by Pam Godwin
Rolling my hips, I slide the lacy material downward and take the panties with it. As each inch of my nudity is revealed, his breathing grows louder behind me. I don’t give into the temptation to look back until I’m completely bare. Then I turn my head.
His shirt lies on the floor at his feet, his upper body ripped with lean muscle from throat to groin.
“Don’t move.” He closes the distance in three slow strides, making my blood burn hot with nervous desire.
His mouth brushes my shoulder, and my skin sizzles. His tongue curls around my earlobe, and I moan.
“So delicate yet so strong.” He feathers his fingertips down my back.
“So handsome yet so cruel.” I reach back and grip his hard thigh. “Stop teasing and take off your pants.”
To my surprise, he obeys, stripping quickly before lifting me up and dumping me on the bed. I roll to my back, and he climbs up my body, kissing and licking his way to my mouth. Then he straddles my waist and thrusts his tongue past my lips.
He’s hard again, the heavy weight of his cock jerking against my abs as he kisses me with deep, greedy tastes. Just when I think I can’t bear another teasing second, he moves back down my body, his hands and tongue worshiping every dip and curve.
“Come back,” I groan, pulling on his arm and squirming beneath his tickling lips. “I want to breathe in your sexiness.”
“Hold still.” He nips at my hipbone and wedges his shoulders between my legs, spreading me wide.
When his gaze lowers to my pussy, he sucks in a breath.
“No piercing?” His eyes narrow on mine.
“I removed it. I thought…” I got the piercing with Cole, and reminders of him hurt my heart.
“It’s okay.” He runs a hand up my chest and pinches a nipple. “There are plenty of other places to wear jewelry.”
“I love you.” I stroke my fingers through the soft texture of his blond hair.
“I love you, too.” He presses a kiss to my navel.
Then he returns to my pussy and uses his finger and tongue to send me into a writhing, moaning, mindless blob of liquid bones. One orgasm isn’t good enough. He spends another ten minutes pushing me over the edge again.
Smiling an intoxicating rare smile, he moves up my body and frames my face in his warm hands. I’m so wet there’s no need to work himself in.
A shift of his hips aligns us, and he imprisons me in the bright fervency of his eyes. Then he sinks inside, fitting our bodies together with agonizing slowness. Languidly, heavily, he strokes along my inner walls. We groan together, lips seeking and colliding. My nerve-endings stir and my chest tingles as our tongues dance and mate, licking and rubbing before going wild.
When he breaks the kiss, it’s to stare into my eyes. Then he kisses me again, going back and forth, looking at me, kissing me, like he can’t get close enough, deep enough. All the while, the roll of his hips maintains a tortuously slow pace.
He’s never made love to me like this before. I feel everything. Not just the physical connection, but the soul-deep attachment. He’s inside me, in my heart, exactly where he’s supposed to be.
I sense the moment he climbs toward the pinnacle. His rhythm accelerates, and he hooks an arm beneath my knee, shoving my leg up and out, stretching me wider.
“With me,” he gasps against my lips and thrusts more aggressively, urgently.
“I’m with you.” I buck against his driving hips, chasing the pleasure and trembling against the swelling surge. “Fuck me. Hard. Harder.”
He rides me like a damn devil, grinding, ramming in and out. It’s so good, so impossibly perfect. But it’s his unwavering eye contact that sends me over. I come with his name ripping from my throat, and he explodes with me, his gaze naked and feral as he grunts and thrusts to completion.
I sag, limp and breathless, against the mattress with the thrum of his heart as my only anchor. This isn’t a dream. It’s really happening.
Despite his orgasm, he continues move inside me. Then he takes my mouth, gifting me with a kiss as raw and satisfying as the sex.
“I’m not finished with you.” He bites at my lips.
“Promise?” I kiss him back.
“I promise those will be the last words you hear before you fall asleep.”
“Every night?”
“For the rest of my life.”
“I can’t believe he’s taking you to the French Riviera for your honeymoon.” My sister releases a dreamy sigh and props an elbow on the table in her kitchen.
“I can’t believe he gave up control of his casino operations to do philanthropy work.” My chest swells for the thousandth time in three weeks.
Three weeks of utter bliss in Trace’s bed, on his stage, and in his arms. He nourishes me physically and soulfully. All forms of happiness are insubstantial beside him.
“He what?” Bree’s jaw drops, her voice shrilling against my ears.
“Shh.” I shoot her a glare.
We both turn our heads toward the doorway and stare at the far corner of the living room. My five-year-old niece, Angel, perches on a tiny chair at a kid’s activity table. Beside her, Trace sits on the floor with his legs stretched out beneath the table. He’s such a big man it looks like a plastic tray on his lap.
With their backs to the kitchen, their heads bow in concentration as they color with crayons. They connect on some enigmatic level I don’t understand. It’s irresistibly charming.
I shift back to Bree and speak quietly. “He launched a private foundation to help homeless people secure jobs, but it’s not just about finding employment. Through donations, he’s funding training programs that teach job skills. Skills that will increase their earnings as they transition out of homelessness.”
She reaches across the table and grips my hand. “You’re so excited your voice actually rises an octave when you talk about it.”
“I am excited. We’re talking huge donations, Bree. With his network of business partners, he’ll be able to pull in high-profile sponsors for events like charity dinners and galas.”
“The kind of dinners and galas you used to perform at? Will you dance at them?”
“That’s the plan.” Happiness doesn’t begin to describe the huge feeling in my chest. “I have no doubt he’ll run this like he runs everything else.”
“Like a boss.” Bree smiles.
I was going to say meticulous, overbearing controller, but yeah… “Like a boss.”
“He made this career change for you?”
I shake my head. “He started pursuing it six months ago. When I was with Cole.”
“He definitely did it for you.” She gives me a knowing look. “Whether you would be part of it or not, you inspired him.”
We fall silent, our attentions returning to the quiet, imposing man and his tiny demonic sidekick in the living room.
In one week, I’m going to marry Trace Savoy. I didn’t choose a ballroom dance or a song, and there won’t be any choreography. Just like love, our first dance isn’t a choice. I won’t control it. It’s just going to happen, and I’ll hold onto every second of it for dear life.
When I told him this, I ended up naked and thoroughly pleasured on the counter in his kitchen.
Our kitchen.
I moved in with him immediately, and we spend most of our time together in bed. I wake every morning tucked into his body, his muscular arm clamped around my back and his thigh bent between my mine. The best part of my day is watching those sleepy blue eyes whisper good morning to me.
When I’m not working, we run errands, go to dinner, watch movies. Really, we don’t need to do anything to pass the time. We just need each other.
I haven’t sold my house. I won’t. As much progress as I’ve made on healing the jagged hole Cole left behind, I can’t give up the home he bought for me, the dance room he built for me, or the memories that cling to the walls. So I’m renting it to Nikolai. It’s twice the size of the crappy apartment he lived in, and he no longe
r has to borrow space at another school to teach his dance students.
I don’t have any plans to reopen my dance company. Teaching was a means to pay the bills and never my passion. That said, I haven’t worked much over the past three weeks. When I negotiated the employment contract that night in my house, I failed to look at the fine print. Trace sneaked in a restriction that states I can work a maximum of two hours per night. No wonder he didn’t argue when I changed the schedule to seven days a week.
His deviousness is irritating in the best way possible. He challenges me constantly, dominates me to no end, and keeps me coming back for more.
“I need to use the bathroom.” Bree rises from the table and vanishes around the corner.
I stand, too, and make my way to the living room.
Crouching behind Trace, I rub my hands over the crisp fabric of his t-shirt. “Did you starch this?”
“Maybe.” He looks at me over his shoulder.
I immediately forget what we’re talking about because that devastating grin, it ravages my senses and catches at my heart.
Resting my cheek on his shoulder, I hug him from behind and breathe in his masculine heat. He returns to his crayons, letting me caress his chest and pepper kisses across his nape. There’s so much sexual energy contained within his powerful body it’s bone-melting when he unleashes it. And he will unleash it the moment we get home.
I lean between him and Angel, studying the drawing beneath his crayon. The cartoon-ish lines were etched by a child—a rather artistic child—but why did she draw a picture of a horned, dog-like beast with blazing red eyes? I can only imagine what Trace is thinking as he colors it in.
“Trace drew this one. See?” Angel holds up a stick-figure woman dancing on tiptoes. “It’s sexy Aunt Danni.”
Sexy? How does she know that word? I glance at Trace and find his smoky eyes fixated on my mouth.
“You can’t teach her that.” I bite down on my smile.
“I just did.” His voice, bedroom gruff and pure naughtiness, steals my breath.
“I don’t think it looks like you.” Angel examines the picture. “Your face looks more like a dog.”
“What kind of dog?” Please don’t say a horned beast with red eyes.
“A dead dog.”
I don’t even know what to say to that.
“Angel.” Trace drops his tone in warning. “We talked about this. If you want to persuade and intimidate, do it with your attitude, not your words.”
“I want to be like you.” She lifts her chin, staring at him with adoration.
“I’ll teach you.” He pats her head, making her pigtails bounce.
“Oh, dear God,” I mutter under my breath.
“There is no God. Only Zuul.” She smiles, but it doesn’t touch her huge, brown demonic eyes.
My mouth falls open. She’s been all about God for as long as I can remember. What changed?
“I’m afraid to ask who Zuul is,” I say just as Bree walks into the room.
My sister looks over the drawing of the horned dog and makes a pained face. “Her obsession with Christianity has moved on to…Ghostbusters.” She lifts Angel from the chair and gives her a nudge toward the hall. “It’s bath time, young lady.”
“I like him better.” Angel points at Trace as she struts by. “The other one had holes in his cheeks.”
Dimples.
Cole.
My heart freezes in my chest, my entire body paralyzed beneath a wave of torment.
As Bree and Angel disappear down the hall, Trace wraps a hand around my neck and uses his grip to guide me onto his lap.
“Talk to me.” He pushes the coloring table to the side and leans back against the side of the couch.
“I’m fine.” I curl up against his chest and wrap my arms around him. “It’s just… Sometimes, she’s painfully honest.”
“She’s five.” He strokes his thumb across my throat, the touch possessive and comforting. “And logical. Of course, she likes me better. I don’t have holes in my cheeks.” At my ragged sigh, he brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Keep talking.”
“When he died, it left a permanent wound inside me. I think I’ve been subconsciously moving on from him for years, but the tiniest thing can reopen the wound, and once it’s open, it takes a while to stop the bleeding.” I straighten and meet his eyes. “I don’t regret, but I think about him often and feel heavy with sadness. I miss him.”
“I know.” His expression softens. “I miss him, too.”
“But you talk to him.”
“Yes.”
“I need to know.” I shift on his lap, putting my face in his and clutching his shoulders. “You have to tell how he’s doing.”
“He’s okay, Danni.” His thick lashes lower, lift again, revealing eyes warm with compassion. “He threw himself back into work.”
“The job offers…” My breath stammers, and my stomach turns to ice. “He said it was dangerous.”
“His job has always been dangerous. He’s good at it. Good enough that I don’t worry about his safety.” He runs his fingers through my hair, soothing me.
“Did he let me go so easily because—?”
“I talked him into working again. After you left.” His hand tightens against my scalp, punctuating his words. “I know him. He needs the distraction. Understand?”
“Yeah.” I don’t like it, but I gave up all rights to have a say in his life. “Thank you for telling me. And for being there for him.”
“He was there for me. Funny how that worked out, huh? Despite it all, we salvaged our friendship.”
It’s more than I could’ve ever asked for, and I’m so fucking grateful.
“Go tell your sister good-bye.” He lifts me off his lap. “We’re leaving.”
And just like that, the conversation is over. I love that I can count on him to listen when I need him and to shut it down before it becomes repetitive and unproductive.
On the ride home, I sit beside him in the Maserati, thoughtfully silent and focused on the future. I’m getting married in a week. Trace is spearheading a foundation for the homeless—a cause that’s near and dear to my heart. And I’m sitting beside a man who sets my skin afire with merely a look. Like now.
“You should probably keep your eyes on the road.” Just the thought of having him inside me again, all swollen heat and hunger, makes my thighs clench.
“Then I’ll have to use my hand.” Deliberately lowering his voice to the pitch of sex, he roams a hand up my thigh and teases the fly on my jeans. “I told you to wear a skirt.”
“And I told you it was too cold.”
He slides his touch away to shift through the gears, and I’m momentarily distracted by how strikingly attractive he looks driving this sporty piece of hot metal. His hand drapes over the steering wheel, the leather seat molding around all that powerful muscle, as he zips through traffic with a wildness that magnifies his confident male beauty.
The night sparkles around us, shining brighter up ahead where the casino towers over the horizon. He veers onto the next street and heads in the opposite direction of the penthouse.
“Where are you going?” My lower body melts as the hand returns between my legs.
“It’s a surprise.”
“What kind of surprise?”
“The kind I won’t tell you about, so don’t ask again.”
He crosses the bridge into Illinois and drives twenty minutes to the town of Belleville. There’s not a lot in this area, but the moment he pulls up to the huge Skyview Drive-In sign, I bounce in the seat.
“Is it open?” I only see a couple cars in the parking lot.
“365 days a year.” He pays the attendant at the drive-through window and parks at the far end of the lot, away from the other two cars.
Movie trailers flicker across the massive screen, revving my excitement. I’ve never been to a drive-in, especially not in January. I suspect it’s a lot busier in the summer months, when movie watchers
can sit atop their cars and enjoy this uniquely American experience beneath the stars.
“Where are the speaker poles?” I scan the empty parking lot, wondering how we’ll listen to the movie. “I thought there were little boxes that hang on the car windows.”
“They were replaced with an FM broadcasting system.” He leaves the engine running and cranks up the heat.
As he tunes the radio to the right FM station, the screen lights up with a movie intro that hitches my breath.
“Dirty Dancing.” I shake my head, grinning. “How did you—?”
“I made a request a couple weeks ago.” He hits a button that reverses his seat as far back as it will go. Then he bores his gaze into mine. “Remove your clothes.”
Deep and gravelly, his command tightens my nipples against the satin of my bra. The man is raw, hard, biteable perfection, and the pleasure he ignites in my body is ruthless.
Even if the tinted windows didn’t conceal my nudity, I would obey simply because it pleases him. Jeans, sweater, boots, undergarments—I remove it all and kneel on the seat, facing him.
His lashes hood over eyes glowing with male approval. “Come here.”
Fragile tremors tiptoe across my skin as I crawl over the console. The space is so tight I don’t know how we’ll fit behind the steering wheel.
Hands on his shoulders for balance, I place a knee on the seat between his thighs. With my lips so close to his, he kisses me, his mouth hot and moist, his tongue rubbing against mine and the hand on my bare butt possessive as always.
The heat of his body heightens the kiss, stirring and warming the deepest parts of me. He caresses my backside and licks lazily inside my mouth. No tension. No time lines. Nothing but the contentment of togetherness humming between us.
The movie soundtrack streams through the car speakers, drowning out the panting sounds of our breaths. He pulls me closer, breaking the kiss to position my body on his lap with my back to his chest.
“I want your mouth.” I twist toward him.
“Watch the movie.” He clasps my waist and turns me back.
Gritting my teeth, I rein in the compulsion to steal another kiss. He intends to torment me, his hands already wandering over my nude skin. The best movie of all time fills the windshield, but I can’t concentrate on it. Not with his grip on my thighs, spreading me open and hooking my legs around the outsides of his.