by Emily Snow
I know I’m staring at her and I know my mouth has dropped open but I could care less. What Taryn just said resonates with how I feel, though I’ve never had the balls to articulate it. I kiss her hand, which is resting on my jaw line, before wrapping her in my arms. I then gently lay her head on my chest and she pouts, “But I didn’t even get to two….”
I kiss her forehead, run my fingers through her hair, and close my eyes, hoping that morning will never come and we can just stay here like this forever.
Chapter 13
Taryn
Trace shifts and I slowly stir awake. Just as I’m about to ease out of bed to make sure I don’t have raccoon eyes or rancid breath, my head jerks back and knocks into his strong bicep. My hair is caught under his arm and I need to release it without waking him so I can escape to the bathroom.
Slowly and painfully, I pull the ensnared strands out without disturbing his peaceful sleep. There’s a small smirk across those impeccable lips, and if it weren’t for my fear of him waking up and wondering ‘who the hell is this mess of a girl next to me,’ my lips would already be on his right now.
Easing myself up, I take a minute to relish the fact that he’s in my bed and soak up what I see. A sheet—my sheet—covers up his nakedness, while one leg has snuck out from the tangled sheets during the night. One muscular arm rests behind his pillow, the other remains by his side where he had been holding me close. A ripped and toned stomach that I had imagined running my fingers across is now exposed for the taking. I carefully climb out of bed, knowing that the sooner I fix myself up, the sooner I’ll be back in bed with him.
A quick glance in the dresser mirror when I stop for a pair of clean underwear affirms my decision to sneak out of bed. Once I’m in my bathroom, I quickly brush through the tangles caused by an unbelievable night of rolling-in-the-sheets sex. Then I grab a washcloth to clear away the smeared makeup that should have been cleaned off last night. Any amount of blemishes the artists may have to cover up this week will be worth having Trace’s arms wrapped around me. Pulling the mouthwash out of the cabinet, I pour the minty liquid and swish it around my mouth. A good brushing would feel better, but the chance I might wake him with my loud electric toothbrush is too risky.
I’m just about to spit it out when the door inches opens and Trace appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Damn, the man looks good standing there in his gray boxers. With all the urgency of last night, I wasn’t able to truly savor the sight of him before.
“Are you hiding?” he asks, walking straight toward me. The mouthwash starts to sting in my mouth, but I’m not about to do something as unattractive as spitting in front of him. He leans into the counter, caging me in, and my breath hitches and heartbeat accelerates with his close presence. Reaching over, he takes the mouthwash bottle from the counter and slowly unscrews the cap before pouring some into his mouth, never once breaking eye contact with me.
Not being able to hold the burning liquid in any longer, I casually and as nonchalantly as possible turn around and let it trickle out of my mouth. Trace follows my lead a minute later, spitting it out over my shoulder. The simplicity of doing something so normal in a shared space has a uniquely intimate feeling. When I turn around, Trace’s lips land on mine and his tongue invades my mouth, making me seriously grateful for minty mouthwash. After kissing for an indeterminable length of time, Trace finally pushes back. “I missed those sweet lips,” he says.
“It’s only been…what, two hours since we finally went to sleep?” I joke, turning around to face the sink again. He quickly turns me back around with a firm hand on my waist.
“I miss them the second they leave mine,” he tells me with his characteristic wink. I’m not sure why it happens at this very moment, but a sudden worry washes over me. I assume it’s the fact that we’re parting today to continue our tours. What will happen? What are we?
“Hey…” He takes my chin in his hand, so that I can’t look anywhere but at his baby blues. “Where did you go?”
As we stand there in our underwear in my bathroom, I can’t help but feel like a silly high school girl who wants to know if her crush wants more than just a one-night screw. This insecurity isn’t something I’m used to feeling, and I hate the thought of what it might mean—that I might be screwed. While the questions overwhelm my brain, Trace waits patiently for me with curious eyes.
“Sorry, it’s nothing.” Of course I take the easy way out. Instead of asking what exactly it is that he wants from this, I remain quiet like some damn groupie who doesn’t expect anything.
“Peaches,” he sighs, enfolding me in his arms. My eyes search his for some sign of what he might say. The last thing I want is for him to throw some bullshit my way—I want him to be straight with me. Without being able to escape his intense stare any longer, I steel myself and ask, “What do you want, Trace?”
A small chuckle escapes his mouth. “Well, that’s a pretty broad question. First, a shower—with you, of course—then maybe some eggs, if you have any…and let’s see, a couple repeats of last night sound pretty good,” he teases while his hands give my ass a firm squeeze.
I jump slightly from his sudden grasp and Trace’s face immediately turns solemn. “Seriously though, Peaches. This isn’t some one-night thing for me. Is it for you?” His hands are now resting near my hips, where his gentle fingers graze my panty line.
“No,” I truthfully answer, and a dazzling smile lights up his entire face. With that, I start to feel at peace with my startling emotions for Trace. Maybe he won’t break my heart…maybe.
“So…no country boy, right?” Trace asks, cocking an eyebrow.
“I already told you, there’s nothing going on with Ryder,” I say, enunciating his name. “What about you? Any girls I need to know about?”
“There’s never been, baby,” he assures me. Before I can ask any more questions, his lips claim mine. He kisses me like he did all night, but there’s something different about it now. The determined urgency has a sense of dominance, as though he’s telling me I’m his now. And God, am I ever.
We don’t share any more words, allowing our mouths and hands to do the talking. He props me up on the counter and his large hands cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing across my peaked nipples, making me moan into his mouth. My hands roam down his tight abs to his waistband. Placing my finger under the elastic, I tease him by brushing it back and forth.
“Peaches, I need you to fucking touch me,” Trace says in my ear, causing a shiver to shoot up my spine. Placing both hands on the sides of his boxers, I pull them over his considerable length, bringing my foot up to help drag them the rest of the way down. “Shit,” he murmurs as my hand wraps around his cock. When I massage my thumb over the tip and spread the drop of pre-cum around, Trace’s head falls onto my shoulder and he bites it gently. “You’re killin’ me,” he groans, causing me to increase my speed, loving the effect my touch has on him.
The faster I move my hand, the harder his right hand squeezes my hip. With a sudden growl, he picks me up from the counter and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist with only my now very wet panties separating us. Continuing to devour me with his lips and tongue, he opens the glass shower door and reaches in, turning the water on. “Time to get you clean, Peaches.”
After he releases me, my feet find the tile floor and then Trace backs up a few steps. “I want to see you take it off,” he instructs. His azure eyes roam my body like a tiger intently observing his prey and he stares hungrily when I hook my fingers on each side of my panties, shimmying them down my legs. His eyes continue to follow the panties until I step out of them and then they travel directly to the area now exposed. “Fuck,” he says and I giggle as he takes me in his arms and under the warm cascading water.
My laughter dies abruptly when his index finger grazes my pebbled nipple before traveling down my stomach, my eyes closing in anticipation of its destination. Circling my clit and then exploring my folds, every nerve is now on hig
h alert. Just when I’m about to reach down there myself, he thrusts two fingers inside of me and I react by pushing up on my tiptoes, giving him better access. He doesn’t hesitate to push them further into me while his thumb rubs my clit. As his tongue lavishes attention on my neck and his fingers work me like no one ever has before, I can’t control the animalistic sounds I’m emitting. All I know is that I want this exquisite torture to end—or maybe I don’t. I can’t even think straight anymore.
“Trace,” I moan, pulling him toward me, wanting to feel his skin against mine as he makes me come.
“Let go, baby, I got you,” Trace assures me. With those words, I allow myself to finally let myself go in his arms. Keeping his fingers inside of me, he stills them before gently releasing them from my warm wetness. He continues to massage my folds and clit until I come down completely. Although I can add this one to the list of out-of-this-world orgasms Trace has given me, I need him inside of me. I grab his cock, pulling it close to where I want it to be, but he pulls back a little.
“You’ve gotta be sore, are you sure?” He looks at me warily but I nod my head. “What about protection, Peaches?”
Although I’m glad he remembered, my head is clear enough to know what I want. “I’ve got it covered and I’m clean. You?”
“Well, I obviously won’t have it covered,” he jokes, “but yeah, girl, I’m clean. Using condoms religiously will do that for ya. But again, are you sure?”
In answer, I raise my leg and with my hand still holding his cock, I position his tip at my entrance, continuing to stare into his baby blues.
Never in my life have I felt pure ecstasy from one thrust of a man. “Shit, Peaches, oh shit—you feel so fucking good,” he says with a grunt. “I can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.” Feeling him deep inside me and hearing those words have me on the brink already. “You are so fucking tight.”
I’m practically bouncing off of his dick as his hands squeeze my ass. Not having anywhere to put my hands, I wrap them around his neck. “And these tits…fuck, Taryn.” A growl comes from deep within him and he takes my nipple into his mouth, flexing into me one last time before he stills. Just as he comes inside of me, I find myself releasing the second orgasm he’s given me in only a few minutes.
Holding me steady against him, his full, wet lips travel from my shoulder to my neck, up my chin and then land on my lips. The gentle and steady kiss makes me feel like I’m floating above cloud nine.
“You’ve wrecked me, you know that?” he asks, leaning his forehead against mine. Since it doesn’t seem like he’s expecting an answer and I’m not sure I can speak right now, I remain silent as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me firmly against him. We linger under the water for what seems like hours, not talking but just listening to the sound of the water and our breathing. I’ve never experienced anything like it with anyone ever before.
After a few minutes, Trace grabs the shampoo and massages the suds into my long hair. We take turns washing each other’s bodies before finally emerging from the safe confines of the shower. Wrapping one another in towels, we walk back to my bedroom.
“It’s time for me to make you some breakfast,” I tell him while I put on some yoga pants and a tank top.
“I don’t know about that—breakfast is my specialty.” He can make me whatever he wants, I think, while attempting to burn the image of his naked body into my mind before it’s all covered up. After he dresses, Trace struts over to me with his classic smirk and my stomach fills with those familiar butterflies I get any time he approaches me.
I take his hand and lead him down to my kitchen, where he makes a beeline for the fridge.
“Let’s see…” he mumbles, “you don’t have much, Peaches.”
“I’m not here very often,” I inform him.
“I guess eggs will do,” he says, pulling out the plastic container. “Organic, huh? I shouldn’t have expected anything less. But fucking free range?” he asks with a smile, shaking his head.
“Hey, it’s healthier.”
“So they say. Ain’t nothing wrong with what our Mommas gave us,” he says, digging through my cabinets for the frying pans.
“Maybe your mom. My mom’s version of eggs was taking me to the diner for an omelet.” I laugh but he turns around, smiling at me sympathetically. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.
“I guess our moms were different.” The sadness in his eyes overwhelms me. For the first time, I realize that he’s never spoken about his parents—not to me anyway. I do remember him referring to them in his acceptance speech at the Grammys, and I vaguely recall an uncle being mentioned during one of our conversations.
“Trace, can I ask you a question?” Based on the way his back muscles tighten and his hand pauses mid-stir, he already knows what I’m going to ask. An uncomfortable tension fills the room for a few pin-pricking minutes before he sighs and says without emotion, “They’re dead.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, immediately regretting that I asked. Maybe we’re not ready for this.
He places the spatula down and turns around to face me. “It’s okay, it was a while ago,” he assures me, but his eyes clearly state that it’s not okay. He’s so young to have lost both his parents, so I’m imagining that something traumatic must have happened.
“Where’s your nine-grain, organic, gluten-free bread?” he jokes, obviously trying to put an end to this discussion. Not wanting to ruin our brief time together, I decide to go with it. “No bread..too many carbs,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. I walk over and grab some tortillas out of the fridge before tossing them on the counter.
“Shit, Taryn, you have white flour tortillas. I doubt there are any carbs in these,” he states sarcastically, the smile that I love finally back on his face.
“Just make me a breakfast burrito, funny man,” I say, grabbing two plates.
He rolls his eyes and chuckles while finishing up with the food. A few minutes later, we sit at my breakfast bar and eat the mouthwatering burritos Trace managed to make with the little food I had in my fridge and cabinets. We’re almost done when we hear his phone in the hallway. “And so it begins…” he mumbles, walking over to retrieve it.
My eyes follow him and I notice a few of our clothes from last night strewn across the foyer. The memory of what happened when he closed the door makes me shiver, and I’m practically wet—again—when I think about what occurred when we finally made it to the bedroom. Lost in my recollection, I’m jolted back to the present when I hear Trace yell, “What. The. Fuck?”
Without giving it a second thought, I jump up and look out my front window. Peeking through the blinds, I see swarms of paparazzi, all lying in wait. Trace pulls me back and against the wall. “That was Cal. Some fucker got a shot of us last night.”
I think of us together in the storage room, me entering his car in the parking garage, and then him escorting me out his car before we entered my house. “Where?”
“Where do you think? You need a better fucking security system, Taryn.”
“I’m sorry, Trace, but I didn’t think people would be out there so late at night. Maybe I should hire my own detail like you,” I scoff.
“What the hell is wrong with your mom anyway?” he asks, ignoring my remark. “You should have cameras all over the place, a privacy fence, and you sure as shit shouldn’t be able to press a button on your keychain to open your fucking gate. You’re lucky some fucker hasn’t snuck in here already and done God knows what.” He’s now pacing while shaking his head and I’m now getting pissed off.
“It’s not like I can control who is outside, Trace, and don’t bring my mom into it,” I respond. I’m not sure why I’m defending her because I know he’s right, but something about his reaction is just rubbing me the wrong way. “So what is this really about?”
He turns slowly, asking, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that I won’t be your little secret anymore.”
The shock of my words is evident by the expression on his face. In two long strides he’s standing in front of me. Taking my hands in his, he says, “Taryn, that’s not it. I could give a flying fuck what the world thinks about us. It’s your safety I’m concerned about. It pisses me off that your mom and Backlash haven’t protected you like they should. But it stops right now. You aren’t coming back to this house until I make a few changes around here.”
I’m sure I should be even more pissed by his controlling words, but his overprotectiveness feels nice. For once, someone cares about me without an agenda. It's not the money or the fame, it's just me. I definitely need to armor myself because Trace is beginning to sneak in, one line at a time.
He bends down to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Peaches. I have a habit of overreacting sometimes,” he says with that sexy smirk of his, and I can’t do anything but press my lips firmly against his. “So, I’m forgiven?” he murmurs against my lips.
I answer by plunging my tongue into his mouth and he answers by pushing me against the wall. Just when things are really starting to heat up, a loud knock on the door instantly cools us both down. “Who’s that?” I ask dazedly, wondering how someone made it through the gate. Maybe he has a point.
He tells me Cal is here for backup and then steps away from me, walking toward the door. Spotting my panties near the entrance, I call out to him, pointing to the floor. “Shit, good call,” he says, picking them up and shoving them in his pocket. How embarrassing would that be? Then again, I’m pretty sure Cal knows what we’ve been up to.