Swallowing down my nervousness, my insides knotted with anticipation, I start to rise. He shakes his head. “Crawl on your hands and knees to me, sweet Sorrow.” His voice is low and husky.
My pulse jumps in my throat. I’m lightheaded from my racing heart.
Not thinking, only feeling, I crawl to Trace on my hands and knees and seat myself between his thick thighs.
“Good, that’s good, Sorrow.” He runs his palm over my hair.
His praise does something to the knots in my stomach. They unravel. I sit up straight. He likes that I gave in to his ask. To have my ass backed into his groin. To be trapped between his legs like a mouse in a hawk’s claws.
“Doing okay?” He leans in. His breath is warm on my ear. I tremble with excitement. What do I do? Do I hold still like a statue? Do I cross my arms and avoid touching him? Or do I rest my hands on his legs?
“Yes.” I clasp my hands in my lap.
He puts his mouth on the tip of my ear. His mouth is soft. His tongue darts out and caresses my flesh. His mouth on a part of me I never thought would elicit a visceral reaction from me . . . I slacken against his body, my body melting full on his.
Trace doesn’t falter from the weight of the tragedies I carry as this invisible pack stuffed with them. He holds me up with his inner and physical strength. Trace wraps me in his arms and does something I’ve dreamed of but never thought would come true—he sets his chin on top of my head and tightens his hold. So sweet, his gesture, as we both stare straight ahead at the gorgeous view.
Never would I have thought in a million years that I would have a moment like this.
My throat tightens and my eyes water. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive with his nearness and scent—sweet with a hint of his male musk.
I can’t decide whether to whimper with need, beg him never to let go, or turn into him and cry. Trace Saints is into casual hookups, and I’m a mess because it’s been so long since someone has held me. My father didn’t show physical affection. My last hug was from Leigh. But it’s different to be held by a guy.
Trace lets go long enough to wrap the blanket tight around us. I hold on to the edges while he holds on to me.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
His voice and demeanor return to normal. There isn’t a hint of the darkness from earlier, when he was the big bad wolf, with a black mane and yellow eyes, coming to hunt me down in the scary forest. That’s how I see Trace’s darkness.
“That pinky swear of yours, I’m in. What would you like to swear to?”
“That we won’t catch feelings for one another.”
“I thought we already went over that.”
“We did, but I want your promise.”
“We gotta up the ante.”
We do? “How?”
With his arms around my waist, he brings his face close to mine. “There have to be consequences for breaking the promise.”
“Like what?” I can’t think straight when we’re cheek to cheek. It wouldn’t take much to tilt my face to his and ask for a kiss.
“If one of us breaks the promise and catches feelings, that person has to kiss, in front of the other, the guy or girl of their choosing.”
That is high stakes.
“Who would you pick for me?” I’m curious. “The boy who came up to me?”
“Nah, I’d pick one of his buddies.”
“Why?” The reason comes to me once the word is out. “It’ll make him jealous and make things awkward between the two.”
“My little mouse is smart.” He moves his face away from mine and rubs his chin back and forth on top of my head. “Who would you pick for me?”
