then drains her glass. She lets out a cough and gasp afterward.
“Whoa. Burns.” She blows out a long breath. “One is good for me.” She puts a hand over the top of her glass to stop me from pouring her another shot. “I thought we could start putting together the choreography for our skating routine. I downloaded the songs onto my laptop and cut them to put them together. I can make an outline of the moves as we listen to the music. What do you think?”
“Sounds good. Let’s do it.”
She hops up and goes to get the backpack she dropped by the door when trying to escape the rain.
Funny. I haven’t wanted to figure skate since I got serious about hockey. I’m all about working together with a team of guys with one goal—to win together. The aggressive game play of hockey is more my speed. Although I don’t think I’ve ever felt the kind of stimulating excitement for a game in the same way I’m anticipating practicing and performing this routine with Trace.
The thought of holding her in my arms while we do an intimate skate routine causes my cock to jump. If I’m feeling this way while thinking about it, I’m guessing I better not wear tight pants while skating with her or the whole audience will know what’s on my mind.
She sits back down next to me and leans over to place her laptop on the coffee table in front of us. She boots the computer up and after a few clicks the velvety notes of J. Mraz’s voice singing “You Matter to Me,” fill the room.
“I edited both songs together so let’s listen to the whole song all the way through “Distance,”” Trace suggests.
She takes a bottle of something out of her backpack, pulls up the legs of her sweatpants, and rubs the oily liquid onto her long, slender legs. Man. I can think of all kinds of interesting things to do with that oil and her beautiful body. She puts the bottle back in her bag, sits back, and closes her eyes like she’s absorbing the lyrics and sensations of the music.
As I watch her all I know is I want her. I’d like to lay her down in front of the fire and push deep inside her. I want to tell her what she does to me. I have to keep reminding myself she’s not the kind of girl I hook up with.
When the notes of the song swirl around us, soothing the menacing sounds of the savage storm outside, I want to slide my arms around her and show her how much she already matters to me. An electric surge ripples through me, something I haven’t felt for any girl since Abbey. It’s fucking scary and exciting all at the same time.
After all the chicks I hooked up with in the past year, trying to forget, how has this girl cracked open the prison I keep around my guarded heart? I wanted to avoid complicated, but what she’s doing to me and the feelings I’m experiencing for her are about as puzzling as it gets.
Truth is, all thoughts since I first laid eyes on her have blurred with the need to touch her, to peel off her clothes and run my hands over her creamy flesh. All I can think about is what her legs would feel like draped around me and the sounds she’d make while I pleasure her in every way possible.
The braces around my heart are tough shackles to break, and based on Trace’s statement about her past bad relationship, I’m sure her heart is as guarded and fragile. I’m torn between wanting to show her how fucking incredible I can make her feel and not wanting to risk shattering her heart. Although, if she wants me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist.
***
After the last notes of the combined songs pulse through the speakers, Trace opens her eyes. Even with the reflection of the fire flickering in them, they’ve darkened to sultry emotional heat.
“Those songs get to me. They’re so perfect,” she says in a hushed voice.
You’re so perfect, the cornball line bubbles inside me. I swallow it before it comes out of my mouth.
“I think at the beginning we should do some slow circles around each other like…wait, let me show you.”
She gets up and runs around the other side of the sofa where there’s more floor space. I twist around to watch her impromptu demonstration. She bends at the knee and rises on each foot a few times like she’s warming up for stroking on the ice and then she starts making these balletic turns with her eyes fixed on the imaginary me she’s supposed to be spinning around. It’s crazy. I’m not even touching her and I’m hard just from watching her graceful movements. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“The whole thing should be slow and dreamlike, but playful too. You’re doing the same circling thing while the piano’s playing and then we stop and gaze into each other’s eyes. Then you run the back of your hand down my cheek when he’s says something about sad eyes. And then right before he says the thing about hiding, I’ll duck down under your arms like…well.”
She tries to twist herself up in a position to show what two people would be doing at the same time, but she can’t quite make it work. I’m so mesmerized watching her it takes me a minute to jump to my feet and come around to help her.
“Show me what you want me to do.” We circle around each other and I stop and gaze into her eyes and then run the back of my hand down her cheek as she suggested. I don’t know if it’s her or me trembling, but the current running through both of us is all heat and desire as we stand frozen in place drowning in each other’s eyes.
“Um. Right. That’s pretty good,” she says, bringing us out of our trance. “Now I duck down and you cover me like this.” She gets into her position first and then she shows me mine relative to hers.
She stands and moves back around the sofa to get the computer off the table and places it on the back of the sofa so she can start the song from the beginning. When she hits play we get into position and do the few moves she’s choreographed so far and I feel every emotion, like the song was written for us.
“I’ll jump up into your arms, your hands on my waist, and we can do a loop lift at this point.” She hops up into my arms to demonstrate and I get even harder to greet her. I hold her, my hands around her waist, our eyes locked again, because I never want to stop drinking in her beauty. Is it wrong I’m a little thankful for the treacherous storm stranding us here?
She breaks the mutual trance when she wiggles out of my grasp and says, “We can do a step sequence to get moving around the ice and side by side spirals or mirrored spread eagles to match the lyrics. I don’t know. We can work it out when we’re on the ice. When he sings the title, “You Matter to Me,” we should do a star lift or cartwheel lift, or a double twist lift. Something like that. Something big. Then you can spin me down and around your body to exit. Oh, wait. Can you do those? I know you haven’t figure skated for a while and lifts are difficult if you’ve never done them before. Damn. I’m not even sure I can still do them.” She giggles. Her eyes are sparkling in the firelight and I’m completely enthralled by the passion she has for skating and creating this routine.
“I’m sure you can do anything you put your mind to.” I swear her face lights up a little at my statement, but I can’t be sure because as far as I’m concerned this girl has a glowing angelic aura around her twenty-four seven. Okay. I guess angelic is the wrong word to describe my sexy hallucinations of her, but she glows nevertheless. “I’ve done those lifts in the past. I’m sure it will come back to me if we practice off-ice for a while first.”
“How about spins and jumps? You tell me what you can do and I’ll only put in those elements.”
“Don’t tell anybody this…” Placing my hand next to my mouth, I stage whisper, “Whenever I get some time on the ice alone, I practice jumps and spins to see if I remember how to do them. It helps to keep up my strength and agility for hockey too. The guys would never let me hear the end of it if they saw me. I love ‘em, but they can be assholes sometimes.” I grimace at the thought of what Wolfe would say if he saw me doing a camel spin.
“Your secret’s s
afe with me.” She snickers and runs two fingers across her lips to show they’re zip sealed. Now all I can think about is unzipping those lush lips and reliving the sensations I felt last night when her tongue tangled with mine.
“Wait. Are you telling me you practice those things in hockey skates?” She’s staring at me all wide-eyed like I told her I climbed to the peak of Mt. Everest.
“It’s no big deal. Doing some of the toe jumps can be a little tricky though since, you know, no toe picks, but I make it work. I have figure skates too, so no worries for the routine. It’ll be safer and more stable doing the elements you’re putting in. I’m okay with doubles, possibly a double-double combo, but I don’t think I can handle triples without a lot more time to practice.”
“Since it’s not the Olympics, I think doubles are more than enough.” She smiles and then sucks in her bottom lip and teases it.
Is the room swaying? Damn. She’s rocking my world. My mind and eyes are once again locked on her full, pink lips, and the only thing I know at this moment is I want to be the one suckling that lip.
“Let’s see…what else?”
Her question snaps me out of my daydream of tasting her lips…and neck…and breasts…and well, every part of her luscious body. Being alone with Trace on our own secluded island and standing so close to her has my mind drifting to places it shouldn’t be visiting.
“There aren’t a lot of big crescendo parts to the music. It’s soft and romantic throughout, so I think it needs to be really touchy feely through the whole thing. What do you think?”
Is she kidding?
“Touchy feely sounds good,” I say and move closer to her to get started on the practice right this second.
“Okay. How about you try a simple cradling lift? You know, you scoop me up in your arms and rotate, like, three times and I’ll…” She squeals when I cradle her in my arms before she finishes her sentence. She circles one arm around my neck and I spin her around a few times. At first she giggles and then something happens and she melts into me, closing her eyes and resting the side of her head onto my chest.
Her hair smells like the organic peppermint shampoo they keep in the showers here. It’s the same soap I’ve used ever since I was a kid. My mom was instrumental in voicing her opinion to the Board of Directors of Bernard on what types of soap products they should use to match their organic environmental stance. My mom can be an extremely persuasive person.
The familiar peppermint scent mixes with Trace’s sunshine citrus scent on her skin from the oil she rubbed on her legs and hands. I inhale so deeply I may swallow her. She smells like a fresh spring day even in the middle of a horrific storm.
When I stop spinning she looks up at me with those big round eyes. They’re like shimmering emerald pools, piercing my soul with tenderness, like she’s trying to ask me something without speaking. The only answer I can give is to bend my head down and place a gentle kiss on her lips. It’s all I can handle in this minute without wanting to completely devour every inch of her.
When she responds to my kiss by sliding her other arm around my neck too, pulling me closer and then parting her lips to welcome me in, I’m almost ready to explode. Having her in my arms and kissing her with such tenderness has my heart pounding against my chest so hard I’m sure she must be able to feel it bouncing against her.
She slides out of my arms abruptly and pushes me away, again. “This is a really bad idea.”
She walks away and flops onto the sofa. My cock is an iron rod and it’s not happy. It’s had just about enough of this restraint stuff and the loose sweatpants I’m wearing are leaving nothing to the imagination. The way it’s straining in protest is on full display.
I try to will him to chill out as I walk around and join Trace on the sofa. “Trace, you must be able to see what you’re doing to me.” There’s no point in denying what I can’t hide. My words come out in more of a growl than I intended. “We need to talk about this. Last night—”
“I know.” She holds a hand up to stop me. “You said it was a bad idea for you too and I get it. I know there’s this thing going on with Alex, and even though he pushed us together at the pub, I would never want to hurt—”
“Wait. Trace, what are you saying?” This time it’s me holding up a hand to stop her. “You’re dating Alex? But I thought he was gay and into—”
“Of course I’m not dating Alex, jackass.” She frowns and smacks me in the chest. In an instant, the sensual, giggling girl I had enveloped in my arms a minute ago is gone and feisty, sexy Trace is back.
But what the fuck did she say?
“I mean you.” She takes the laptop from the back of the sofa and sets it back down on the coffee table. “You would never want to hurt him. I would never want to hurt him either, but I know you like him and—”
“Stop.” This time I stand up away from her and try to think with a clear head. Both heads, because right now my cock isn’t allowing either one of us to think about anything but getting inside her. “Are you saying you think I’m gay and dating Alex?” Well that statement worked as an instant dick deflator. “Why? Where did you ever get the idea I’m gay and why would you think I’m dating Alex?”
What the fuck?
I knew we both had some past issues standing in the way of our getting together, but I can’t even wrap my head around this conversation.
“Uh…I thought you were gay because…well, because I’m attracted to you. Long story.” She stretches an arm out in front her, fingers up like she’s stopping traffic. “Let’s just say I’ve done my fair share for mankind to bring hot gay men together,” she says. She moves on without further explanation, before I get a chance to think about or voice confusion over the little gem of a statement.
“And then Alex told me he’s into some hockey player who’s also into him and he was going to get together with him at your party, and then I saw you talking and flirting with him at the party, so I thought you two were a thing. Even though Alex kind of pushed us together at the Thirsty Whale the other day. I admit I don’t quite get that but…” She stops, gives a one shoulder shrug and takes a breath, the first one since beginning her whole outrageous verbal vomit.
It takes a second for the exchange of the last few minutes to sink in. When it does, the only thing I can do is throw my head back and laugh. I suppose some guys would be offended by the woman of their dreams mistaking them for a gay man, but she’s so damn adorable waving her hands around in nervous animated gestures to try to explain herself, I can’t be upset. Besides, she’s never experienced my ability to pleasure a woman to the point where she’s moaning my name in prayer-like groans. If she had, she would know I’m one hundred percent into women.
“Tracey. Baby.” I kneel down on the floor between her legs. “I am not gay.” I kiss the inside of her thigh and even through the thick sweatpants I feel her quiver. “Alex is into one of the guys on the team, but it’s not me.” I kiss the inside of her other thigh and she lets out a little whimper. All I want to do is strip off those gigantic sweatpants and lick and suck her into ecstasy. But this conversation can’t wait. This is a misunderstanding of epic proportions and it needs to be cleared up ASAP. “The night you saw me talking to Alex, at the party, we were talking about you. I was asking him about you so I could find out more about you.” I push myself up and sit next to her again. “So now, how about you explain the thing about you thinking I’m gay because you’re attracted to me. I sort of get the Alex mix up, even though my rep for sleeping with so many…never mind.” Probably not cool to rub it in her face, yet again, the possibility of my having slept with half the girls on campus. “Anyway, I can understand the Alex thing. But what the hell does your attraction to me have to do with me being gay, or in this case, not gay?” I add, to be sure we’re clear.
“I’m sorry,” she sputters. “It’s so stupid.” She shakes her head and wipes away a lone tear which has managed to escape down her cheek.
“No need to be sorry, baby g
irl.” I use my thumb to follow the same path her own fingers took in wiping the tear off her face. Christ. The last thing I want is to make her cry, at least not in sorrow. After I rock her world it’s okay with me if she cries in uncontrolled passion. “No harm done. I mean if I was into guys, Alex isn’t a bad pick.” She wrinkles her brow in bewilderment.
“No. I told you. I’m not into guys. Alex is a cool dude, and I don’t have any problem admitting it. But my lust filled yearnings lie in the soft, curvy, land of desire, not in the hairy ball-park, if you know what I mean.”
I cringe. Eww. Another dick deflating image crosses my mind. Which is a good thing because I’m still stroking her face and fighting the overwhelming urge to climb on top of her and soothe all her worries in others ways. I drop my hand.
The asshole at UDel must’ve fucked with her mind more than I thought. Does she think dating her causes men to become gay or some crazy shit like that?
“I’m only trying to understand where you’re coming from. Is this something to do with the past bad relationship and the reason you said you weren’t ready to hook up with anyone?”
She nods slightly, like she’s reluctant to tell me what’s weighing heavy on her mind. But then she does.
***
“I have a weird kind of problem…”
Hmm, I’m not liking where this is going.
“What do you mean ‘problem’?” I ask, not sure I want to know the answer.
Trace is interesting, beautiful, and smart, and I can’t deny how much I want her. Whatever her problem is, I want to help. She’s shown me her tough, independent exterior. For the first time I’m seeing the vulnerable side. I want to be the one there for her, the one who helps her figure things out.
The one?
I mean…I want to help her, if I can.
“I…I’m only attracted to gay men,” she says in a voice so low I ask her to repeat what I think I heard.
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