When had I gone from dreading the idea of seeing Trace to hoping for it? He and his cocky personality had burrowed under my skin, making me crave him—the dangerous kind of craving that had the ability to derail my entire life. In the back of my mind, the way I was starting to feel about Trace was something I knew was probably bad for me and my future, but I couldn’t resist wanting it. He’d not only filled in all the empty spaces in my life, but he’d carved out brand new spots to fill. He was consuming me.
I stuffed the torn pillow into the trash which was already so full that the lid couldn’t completely close. I needed to add take out the trash to my list…after I actually started a list. Leaving the trash lid propped open, I glanced around for Couch Cat. I hadn’t seen my furious roommate yet, which didn’t bode well for me. I didn’t even want to know what she might have done to my bedroom.
I leaned down to pull her food out from under the sink and then filled her bowl to the top, as if that could somehow bribe her that we were even—no further retaliation required. With a sigh, I went back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, pulling folders and books out of my bag. I needed to try and get some work done before Trace came by.
I was jotting down notes for my next article when my phone buzzed with an incoming message. I picked it up to see Trace’s name.
Trace: We still studying tonight?
A twist of unease flashed through me at his message. He never asked if we were studying, he usually just showed up. Besides, I’d told him yesterday that I would see him tonight. Did he not want to come over now? My thumbs skipped across the keys as I answered him. Despite the blip of uncertainty when I first saw his message, I couldn’t resist being a smartass.
Me: You’ve never needed permission before.
His answer was immediate.
Trace: I wasn’t asking permission
He was a presumptuous, cocky ass and that should bother me, at least as much as his lack of punctuation did, but I was so happy to hear from him I couldn’t manage to be upset. And that should really bother me. I was a strong, independent woman. I shouldn’t let a man act all alpha male on me. I should—
Trace: Got a question for you
Me: What?
Weak. I was weak.
Trace: It’s about dessert
And now my knees were weak because dessert was code for naughty naked things. At least I hoped it was.
Me: The answer is yes.
Trace: You don’t even know what I was going to ask
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and smiled as I typed.
Me: So you don’t want dessert? I already had it unwrapped and everything. It’s nice and warm and ready to be devoured.
After I hit send, I stared at the message in shock. I couldn’t believe I wrote something that filthy. I wished there was a way to take it back.
My phone buzzed again.
Trace: Fuck me Cricket
I blew out a breath and laughed my relief.
Me: That was the general idea.
The typing icon flashed again before another text rang through.
Trace: On my way
Me: Wait. What was your question?
When he didn’t answer right away, I pushed up from the couch, suddenly desperate to do something other than awkwardly wait for him to arrive. My phone sat quietly on the counter as I shoved dirty plates and silverware into the dishwasher.
Wait. Why was I doing dishes? I should be prepping myself, not the kitchen! I slammed the dishwasher door shut and abandoned the rest of my breakfast mess, hightailing it toward my bathroom.
The phone vibrated, and when I peeked down at the text, all of my breath whooshed out of me in an excited exhale.
Trace: I was going to ask you how you liked your pie eaten. Straight up plain…or a la mode?
I accidentally ran into the wall and fumbled with the phone, my thumbs hitting only half of the correct letters as I attempted to reply. I sent the message anyway, hoping autocorrect would fix what I couldn’t be bothered to do.
Me: a la me
I stared at what I’d written and then laughed. It’s not like he needed an actual answer. He just wanted to get a reaction out of me.
Mission accomplished.
Forcing my legs to support me, I continued down the hall toward the bathroom to freshen up. I’d only made it halfway when I heard a knock on the door. I spun around, confused. That couldn’t be Trace already. Could it? A few steps to the door and a peek through the peephole confirmed that it not only could be…it was. His hair was wet like he’d just gotten out of the shower and he was leaning against the door, breathing deeply as if he’d just run all the way to my place.
I unlocked the door, and before it was fully open, Trace slipped inside and kicked it shut behind him. His bag was tossed to the floor at our feet right before his hands cupped my face, his fingers digging into my hair, as he roughly pushed me up against the nearest flat surface. My head thudded against the wall, but I didn’t care. I opened my mouth to ask him how he’d gotten here so quickly, but he silenced me with a crushing kiss—one that stole my breath, my thoughts, my inhibitions. He tilted my head, his lips and tongue annihilating any control I had left as I yielded to his mouth.
My hands went to his shirt and my fingers bunched the fabric as I pushed it up. I got it halfway off, and then he broke the kiss to reach behind his head to completely remove it. I reached for him again but flinched back as pain sliced across my upper thigh, accompanied by an angry growl. My body jerked and I looked down to see Couch Cat dangling from my leg. Her claws were buried into the fabric of my clothes and digging into my flesh—hence the pain. Her back legs were kicking on the bare skin of my lower leg, trying to find purchase like she was planning to climb me like a tree. I stumbled as I attempted to dislodge her off my leg. All I accomplished was causing her to claw me harder. She was hissing like her tail was being ripped off and I screamed out in pain while her claws left gouges all over my lower legs.
Trace’s arms and head were caught up in his shirt as he struggled to get it off and I knew I couldn’t count on him to rescue me from my pissed-off cat. I danced around, shaking my leg, and Couch Cat’s grip finally loosened enough that she fell off. I backed away from her in an attempt to avoid another attack and accidentally stepped on Trace’s bag in the process. My foot landed half on the bag before sliding off, my ankle twisting in an audible pop as it hit the floor. I tumbled in a heap against the door, banging the back of my head while Couch Cat took another swipe at my knee before tearing off across the floor with a loud hiss.
“What the hell just happened?” Trace had finally freed himself from his shirt and looked around the entryway to my apartment like he expected Ashton Kutcher to pop out and tell us we were on an episode of Punked. He dropped into a squat in front of me without waiting for an explanation. “Are you okay, Cricket?”
Groaning, I pushed myself into a sitting position. “I’ve been better.”
“That cat is a menace.” He ran his fingers along my leg, avoiding the bloody scratches Couch Cat had left in her wake.
“I know.” I maneuvered myself onto my knees, using his shoulder for support. When I attempted to stand, my ankle buckled under my weight. I fell into Trace and knocked him off balance, taking both of us to the floor. He grunted as he hit the hardwood and then his breath was knocked out of him when I collapsed on top of him. He was sprawled on his back with me draped over him like a clumsy, awkward, human blanket.
He chuckled as his hands came up to grip my waist. “When I imagined being underneath you, this wasn’t exactly how I planned it going.” He grinned and kissed the tip of my nose.
“Not sexy?” I teased. If my cat didn’t end up killing me, embarrassment probably would.
He shrugged. “You were a little smoother in my imagination.” His fingers slid along my sides, teasing the bottom of my shirt out of the way so he could touch my skin.
“That’s wishful thinking.” I raised my eyebrows and smi
rked at him. “After busting my nose on the door the day I met your family, the paintball mishap, and the incident with my hair stuck in the couch, you’d think you’d know better by now.” I spread my hands over his bare chest, marveling at how his beautiful body could make me forget about my discomfort and humiliation. Or at least not mind it so much.
“As much as I enjoy being at your mercy, how about we move this to someplace more comfortable?” he suggested, reaching up to tuck some of my loose hair behind my ear.
“That might be easier said than done.” I rolled my foot around, grimacing when I felt the sharp pain of what was likely a sprain. “I twisted my ankle on your bag.”
His thumbs slid into the waistband of my yoga pants, and it caused my heart to stutter before racing in anticipation. “Need me to patch you up?” he asked. “I promise to make you feel all better when I’m done.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, trying to think of something witty to say. When I didn’t answer, Trace lifted his head to kiss me and then sucked on my lip, nibbling on it in a way that caused a sucker punch of pleasure right between my legs. He pulled my hips into his and soon we were kissing and grinding and dry humping on the floor like animals. The scratches on my legs were on fire, and there was a good chance my ankle was well on its way to becoming the size of a watermelon, but I didn’t care. Because he was hard, and I was soft, and we were both hot enough to torch my entire apartment.
Trace tore his mouth from mine, and we were both panting, our hips still rocking against each other. “Cricket.” He put his hands on my waist to roll me to my side and off his chest. Pushing up on his elbow, he looked down at me and gently pushed the hair out of my face again. “Let me get you to your room so I can look at your battle wounds.”
“I’d rather you get back to all the pie talk.”
He grinned and got up, pulling me into his arms like I weighed nothing, and then carried me down the hall to my room. He set me in the middle of my comforter and went into the bathroom to get something to clean my leg. When he returned, he had a bag of ice and a wet towel. Unsurprisingly, he’d also managed to find an ace bandage. Sadly, that ace bandage had seen more action than my bed had.
Trace set everything aside and then reached for my hips. He gave me a wicked grin before beginning the process of peeling my yoga pants down. “These have to come off if I’m going to patch you up properly.”
My mouth twisted into an amused smile. “I’ve heard that one before,” I joked. When the waistband of my pants made it past my hips, and he got a view of the black thong I was wearing, his gaze caught fire. He didn’t say a word about it, which was a bit disappointing since I’d suffered through the discomfort of sexy panties all day just to get a reaction out of him. Tossing my pants to the floor, Trace reached for the ice and ace bandage. In no time, he’d fixed up my ankle and then propped it on a pillow.
We were both quiet as he worked. I was afraid of what might come out of my mouth if I opened it. With the gentle way he was treating me, I was beginning to worry he might not follow through with all the pie eating and dessert promises he’d made earlier. And the sad thing was, I was desperate enough to beg for both if I had to.
“This is becoming our thing,” he finally said, breaking the silence. He slid the warm washcloth along my leg, gently cleaning the spots where Couch Cat had done her worst. The scratches hurt like hell, but they weren’t bleeding anymore. “Your demonic cat injures you, and I need to come to the rescue.”
I winced as he moved my leg and it jostled my sore ankle. “All part of my evil plan to make you my slave.”
He gripped my calf and lifted it, kissing right above where the bag of ice was wrapped around my ankle. “No need to hurt yourself for my attention, Cricket. I think it’s pretty obvious I’d do just about anything to be near you. Eat ice cream at ten in the morning, bring you food, watch you study, take a bullet for you.”
I swallowed thickly, nerves and emotion battling for control in my throat. “And follow me across the country?” I joked.
Trace wasn’t flustered by my question, and I wasn’t quite sure if I wanted him to be. Since we’d become friends, we hadn’t brought up our shotgun marriage or the odd coincidence of us attending the same university. I’d agreed to date him until Thanksgiving, but now that we were becoming more than just friends, the entire situation felt even more tangled and confused. We were still married, but we couldn’t stay that way.
Could we?
No. Definitely not. That would be crazy. I had school and internships to worry about. A future that didn’t include a husband. This was just…fun. And when the fun was over, everything else would be too.
My thoughts were interrupted as he tossed the wet washcloth to the side and continued to kiss up my leg leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever his lips touched. His mouth reached my knee and then didn’t stop, heading straight for the land of pie. He pushed my thighs apart, his thumbs brushing down the middle of me over my thong. His touch sent a shiver through my body that reached all the way to my toes and fingertips.
He bent his head, his breath fanning over me, and then looked up from between my legs to meet my gaze.
“This will be the best a la mode you’ve ever had.” His voice was rough, and he slipped a finger between the fabric of my thong and my skin, sliding it down to the spot that made my hips automatically arch off the mattress to get closer to him. There was a twinge of pain in my bum foot, but I ignored it as he stroked me.
“Please.”
I was surprised to discover I was the one who’d said it and that the word was followed by the tilt of my hips upward.
Trace chuckled. “Patience, Cricket.” He made quick work of removing my thong and then his fingers were on me again, sliding and slick. Dipping in and out at a rhythm that forced my hips to roll and my breathing to turn into half-formed words.
He continued to push his fingers deep inside me and then bent his head down and flicked his tongue across my most sensitive spot. I didn’t have much experience with having my pie eaten. In fact, Trace was the first. All of my sexual experiments in high school were basically just a quick game of hide the salami. Brief, inexperienced, selfish, and wholly disappointing.
But Trace was none of those things, and his tongue worked me in a way that made it impossible for me to stay still. My body just wanted to get closer to him. To have more of whatever he had to give me.
His fingers plunged inside me, and he licked and sucked until I couldn’t even keep my eyes open anymore. Waves and waves of glorious perfection crashed over me, and my hips were snapping, and the fingers of his free hand were digging into my ass to hold me to him. The orgasm that slammed into me was nothing short of heavenly. I was chanting God’s name and Trace’s name, and I think I even heard angels singing. Or maybe it was me—hard to say.
When my breathing returned to normal, Trace crawled back up my body to plant a kiss on my lips before collapsing next to me and pulling me against his chest. He closed his eyes.
He was quiet for a few moments, twirling a piece of my hair around his finger, so I jabbed him in the ribs with my elbow. “Are you going to sleep?”
“Ow, Cricket.” He rubbed the spot where I’d hit him. “I’m not sleeping. It’s just…” He motioned to my bum ankle. “You’re hurt. You need to rest.”
“Like hell I do.” I wasn’t very graceful, but I was determined. It didn’t take me long to get on top of him and straddle his waist. He grinned his cocky smile the entire time. “I’ve been useless all day waiting for dessert. You’re not getting out of this with just a little nibble.” I sat fully down on him and even though it tweaked my ankle, I refused to so much as grimace in front of him.
He gave me an offended look. “That was more than a nibble, Cricket,” he said, pointing to the spot between my legs. “That was a fucking pie feast.”
My hands dropped to the button on his jeans, and I started undoing it. “And it’s not over yet.” Distracted, I reached over to my night
stand and pulled out a condom before turning back to the problem of his pants. His amused grin at my eagerness and his lack of help getting his jeans down made the whole situation even more awkward than it needed to be. I managed to get his boxers and pants down far enough that he sprang free, hard and ready. I tore open the packet, and he raised his eyebrows at me, putting his arms behind his head, wondering just how forward I was going to be.
I laughed inwardly. One thing Trace needed to learn about me, once I set my mind to something I wanted, there was no turning back.
I unrolled the condom over him, and when I lifted myself onto my knees, his cocky smile faltered, showing unfiltered lust. With one hand on his chest for balance and the other still holding him, I looked down between us as I swept the head of him between my legs. I lifted my eyes to his face, and when he met my gaze, my hips lowered down, and he slid deep inside, forcing us both to moan.
Trace’s hands were no longer behind his head, but on my waist, holding me down on him as he lifted his hips and swirled up into me. That movement made my vision go hazy as my eyes fluttered shut. His hand slipped under my shirt and up between my breasts until his fingers curled around the base of my neck. His grip felt both primal and protective at the same time. “Take what you want, Harlow,” he rasped.
Hearing my name, instead of my nickname, knocked something loose inside me. It was like a chain snapped and unleashed some animal I couldn’t control. And for once, I wasn’t scared to let that control go. I held onto his shoulders, lifting my hips and then lowering myself back down onto him. Grinding, lifting, rolling, moaning…riding him as he bucked up underneath me. His light grip on my neck felt like it was the only thing keeping me from flying apart as I completely gave control over to the needy beast inside me.
The movements between us were slow and deep at first, but they didn’t stay that way long. Trace’s body followed the pace that mine demanded, and the sounds of our heavy breathing was accompanied by the creak of my bed and slap of skin. The rough denim of his jeans scratched the back of my thighs, and I could feel my release building with every movement. Knowing I was too impatient to even get him fully naked before I’d jumped him was such a turn on.
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 19