Two is a Lie(55)

I crawl into his embrace and snuggle in with a breathy sigh. “Just…tired.”

“I’m cutting back your hours at Bissara.” He reaches toward the nightstand and shuts off the light.

“No, you’re not.” I yawn. “Tell me about your day.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.” He caresses my hair. “Close your eyes.”

“’kay.” I rest my head on the strong beat of his heart, and in the span of a few breaths, all my aches slip softly asleep in his arms.

And I sleep through most of the next day.

I wake sporadically to use the restroom, pick at the food Trace brings me, and ogle his carved physique in his workout shorts. I’m not ill or feverish or congested. Just achy and bone-tired. But as the sun arcs over the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, I grow restless with the need to get up and dress for work.

I throw back the covers and slide my feet to the floor.

“I already contacted the restaurant staff.” Trace’s deep voice rumbles from the doorway behind me. “You’re not going in.”

“Trace.” I groan and fall back on the bed. “I feel fine.”

His stubborn footsteps sound his approach, and he leans over me, placing a palm on my forehead. “You don’t have a fever. Are you nauseous? Any pain?”

“No. I’m just run-down.”

At some point, he changed from workout shorts to a suit, and now that crisp black jacket is sliding to the floor. He removes his shoes next, then his shirt and pants, and slips into bed with me, wearing only his boxers.

Leaning toward the side table, he taps something into the digital remote for the smart home system. A second later, the seductive electronic beats of Pillowtalk by Zayn tiptoe through the bedroom.

“If you feel fine…” He rolls on top of me and settles between my legs, his gaze dipping to my mouth. “You won’t mind if I have my way with you.”

My pulse hiccups, and a thrill tickles up my spine. With a hand on his nape, I touch the pad of my thumb to the seam of his parted lips, holding it there.

“I don’t know why my body refused to get up today.” I drift into his eyes. “But my soul didn’t want to leave your bed without a kiss.”

His cock jerks against my inner thigh, swelling and lengthening. His expression remains soft, his eyes unblinking and hooded as we lean closer, little by little, breaths mingling and fraying in mutual desire.

Our noses touch, and I slide my thumb to the corner of his mouth, caressing my fingers across his cheek. His hand meanders up my thigh and rests on my waist beneath the shirt as the other tangles in my hair.

When our mouths finally meet, we exhale as one and surrender to the powerful pull, reaching and holding and sinking into each other.

He encircles his arms tightly around me, and his tongue chases mine, catching and releasing. Then he angles deeper, licking and sucking with abandonment, as if trying to drive away my doubts and taste the desire I keep tucked beneath my awareness.

His weight grows heavier, his muscles tightening and pressing against me. I glory in the heave of his hunger and give beneath him. My skin heats and prickles, responding to the sliding friction of our bodies. My jaw slackens, submitting to the demands of his mouth. And my legs fall open, yielding to the savage drive of his need.

Every inch of him vibrates and coils with the urgency to thrust, to fuck, to chase his release. But he doesn’t remove his boxers, doesn’t shove a hand between my legs to test my wetness. Instead, he flips to his back, taking me with him.

Our mouths remain fastened as I straddle his hips and roam my hands along his sculpted biceps and shoulders. He palms my bare ass and kisses me with so much passion I feel the strength of his love beneath my bones, reminding me how much I have to lose.

I lean back, anchored by his sexy sleepy eyes, as the vocals in the background croon about fucking and fighting, paradise and war.

“We can skip the war and…” His lips crook into a rare smile.

“Make love?”

His erection pulses beneath me, hindered only by the thin material of his boxers and…my consent.

My thoughts flit to Cole sleeping alone in my bed, and a pang stabs my chest.

I want this—the frenzy, the burning heat, the passionate sex—with Trace, but I can’t bear the guilt that comes with it.

The song changes, and a soft feminine voice streams through the hidden speakers, singing the tremulous lyrics of I Hate U I Love U by Gnash. I sway to the gentle beat, loving that he chose my playlist.

“How do you feel?” He runs his palms up my thighs.

I’m too tired to dance for eight hours on a stage, but… “I feel like grooving, slow and easy, on your lap. I love this song.”