Chapter 10
Sorrow
He’s asking for another kiss because he wants to be better. He called me beautiful. Trace is putting the controls in my hands.
Warmth spreads across my chest.
I’m in control.
He said my first kiss was the best he’s had.
Trace Saints believes in me.
Will I want more from him? I doubt he’ll want anything more serious with how long he’s done this compartmentalizing of his.
Does it matter?
After graduation, we won’t see each other again. He’ll follow his friends to DU. I’ll move to Alexandria. I made up my mind on the drive to the house. If Rush goes, I’ll go too. Having a friend and the connections he has are better than being alone in a city I know nothing about.
I’ll remember Trace, but another guy will replace the memories, right?
“Don’t overthink it, Sorrow. Just go with the flow, baby.”
“Will you call other girls baby after our experiment is over?” The melancholy that’s always there, lurking in the shadows, overcomes me.
“I haven’t thought that far.”
I search his face.
“It’s the honest truth.” He slides his hand under my hair and lowers his head until we share a breath. “Can we live one day at a time and cross that bridge when we get to it?” He massages my neck.
I agree.
“Thank you, Sorrow.”
“For what?”
“For being patient.”
“I have experience with waiting.”
He sighs, and I almost regret what I said. Almost. I don’t want to ruin this moment. I’ve dreamed of this, me being held by Trace. Except it felt right to share a part of myself with someone other than Leigh and my therapist.
“Ready?” I ask, done with the thick tension between us.
“Ready.” He stares at my mouth.
I lick my lips. “Remember, full surrender.”
“Remember, you agreed to my condition.”
His gaze is intense. His jaw is locked. If it’s the last thing he does every day, he’ll make sure the heat is turned up and that I give him a list of all my favorite foods. That’s what I see on his face.
Trace Saints isn’t scary. He’s a good guy when he lets someone see the part of him he hides behind his nonchalance and smirks.
“Can I ask something?”
He smirks. “Nothing is stopping you.”
I have the impulse to smack his shoulder. “Can we change positions with you on top?”
“Whatever you want, Sorrow.”
I move off his body, and he gets off the couch.
We get back on the couch with me beneath his weight. I wrap my legs around him.
“Better?” he asks, cocking a brow.
I smile. “Better.” I palm his face. “You initiate or me?” I lift my other hand and skim my finger over his thick, dark eyebrow.
I can’t stop touching him. Will it always be this way, me wanting to touch a guy over and over when my heart races out of control, my stomach tightens with anticipation, and my mouth dries, wondering if his kiss will wet my panties?
“Ladies first.”
“Okay.” I clear my throat. “Close your eyes. I don’t want you looking at me.”
He doesn’t give me a smartass comeback. Trace actually does what I ask him to do.
He closes his eyes, and this is my chance to take all of him in.
Dark brows frame his eyes. Long lashes fan across his skin.
There’s a dusting of freckles on the arches of his cheeks below his eyes.
His lips are nice and full, and I want to taste his Cupid’s bow with the tip of my tongue.
Ladies first.
Smiling, I stick out my tongue and lick the downward curve of his Cupid’s bow. He is salty. Needing more of his saltiness, I cover his Cupid’s bow with my mouth and make love to it with my tongue.
Trace tightens his hold on my hair and puts his full weight on me.
His erection nestles in my hot spot. I wiggle and moan beneath his weight and the outline of his thickness between my legs.
As I suck his Cupid’s bow into my mouth, he grasps my bottom lip into his and bites down.
Sharp pains shoot down my body and collide with my throbbing pussy.
I suck in a breath. “That feels so good, Trace.”
“Pain. Pleasure. You. Me. Your lip. My teeth. Fuck.” He opens his eyes and openly stares at me. His eyes are hooded. His mouth parts. He’s breathing heavily.
“Do it again,” I beg, out of breath with need. “We’ll do it better. Bite on my bottom lip. I’ll suck on your upper.”
Our mouths fuse. I suck on his upper lip.
He takes my lower lip between his teeth.
I suck. He pulls. I bite down. He groans.
I let go of his lip and run the tip of my tongue over my bottom lip.
My tongue coasts over his mouth on mine.
Trace tastes good, like bitter beer with a hint of his sweetness.
I need more of his flavor. Coaxing his mouth open, I dip my tongue inside. His deep groans are heaven to my ears.
“Fuck, Sorrow, your mouth, what you do with your tongue, you sucking on my lip as I bite down on yours . . . What you’re coming up with in our quest to be better will kill me softly. All I’ll want is you.”
Is that my plan? Is that the reason for the experiment?
To have Trace see that casual hookups are out of style and committing to one person is the new norm?
Or it’s always been the norm, but Trace is fighting it?
Why is he into casual hookups when his parents are the epitome of monogamy?
In my romance books, the hero and heroine have a happily ever after or a happy for now.
Some of the heroes are alpha a-holes who get their comeuppance with women they never thought they’d be with.
Some are into threesomes but settle for exclusivity and monogamy.
Reality is a different story.
We’re going too fast.
It’s only been an hour or two—I’ve lost track of time—and already he’s come, and we’re on the verge of going all the way if we keep this up.
I have to pull back.
One of us has to keep our head on straight with this experiment.
I thought it would be Trace with his nonchalance and looking through me like I’m nothing to him.
But I was wrong.
Jesus, I’m wrong.
My body comes alive when I think about him and me for three weeks, trying this experiment of compartmentalizing the physical from the emotional.
My mouth waters at the thought of his lips on mine.
My heart soars when I think back to how he said he likes my butterfly and Eskimo kisses, and my chaste pecks.
I end our all-consuming kiss. “We should call it a night. This kiss wasn’t as great as I thought it was.” I push him away with my palms on his chest and say words my father would be proud of if he were here. “I’m not feeling anything except regret. I’m sorry, Trace.”