Page 69 of Tracking Wolfe

“What do you want?” I asked, moving a hand down to stroke his cock as I continued to suck gently on his skin. “My hand? Mouth? Ass?”

His cock jumped in my grip as he let out another groan. “Can’t think with your hands on me.”

I moved over him until our cocks pressed together, bringing my hand down to grab them both in a firm fist. Trace’s head tilted back on the pillow as his eyes squeezed closed. His little laugh lines deepened, and his mouth opened.

“Fuck.”

I wasn’t coordinated enough for this. Instead, I moved down his body, dragging my lips and tongue across his skin until my mouth reached the rosy tip of his cock.

Then I began teasing him with my tongue until my mouth tasted salty from his precum and the words coming from his throat were breathy and short. I couldn’t have liked the lyrics more if I’d written them myself.

Wolfe, fuck. Baby, please. Jesus fuck.

I sucked and licked with my mouth while rolling his balls in my palm and inhaling the scent of him deep into my lungs.

“Gonna make me come.” His fingers tightened in my hair, and he warned me again. “Wolfe!”

I stayed where I was, taking him as deep as I could before pulling off and letting his release land on my tongue. Trace’s choked-off cry made my own dick even harder.

I reached down to stroke it after fumbling for the lube still under one of the pillows. The slick grip of my fingers gave me an unexpected flash of what it would be like to fuck Trace, to thrust into his hot body and feel him squeeze around me.

That image was all it took to trigger my orgasm. My release came barreling down on me, stealing my breath and whiting out my vision.

Trace’s voice was hushed. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful like that.”

His fingers combed through my hair, petting and caressing my head as the aftershocks rolled over me. “I want to fuck you,” I croaked.

“Right now?”

I snorted and finally had the wherewithal to look at him. “No. Jesus. I just…” I let out a breath. “I want that, too. Sometime.”

Not that I thought we had much time, necessarily. But he had mentioned spending the whole day together, right?

His smile softened. “I want that, too. Soon.” Trace lifted his eyebrows. “But not that soon. I thought for a minute I was going to have to remind you how old I am.”

I lay on my back to keep the mess on my stomach from getting on the sheets. “You don’t have a five-second refractory period? Shame.”

“You joke, but it is a shame. If I did, I’d have to fight you for which one of us gets to top next.”

We eventually got up and took turns in my tiny shower cubicle while simultaneously brewing coffee for each of us. The image of him in there, all wet and soapy, made me wonder if it was possible for the two of us to squeeze in there together.

Eventually, we were appropriately caffeinated and fed. Trace took the opportunity to return to his own campsite to grab a change of clothes while I started making a packed lunch for our hike.

Within thirty minutes, we were parking at the trailhead, and Trace was slinging my small daypack onto his shoulder.

I felt a mix of giddiness and nerves. Happy I was there alone on the trail with him as I’d always fantasized. Nervous as fuck that I’d screw it up somehow and make this end even sooner.

“Been a while since we’ve been on a hike together, hasn’t it?” He grinned across the roof of his rental car at me.

He’d said something like that last night, too, and I’d been too fucked out to address it.

“Whose fault is that?” I kept my tone light but couldn’t help raising my eyebrows in challenge. “I’m not the one who moved to fucking Montana.”

“Right.” Trace moved around the vehicle. “Let’s talk about this.”

Fuck. Well, I guess it hadn’t taken me long to screw things up, had it? I was my own worst enemy sometimes. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Trace reached for my hand, holding it in his strong grip. The heat of his stare warmed the side of my face. “I do want to.” He nodded at the entrance to the trail. “Let’s go.”