The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(159)

I kiss her forehead, run my fingers through her hair, and close my eyes, hoping that morning will never come and we can just stay here like this forever.





Chapter 13

Taryn



Trace shifts and I slowly stir awake. Just as I’m about to ease out of bed to make sure I don’t have raccoon eyes or rancid breath, my head jerks back and knocks into his strong bicep. My hair is caught under his arm and I need to release it without waking him so I can escape to the bathroom.

Slowly and painfully, I pull the ensnared strands out without disturbing his peaceful sleep. There’s a small smirk across those impeccable lips, and if it weren’t for my fear of him waking up and wondering ‘who the hell is this mess of a girl next to me,’ my lips would already be on his right now.

Easing myself up, I take a minute to relish the fact that he’s in my bed and soak up what I see. A sheet—my sheet—covers up his nakedness, while one leg has snuck out from the tangled sheets during the night. One muscular arm rests behind his pillow, the other remains by his side where he had been holding me close. A ripped and toned stomach that I had imagined running my fingers across is now exposed for the taking. I carefully climb out of bed, knowing that the sooner I fix myself up, the sooner I’ll be back in bed with him.

A quick glance in the dresser mirror when I stop for a pair of clean underwear affirms my decision to sneak out of bed. Once I’m in my bathroom, I quickly brush through the tangles caused by an unbelievable night of rolling-in-the-sheets sex. Then I grab a washcloth to clear away the smeared makeup that should have been cleaned off last night. Any amount of blemishes the artists may have to cover up this week will be worth having Trace’s arms wrapped around me. Pulling the mouthwash out of the cabinet, I pour the minty liquid and swish it around my mouth. A good brushing would feel better, but the chance I might wake him with my loud electric toothbrush is too risky.

I’m just about to spit it out when the door inches opens and Trace appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Damn, the man looks good standing there in his gray boxers. With all the urgency of last night, I wasn’t able to truly savor the sight of him before.

“Are you hiding?” he asks, walking straight toward me. The mouthwash starts to sting in my mouth, but I’m not about to do something as unattractive as spitting in front of him. He leans into the counter, caging me in, and my breath hitches and heartbeat accelerates with his close presence. Reaching over, he takes the mouthwash bottle from the counter and slowly unscrews the cap before pouring some into his mouth, never once breaking eye contact with me.

Not being able to hold the burning liquid in any longer, I casually and as nonchalantly as possible turn around and let it trickle out of my mouth. Trace follows my lead a minute later, spitting it out over my shoulder. The simplicity of doing something so normal in a shared space has a uniquely intimate feeling. When I turn around, Trace’s lips land on mine and his tongue invades my mouth, making me seriously grateful for minty mouthwash. After kissing for an indeterminable length of time, Trace finally pushes back. “I missed those sweet lips,” he says.

“It’s only been…what, two hours since we finally went to sleep?” I joke, turning around to face the sink again. He quickly turns me back around with a firm hand on my waist.

“I miss them the second they leave mine,” he tells me with his characteristic wink. I’m not sure why it happens at this very moment, but a sudden worry washes over me. I assume it’s the fact that we’re parting today to continue our tours. What will happen? What are we?

“Hey…” He takes my chin in his hand, so that I can’t look anywhere but at his baby blues. “Where did you go?”

As we stand there in our underwear in my bathroom, I can’t help but feel like a silly high school girl who wants to know if her crush wants more than just a one-night screw. This insecurity isn’t something I’m used to feeling, and I hate the thought of what it might mean—that I might be screwed. While the questions overwhelm my brain, Trace waits patiently for me with curious eyes.

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” Of course I take the easy way out. Instead of asking what exactly it is that he wants from this, I remain quiet like some damn groupie who doesn’t expect anything.

“Peaches,” he sighs, enfolding me in his arms. My eyes search his for some sign of what he might say. The last thing I want is for him to throw some bullshit my way—I want him to be straight with me. Without being able to escape his intense stare any longer, I steel myself and ask, “What do you want, Trace?”

A small chuckle escapes his mouth. “Well, that’s a pretty broad question. First, a shower—with you, of course—then maybe some eggs, if you have any…and let’s see, a couple repeats of last night sound pretty good,” he teases while his hands give my ass a firm squeeze.

I jump slightly from his sudden grasp and Trace’s face immediately turns solemn. “Seriously though, Peaches. This isn’t some one-night thing for me. Is it for you?” His hands are now resting near my hips, where his gentle fingers graze my panty line.

“No,” I truthfully answer, and a dazzling smile lights up his entire face. With that, I start to feel at peace with my startling emotions for Trace. Maybe he won’t break my heart…maybe.

“So…no country boy, right?” Trace asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“I already told you, there’s nothing going on with Ryder,” I say, enunciating his name. “What about you? Any girls I need to know about?”

“There’s never been, baby,” he assures me. Before I can ask any more questions, his lips claim mine. He kisses me like he did all night, but there’s something different about it now. The determined urgency has a sense of dominance, as though he’s telling me I’m his now. And God, am I ever.

We don’t share any more words, allowing our mouths and hands to do the talking. He props me up on the counter and his large hands cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing across my peaked nipples, making me moan into his mouth. My hands roam down his tight abs to his waistband. Placing my finger under the elastic, I tease him by brushing it back and forth.

“Peaches, I need you to fucking touch me,” Trace says in my ear, causing a shiver to shoot up my spine. Placing both hands on the sides of his boxers, I pull them over his considerable length, bringing my foot up to help drag them the rest of the way down. “Shit,” he murmurs as my hand wraps around his cock. When I massage my thumb over the tip and spread the drop of pre-cum around, Trace’s head falls onto my shoulder and he bites it gently. “You’re killin’ me,” he groans, causing me to increase my speed, loving the effect my touch has on him.

The faster I move my hand, the harder his right hand squeezes my hip. With a sudden growl, he picks me up from the counter and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist with only my now very wet panties separating us. Continuing to devour me with his lips and tongue, he opens the glass shower door and reaches in, turning the water on. “Time to get you clean, Peaches.”

After he releases me, my feet find the tile floor and then Trace backs up a few steps. “I want to see you take it off,” he instructs. His azure eyes roam my body like a tiger intently observing his prey and he stares hungrily when I hook my fingers on each side of my panties, shimmying them down my legs. His eyes continue to follow the panties until I step out of them and then they travel directly to the area now exposed. “Fuck,” he says and I giggle as he takes me in his arms and under the warm cascading water.

My laughter dies abruptly when his index finger grazes my pebbled nipple before traveling down my stomach, my eyes closing in anticipation of its destination. Circling my clit and then exploring my folds, every nerve is now on high alert. Just when I’m about to reach down there myself, he thrusts two fingers inside of me and I react by pushing up on my tiptoes, giving him better access. He doesn’t hesitate to push them further into me while his thumb rubs my clit. As his tongue lavishes attention on my neck and his fingers work me like no one ever has before, I can’t control the animalistic sounds I’m emitting. All I know is that I want this exquisite torture to end—or maybe I don’t. I can’t even think straight anymore.

“Trace,” I moan, pulling him toward me, wanting to feel his skin against mine as he makes me come.

“Let go, baby, I got you,” Trace assures me. With those words, I allow myself to finally let myself go in his arms. Keeping his fingers inside of me, he stills them before gently releasing them from my warm wetness. He continues to massage my folds and clit until I come down completely. Although I can add this one to the list of out-of-this-world orgasms Trace has given me, I need him inside of me. I grab his cock, pulling it close to where I want it to be, but he pulls back a little.

“You’ve gotta be sore, are you sure?” He looks at me warily but I nod my head. “What about protection, Peaches?”

Although I’m glad he remembered, my head is clear enough to know what I want. “I’ve got it covered and I’m clean. You?”