Chapter 29“He’s dead to me.”
TWENTY-NINE
“He’s dead to me.”
Ivy
There’s a heartbeat in my palm, throbbing, sending a reminder to my brain that I’m hurt. But I don’t need the reminder. Because everything hurts, and my hand is the least of it.
I thought betrayal was one-size-fits-all. But having the man you’ve fallen in love with cheat on you at a party he himself has thrown? At your new place of work? With all of your family and friends around?
I turn over in my bed, and face the window, staring out in the gloomy night sky. Hudson and Dolly’s house lights are on, and I know it’s because of what happened tonight. I heard Dolly’s voice in the hall, the rough vibration of Hudson soothing her.
Trace made a fool of me, and now I have to pick up the pieces. And even though I know my family is here for me, I’m ashamed. Ashamed that I trusted too soon, got excited way too early and let myself be happy. I let myself believe my life was falling into place.
I should have known it was too easy.
Dolly had to stalk Hudson for years and beat the living shit out of her competition. A few salty remarks at a tattoo parlor? Of course that wasn’t it. Of course it wasn’t that easy.
My stomach burns with hunger and unease, but I can’t eat. Every time I try to open my mouth, I cry. I wanted to tell Juniper exactly what happened, why I did what I did, I wanted to explain to Dash and Sterling that I’m not some brat throwing a tantrum. To tell them I destroyed Trace’s car because he destroyed my heart, and when you think of it in those terms, he got off pretty easy.
But every time I tried, sobs smothered my words, and I just couldn’t.
Sterling carried me from his truck, Juniper behind him, guiding him to my room. He laid me down, Dash brought his medical kit and threw some loose stitches into my palm as Juniper wiped blood from my arms and face using a damp washcloth. She brought in hot tea and toast with my favorite jam, but the tea went cold and the toast is stale, the jam now too sticky.
I can’t do anything but lie here, stare at the stars through the window and wonder how. How can a person be so cruel?
And just as I’m finally finding peace in sleep, there’s commotion outside.
We live in the sticks, commotion is rare. Dash promised he wouldn’t say anything, so I have no worry that it’s the police department. He must really like my sister if he’s willing to break the law and risk his job for her.
The jam must really be good.
There’s a slam, then another, and a third, and then the doorbell shudders through the whole house. Three people, judging by the car doors, are here, on the porch.
Ev and Deuce, maybe? But who’s the third?
A moment later, my bedroom door is opening, dim light from the hall pouring over the end of my bed. The light is gone just as fast, and the door clicks closed.
My heart twitches in my throat, my good hand sore from clutching the blanket so hard. My chin trembles with a sob I’m holding back. Because I know who's here.
I can smell him, pine and cedar, a scent that just hours ago would have me melting.
“Ivy,” he croaks, and a moment later, my bed dips. His hand finds my calf, and tears flank my cheeks as he smooths it up my leg, over my thigh, sinking his fingertips into my hip. His touch still sends waves of heat sweeping through my insides, pebbling my nipples and tossing bumps along my flesh. My eyes roll closed at his proximity, wishing so much that I could go back in time and save my heart by avoiding this man.
He turned out to be everything the tabloids said he was, everything Google warned me about, and yet here I am, crying in bed like a complete cliché.
“Ivy,” he tries again, causing me to twist in bed, jerking and thrashing until the covers are off and I’m sitting up, glaring at his beautiful face in the partial moonlight.
“Shut up, Trace, shut up. Stop saying my name. Stop ruining my name with your stupid voice!” I shout, my temples pounding, my chest racked with a constant ache, one that I don’t think has anything to do with stress, adrenaline crashes or dehydration. I fear that pain is heartache.
He nods slowly, as if agreeing with the way I’m lashing out, and that only makes me angrier. Sterling took my boots off, or else I’d muster the last of my energy to kick Trace in his perfect face.
“I’m going to ask you for a big favor right now, okay? I understand what you’re feeling but please, one favor, okay?”
“Why? Why should I give you anything?” I hate that I can’t stop my bottom lip from giving me away. “I gave you everything and you stuck your tongue down some client’s throat. I’m done giving you things, Trace, now get the fuck out of my room and out of my life!”
Rearing back, with my fist balled, I strike, aiming for his nose. But he’s quick, and he catches my fist in his palm, keeping my arm suspended in air as his eyes hold mine.
“Please listen, Ivy. That’s the favor, okay? I need you to listen.”
He lowers my fist to the bed and starts talking, even though the last thing I want to hear is his excuses.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want this moment, only because I know it’s our last. And a few more minutes with Trace, no matter what he did, does something for the little girl inside me who still loves his art and still aspires for his talent.
“That day in Goode’s, that first time we went there together,” he starts, his hand now on my thigh. He rubs small, consoling circles, and I let him. “You asked me if I had family, do you remember that?”
“I swear to fuck, Trace, there better be a point, because if you tell me some bullshit trauma about your dad not loving you and that’s the reason why you had your tongue down someone else’s throat, your car won’t be the worst thing I fuck up tonight,” I breathe, nostrils flaring as his soothing circles continue, despite my harsh threats and murderous tone.
“Remember I told you my folks are gone?” he says, and annoyingly I find myself nodding. “And you asked if I had siblings, and I said no.”
His hand stops moving on my thigh. “I lied to you, technically. I have a sibling. I have one brother.”
I don’t know where he’s going with this. “Why did you lie about that?”
Pulling at the back of his neck, he sighs. “Because he’s dead to me. No part of me recognizes him as a sibling, or even a family member. And it’s been that way for the better part of ten years.”
I don’t say anything. His expression is heavy, weighted with stress and pain. I see that now, that even though I’m in pain, so is he.
Do not feel bad for him, Ivy. He cheated on you. What’s next? He’s gonna hit you and you’re gonna justify that, too?
“When I first started tattooing, I apprenticed for this artist. She was absolutely great. She taught me so much and because of that, I was just… in awe of her. And I fell in love.”
I want to say that his story sounds familiar, but the fact that I fell for him before I knew him can stay my stupid secret now.
“Was she—” I start, and he nods in confirmation.
“Cat, she was the one. The one who cheated on me. I fell in love, my first love, actually. I loved her something fierce. I thought we’d be together forever. I bought a ring. I saw a whole life of tattoos, travel, and eventually, a family.”
“If you say hurt people hurt people, I swear to God, Trace–”
At that, he glances back at the bedroom door. “No, I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say Derek Wade hurts people, but mostly just me.”
“ Derek? ”
“Get the fuck in here!” Trace shouts at the closed door.
“Who are—” I’m stopped short when the door to my room flies open, Deuce eating up the frame. Into the hall, he reaches out of sight, and a moment later, he’s shoving someone inside my bedroom.
I get to my knees in the center of my bed, holding my bandaged hand to my face as my mouth gapes. My eyes bounce between Trace and — “Oh my God,” I breathe, completely tripped out. “Is he?”
“This is Derek. He’s my brother,” Trace says, still focused only on me. “My identical twin brother.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. Blinking, I look between the two of them, Deuce still lingering in the doorway.
“You know that photo I posted of our boots? The one where I was trying to let my followers know that I’m alive and well and starting over?” he asks, and of course I know. I love the photo, and I was both surprised and honored to know that he was unafraid to share this chapter of his life with his followers. He hadn’t posted since he left the show, and part of me thought he never would.
“Apparently Derek, here, was waiting to find me. And he did.”
My gaze slides to the knockoff Trace. Okay, I don’t know if he’s the knockoff because I have no clue who is older, but as I take in the identical tattoos and the attempt Derek is clearly making to nail Trace’s laid-back style, I’d say he’s definitely the knockoff even if he’s older.
I saw Trace get the octopus inked onto his hand, live, on the show. So if Derek has that same ink, it’s because he copied Trace. He wanted to look like Trace.
“He’s the one who slept with Trace’s girl all those years ago,” Deuce adds from the doorway. “I tried to get Trace to stay, face them both and… I don't know, work it out. Figure out a way to forgive his brother because it’s his damn brother. But Trace refused, then he went off for the show and… I can honestly say you were right, Trace. You were right when you said he wasn't worth it. Because he keeps finding you, only to start shit.”
Derek presses his hands to his chest in mock surprise. “I didn’t come to start shit, it’s just… I can’t help that women flock to me. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend who was going to flip her lid with jealousy.” He smirks, bringing a curled knuckle to his lips to absorb his stupid little laugh. “Man, you’re psycho. You really fucked up his car.”
In a split second, Trace grabs Derek by the shoulder, rears back, and punches him straight in the face. The sound of knuckle on nose is unnerving, but I smile as Derek stumbles backward.
“Don’t call her psycho. Don’t say her name. Don’t look at her. Don’t even breathe the fucking air around her, got that?” Trace spits at Derek, shoving him back, hard, sending him careering into the wall. My framed sketches rattle behind him, but he bounces back, taking a swing at Trace. He ducks, missing the blow, grabbing Derek by the wrist, Trace pins him against the wall.
“So, wait, why did you come to Bluebell? I know you saw his post but why?” I ask, not understanding why this man resurfaced after what sounds like years of no contact.
“Wanted to rekindle my relationship with my twin,” Derek balks, his face smashed to the wall. I love watching Trace’s bicep flex as he pins his brother, keeping him suspended for me.
“They’re divorcing. That’s what he said earlier. They’re legally separated.” He chuckles as something clicks in place. “She realize it was you with my assistant, and not me?” Trace looks to the back of his brother’s head. “Not that it matters, but I officially lost my TV contract because of that one, Derek.”
“Look, I didn’t mean for that to happen. I just wanted to visit my brother onset and that assistant of yours—shit, she came for me, she really came for me.” He snorts, attempting to victimize himself. “No man would say no to what she offered. It was her unfortunate fault that she thought I was you.” Derek grunts before Trace releases him. Derek stutters and steps back toward Deuce, dragging his wrist under his nose, where he’s bleeding.
“Your entire life is pretending to be me,” Trace says. “If that isn’t fucking pathetic enough, you have to try to ruin the life you’re emulating.” He shakes his head, stroking his hands through his hair as he exhales. He turns to face me, and I open my arms, begging for him.
A small sigh leaves him as we embrace, Trace collecting me in his arms, lifting me into his lap as he sits on my bed. I bury my face in his neck.
“I’m sorry I doubted you,” I breathe, because I did. I doubted him long before Derek resurfaced. But the shit I’d seen in the tabloids about his affair with his assistant, it wasn’t even him. It was Derek.
He laughs. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Firecracker. I lied to you at Goode’s because I didn’t want to face what happened. I’ve been denying him and their marriage and that part of my life for years. But that was stupid. I was stupid. I should have told you.”
“You would have, eventually,” I say, lifting my face from the crook of his neck to smooth my hands down his cheeks, pressing my lips to his. Our kiss is hungry and feral, and at some point, Deuce takes Derek out and the door closes.
“I would have, yes. I mean, I was going to. But if I would have told you that day,” he lifts my hand between us, gently smoothing his thumb over the white gauze. “You wouldn’t have hurt your tattooing hand.” He kisses the bandage, and brings my hand to his heart, holding it there. “I’m sorry my lie hurt us, Ivy. And I’m so sorry for what you must’ve thought tonight. Because I know that pain, and I’m so fucking sorry you went through it.”
The ugly sobs hit hard. “You didn’t cheat on me,” I cry, tears of happiness commingling with tears of relief, my arms around him again.
“I couldn’t, Ivy. I wouldn’t.” He peels me off of him, and takes my chin in his hand. “I love you, Firecracker.”
My face tingles, and my stomach free falls, my ribs tight, a knot in my throat. “Say it again,” I breathe.
“I love you,” he repeats easily.
I smile. “I love you too.”
“I had something special planned tonight.” He skirts his lips against mine. “I wanted to tattoo you, since you tattooed me. A double rite of passage.”
With my hands on his shoulders, I steal another kiss from his lips. “Yes,” I breathe, “I want that.”
He chuckles, smoothing his hands up my back, heat blooming between my legs at our closeness. “You didn’t ask what I want to ink on you.”
“I don’t care,” I say truthfully. “I just want your work on me.”
He scoops me up. “Hospital for a check on that hand, Ink Time, then my place,” he lists.
“My hand is fine. Dash sewed me up.”
“Oh yeah, a crooked cop is someone I trust with your tattooin’ hand,” he scoffs, pushing out the bedroom door. A moment later he’s lowering me to a barstool in my kitchen. Juniper, Dash and Sterling are standing around a pot of brewing coffee, despite the fact it’s nearly nine o’ clock at night.
They seem to be soothing her, but when we lock eyes, she smiles, rushing forward. “I heard, Deuce explained,” she says, pulling my head into her chest. “I would have done the same thing and I’m just glad it wasn’t true.”
Sterling hands me a cup of coffee, but Trace snatches it, moving through my kitchen to find my protein powder. He grabs milk from the fridge and mixes the two, pouring it over the steaming cup of caffeine. “There,” he says, passing it back to me with a wink.
“Your brother is waiting in my truck,” Sterling tells Trace as Juniper toasts me a fresh slice of bread, bringing me a canteen of fresh water and some pain reliever pills. I love my sisters.
“What do you want us to do with him?” Sterling asks.
Dash pinches the bridge of his nose. “Please say take him to the airport or something.”
Juniper’s gaze flicks between the two men. “Let Trace answer.”
Trace shrugs. “I don’t care. I don’t care what happens to him.”
Dash’s shoulders slope as he releases a long sigh, and Sterling shifts on his feet, a worried look sliding to my older sister. “We can take him to his car and let him go,” he offers, and it’s now that I realize they’re bartering with Juni. That she clearly wants another fate for Derek.
She turns to me, smiling. “Don’t worry about any of this. We’re just trying to figure out a permanent solution to this problem.”
I blink, unsure of what that means, but before I can overthink it, Trace is gathering my stuff in a bag and collecting me from the barstool. “C’mon, Firecracker, I want that hand looked at.”
He turns to Juniper. “Can I borrow your van?”
She looks to Sterling then back to Trace. “That should be fine, if we need to—sure, yeah, that’s fine.”
Juniper passes her keys to Trace, kisses my forehead and gives me a final, tight hug.
With the windows down and Trace’s hand securely on my inner thigh, I rest my head on his shoulder, soaking up the middle seat as he drives us into town to the hospital.
After forty minutes and some antiseptic, they turn us loose, and we head to Ink Time, parking next to his destroyed sports car.
I stop next to it, taking in the mess and destruction I created. Trace is opening the front door when he realizes I’m a few paces behind.
“I’m sorry I did this,” I whisper, staring at the crimson smear across the white hood.
He waffles his fingers through mine. “I’m not. Because as soon as I realized what happened, I looked at my car again and it hit me.”
“What did?”
He turns, pulling me into him, dropping his forehead to mine. “That you love me.”
“And I’m jealous,” I add playfully.
“That makes two of us.”
He seals his mouth to mine, kissing me like he has something to prove, but he doesn’t. Tonight was chaos, but I’ve never wanted him more, I’ve never been so sure of him than I am now.
“Now,” he says, “let’s go get you tattooed.”
Lying across his chair, the aftermath of a large party all around us in the form of crumpled napkins and partially drunk water bottles, Trace slides into his chair and snaps on his gloves.
“You ready?” he asks.
I nod. “I’m ready.”
He prepped the station on his own tonight, to keep me in the element of surprise, and when the machine starts, I find myself eager to know what he’s up to. But I don’t glance down. I keep my eyes on him.
He’s so beautiful to watch while he works.
The way his brows pull together as he outlines, how he’s able to chat casually while slipping the needle from the pen, switching them out. How every few minutes he pauses, leaning in to dust his lips against mine, reminding me without words that he loves me.
He chose my hip bone, right where I tattooed him weeks back.
“You really don’t think Derek can change? Or, you don’t care if he does?” I ask as he shades the mystery design, a needy heat moving through my groin. I love being tattooed, I love the slow burn of it, and I love being here with him.
He shakes his head. “You don’t sleep with, then marry, your brother’s girl. But in a way, I’m glad he did. I see now that it was the clearest most obvious way for him to tell me that I don’t matter, my wellness does not matter, and that there is no respect between us.” He shrugs, adjusting the pen before the needling starts up again. “What they did to me sent me in a tailspin, I won’t deny it. But I wouldn’t be here, with you, if it wasn’t for him and what he did.”
“You were fated to be with me, not her,” I whisper, believing it despite the fact that, with a crumpled bloody car outside, it sounds a bit crazy. But maybe I am. And if I am, I don’t care, because he loves me anyway.
“It’s true. And so, no, I don’t care if he changes.” His eyes meet and hold mine. “He’s dead to me.”
The pen shuts off and Trace puts it on the tray, grabbing a paper towel to wipe the design.
“Here,” he says, extending his hand to help me off the chair. Walking me to the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I lift my t-shirt up, and keep my leggings shoved down to my pubic bone as I step closer, narrowing my eyes at the reflection of my new tattoo.
Bringing my bandaged hand to my mouth, I gasp, shaking my head as tears of happiness spring to my eyes. “Oh my god, it’s so good,” I laugh, tipping my head to the side to get a better look of the crumpled and bloody little sports car on my hip bone.
“I’m sorry you hurt your hand, but it was fucking hot to know that you had that much passion for me.” He spins me around and takes my face in his hands, not a move I’d ever have thought Trace would do months ago. “When I’m being an asshole, or, I don’t know, if I relapse on booze, or if I don’t say the right thing, I want you to look at that tattoo and remember how much you love me, and how far you’ll go for me. I need you, Ivy. I need you to love me that way forever,” he breathes, a rattle in his chest as emotion springs to his throat.
I nod. “I love it. And I promise to always be passionate where you’re concerned.” He crashes his mouth to mine, his tongue greedy against mine, eating me up as our moans tangle. “You’ll never doubt how much I care, Trace, I promise you.”
I open my mouth but he stops me. “And you will never doubt my loyalty to you, Ivy. I promise. Even if it means being jealous and overprotective and a prick to every man in Bluebell if they look at you a second too long, you will never doubt my love.”
“Jesus,” I breathe, making light of the beautiful promises he just laid out. “I was already gonna fuck you because of the tattoo, you didn’t need a Hallmark speech.”
He growls and I giggle, rocking to my toes to sink my lips against his. “Thank you,” I whisper, “every girl needs a Hallmark speech once in her life. Even baddies.”
“I have another surprise,” Trace says, the rasp of his words making my arms and legs feel heavy. “It’s at my house.”
“Take me,” I whisper, “take me, surprise me and fuck me.”
Trace’s little place looks different than I remember, and like he’s a mind reader, as soon as we’re inside with the door locked behind us, he says, “That’s the longest you’ll ever go without being here.”
I nod. “Last week was… weird.”
“Yeah?” he says sarcastically. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
I slap his bicep as he laughs, retrieving a brown box from the floor near the dining table. “I don’t like the idea of you bringing a bag with you when you come over, so I bought toys for us to have here,” he says, dunking his large arm into the open shipping box. He pulls out a strap-on, dropping it onto the couch where I sit down. Next he retrieves a dildo, holding it out. I take it from him, completely turned on that he bought all of these things for us.
“Last item,” he says with a wink that makes my pussy weep. From the box he produces a purple gag ball with two black straps and a buckle. “For when you get tired of my mouth.” He grins.
My stomach flutters.
“There’s one other thing, but it’s in my room.” He drops the box and extends his hand to me.
I fold my arms over my chest, teasing him. “Let me guess, the surprise is in your pants.”
He tips his head back, his Adam’s apple sliding as he roars with laughter beneath his stubbed, inked skin. “Good one, and the answer is yes, I do have a surprise for you there but there’s also an actual surprise,” he says, wiggling his fingers. I place my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet and we walk down the hall together, my heart pounding.
I thought I’d never be back here, and now I feel more at home than ever.
He flicks on the light and drags me to his closet, where he shows one side completely empty. “You have half of the dresser, too,” he says proudly. I let go of his hand and stand in the clear space, next to where his black t-shirts and long-sleeved flannels hang.
“You made space for me to keep things here,” I stammer, completely overwhelmed by the permanency of the gesture.
He nods. “Now, please, get naked and let me fuck you because that hand,” he says, nodding to my bandaged palm, “is making me hard.”
Laughing, Trace steps in and starts undressing me, only making me laugh harder. I’m going a little hysterical, I think, but I choose to embrace it as I nudge off my slippers, stepping out of my leggings and panties.
“My hurt hand makes you hard?” I ask, still a bit breathless from everything.
He nods as he tears his clothes off, leaving us both completely nude in the dimly lit closet. “Knowing how big you feel,” he says, smoothing his octopus-covered hand through his long hair. I reach out and wrap my hand around his erection, making him groan. “That’s how it makes me feel.”
Then I’m over his shoulder, his hand smacking my bare ass as he takes me to the bed. He tosses me onto the center and stalks over me, nudging my legs apart with his knee. Skating his lips down my neck, he carves kisses along my collarbone, discovering the space between my breasts. “You’re a bad girl, Ivy, but you’re my bad girl, aren’t you?”
I nod, sifting my fingers through his hair then down the carved planes of his shoulders, my eyes fighting to stay open. “Yes,” I breathe, “please fuck me, Trace,” I plead. My legs tremble around him, warmth leaking from my pussy as my clit throbs, begging for touch.
He kisses his way down my belly, taking care to not touch my new tattoo. When his mouth finds my clit, my back arches and I smack my palms against the mattress, howling out for him.
“Oh god, Trace,” I moan, “yes, yes!”
He nibbles my clit as he drives two fingers inside me, my body hungrily accepting him, coating him in arousal. In and out he plunges his fingers, curling them when he’s deep, his tongue painting my clit with affection in slow, delicate licks.
“I need you inside me, please,” I beg, my legs shaking, my core the same.
He crawls over me, kissing me with his lips flavored like me, and I moan in response, loving that I’m all he tastes right now.
Bearing his weight on one elbow, he reaches between us, notching his cock. Our eyes meet. “My girl,” he breathes before he thrusts his hips, sending his cock to the hilt in one push. I gasp, clenching around the most perfect intrusion, willing my body to normalize to his size.
“You’re crazy for me,” he moans, the smooth roll of his body into mine making my toes curl. “You’re wild for me, aren’t you, Firecracker?”
Beneath him, I nod, studying the intensity in his eyes, taking note of the softness in his words. This sex we’re having is different. We were both cheated on but Trace was hurt in ways I can’t imagine. In and out, he fucks me as he stares into my eyes, his hand still between us, now stroking my clit.
My legs fall farther apart, my body wanting more of him as I claw at his back and writhe in the sheets. “Yes,” I moan, the word stretched with desire as I hook my ankles around him, using my heels to drive him deeper.
“Yes, what?” he says, the flex of his shoulder between us as he fingers my clit setting off sparks of desire in my brain, making dirty talk even harder to focus on.
“Y-yes, I’m crazy for you, Trace,” I whisper, trying hard not to lose control as he slams into me again, this time stealing away his hand. Caging me against the mattress, his hands tangle in my hair as he finds my mouth with his.
His kiss is soft, our mouths dancing together in tandem, his tongue discovering my mouth, then mine his. Inside me, he throbs, holding himself still. Each twist of my tongue along his has his cock pulsing inside me, the warmth of his balls on my ass driving me wild.
“And you—” I breathe, ready to spiral out of control but waiting as long as I can, so I can spiral with him.
“I’m fucking crazy for you too, baby,” he says, sealing the promise with a kiss, flooding my mouth with moans. “I’d do anything for you, Ivy,” he says, his tone rocky, his eyes set on mine. Holding my head to the pillow with his large hands, he slows his pace, fucking me in a teasing, destructive speed that has me completely unraveled in just a few minutes.
“I wanna come deep inside you, and pretend, okay? You wanna pretend with me?”
I nod, knowing I’ll go to whatever fantasy he’s at, just to be with him.
Another thrust and my legs grow weak, falling from his back to the mattress. My thighs tremble and between my legs, a deep ache throbs.
“Pretend you aren’t on any pill,” he whispers, riding me slowly now, so slow that the bed no longer squeaks and the headboard doesn’t hit the wall. “Pretend when I make you come, and I come, too, that your hungry little pussy is taking in every drop I have to give, turning you into a mama, my little mama with my baby in her belly.”
My eyes flutter closed at the insinuation. Trace fantasizing about our future is absolutely the hottest thing ever, because I want that too. I want a baby with Trace—no, I want a full life with Trace.
Pictures with Santa and staying up late to write the tooth fairy a letter, sporting events on Saturday mornings and birthday parties with too much pizza. Tears over homework and excitement over first dates. I want to be a parent with him, to experience all the little beautiful moments I had as a child with the man I love, helping our child.
But we’re not ready. And as romantic as making a baby together is, I can appreciate that it’s better for everyone if we’re ready.
Still, it’s just a fantasy, so I lose myself in it with my man.
“Yes,” I breathe, “please, leave me full, breed my pussy,” I mewl. “I need your cum!”
He drops his mouth to my breast, sucking a puckered nipple inside. “That feels so good,” I breathe, completely lost in the dream of my belly being round, an adorable blonde toddler asleep in the next room over. It’s hot, and god does it get me going. I wonder if he’s fantasizing about something similar, because his mouth slides to my other breast, sucking me in, as his hips rove faster.
“My hot, wild, perfect little Firecracker,” he groans, making his way back to my mouth. He reaches for my hand, and brings it between us, eyeing the bandages as his cock swells inside me, making me burn.
“Trace, I’m gonna come,” I warn, the sight of him kissing my bandaged palm sending me into a heated, orgasmic tailspin. “I’m—I’m gonna come,” I grit out, bearing down on his dick as my orgasm crashes into me, hard and fast.
“Come on my cock,” he commands before crushing his lips to mine. Our tongues twist as I come, clenching around him in violent waves, my tailbone vibrating.
He groans each time I clench, milking him for more length, more movement, for cum, for all of it. And a moment later, he’s cursing in my ear, telling me he’s coming, too.
There’s an eruption of heat between my legs, deep inside my pussy. “Ivy,” he groans, opening his eyes to find mine. He pulses, a wave of heat spreading through me, and I clench, hungry for that heat, aching to devour his cum. Trace’s face goes slack, the creases falling away as he collapses on top of me, moaning.
A moment later, he pulls out and jumps to his feet, collecting a damp and a dry towel from the bathroom. Swiping through my folds, he begins cleaning me, all while staying naked.
“Wow,” I say, chasing my breath. “I think you just made loooove to me.” His eyes lift to mine and he shakes his head, chuckling.
“Well, shit, Firecracker, don’t call me out like that.”
I sit up as he wipes at my sensitive pussy, swollen and aching from his use. “If you’re gonna make me admit how crazy I am for you, then I’m gonna make you admit you made love to me.”
He tosses the towel onto the floor and grabs my face by the chin, his trademark style. “I made love to you because I love you, now I’m gonna feed you.”
Bringing our faces together, he kisses me then helps me out of bed, redressing me in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants. “You’re either naked or you’re in my clothes after we fuck, we clear?”
I move past him into the hallway, scooping my hair up to get it off my neck and back.
“Let me,” he says, rolling an elastic from his wrist, tying my hair up in a knot as I tease him.
“I have cute pajamas, you know. And now that I have space here, I can bring them, so I can technically wear my own clothes to bed, Trace…” I say, and even though it’s true, and I do have adorable pajamas with skulls and roses all over them, I love pissing him off. He finishes off a perfect bun, and squeezes my shoulders.
“My clothes or no clothes,” he growls, stomping after me toward the kitchen.
I yawn as I hop onto the counter, peering around the space that has way more stuff in it. A chopping block with knives, a cutting board propped on its side, a case of canned sparkling water on the floor, and an empty vase. “Fine,” I say, “I guess I agree.”
He winks, filling the vase full of water.
“You have way more stuff than last time I was here,” I comment, watching him pull dyed black roses from kraft paper on his table. “Those are beautiful, Trace.”
He slides the vase toward me. “Arrange them. They’re yours. I was going to take them to Ink Time for the party but I thought you’d want something to look at when you wake up here tomorrow.”
Running my thumb along the silken petal, I sigh at their beauty, and the fact that he ordered these especially for me. “Thank you for the party, by the way. Despite how it ended, it was so thoughtful of you and I want you to know, I really appreciate it,” I tell him as he pulls a frying pan from the cabinet.
“Grilled cheese?” he asks, and I nod. Gathering the ingredients, he says, “You’re welcome. I liked doing it. And ordering all the things I needed made me realize that I could easily fill my house and make it a much more enjoyable place for us to live.” He nods to the frying pan. “Like being able to make grilled cheese after hot sex.”
Grilled cheese after hot sex in the arms of the man I’ve adored for ages? He was right. Tattoos and fairy tales—life is perfect.