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“Feeling like the grinch?”
“No.” The answer surprises me, especially considering how things started.
Trace’s smile widens. “Good. Me neither.” He dips his head to kiss me softly. “What do you want to do today?” he asks, his lips brushing over mine while I become more aware of every part of his body that’s touching me.
Who can focus when his lips are so distracting? Instead of replying, I kiss him. Trace seems content, but I’m not. I want more. I kiss him harder and run my hands over his chest, letting them travel further and further south. That seems to stir him into action. He rolls us. His hips are pressed against me and I wish we were naked already. With that in mind, I start tugging on his shirt. I really need to see him shirtless.
“Britt,” Trace breathes, kissing my neck. I can’t figure out if he’s hesitating or what.
“You asked me what I wanted to do today,” I remind him. “I want to do this.” I pull his shirt up and he finally helps me out so I can take it off. The sculpted skin before me has me wondering how this man doesn’t have a lick of athleticism in him. My fingertips trace over every inch while I try to let it soak in that this body belongs to my boyfriend.
“Quit staring; you’re making me self-conscious.”
I start laughing and Trace grins. Self-conscious? Yeah, right.
“Time to return the favor.” He lies on his side and fingers the hem of my shirt which has risen up just enough that I can feel his fingers grazing my skin. He doesn’t try to take it off, though. My breaths shallow out when he brushes his thumb along my hip. His eyes keep flicking from his hand to me.
“What are you waiting for?” I ask, tired of waiting.
“You.”
I gulp. He wants me to remove my own shirt? I’ve always had someone else remove it. It just happened that way. For a moment, the urge to grab my wrist overwhelms me. I remind myself that this is Trace. That scatters my anxiety and I remove my shirt. Those hazel eyes drink me in and then he’s on me again, taking me from slightly cold to way too warm in seconds. His hands move over my exposed skin much like I did to him. My head falls to the side with his open-mouthed kisses on my chest.
For the briefest of moments, a sliver of panic enters my mind. This is huge and what if neither of us live up to any expectations we may have? Trace’s fingers have curled under the tops of my pajama bottoms.
“Britt.”
I look at him and gulp at the sight of him hovering over me, about to strip me completely naked. But then he crawls back up my body to rest his forehead against mine while his forearms brace him on either side of my head. He kisses me softly once. I can feel his hard length between my legs. I wiggle my hips, wondering why he’s stopped. Maybe he felt my momentary tension when I panicked. If that’s why, I don’t want him to ask me about it and ruin the mood. I kiss him and slip my hand between our bodies and underneath his pajama pants.
There is no room for anxiety in this bed. There is no time for second-guessing myself or thinking about anything other than taking this next step with Trace. The moment my fingers brush against his length, he’s kissing me hard, my fluke forgotten completely. He’s not rushing, though. Trace lowers his body until his head is at my hips and his fingers are back where they were. All I can do is breathe, enjoy, and follow his lead.
This is a much better way to start the morning.
Sometimes, you just need a lazy day in bed. That’s how Trace and I spent our day before he took me back to campus yesterday. Now, I’m having lunch with Rebecca who is waiting for me to spill all the dirty details about Trace.
“Tell me already!” she demands.
“One sec, Bec.” I hurry to type my text to Trace. Today has sucked so far, most of it stemming from my appointment with the campus counselor.
Me: Question: If I happen to need to talk about you, am I allowed to mention it to Mrs. Rumley? Like, she has to act like she doesn’t know, right? I don’t actually have anything to say, but I don’t want to freak out if I happen to bring you up.
Trace immediately texts me back.
Trace: Talk about whatever you need to, Britt. Don’t worry about it.
Me: Are you sure?
Trace: Yes. Enjoy your lunch and I’ll talk to you later.
With that, I put my phone back in my purse.
“Well? I know you slept with him. There was no hiding your thoroughly fucked appearance when you came back. What was he like? He’s proportional, right?”
I laugh and nod. I think about yesterday and I don’t even know where to start. “The man has many sides.”
“What the hell does that mean?” She stabs a piece of lettuce. She’s on a healthy kick and swears it will be good for us both, so we’re eating salads today. With no salad dressing. What the hell?
“It means he doesn’t just do it the same way every time. I never know what to expect. Sweet, gentle, tender, demanding, rough, hot, heavy, giving, taking—”
