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.”
11
Sorrow
The next day, I try not to think about what I’d said to Trace, that I felt nothing but regret, when truth be told, that last kiss of ours was the best kiss.
The doorbell rings.
I jog to get to the door before Trace beats me to it. My efforts are in vain. He hasn’t moved from his spot on the couch, watching a college football game. He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder to remind me of his lesson from last night, that I shouldn’t let Rush get me alone in the dark.
I open the door.
Rush is waiting for me with a bouquet of white and pink roses in his hand. “Hi, Sorrow.”
“Rush.” I bite down on my bottom lip. He looks handsome in a buttoned-up royal-blue shirt paired with black slacks.
“You look great.” He sweeps his gaze over me.
I blush. My hand darts to my matching brown headband. I decided on a brown plaid square-neck belted maxi dress for dinner. The long sleeves will keep me warm. The belt cinches my waist, highlighting my curves. The hem hits well below my knees. It’s a conservative look for dinner with people I don’t know. Trace took me to the boutique in the town center, where I bought new clothes and shoes with his parents’ credit card.
“Here.” He shoves the flowers near my face.
“Thank you.” I take them from him. “I’ll be right back.”
I find where Jesse Saints keeps all her vases, and grab one. After filling the vase with water, I place the bouquet in it and set Rush’s gift on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker. Ignoring the steam coming from Trace’s ears when I quickly glance his way, I rush out of the house and close the front door behind me, shutting out the crackling of anger and jealousy that has hung in the air since I told Trace that Rush was on his way to pick me up.
