I nod in the shackle of his hand. He’s in charge, and I have no complaints. It’s the way we both like it. He takes the weight of worry and decision off my shoulders, and I trust him to honor my limits.
Except my stupid rules mean I have a lot of limits at the moment.
He releases my throat and straightens the collar of the borrowed shirt around my neck. Then he braces a hand on the window above my head and points behind him. “Get on the bed and tuck yourself in.”
The harshness in his tone makes me jump to follow his command. Not because I’m afraid of him, but because I hear his restraint unraveling in the strain of his words. He’s painfully aroused, and toying with him would be unnecessary and cruel.
I slip under the covers and watch as he reaches toward his groin, head down, breathing heavily. His back is to me, but I can guess what he’s doing. I’ve seen him hold off his release by squeezing the base of his cock. He’s doing that now, not that he’s on the brink of coming, but maybe it helps him stifle his impulses.
He remains in that position for several minutes before his breaths taper off and his shoulders relax. When he turns toward the bed, his cock is still engorged, but soft enough to bend downward in his briefs.
He crosses the room, flicks off the light, and slides in beside me. I roll into him as his arms come around me and his leg rests over mine, effectively caging me in. I love being swaddled in his embrace and burrow closer, taking shelter in his strength.
Dark silence crawls in around us, grasping at my breaths and pillaging the air for answers. His quiet stillness suggests he said everything he wanted to say. But the discussion feels incomplete.
He wants me to let the decision happen on its own and claims there’s no hurry. That sounds ideal—all things considered—but I don’t know how to sit back and rest on this. I need a resolution.
This thing between the three of us is a delicate balancing act. Even now, I’m sleeping with one man after I refused the other from my bed last night. I have my reasons, but it still niggles, begging to be examined.
“Trace?”
“Hmm?” His deep voice penetrates my chest.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want you to use it against Cole.”
He stiffens against me. “I hate that you’re thinking about him while lying in my arms.”
“I’m thinking about the situation and everything that comes with dating both of you.”
“I told you to let it go.”
“You told me to let the choice happen on its own.” I flatten a palm on his chest, chasing the tempo of his heart with my fingertips. “But there are other decisions I have to make every time I’m with one of you.”
“Go on.”
“I’m sleeping in your bed. With you. I’m not doing that with Cole.”
“I’m afraid to ask why.” He runs his fingers through my hair, petting me.
“You already know why.”
“Because he has no control over his dick.” His hand pauses. “Do you know how many women he’s fucked?”
My molars crash together. “You don’t need to be hateful. I know all about his women. I also know it’s been years since he’s had sex. So cut him some slack.”
“Is that what you’re going to do the next time you see him? Give him some leeway because he traded the love of his life for a job?”
“You know what? Forget it.” I push against his chest. “You really are an asshole.”
His arms tighten, refusing to let go. After a moment of struggling, I slump, too tired to wage a physical fight against a man twice my size.
He tucks me against him and releases a heavy breath. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
I pin my lips together, still sore over his rude reaction.
“Tell me what you wanted to tell me.” He nuzzles my neck. “I promise not to show my ass.”
“No.” I wriggle away from him.
“Danni,” he says, all surly and grumbly.
“Instead of growling at me, maybe you should try to convince me nicely?”
“Roll over.”
That’s barely an octave away from a growl. I shouldn’t give into it, but curiosity wins. When I shift to lie on my chest, he climbs over me in the dark and straddles my hips.
I lift my head to see what he’s up to then immediately face-plant, because sweet mother of God, his fingers…along my spine…working my muscles…heaven.
Moaning into the pillow, I liquefy into butter beneath his strong, magical, amazing-as-fuck hands. “Don’t stop.”
“I’ve heard you say that before, while eating a pillow for a different reason.”
“This might be better than sex.”
He yanks the shirt up, exposing my back, and his fingers dig in around my shoulder blade.
“Oh God.” My eyes roll back in my head. “Right there.”
“I’ve heard that—”
“Shut it.”
“You’re really tight.”
I half-snort, half-grunt. “Hilarious.”
“No, your muscles here…” He rubs a knot in my shoulder while shoving the shirt out of the way. “I’ll put you on a regular schedule with the hotel’s in-house masseuse. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before with the constant beating you put on your body.”
“Don’t do that. It’ll take away from our time together. Besides, I prefer your hands.” I sigh at the pleasure. “Jesus, that’s good.”
He continues to work my back, breathing through the movements like a pro. I drift into a blissful coma, sinking peacefully into almost-sleep when I remember what prompted him to do this.
“What I was going to tell you earlier,” I say, “is that I don’t have any misgivings about sharing a bed with you. Because I trust you.”
His hands fall still, his voice cautious. “You trust me and not Cole?”
“I trust your self-control.” I squirm beneath him, forcing him to slide off me as I flip to my back.
We settle into our favorite position, lying on our sides, limbs entangled, face to face.
“I don’t want to take advantage of your restraint.” I trail my fingers along his jaw and down the strong column of his neck. “I’m afraid I’m going to touch you, tease you, and push too hard because I know you won’t cross the line and break my rules. You’ll keep your needs bottled up, and I’ll keep pushing and push—”
“Danni.” He grips my wrist and holds my hand against his chest, his eyes pitch-black in the darkness. “Do those things with me. Touch me. Use me. Push me all you want. Take whatever makes you happy.”
“No, I can’t.” My heart stammers. “It’s wrong.”
“You can’t take advantage of what I’m freely offering, and I’m offering everything—time, support, respect, love, protection… The list goes on. Just know that you have me. I’ll be what you need for as long as you let me.”
In the spirit of letting decisions happen on their own, I coast through the next couple days without forethought, itinerary, or course of action. The only schedule I’m committed to is working at Bissara three to midnight, five nights a week.
The morning after I stayed with Trace, we slept in, lazy and contented. Later that day, with his hand in mine, I called my parents and my closest friend, Nikolai, to tell them about Cole. They took the news about as well as Bree did, offering their condolences and support while I figured things out.
After I ended the calls, Trace and I didn’t discuss it, focusing instead on each other until I went to work.
There’s something to be said about spending time with an incredible man without sex in the equation. We talked and cuddled, kissed and flirted, whispered and laughed more that day than we have in the six months I’ve known him. I enjoyed it so much I stayed with him two nights in a row.
The third night is now upon me, and as I hop off the stage and end my shift, Trace meets me at the entrance of the restaurant.
Pressing a hand against my lower back, he turns to guide me toward the elevator that will take me to his penthouse.