Trust in Me (Hawkeye Book 2)

by Sierra Cartwright

  “A few more seconds.” Her body convulsed beneath him. “Now.” He sank his teeth into her shoulder.

  She screamed. Her body bucked and trembled. Not for the first time, he thought of how perfect she was for him, strong enough to offer everything he demanded, soft enough to yield to his needs.

  After she came, he rode out his own orgasm. He bit out a curse in Spanish. Each climax he had with her was more wrenching than the previous one.

  When he finally opened his eyes, she was looking up at him. The color of her eyes was lighter than he had ever seen before. Her mouth was open slightly. Her blonde hair was mussed all over her face. And he was ensnared, as surely as if she’d slapped a pair of unyielding metal handcuffs on him.

  After he disposed of the condom, she snuggled against him and drifted off to sleep. He could, maybe should, get up. Instead, he held her. He didn’t question the rightness of having her body pressed against his so trustingly. Nor did he question his own determination to keep her safe.

  Maybe a half hour later, he climbed from the bed and went to the living room to dig out a pair of shorts and a fresh T-shirt from his duffel. He had a hard time concentrating on what he was doing.

  He skipped socks and stuffed his feet into his running shoes.

  After grabbing his gun, he walked through the house, then went into the kitchen. That damn bird growled again. “Tastes like chicken,” Trace said before heading outside to check in with the team.

  Aimee sat up in bed and wrapped her arms around her upturned knees, very much aware of the plug still deep inside her.

  Dozens of emotions crashed over her.

  She was used to sleeping alone, and she liked her sleep, eight hours at a minimum, preferably nine, and on rare occasions, a full ten. This was the first time she’d woken up feeling lonely.

  Trace wouldn’t have gone far, but she didn’t hear him moving around. The bedside lamp was still on from earlier, but the rest of the house was dark. Was he on the couch, abandoning her after their hot sex? Had it meant something to her, but not to him?

  As silence became more familiar, she became aware of the sound of voices outside. Not just his but others, likely one of the security teams. It reminded her that he had a job to do.

  He might fulfill her deepest sexual fantasies, but the moment the assignment ended, he’d move on, maybe to the wilds of a jungle or perhaps a Middle East war zone. She would still be in Denver, Colorado, continuing her work, teaching classes, running every day…alone, remembering him, wondering what he was doing, who he was doing…

  Trace had been right to question whether or not they should get involved. Maybe she’d been overly confident in her ability to keep her emotions out of the relationship. And perhaps she’d never met anyone like him before. “Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Damn.”

  She swiped away her sudden, stinging tears. Aimee Inamorata was not the kind of woman who felt sorry for herself. Her older sister had made sure of that. Following the death of their parents and then the horrible incident that had happened to her in college, she had become more resolute than ever, taking self-defense classes and learning to shoot a gun. Then, to prove events didn’t define who she was, the older Inamorata had learned to shoot a gun, and joined Hawkeye. She’d insisted that Aimee should be confident in her life, too.

  Despite her inner resolve, she wasn’t sure what to do about Trace. The reactions he’d wrung from her when she submitted left her exposed, emotionally vulnerable.

  She exhaled shakily.

  Being involved with Jack had been devastating. But this could destroy her.

  The front door closed and the lock turned, jolting her. Aimee steeled her resolve. She had to keep her emotions walled off from him, no matter how difficult.

  He returned to the bedroom smelling of the cool Colorado evening and the tang of seduction.

  “Didn’t mean to wake you, querida.”

  “You didn’t. Not really. I wasn’t aware of your leaving the bed, but when I turned and you weren’t there…”

  “I’m back. I’ll always come back.” He crossed the room and toed off his shoes. He smoothed her hair back from her face. It amazed her how tender he could be. ”How are you feeling? Is the plug okay?”

  “Surprisingly, yes.”

  “Since you’re awake, I’ll give you two choices of how we can spend our time.”

  Her heart picked up a few extra beats.

  “Bent over? From behind?” He held her head between his hands and leaned forward to kiss her and her response was immediate, proving how difficult it would be to keep her distance from him.

  He drew her lower lip between his teeth, then used his tongue to coax her into opening her mouth. Then he deepened the kiss, probing, seeking. She could have no secrets from him.

  Silently communicating his urgency, Trace ended the kiss. After putting the gun on the nightstand, he dropped his clothes. “I can’t get enough of you,” he admitted, his voice as hoarse as her own. “Take my hand.” As she did, he eased her from the bed. Once she was standing, he instructed, “I want you right there.” He pointed to a spot about a foot away.

  “Facing you?” she asked when she was in place.

  “For now. Spread your legs…as wide as you can.”

  She did, and he knelt in front of her. Aimee shivered. Big, strong, powerful Trace Romero was on his knees, with his mouth at her crotch level.

  “Just making sure you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready!”

  He looked up at her, capturing her gaze. Then he leaned in and licked her pussy.

  “I’m ready, Sir.” It would only take seconds for her to come undone. That was probably his diabolical plan. Wring an orgasm from her, then punish her for it.

  She grabbed his shoulders, trying to keep her balance. When he did…that…she could hardly hold herself up.

  He spread her labia with one hand. With the other, he toyed with her plug.

  “Ready,” she repeated, gasping through gritted teeth. “Really, really ready.”

  He kept at it, licking her pussy, changing the amount of pressure on her clit. His touch was magic. He slipped his tongue inside her while he gave a particularly firm tug on her plug. Her whole body was on fire.

  She moved her hands, digging her fingers into his hair.

  He pulled out the plug even farther, then shoved it in. She was done for.

  She screamed as she shattered.

  He kept up his maddening motions, dragging a second orgasm from her.

  “Now,” he said, looking up at her and grinning, “you’re ready. I’m glad you’re so fit,” he said. “It’ll make it easier for you to stay in position.”

  She turned her back to him, and he trailed his fingers down her spine, then into the crack of her rear. Every nerve ending was being singed. This man knew how to touch her, where to touch her, and for how long to touch her.

  He grabbed a condom, then moved in behind her to press his cockhead against her pussy. Her breaths came closer and closer together, even though he’d barely started to touch her.

  “So hot,” he murmured. “Hot.” He grabbed her hips and held her tight as he pushed inexorably forward.

  “It feels…different than anything else has.” It had to be the combination of the position and the fact that she was a little out of control. The blood rush to her head only enhanced the intensity.

  He grunted, and she took silent pleasure from the fact that he was turned on. It was something that she had some sort of power over him.

  Trace dragged her backward and managed to snake his arm around her middle so he could hold her completely imprisoned while he fucked her. Having him so totally in charge allowed her to shove away her fears and let go. She felt his orgasm building before she heard his deep groan of appreciation.

  He held her, and he pounded into her. His cock was hard, pulsing.

  She wanted his orgasm as much as he previously demanded hers. He dug his fingers into her, no doubt leaving tiny bruises that she want
ed. Finally, when her body was exhausted, he shuddered, climaxing hard, slamming into her.

  Aimee expected him to pull away, but he reached around and fingered her while he still had her pussy filled. The intensity of the angle combined with his unyielding and relentless pressure on her clit made her tremble. “You don’t need to do this.”

  “Don’t fight me.” His words were a demand.

  He still held her, and he made his movements shorter and more intense.

  “Come, Aimee.” He slapped her pussy.

  The orgasm plowed into her, buckling her knees. He tightened his hold, supporting her closer, letting her know he wouldn’t let her go.

  Long moments later, he withdrew. Since she was wobbly, he helped her to the bed.

  “Stay there,” he said.

  She wasn’t capable of going anywhere for a very long time, even if he were to order it.

  A minute later he returned and pressed a warm, damp washcloth to her pussy.

  “Relax.”

  She closed her eyes, enjoying the small luxury. After soothing her clit and gently wiping her, he used the small cotton towel to remove the plug. She exhaled. “Thank you.”

  He crawled in behind her and pulled her close, settling his cock between her ass cheeks before pulling blankets over them both.

  “I think I might like this submissive stuff.”

  “You think?”

  “Maybe,” she said teasingly. “I may need a little more experience to know for sure.”

  He reached around and tweaked one of her nipples.

  She yelped.

  “Then tomorrow, I’ll give you another lesson, and we’ll see how that goes. You can let me know then how it’s working for you.”

  Chapter 9

  Coffee. Coffee would be good. Her usual fix of an extra-large vanilla soy latte would be even better.

  Aimee dragged a pillow over her head to block out the bright late-summer Rocky Mountain sunshine.

  Reality slowly returned, and she became aware of the tenderness between her legs and the fact that her nipples were slightly sore.

  She rolled over and pushed up onto one elbow. She saw the indentation on the pillow Trace had used. Even without that, she would know it hadn’t been a dream. The scent of him lingered in the room. A discarded T-shirt hung from one of the bedposts. His presence dominated the space, even though he wasn’t in it.

  A pot clattered in the kitchen.

  Then Eureka chimed in. “Get up. Get up!”

  Aimee slowly realized that coffee wasn’t just a dream or a need. The richness of its brewing scent had awakened her. She could get used to someone more ambitious than she was getting out of bed and brewing the first pot.

  She’d always considered the idea of having someone in her space to be detrimental. But then, she’d never put together an official pros-and-cons list on the idea of living with someone. Until Trace, there had been no point. Being put to bed and awakened by the scent of coffee could potentially outrank ten negatives, like doing someone else’s laundry.

  “Morning.” Trace stood in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb. He held a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Her mouth watered, and not just from anticipation of her own cup of coffee, but from the sight of him.

  He smelled fresh, of spicy soap, citrusy shampoo, and first-of-the-morning air.

  Black T-shirts were made for him, and he could have walked out of a magazine ad for those blue jeans. Just open the top button and…

  Aimee sat up, dragging the sheet with her. She tucked her hair back as he studied her, as if he intended to know all of her secrets.

  He entered the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Even from yesterday, their level of intimacy had changed. It wasn’t just her bedroom…it was theirs.

  She accepted the proffered drink and took a long sip. “Thank you.”

  “Drop the sheet.”

  Instead of waiting for her to comply, he captured the high-thread-count cotton and pulled it away from her body. Her nipples hardened instantly, in response to the room’s chill and the heat of his gaze.

  “I’d keep you naked all day if it were up to me.” He cupped her left breast gently, and dampness flooded between her legs. “Careful with the coffee.”

  He was a master. He had her exactly where he wanted her, as usual.

  Watching her intently, he pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger and continued until she gasped.

  “You are so amazing to play with,” he said. He tweaked her nipple one final time. “Get dressed. Breakfast awaits.”

  She blinked the world back into focus. “Breakfast?”

  “The meal between dinner and lunch.”

  “You’re leaving me like this?”

  “I like my subs hungry in all ways.” With only a glance over his shoulder, he exited the room.

  She sank against the headboard to collect herself, once again. Resisting him was easy when it was a theory, another when he was in her space, breathing the same air as she was.

  After a few sips of the hot brew, she climbed out of bed. She’d never before woken up naked. In summer, she generally slept in long shirts, and she had a few favorites, several with pictures of Einstein along with some of his more famous quotes, a couple bearing the likeness of Richard Feynman, and a purple one from Neil deGrasse Tyson’s recent tour. Some women went to rock concerts. She attended science lectures.

  Reminding herself that she needed to keep her emotions safe from him, she dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

  The scene in the kitchen shocked her. Trace stood in front of the stove, his back to her as he sang in Spanish. She could get used to that, she decided. Any man who could operate a paring knife, a frying pan, a toaster, and a coffee maker, all in the same morning, was her hero.

  But it wasn’t only that.

  Eureka stood on top of his cage, his foot wrapped around a slice of apple. He glanced at Trace occasionally, but that Trace had let the bird out of the cage and fed him… It was doubly difficult to keep her distance.

  “Thank you.”

  He turned to face her. “For the coffee?”

  “Mainly for Eureka,” she said.

  “I figured I should plump him up, put some meat on his bones, before we roast him for dinner.”

  “Bombs away!”

  She looked over her shoulder and pointed at the bird. “Eureka, no.”

  He picked up the piece of apple that he’d discarded.

  “Tastes like chicken,” Eureka repeated. “Tastes like chicken.”

  “Oh my God, Trace. What have you been saying to him when I’m not around?”

  “I thought it was a private conversation.”

  “Bombs away!”

  She glared at the bird again, but he was eating, obviously having made his point. “What’s for breakfast?”

  “Omelets,” he said, reaching for a spatula. “With avocados and cream cheese. I also made fresh salsa.”

  “I mean it, if the security, gun-carrying thing doesn’t work out, you’re welcome to apply for a job with me.”

  His eyes darkened. “I’ve got a different proposition in mind.” Before she could react, he had dropped the spatula and had her against the counter. His right leg was between hers, her crotch against his thigh. He dug his hand into her hair, holding her captive for his kiss.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and responded completely. She had no resistance where he was concerned. As he’d obviously intended, she moved her pussy against his leg while he devoured her mouth in a demanding kiss.

  Even though she’d had half a dozen orgasms last night, another was right there, gnawing at her.

  He moved his free hand to her lower back, and the pressure he exerted changed her position a bit, bringing her in more firm contact with his leg. He had to know what he was doing, had to know its effect on her…

  She came, hard, and with a whimper that was muffled against his mouth.

  “Now,” he said, “it’s a good morning.”


  When her head stopped spinning, she nodded. It was.

  “Set the table before I burn breakfast.”

  While she put colorful place mats on the table, she kept glancing at him. He was more than competent in the kitchen. He was at home. It frightened her, more than just a little bit, to realize how comfortable she was with him here. “More coffee?” She offered the drink as if having a man in her kitchen at this time of the morning were the most natural thing in the world.

  “Black,” he said. “Although after tasting the cream on your kiss, I’m tempted to have you put some in mine.”

  She refilled his mug, then grabbed herself a new one from the cupboard, adding a huge dollop of half-and-half.

  He brought two plates to the table, and after she took the first bite, she sighed. The flavors melded on her tongue, complemented by the bite from the jalapenos in the salsa. “Trace, this is amazing. Thank you.”

  After breakfast, he said, “Are you working today?”

  “I thought I’d get in a couple of hours and then go get a latte?”

  He nodded.

  Some semblance of normalcy…and keeping them out of the bedroom. “And a run this afternoon?”

  He nodded. “Go to work. I’ll take care of this.”

  Her cell phone rang, and she went to answer it while Trace cleared the dishes. When she heard her sister’s voice, she said, “I’ve been offered half the money in the pot if I just cough up your name. I hear there’s enough for a nice trip to the Bahamas.”

  “Won’t matter if I kill you. You have to be alive to enjoy the trip.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” Aimee laughed, but her sister didn’t. Her body chilled. “Something’s wrong.”

  “I’m going to talk to Agent Romero, but I wanted to speak with you first. He’ll have some instructions for you, and you need to follow them.”

  “What happened?”

  “Aimee—”

  “I need to know.”

  For a moment, she was silent. Then, in her normal no-nonsense way, she said, “Jason Knoll was found dead.”

  Aimee dropped into a chair.

  “I don’t have many details. I’ll pass along anything I find out.”