“That’s not the same,” she shot back as a smile rose on her face.
Lowering my arm, I pulled her back onto my lap. “You’re right. I got my scar being a dumbass, hopping fences I had no business hopping with Travis, and you got yours fighting for your life. So, no, they’re not the same. I have every reason to be embarrassed about mine, and you should be showing yours off like a badge of honor.”
Cara rolled her eyes as she took a shaky breath. Although she might not fully agree with my take on our scars, apparently she did see my point.
Wanting to keep things as light as possible, I waggled my eyebrows. “I showed you mine.”
If she retreated back into her protective shell, then I would call it a night. Kiss her, tell her how beautiful she was, and go back to the main house, where there was a cold shower with my name on it. But, if she really didn’t want us to stop, I needed to know she trusted me. That was the only way this would work.
The left side of her cheek hollowed—she was taking my challenge under consideration. I absently ran my hand up and down her the bare skin of her thigh as I waited for the verdict.
When her gaze met mine, I was preparing myself to keep my expression neutral and not show any disappointment over her calling it quits. If she wasn’t comfortable yet, then I would work to get her there. I was more than up for that task.
She drew in a deep breath, and her voice trembled slightly as she shrugged. “Fine. But I warned you.” Then she scooted up by the headboard and pulled her sundress up.
As it cleared her head, I got visual confirmation of something I’d suspected—she was not wearing a bra. I’d seen my fair share of topless girls, and truth be told, I was much more of a leg man and an ass man than a tit man. But that was before I’d laid eyes on Cara’s perfect, perky breasts.
Now, I may have to rethink my stance.
I hungrily took in the swells of her lower breast as well as the dark pink of her perfectly round areolas and the stiff tips of her hardened nipples. Her perfect mounds jiggled slightly as she tossed her dress beside the bed and lowered her arms. My already-aching member throbbed painfully at this movement.
“So, yeah. I have a scar.” Cara’s voice trembled with vulnerability, snapping me out of my lustful haze.
“Oh, right.” I shook my head and glanced up at the barely visible, round scar above her left breast. “Sorry. I was so busy staring at your tits I didn’t notice it.”
Cara’s head fell back, and she laughed. The sweet sound spread through me like a shot of whiskey in a snow storm. In that moment, I knew that, if I could keep making this girl laugh for the rest of my life, I’d be the luckiest man in the world.
Before she had a chance to regain her composure, which might have included being self-conscious, I tugged her legs towards me, and she flopped down on the mattress with a squeal. Hovering over her, I ran my thumb across her cheek and softly kissed her lips.
I could have talked until I was blue in the face about how much I wanted her and how sexy she was and it would not have made a world of difference. My best shot of convincing Cara was to show her. Actions, in this situation, would definitely speak louder than words.
I kissed her thoroughly, swallowing her soft, needy sighs. When her body began writhing beneath me, I peppered kisses down her neck, giving her time to get adjusted to the idea of me kissing her other places.
Before I’d even made it past her shoulder, her back was rising off the bed in a silent plea for my attention, and I was more than happy to answer. With one hand, I cupped the swell of her firm flesh, kneading it as I methodically traced the pebbled outline of her areola with my tongue. Then I covered her ripened tip and sucked it between my lips.
Cara gasped, and her fingers threaded in my hair, holding me in place. Not that that was necessary—I had no plans on going anywhere. I alternated languorously licking her hardened nipple with my flattened tongue with quickly flicking it. She murmured words of encouragement as she fisted her fingers in my hair. After showering attention on one side, I switched to the other and started the process all over again.
When her hips rose, seeking release I continued loving her plump mounds with open mouth, suctioning kisses as I slid my other hand between her thighs. I slipped my fingers beneath the already-damp lace covering her sex. A guttural groan rose up in me as I intimately massaged her seam, coated with arousal. After several swipes, I concentrated my attention on the center of her pleasure.
Within only a few brushes of my roughened fingertip over her sensitized clit, she was crying out with release. Her entire body shuddered as she came apart. Her fingers clenched in my hair, causing an erotic sting to shoot straight to my rock-hard shaft. I continued sucking, nipping, and licking her breasts as I lazily drew circles around her swollen nub.
After the very last shock of pleasure had rolled through her, I shifted beside her and lay on my back. I pulled her along with me so she was tucked beneath my arm, her head resting on my chest, her arm and her leg draped over me. Her limbs were limp with satisfaction as her labored breaths fanned over my bare upper body.
“That was amazing,” she whispered in awe.
“You’re amazing.” I kissed the top of her head as I ran my fingers through her silky hair.
“You’re amazing.” Her sleepy words were barely audible.
We lay like that, in silence, for only a few minutes before her breathing pattern changed and her entire body relaxed. I continued running my fingers through her hair as she slept. My jeans were about to burst, and my balls were so blue that they probably would’a been considered purple at that point, but I’d never been happier in my life.
I wouldn’t be getting any sleep, and that was fine with me. In the words of Steven Tyler, I didn’t want to miss a thing.
Chapter 23
Cara
“The porch lights on, but nobody’s home.”
~ Dolly Briggs
I tried to concentrate on the first draft of my story, which was due to my editor in less than thirty minutes, but my attention span had shrunk to that of a gnat. I was lucky to comprehend and retain the information in one to two sentences.
Over the past two hours, I’d done jumping jacks, drunk water, set timed edit sprints, and even stopped listening to Spotify. None of my normal tricks to regain focus were working. I thought I might have to accept the fact that I was now the proud owner of a one-track mind. And my brain-powered train was headed full-steam ahead to Sex with Trace Station.
Since I’d woken up alone this morning with a note on the pillow next to me, promising that Trace would be back over tonight to continue what we’d started, all I could think about was what we might do. So many thoughts were bombarding my mind. We hadn’t even had sex and Trace had given me not one, but two amazing orgasms.
First, he’d taken me up and over the edge while we had both been fully clothed. I’d heard of dry-humping, but I’d never known that it could actually lead to…that. Just the weight of Trace’s body on top of me while he’d kissed me had been incredible. But, when he’d started rocking against me, I’d lost myself completely, riding the waves of pleasure washing over me. I had been shocked when my body had seized with ecstasy as my release had crashed through me.
And that had been just round one.
I was staring at the words on my screen as a shiver ran down my spine at the memory of round two. His full lips sucking me into his wet mouth as his roughened fingers intimately touched me. The second orgasm had taken me as much by surprise as the first had. Trace had worked his fingers and his mouth with expert precision. I didn’t want to think about how he’d gained his expertise; I was just happy to be the current recipient of his masterful gift.
“Cara, these just got delivered for you.” The front desk receptionist carried a huge bouquet of flowers to my cubicle.
“Thanks, Wendy.” I scooted my chair to the side as she set them on my desk.
“Dates and flowers? I am totally living vicariously through you.” She
smiled as she made her way back to her desk.
My hands shook as I removed the card from the plastic pitchfork. I’d never thought of Trace as the flower-sending type of guy, but this was one more side of him I hadn’t known about.
I read the card and then read it again, sure there was no way it could be right. By my third pass, I was beyond confused.
It read: Sorry for the way things went. Hope you’ll give me a second chance.
How could he have been sorry about the way things had gone? If anyone should have been sorry, it was me. I’d passed out on him before we’d even gotten to the good stuff. Well, at least the good stuff for him. The last thing I remembered was snuggling against his warm chest and the sensation of his hands running through my hair. Then I had been out for the count. I didn’t think I’d ever fallen asleep so peacefully. My entire being had been so completely and totally relaxed thanks to Trace.
The cause of my physical tranquility was of course obvious. But Trace hadn’t just taken care of my body; he’d made sure my mental state had been just as serene. When he’d tried to pull my dress up, I’d thought I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. My walls of self-assurance had fallen down and insecurity had infiltrated me. But Trace had handled my mini breakdown with such tenderness, such caring, that it proved to me that I wasn’t just doing this with him because I’d had a crush on him since I was a little girl. And it wasn’t because I’d built him up to be something he wasn’t. The way he’d handled it had shown me that he was the right person because, like he’d said, he knew me.
A shudder ran from my head to my toes at the mere thought that I’d considered being intimate with someone other than Trace. That I’d been so focused on not being a virgin that I hadn’t even stopped to think about what it would take logistically to achieve that goal. It seemed crazy now.
And so did the note in these flowers. What could have possibly changed since this morning? I was reaching down to grab my phone from my purse when I heard a familiar voice behind me and I turned.
“I see you got my flowers.” Derek was leaning casually against the edge of my cubicle.
“Oh, these are…” It took me a moment to catch up. I’d been sure they were from Trace, but at least the card made more sense now. “Right, yes. I got them.”
“Were you about to call and thank me?” he asked.
I shook my head. “What?”
He motioned to the phone in my left hand.
Oh right.
“You’re welcome,” he said smugly. “So, what do you say? Can I take you to a proper dinner tonight?”
“No,” I replied.
“What about tomorrow night?”
“No. Actually, I’m not—”
“Sunday? Monday? Come on. You don’t have to play hard to get. There’s no need for game-playing, Cara. I know you are not really busy.”
Wow. I had to give it up to Derek. He really had a talent of insulting someone in the most creative ways.
I straightened my back to a rigid posture. “Actually, I am. But, even if I wasn’t, the answer would still be no. I’m just not interested.” I started to spin back to my computer, thinking this uncomfortable exchange was over.
I’d thought wrong.
Making a show of lowering his voice, but still speaking loud enough that anyone within earshot could hear, Derek asked. “Is this because I know that about your past? Because like I said, it doesn’t bother me. You don’t have to be ashamed about it.”
When I was sixteen, my doctors had recommended that I see a therapist to help me navigate my health issues. Dr. Moore had told me that, when I started feeling overwhelmed or angry or like I was going to snap, I should count backwards from ten while taking deep breaths through my nose and exhaling through my mouth.
It must have been a sensory memory, because before I’d even made a conscious decision to, I found myself inhaling deeply as the numbers ten, nine, eight ran through my head. Four, three, two…after hitting one, I swiveled back to face Derek and correct his misconceptions of my feelings about my past.
A fortifying calm washed over me as I explained, “Derek, my not wanting to go to dinner or to drinks or to spend anytime socially with you has nothing to do with me or my past. I know that a lot of people use the term ‘it’s not you, it’s me,’ but in this case, it is you. You are an arrogant, self-absorbed, chauvinistic prick that has the emotional maturity of an insecure frat boy. My past may not bother you, but your present bothers me.”
Derek stared at me with wide-eyed surprise. Then, in a move I would never have predicted, a large smile broke out on his face.
“I didn’t think you had it in you. Kitty likes to scratch.”
Oh. Dear. Lord.
This guy didn’t just take the cake; he took the entire bakery.
He bowed slightly, tipping his head forward as challenge twinkled in his eye. “Well played, Miss McCord.” With that, he leaned back on his heels, spun around, and walked towards the front of the office, his head held high.
I stared at his retreating form in stunned silence. Not only had Derek’s reaction to my rejection blown my mind, but the fact that he had been a contender in my quest to lose my V-card was unimaginable to me now.
Actually, the thought of any man other than Trace—even one who wasn’t a weasel like Derek—touching me or kissing me or seeing me naked was unimaginable to me now. And, as excited as I was for Trace to come over tonight and “continue what we started,” I was equally as terrified at what would happen to me when we finished what we’d started and I was watching his retreating form metaphorically walk out of my life.
That morning, on my way to work, as I’d sat on the train and watched the scenery go by, I’d made a list of ground rules that would need to be implemented if we were going to continue this affair, in hopes of guarding my heart and mind. But, in the back of my mind, I had to face the very real possibility that, even if he agreed to everything on the list, I was still headed straight towards heartache.
I had to decide if being with Trace was worth the inevitable fall that would follow. Even as the question formed in my mind, the answer was undeniable. Yes. Being with Trace was worth it all.
All the pleasure. All the pain. All the joy. All the heartache.
Chapter 24
Trace
“Never miss a good chance to shut up.”
~ Dolly Briggs
I splashed cold water onto my face and vigorously shook my head. All my life, I had thought that sleep was highly overrated, but I was quickly discovering that it was a necessity. Earlier that morning, I’d fallen asleep during a call with a potential new buyer, and that afternoon, I had zoned out while helping Travis repair the east pasture fencing. My momentary lapse of concentration almost ended in several goats making the great escape.
Maybe I was getting old, because in my glory days, I could have pulled several all-nighters in a row and been right as rain. That apparently was not the case anymore, and I was paying for my sleepless night. Not that I regretted it. Last night had been the best night of my life.
I might not have slept a wink, but I’d felt more at peace than I could ever remember feeling. Holding Cara snuggled to my side all night had been better than my wildest dreams come true. Watching her peacefully sleep, my arms wrapped around her, had cemented a suspicion I’d been harboring since I could remember: she belonged with me. As I’d stared at her, one word kept running through my mind.
Mine.
I grabbed a clean towel off the guest bathroom countertop and scrubbed it over my face. A glance in the oval mirror above the sink reminded me that I hadn’t shaved this morning. I’d skipped my normal morning routine because I’d wanted to spend every second I could holding Cara in my arms, letting her get the rest she needed.
Thankfully, I’d been able to slip out from under her without waking her. There was a running joke in my family that I was a ninja because I had a habit of sneaking up on people without their knowing and being able to get in and ou
t of places without being detected. That trait had come in handy that morning.
There was one moment when I’d thought my ninja status might’ve been in danger of being revoked, because I was pretty sure I’d woken her up after I’d put a note on the pillow I’d just vacated. I’d glanced at the sleeping beauty I had been about to leave, unable to resist kissing her on her forehead. She’d stirred briefly but then settled right back to sleep.
As I headed into the guest room to get dressed so I could go meet Cara, a smile spread across my face. Last night had been amazing, and although I wasn’t sure what the night had in store, just the fact that I was seeing her was enough to have me whistling as I pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
After stepping into my boots, I was out the front door of the main house and on my way to Cara’s. I’d officially been off the clock for less than ten minutes. It had only taken me a record five to shower, brush my teeth, and get dressed. Any trace of the effects of lost sleep evaporated and adrenaline took its place, making my strides even faster.
I took the steps of Cara’s porch two at a time, and as I knocked on her door, my heart started pounding.
“Come in,” she called out.
My pounding heart expanded. Just hearing her voice caused a physical and emotional reaction in me.
When I stepped inside, the delicious smell of tomato sauce and garlic hit me. Cara peeked her head around the wall that separated the kitchen from the front room.
“I’m making spaghetti,” she said. “I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s great!” I shut the door behind me, and as I rounded the corner, my pounding, expanded heart slammed against my chest.
Damn. This girl was going to be the death of me.
Cara was standing at the stove, her back to me, in cut-off shorts and a tank top. Her hair was still wet, like she’d just gotten out of the shower, which had all kinds of visions a lot more X-rated than sugarplums dancing in my head.
Convincing Cara (Wishing Well, Texas Book 2) Page 15