CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT TRACE
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
TRACE
I’d been keeping tabs on her, but this place was new. She’d deviated.
Ashton was the one who let me know where she was, and it’d not been in our PI’s report, so I wanted to find out for myself what place this was—or whose place this was.
Sitting in my vehicle, parked on the street, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
She was painting. It was an art studio, and it was set up so if an artist was in process, the windows were placed where people on the street could watch.
It was set back and off the sidewalk so it wasn’t totally visible to just anyone driving by.
But if you were coming specifically for the studio itself, or if you were someone like me, you could sit and watch to your heart’s content.
Her head was down. She had paint covering her hands, her arms, her shoulders.
When she turned once, I saw more on her face.
She didn’t look outside. I didn’t think she was even aware she was on display, but I was guessing there was music because her head kept swaying from side to side.
She dipped her hand into the paint and turned to the canvas, going at it.
She painted with her hands. No brushes. No pencil.
No charcoal. Just her hands, and the canvas was set to the side so I couldn’t see the painting itself, but it was taller than her.
She stood up on her tiptoes more than once to reach the highest parts of it, and it was set on the floor, so she bent down as well.
She disappeared from sight for those moments. A cupboard or table blocked my view.
I wanted to see the painting, enough where I got out of the vehicle and approached the building.
I moved to the side, propped a shoulder against the wall, and turned so I had a view through to her. I still couldn’t see what she was creating, but I could see her.
She was mesmerizing, moving in a rhythm where it was obvious she was in some sort of trance.
I stayed there even when the cold seeped through my jacket and into my bones, deep in my bones, but I still remained. It might’ve been hours. I didn’t know until suddenly, the lights turned off, and I straightened, shaking from how cold it was. I started for my vehicle.
“Last time I saw you, I told you to leave me alone.”
I turned slowly, thinking how her tone matched the weather. Fucking cold.
She was standing outside a back door, in the alley that my back was turned to. One of her feet had the door propped open. She was staring at me.
“You said we were done.”
“What’s the difference?” Her nostrils flared, because she knew there was a difference. “I told you another time to leave me alone too.”
I started for her, going slow. “You said I should leave you alone.”
Should.
I kept going. She wasn’t shutting the door.
Should had a whole different connotation because she was right. I should’ve left her alone, but I hadn’t, and I saw the yearning in her eyes. It was there. She hid it quick, but I still saw it.
I moved, knowing how much of an idiot I was being, but at this point, unless she shut the door in my face, I needed to touch her again.
Her eyes widened, seeing me coming at her, but she didn’t move. She didn’t dart inside, and I was fully aware of the line I was treading here.
Five feet.
She stayed.
Four.
She was still there.
Three.
I could almost touch her.
Two—she moved inside, but I caught the door.
“Tristian—” She backed up.
“Trace.” I moved with her, taking in the room. A small light was on in the corner, enough so I could see my way inside. My hand went to her waist, propelling her backward.
Damn me to hell, but I needed this.
“Wha—” she started to say, her eyes so alive, and a new light had been lit in them.
She’d get angry. It was sparking in her, coming, and my god.
I was a damned man because that’s when I knew.
Her spirit made my dick twitch. I groaned, my mouth taking hers, hoping she wasn’t going to hit me with a hammer or some other weapon.
I let her wrist go because if she did, I’d deserve it, but after a surprised gasp, after a moment where I swear my body sagged in relief at the mere touch of her, the fire swept through both of us.
It lit her, and she became alive. Her mouth opened under mine. The hammer dropped. Her hands were on me, pulling on the back of my head, and she was trying to clamber up.
Finally.
I lifted her at the same time she jumped.
She was yanking at my clothes as I angled my head, my tongue sweeping inside of her, needing to taste her that way, knowing it would be fucking heaven. It was .
I needed more.
She had my shirt halfway up my body, her hands exploring me in return, and I glanced once, making sure the door was shut. She had turned the light off. My god, I needed to have her. I didn’t know if she’d let me taste her again.
I moved down her throat, tasting her as I went, and she arched her neck, her breasts pushed upward toward me. My hand moved down, pushing under her leggings, finding her thong and ignoring that it was even there, and then I found her, and my finger sank in.
Fucking. Goddamn. Heaven.
I hissed at how tight she was, and her legs wrapped tighter around my waist in reaction. She held still, panting in my ear as I worked a second finger inside of her. I went slow at first, drawing it out, and then deeper with each stroke, building pace and tempo.
I knew her. I knew this woman. I knew her body. I didn’t know how, but I did. Other lifetimes maybe. I would’ve believed it if someone told me in that instant because it was like I’d already had lifetimes worshipping her body.
I kept working her, sliding in and out, my thumb moving over her clit.
A nice slow circle rub and she was moaning in my arms, barely holding on.
Her body fell backward, her head coming to rest against the wall behind, and her eyes opened a little bit, a haze over them as she gaped at me, but I needed more.
I reached up with my other hand and tore her shirt apart.
Her bra was shoved aside, and I sank my mouth over one of her tits. I needed this taste of her.
I needed to taste every inch of her, but I’d content myself with this touch, for now.
She shuddered in my arms, her hand coming up and clasping onto the back of my head as my teeth grazed over her nipple. My tongue moved around her. I sucked her in, caressing her, but I needed to be inside of her.
Now.
Yesterday.
A year ago.
Her breathing had picked up, she was only holding on to me, and I picked up the pace, feeling the start of her climax coming.
It was a little rest, where her body paused for a split second, and she was moaning softly in my ear now.
I lifted my head, finding her throat, and then lifting again and finding her mouth.
My tongue moved in, claiming her as she went over the edge.
Her entire body jerked against me, lifting up off the counter, and she screamed into my mouth.
I swallowed it, catching it and tasting that too.
Feeling her body calming, just enough, I moved back but reached for my wallet.
I held her gaze when I pulled out a condom. She was watching what I was doing, a dark lust coming over her eyes, and she bit her lip. Then she reached for the condom and tore open the wrapper.
I shoved my pants down, my boxer briefs with them, and she was reaching for me.
Goddamn.
I hissed at the touch of her hands circling my dick, and my head fell to her shoulder.
She was working me over, running her hand up and down, her thumb moving over my tip, but I groaned into her ear, “Enough. Put it on.”
A slight chuckle rasped from her throat, but she smoothed the condom over me, using both her hands to smooth it down, and that was all the permission I needed from her.
I grabbed her ass, hoisting her up and angling her down for the perfect access.
I wasn’t gentle, but she groaned, her eyes closing at how I was handling her, and I moved her legs aside, pushing them open wider, and then I was there.
I sank in, both of us molded to each other at the contact.
I’d been wrong before. This was heaven.
First it was her mouth. Then how she felt on my fingers, but this was the ultimate form of paradise.
I couldn’t hold back any longer.
Her head snapped back, her eyes finding mine, and she growled, “Fuck me, you asshole.”
I moved back and then thrust into her, glaring right back at her because I saw now that this was just as much needed on her end, but she wasn’t happy about it.
Thrust after thrust, I pounded into her. I didn’t look away, and neither did she.
She truly hated me, but there was the same starving look underneath, the one I felt for her too. Haunted. I’d used the word before because it was true. This goddamn fucking obsession was on both accounts, but I was here and I touched her, and she fell apart for me.
I’d do it every time I could. I made the vow to myself, here and now.
Moving forward, every time I could have her, I would.
She arched her back, her clothes had been torn off, and she was naked for my viewing pleasure. Paint covering her, covering me. I drowned in this view, burning into my brain, knowing I’d be envisioning her for the rest of my life.
She reared up, her feet finding the counter beneath her, and I adjusted, stepping back to keep us in contact, but she used the counter to push back against me. She was fucking me as greedily as I was thrusting inside of her.
I was tempted to halt, enjoy her riding me in this new way, but no. The need to dominate was real inside of me, at least with her, and I fell into her body, holding her up with a hand under her back, pushing inside of her over and over again.