His hand stills in my hair. Then he releases me and steps back. “Of course.”
“Thank you.”
A phone call won’t make them besties again, but maybe it’ll open a line of cordial communication.
After he leaves the bathroom, I take my time in the shower, letting the heat seep into my overworked muscles. When I finally step out, I find one of his button-ups folded and waiting for me on the vanity.
I hold it to my nose, breathing in his scent, before dressing, cleaning my teeth, and running a brush through my hair. He didn’t bring me a pair of panties, but the shirt hangs to my knees and frankly, I’m too wiped out to care.
He’s already in bed when I emerge from the bathroom. The soft glow of the table lamp illuminates the gold in his hair and the alertness in his eyes as he watches me approach.
“I’m worried about you.” He opens his arms, offering exactly what I need.
I crawl into his embrace and snuggle in with a breathy sigh. “Just…tired.”
“I’m cutting back your hours at Bissara.” He reaches toward the nightstand and shuts off the light.
“No, you’re not.” I yawn. “Tell me about your day.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow.” He caresses my hair. “Close your eyes.”
“’kay.” I rest my head on the strong beat of his heart, and in the span of a few breaths, all my aches slip softly asleep in his arms.
And I sleep through most of the next day.
I wake sporadically to use the restroom, pick at the food Trace brings me, and ogle his carved physique in his workout shorts. I’m not ill or feverish or congested. Just achy and bone-tired. But as the sun arcs over the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, I grow restless with the need to get up and dress for work.
I throw back the covers and slide my feet to the floor.
“I already contacted the restaurant staff.” Trace’s deep voice rumbles from the doorway behind me. “You’re not going in.”
“Trace.” I groan and fall back on the bed. “I feel fine.”
His stubborn footsteps sound his approach, and he leans over me, placing a palm on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you nauseous? Any pain?”
“No. I’m just run-down.”
At some point, he changed from workout shorts to a suit, and now that crisp black jacket is sliding to the floor. He removes his shoes next, then his shirt and pants, and slips into bed with me, wearing only his boxers.
Leaning toward the side table, he taps something into the digital remote for the smart home system. A second later, the seductive electronic beats of Pillowtalk by Zayn tiptoe through the bedroom.
“If you feel fine…” He rolls on top of me and settles between my legs, his gaze dipping to my mouth. “You won’t mind if I have my way with you.”
My pulse hiccups, and a thrill tickles up my spine. With a hand on his nape, I touch the pad of my thumb to the seam of his parted lips, holding it there.
“I don’t know why my body refused to get up today.” I drift into his eyes. “But my soul didn’t want to leave your bed without a kiss.”
His cock jerks against my inner thigh, swelling and lengthening. His expression remains soft, his eyes unblinking and hooded as we lean closer, little by little, breaths mingling and fraying in mutual desire.
Our noses touch, and I slide my thumb to the corner of his mouth, caressing my fingers across his cheek. His hand meanders up my thigh and rests on my waist beneath the shirt as the other tangles in my hair.
When our mouths finally meet, we exhale as one and surrender to the powerful pull, reaching and holding and sinking into each other.
He encircles his arms tightly around me, and his tongue chases mine, catching and releasing. Then he angles deeper, licking and sucking with abandonment, as if trying to drive away my doubts and taste the desire I keep tucked beneath my awareness.
His weight grows heavier, his muscles tightening and pressing against me. I glory in the heave of his hunger and give beneath him. My skin heats and prickles, responding to the sliding friction of our bodies. My jaw slackens, submitting to the demands of his mouth. And my legs fall open, yielding to the savage drive of his need.
Every inch of him vibrates and coils with the urgency to thrust, to fuck, to chase his release. But he doesn’t remove his boxers, doesn’t shove a hand between my legs to test my wetness. Instead, he flips to his back, taking me with him.
Our mouths remain fastened as I straddle his hips and roam my hands along his sculpted biceps and shoulders. He palms my bare ass and kisses me with so much passion I feel the strength of his love beneath my bones, reminding me how much I have to lose.
I lean back, anchored by his sexy sleepy eyes, as the vocals in the background croon about fucking and fighting, paradise and war.
“We can skip the war and…” His lips crook into a rare smile.
“Make love?”
His erection pulses beneath me, hindered only by the thin material of his boxers and…my consent.
My thoughts flit to Cole sleeping alone in my bed, and a pang stabs my chest.
I want this—the frenzy, the burning heat, the passionate sex—with Trace, but I can’t bear the guilt that comes with it.
The song changes, and a soft feminine voice streams through the hidden speakers, singing the tremulous lyrics of I Hate U I Love U by Gnash. I sway to the gentle beat, loving that he chose my playlist.
“How do you feel?” He runs his palms up my thighs.
I’m too tired to dance for eight hours on a stage, but… “I feel like grooving, slow and easy, on your lap. I love this song.”
“Do it.” He groans, clutching my waist and flexing his hips beneath me. “Grind on me.”
The melody spirals through my core, gathering a sensual energy deep inside me that builds and spreads outward, lifting my ribcage and rolling my pelvis.
His fingers dig against my skin, and his breaths fall out of rhythm. I hold his gaze, communicating with my eyes how much I adore him, how I love when he watches me, and how I’m going to come, just like this, grinding on his hard-as-steel cock.
I keep my movements small and unhurried, letting the pulse of the song carry me over his shaking body. I hold my hair on top of my head, my arms framing my face as I let go and ride the tempo. Gravity does the rest, driving me against him and pushing my clit along his erection.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The intensity of his eyes bores into mine, and his hands skim upward, beneath the shirt, cupping and kneading my breasts. “So soft and strong at the same time. A fantasy and a reality. You’re a hell of a woman.”
His gravelly words shove me to the edge, and I hover there, rocking and panting and reaching…
His arm snaps up, and he grips my throat, pulling my mouth to his. I choke against the collar of his hand, mouth gaping as he licks my lips, thrusts against my clit, and propels me into a writhing, trembling, gasping orgasm.
Pleasure crashes through me for endless, strangling breaths before he releases my throat and hugs me to his chest.
“Watching you come is such a fucking turn-on.” He kisses my neck, my cheek, then moves to devour my mouth.
I pull back, twitching with the remnant sparks of bliss. The sexy song serenades me as I slide down his chest, eyes locked on his and lips curling with naughty intent. I grip his waistband, taking the boxers with me as I move down his legs.
He lifts his hips, easing the removal of that last scrap of clothing. The fact that he hasn’t spoken or tried to stop me is a testament to how badly he wants this. The moment he’s naked, I don’t make him wait.
Kneeling between his legs, I lower my head and take him fully into my mouth. He hits the back of my throat, and a low, needy grown vibrates in his chest.
Then I suck him, relaxing my throat, working my fist on his shaft, and massaging his balls.
His hands fly to my hair, controlling the pace and depth as he whispers commands in his deep, eloquent voice. “Faster…tighten your fingers… Fuck. That’s it…roll your tongue…so fucking good… Goddamn, Danni. I’m almost there…”
I keep my gaze on his, lost in the pleasure glowing on his expression. His thighs shake beneath my hand, and the sinews in his neck stretch with the bow of his spine.