He wasn’t pulling away, which was a good thing, right?
“Fuck,” he growled, his hands reaching back for her, grabbing her hips and pulling her flush against him as she continued to trail kisses over his smooth, warm skin.
He smelled like … Trace. That was the only way she could describe it. Like soap and man and need. Sex and promises mingling into a delicious scent that she wanted to inhale into her lungs and keep there for eternity.
When his fingers began kneading her hips, pulling her impossibly close to him, she damn near lost her mind. Here they were standing in the middle of his kitchen, and she knew without a doubt what was about to happen.
And for her, the only fear she had was that it wouldn’t happen soon enough.
□«»□«»□«»□
Trace wasn’t a man who battled with his emotions. No, he didn’t shy away from them, didn’t try to pretend he had absolutely no feelings whatsoever in order to protect himself. But he also wasn’t used to being inundated with them on a regular basis, either.
It seemed as though, for the last few months, he’d done little else besides ensure Marissa was protected, keep a safe distance from her, and try to convince himself that, no, he wasn’t in love with the woman.
He’d apparently failed at all three.
From the moment he’d stepped back inside his apartment after RT left, he’d been waiting for her to emerge from her room, yet not strong enough to go to her. He couldn’t help but think she was hiding from him, probably trying to come to accept the fact that he was a killer.
He’d seen the look on her face when he’d admitted to killing the man in her house. And no, he had absolutely no remorse. In his mind, it had been her or that bastard, and Trace would go to the depths of hell to ensure that nothing happened to her. He damn sure hadn’t lost an ounce of sleep over it.
But what made his head reel was the way she was touching him now. Her soft, cool fingers against his naked skin, her lips brushing against him. He was quickly losing what was left of the tattered remnants of his control.
What made it worse was the fact that he wanted nothing more than what they had right that moment. The two of them, alone in his apartment, the rest of the world shut out completely. No danger, no interference, and most importantly, no interruptions.
“Fucking hell,” he groaned when Marissa’s hands slid up his chest, her fingers gently teasing his nipples as she did. For half a second, he feared he might just come in his jeans. When she touched him, he was reduced to nothing more than a jumble of hormones whose sole interest was how good she made him feel. He hadn’t expected it, but fuck, he wished she’d never stop.
He sucked in a harsh breath when her hands made a quick U-turn, detouring south. And then she was easily sliding the button on his jeans free before lowering the zipper. His cock was aching to break free, desperately in need of her touch.
“Oh, God, Marissa,” he moaned, unsure whether his legs would hold him up as she slipped her hand into the waistband of his boxers and wrapped her smooth fingers around his dick, gently stroking him.
How had they gotten to this point? He couldn’t answer that because the reason was no longer important. The only thing he could focus on was the way her soft lips pressed to his skin, her gentle fingers molded to his cock.
“I need you,” she whispered against him, her words muffled as she continued to press her lips against his back, her fist stroking him more urgently.
Yeah, well, he needed her, too. More than he cared to admit. Although, he wasn’t doing a damn good job of keeping that tidbit of information to himself. Hell, last night, when he’d been buried deep inside of her, he’d lost a part of himself. She’d stolen what was left of his ability to keep her at a distance, and he’d let down his guard.
Somehow, Marissa Trexler had managed to sneak her way into his heart, into his soul, and he’d welcomed her with open arms, ignoring everything else. Including what he was supposed to be focused on.
Protecting her.
Seducing her was not part of his job description, but no matter how many times he’d tried to convince himself that she was off-limits, Trace was throwing caution to the wind. He was tired of fucking holding back, tired of keeping himself at a safe distance from the one and only woman he’d ever…
Shit, he couldn’t admit it, not even to himself, although he knew it was true.
But God help him, he couldn’t stop himself. He’d wanted this woman for as long as he could remember. And it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d just had her ten minutes ago, he would still want her again.
And again.
Just when he would’ve turned to face her, Marissa moved around so that she was between him and the window. Instinct kicked in and he immediately moved them both backward. Although the glass was bulletproof and mirrored from the outside so that no one could see in, he wasn’t willing to take that chance. His dick might be doing the majority of his thinking for him, but Trace damn sure wasn’t going to lose sight of what was most important.
Leading her into the living room, on the far side of the breakfast bar, Trace came up short when she pulled on his arm, effectively stopping him in his tracks.
“I need you, Trace,” she repeated, looking up at him.
Ah, fuck. She thought he was retreating from her. He could see the cost of her words reflected in her brilliant blue eyes, and the plea nearly leveled him.
“You’ve got me,” he told her, almost the same words he’d told her the night before. You’ve always had me.
And she did. Have him. As far as Trace was concerned, she owned him, even if that was something he’d never be able to tell her.
“Son of a…” Trace cut off the curse as fast as he could, but the instant Marissa went to her knees in front of him, he damn near lost his fucking mind. “Don’t do this, baby. Not here.”
God yes, here, please here.
She obviously wasn’t listening to him, or maybe she was and she was responding to his silent plea, because Marissa pulled his jeans and his boxers down his hips until his cock sprang free, standing at full attention right in front of her soft, perfect lips.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The look in her eyes told him that he wasn’t in control here. As much as he would continue to insist that he was, he wasn’t.
She was.
When she leaned forward, her lips grazing the head of his cock, her tongue darting out to lap at the bead of pre-cum that had already formed, Trace feared this would be a world record for him. He had to take back the reins or he would embarrass himself within seconds of watching his cock disappear into the moist, hot cavern of her mouth.
Gripping the granite behind him with one hand, he reached his other hand into her hair, gathering the silky golden strands between his fingers as he slowly, gently took back the control.
Oh, he’d damn sure let her do this her way, but the dominant beast inside of him was roaring its ugly head, demanding to be the one in charge. And he’d let it. He’d let the beast believe what it wanted, but they both knew the real truth.
This woman, she fucking owned him.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
Tightening his grip on her hair, ensuring that he didn’t hurt her, Trace guided her head until his cock disappeared inside of her mouth.
Damn. She felt so fucking good. Her lips were soft but firm, her inquisitive tongue trailing over the sensitive underside of his cock, making his dick throb, his balls ache for more.
“Oh, fuck yes,” he groaned, holding her hair more firmly. “Your mouth is so fucking good. That’s it, baby, suck me.” Trace couldn’t hold back the words, needing to ensure she knew that what she was doing was making him crazy.
He fought the urge to close his eyes, because he wanted to watch, to witness the heat in her gaze, but the pleasure was overwhelming. He focused on her mouth, the tentative way she explored his cock with her lips and tongue and teeth. She was a fucking wet dream, looking too damned innoc
ent to be on her knees in front of him but so fucking sexy he was having a hard time breathing.
He watched as his cock slid between her lips, reveled in the feel of her fingers as they wrapped firmly around the base, ensuring she didn’t take him too deep. Oh, but he wanted to go deeper. He wanted to fuck her mouth wildly, to watch as she took him as far as she could. His entire body broke out in a sweat as he stood there, refusing to give in to the urge to fuck her mouth harder, deeper. Faster.
“That’s it,” he encouraged her, his voice trembling with need.
Reaching down, he removed her hand from around his dick, forced to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. It was that or he’d come in her sweet mouth long before he wanted to.
“Put your hands on my thighs,” he instructed. “Don’t move them.”
Marissa did exactly as he told her and the beast inside of him roared his excitement.
This time, using both of his hands, Trace cupped her head, holding her firmly as he pressed his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper but not far enough for him to gag her.
“I’ve dreamed about fucking your mouth,” he told her, his eyes riveted to his cock sliding past her pretty pink lips. “Spent many nights jacking off to fantasies just like this. But fuck, this is so much better than any fantasy, Marissa.”
Trying to hold himself back, Trace forced his body to go slow, trying to enjoy the gentle suction, the fantastic fucking friction of her mouth as he slid in and then out, over and over.
Releasing her head, Trace wrapped his hand around his cock, stopping her from taking him into her mouth once more. “Stick out your tongue,” he instructed.
When she stuck her tongue out, he gently pressed the head of his dick to her, then inched upward so that she caressed the underside with the warmth of her tongue. “Suck my balls, Marissa.”
He watched as her eyes widened briefly. He had to wonder whether she’d ever done this before with a man. He could pretty well assume she’d given a blow job because she knew exactly what to do with her wicked tongue to drive him wild, but clearly she wasn’t used to the play-by-play.
“All the way into your mouth, Marissa.”
Marissa laved his balls with her tongue before sucking gently, one, then the other, then both at the same fucking time. Ahh, hell. He was in heaven. Pure fucking heaven.
And he feared if they kept this up, his legs were going to come right out from under him. When he knew he wasn’t going to be able to take anymore, he shifted his hips back, pulling away from her before reaching down and helping her up from the floor.
“We’re going to move this somewhere more comfortable for both of us.”
With one hand on his dick because he still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t going to go off like a rocket, Trace took her hand and led her to the couch.
“I wasn’t finished,” Marissa told him with a grin.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not, either.”
Thirty-One
Marissa wasn’t sure she’d ever been this worked up. And that was saying something considering how much she had craved Trace through the years. Hell, the past week had been absolute torture. But what had happened in his kitchen… Yeah, well, that had been sexy as hell.
She still couldn’t believe it. In the kitchen. Instigated by … her.
Yep.
So freaking sexy.
The way he’d looked at her, she’d nearly lost her breath, and at one point, maybe her nerve.
Touching him, bringing him pleasure, it was an intensely satisfying feeling, but her nerves were coiled tight, her heart beating a rapid rhythm in her chest. The heat she’d seen in his eyes, compounded by the vulnerability, was nearly her undoing. There for a brief moment, she’d actually been in complete control.
But now he’d taken the reins and she wasn’t quite ready to let go of them.
“Lie on the couch,” he said, his voice gruff.
She’d pretty much do anything he asked. Without hesitation, Marissa eased onto the couch, lying on her back as she stared up at Trace. She wasn’t ready for him to turn his attention on her. She still wanted to touch him, to taste him, to make him lose that hard-won control he held so tightly to. There, when she’d been on her knees in front of him, she’d almost pushed him over the edge; she had seen it in his eyes, noticed it in the way his body had gone rigid.
She was ready to do it again, but he seemed to be hesitating.
Well, she was tired of waiting.
He was standing beside the couch, within reach, so she grabbed his thighs and pulled him forward, causing him to stumble. He laughed as he brought one hand down on the sofa arm behind her head, the other on the back cushion, obviously his attempt to keep from falling on top of her. When he was busy trying to keep himself upright, Marissa reached up, circled his thick, heavy erection with her fist, and brought him right back to her mouth.
“Fuck!”
His exclamation sent sparks shooting through her, ricocheting across her nerve endings and slowly settling between her thighs. She would never get enough of him.
Her hands itched to touch him. Her mouth watered with the need to taste him. Using every bit of experience she had, which wasn’t all that much, she knew, Marissa set out with one single goal in mind. Pleasure him the way he’d pleasured her the night before.
Gripping his cock firmly, she stroked him at the same time she began sucking him into her mouth. When he began pumping his hips, forcing himself deeper, she knew she’d won the battle.
“Marissa, baby,” he groaned, a clear warning. “It’s too much.”
No, it wasn’t enough, but she couldn’t tell him that. Not at that moment anyway. Using her free hand, she began gently kneading his balls, reveling in his moans and groans and the way he began to fuck her mouth as though he couldn’t hold back any longer.
And just when she thought she was going to send him over the edge, he pulled away.
Completely.
“Hey!” she grumbled with a smile. “That’s not fair.”
“What’s not fair?” he asked, a sexy, devilish gleam in his eyes.
He was forcing his jeans and his boxers down his legs, stepping out of them until he was resplendently naked in front of her. She was still fully clothed, which she intended to remedy any second now if he didn’t beat her to the punch.
When she tried to sit up, Trace surprised her, practically climbing on top of her until their bodies were aligned from ankle to chest.
“No, you don’t,” he said before crushing his mouth to hers, his hips pumping as he ground his erection between her thighs.
Too many clothes between them, she thought to herself, hoping he’d get with the program, because she wanted to feel his naked flesh against hers.
The kiss ignited into a fireball of passion and need, their tongues exploring, tasting, while the rest of the world fell away. The only thing that mattered was the way he searched her mouth, the way he held her close, practically wrapping himself around her. She wanted Trace to feel her hunger, understand just how much she needed him.
The ache within her had morphed well beyond desire and melded into need long ago. And the more time she spent in his presence, the more she realized what it all meant. This wasn’t merely attraction. Not on her part anyway. This was…
“I need to be inside you, Marissa,” Trace said roughly as he pulled back.
The next thing she knew, Trace was sitting on the couch and she was straddling his lap. His hands gripped the edges of her T-shirt and pulled it swiftly up and over her head, leaving her clad in only her bra and her leggings. Thankfully, he managed to remove those in the same short amount of time, and finally she was once again settled on his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, his heavy erection pressed intimately between her legs.
From somewhere—seriously, she had no idea where—he had produced a condom and sheathed himself with lightning speed.
“Ahhh, fuck,” Trace groaned when she lowered herself onto him in one ungraceful
thrust as she stared down at him.
He was thick and hot, filling her completely, making her insides zing with pleasure, her body gripping him tightly as she took him deeper. When he dropped his head back, Marissa lowered her head and licked his neck, placing hungry kisses across his throat. She could feel the vibration of his groans against her lips, and it spurred her on.
“Fuck me, Marissa. Fuck me hard.”
Without thinking, Marissa began shifting her hips, doing her best to give him what he needed. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, especially with his arms wrapped around her so tightly. He must’ve realized he was hindering her progress, because his arms loosened and then fell to his sides. His hands were then on her ass, lifting her slightly as he began driving himself up into her while she held on to him, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she rode him.
“Yes!” she screamed, hoping to encourage him to go faster, harder, deeper. She needed more. Never wanting that moment to end as he plied her with pleasure. Her mind was obliterated, all thoughts fleeing as she focused solely on the intense friction, the glorious heat of his body inside hers.
But then he was lifting her.
“What are you doing?” she asked on a chuckle when he stood.
“Need more,” he said, the words coming out strangled.
Marissa leaned in and kissed him, not wanting him to stop. She had to hold on because he was then lowering her to the couch as he hovered over her, still lodged deep inside of her. It was an awkward position with her practically sitting on the couch—her body folded nearly in half as he stood over her, his knees pressing into the cushions, her own knees up near her ears.
“Fuck me,” she begged, no longer worried about anything more than the pleasure this man could give her. She craved it.
Trace stared down at her, his hands seeking hers until their fingers were twined together, her arms above her head as she stared back at him, her upper body pressed into the thick back cushions.
He was thrusting his hips, pounding into her over and over, all sense of propriety completely lost to them both as they sought the one thing the other could bring them.
Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) Page 27