Chapter 18 – Lena #3
His mouth covered mine. Tongue against mine in the same rhythm as his fingers --- in when they pushed in, back when they pulled out --- and being matched in both places at once wiped everything else out.
His fingers. His thumb. His tongue. All moving together.
I couldn't think. I couldn't do anything except feel it.
I fisted my hand in his hair, my hips riding his hand, and he let me --- adjusting every time I shifted. His mouth left mine and dragged down my jaw, teeth on my pulse, and his fingers never stopped.
"Trace --- I'm ---"
"I know." His voice was wrecked. "I can feel you. Let go."
His fingers curled hard, his thumb pressed, and I broke. Thighs clamping around his hand, back off the mattress, his name coming out of me raw and loud and wrecked in the quiet room.
He slowed but didn't stop.
I grabbed his wrist. "I can't --- that's ---"
"One more." He kissed the corner of my mouth, his fingers still moving inside me, gentle now but relentless.
My body was jerking with aftershocks and every stroke of his thumb on my oversensitive clit sent sparks up my spine.
"I need you to come apart one more time before I can even think about letting you go.
" His lips dragged to my ear. "I'm making this my new favorite rule. "
"Trace, I can't ---"
"You can." His fingers curled and my protest died in my throat.
"You're already close again, I can feel it.
" He was right. My body was already tightening around him, the second wave building on the wreckage of the first, faster than I thought possible.
His thumb found a new rhythm --- lighter, quicker, teasing instead of pressing --- and I made a sound that was barely human.
"That's my girl." He kissed my neck, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, his voice low and rough against my skin. "Give me one more."
The second one hit different. Slower to build, sharper when it crested, my whole body curling into him, my face pressed into his shoulder, a sob breaking out of me that I couldn't control.
He held me through it, his fingers easing me down until the last tremor passed and I went boneless against the mattress, completely destroyed.
He pulled his hand free. Gently.
I was still trembling when he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
Slowly.
Eyes on mine.
I am going to die in this bed.
Then he kissed me.
He kissed me deep, his tongue sliding into my mouth, and I could taste myself on him --- salt, musk, something earthy --- and it was filthy. It was so filthy. The kind of kiss I'd replay at three in the morning with my hand between my thighs and zero shame about it.
His hand found my breast, thumb rolling my nipple through the wet lace, still swollen from his mouth, and I gasped against his lips. He kept kissing me, deep, thorough, while his fingers worked the peak through the ruined fabric --- pinching gently, then harder when I arched into his palm.
The towel had shifted. Nearly off. Barely a fold of terry cloth, and when his hips rolled against me I could feel him.
Really feel him. Hard, thick, pressing against my center through just my leggings.
Every ridge. Every inch of heat. My body was still buzzing, oversensitive, and the pressure of him dragging against me punched a gasp out of my chest.
"Oh my God." I grabbed his shoulders. "I can't --- I already ---"
"You can." His mouth found my throat, his hips grinding down in a slow, filthy roll that pressed him right against my clit through the thin fabric. "Give me another one."
I shook my head but my hips were already moving with him, chasing the friction, and every nerve ending I had was still lit up from the first time.
It shouldn't have been possible. Not this fast, not from just this, not through my leggings with his towel barely between us, but his hand found my breast through the wet lace and his thumb circled my nipple and his hips kept that devastating rhythm and I could feel myself climbing again, tightening, my thighs clenching around him.
He groaned against my neck --- low, guttural, barely human. "Fuck— fuck, Lena—"
He ground against me hard, the full thick length of him dragging over my clit, and I came again, shorter this time, sharper, a full-body shudder that ripped a sound out of me I barely recognized.
My nails dug into his back and my spine arched off the mattress and I felt him groan against my throat like the sound I made broke something in him.
His hips moved again. Not controlled anymore. Raw and urgent, his hand still on my breast through the lace, tongue stroking mine, his cock grinding against me in a rhythm that was falling apart.
"Lena—" He broke the kiss, his forehead dropping to mine, breath ragged, jaw clenched, his whole body shaking. His hips stuttered. Once. Twice. He pressed hard against me and went rigid, a strangled groan muffled against my throat, hand fisting the comforter, his whole body shuddering.
We lay there, his weight half on me, face in my neck, neither of us moving.
After a while, I shifted and started to pull away.
"No, Lena. Stay." His arm tightened around me.
I should have pulled away. Should have gotten up, gotten dressed, gone back to pretending this didn’t change everything.
And I let Trace Coulter hold me as my eyes drifted shut.
This was going to destroy me.
But not tonight. Tonight, I let him be mine.