Page 73 of Yours Truly

After the night at his place where he gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever had, we went out and got burgers, eating them in his sports car. We talked, covering films and albums, discussing favorite and least favorite meals, and we even went into boots—thick sole, thin sole, leather, patent—anything a boot could be, we talked about our preferences for it.

At his house, we shared a slow, sizzling kiss. He held my face with one hand and wove our fingers together with the other. It was intimate and romantic, and not at all expected from Trace.

When I got home, I had a text message waiting, asking me if I’d arrived safely. After responding yes, he sent me one more message. One that I have reread more times than I can count.

There’s so much I want to talk to you about, Ivy. But tonight changed me. I want to move forward, but I have to move slowly.

In that message, I read everything I’d hoped and suspected.

He wants me but he’s clawing his way from a boozy and pussy-filled depression, and he’s scared that if we move too fast, he may slip back into old ways.

I get that.

We’ve worked together at Ink Time the last couple days, grabbing lunch with Connor and Deuce at Goode’s one of them, and on another of them, we ate together on the curb out front, splitting a hoagie the size of my forearm.

We text at night. Casual but sweet.

But today, after admitting to my sisters earlier that I want everything, I can’t stop focusing on everything.

I’ve looked his way approximately six trillion times during his afternoon session, and now, as the client is paying and giving out compliments, I feel like I’m going to explode.

“What are you up to tonight?” Deuce asks Trace after the client walks out.

“Painting,” Trace answers, “your house, asshole.”

Deuce grins. “I’ll be sure to check the molding and baseboards, make sure you don’t make any mistakes.”

Trace rolls his eyes as I approach. I spent the day watching him, taking notes on his technique, filling ink caps, sanitizing his space and generally just being his apprentice.

I don’t know how much Deuce knows, but no sooner have I walked up than he’s saying he’s on his way out. Something about Ev and Ace, but I’m not listening.

My eardrums are pounding. My heart is threatening to break my ribs. My panties are drenched.

I know we’re moving slow, we’re building and we’re not defining things.

And I’m fine with that. Really. Whatever gets us to our finish line, I can roll with it.

But I need to fuck him. He’s riled me up by just existing as a sexy, talented man, and it’s time he eases the ache he put inside me.

“Would you like me to come help you paint tonight?” I ask, tucking my hair behind my ear.

A growl rumbles through his chest. He’s wearing a faded crop black t-shirt with a torn chest pocket, black jeans and brown boots. His hair is down, sitting on his shoulders, and his jaw today is clean shaven. I love how his belly shows, just a little. He smells like pine and heaven, and I want to push him down onto the floor, crawl over him and eat him alive.

“I do indeed,” he crows, hunger rippling in his voice.

My mind spins. I’m going to his house again… and while I want to fuck his brains out, I also want to play… and make him work for it.

I deserve a reward for edging myself so damn much.

“I have to run home first but I’ll come over right after.”

His eyes drop to my mouth, and I love how his tongue sweeps his bottom lip as he studies me. “Perfect,” he finally says. Then, stepping nearer to me, so close that his breath flanks my nose, he adds, “I’ve missed you, Firecracker.”

I snort nervously. “We’ve been together all week.”

He arches a brow. “You know exactly what I mean.”

My palms grow clammy. “I’ve missed you too,” I admit, shedding the coy act instantly. I reach out and cup his cock, surprised to find it partially stiff. “See you two soon.”

---