“Is that so?” He tucks strands of my hair behind my ear. As he does, his knuckle grazes my flesh. My happiness fades, replaced with this deep desire to lean into his touch and beg him to take away the ache between my legs.
“Yes.”
“Should I teach you a lesson for speaking with too much happiness about a guy other than me, Sorrow?”
“I was talking about his family.” But I can’t deny the thrill that goes through me, wondering what he’ll do so I’ll never forget his lesson. “What will you do?” I ask, out of breath.
“Shower, get in your PJs, no bra or underwear, and wait for me under the covers.”
My heartbeat is loud in my ears. My body trembles from head to toe. I’m dizzy hearing his request that I not wear a bra or underwear. Unseating myself from between his legs, I stumble to my feet. Distancing myself from his body heat leaves an empty void inside me. I hate it. Hate that I like the heat from Trace’s body. Hate that I am having the feels for him.
I have to compartmentalize the physical from the emotions.
Whatever Trace has in mind for this lesson of his, I’ll do what he does, what he suggested I do. I’ll lock down my feelings as soon as he starts with the physical. He plans on doing the same, doesn’t he? Or will he catch feelings on purpose so he can break his promise and have to kiss Phoebe in front of me?
It would be a jerk move.
Is Trace Saints, who donated turkeys to the food bank and who paid for a skating rink for others to enjoy because his parents aren’t here to celebrate Christmas with him, capable of being that manipulative?
I heave a sigh.
If he is, it’ll be the biggest lesson of my life. Never trust a smooth-talking, funny, and handsome boy with a sexy smirk and a big, selfless heart ever again.
15
Trace
The bedroom is dark. My little mouse is under the covers. The covers are pulled to her chin. I chuckle. She is fucking adorable with her eyes wide and her gaze homed in on my package beneath my gray sweatpants hanging low on my hips.
With a different girl, I’d grab my crotch and stroke my randy beast through my pants. With Sorrow, I approach the bed with slow steps after closing the door behind me with a resounding click.
We’re alone in the house.
The message is made more evident with the click.
We’re alone in her bedroom.
“Trace?”
“Are you scared, little bird?”
“I’m a bird now and not a mouse?”
“You grew wings, Sorrow.”
Her eyes widen, and her face softens. She likes my words.
“Come here.” She lowers the covers and pats the spot alongside her.
I give her the truth that I know will scare the fuck out of her.
“My darkness wants to come out and play, beautiful. Will you let it?”
Her body trembles. She sits, taking the covers with her. Sorrow clutches them to her chin.
“Is this how you’ll teach me to never speak with happiness about another guy, by scaring me?”
“Are you scared or turned on, baby?”
