Page 100 of Yours Truly

“I’m sorry you hurt your hand, but it was fucking hot to know that you had that much passion for me.” He spins me around and takes my face in his hands, not a move I’d ever have thought Trace would do months ago. “When I’m being an asshole, or, I don’t know, if I relapse on booze, or if I don’t say the right thing, I want you to look at that tattoo and remember how much you love me, and how far you’ll go for me. I need you, Ivy. I need you to love me that way forever,” he breathes, a rattle in his chest as emotion springs to his throat.

I nod. “I love it. And I promise to always be passionate where you’re concerned.” He crashes his mouth to mine, his tongue greedy against mine, eating me up as our moans tangle. “You’ll never doubt how much I care, Trace, I promise you.”

I open my mouth but he stops me. “And you will never doubt my loyalty to you, Ivy. I promise. Even if it means being jealous and overprotective and a prick to every man in Bluebell if they look at you a second too long, you will never doubt my love.”

“Jesus,” I breathe, making light of the beautiful promises he just laid out. “I was already gonna fuck you because of the tattoo, you didn’t need a Hallmark speech.”

He growls and I giggle, rocking to my toes to sink my lips against his. “Thank you,” I whisper, “every girl needs a Hallmark speech once in her life. Even baddies.”

“I have another surprise,” Trace says, the rasp of his words making my arms and legs feel heavy. “It’s at my house.”

“Take me,” I whisper, “take me, surprise me and fuck me.”

Trace’s little place looks different than I remember, and like he’s a mind reader, as soon as we’re inside with the door locked behind us, he says, “That’s the longest you’ll ever go without being here.”

I nod. “Last week was… weird.”

“Yeah?” he says sarcastically. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

I slap his bicep as he laughs, retrieving a brown box from the floor near the dining table. “I don’t like the idea of you bringing a bag with you when you come over, so I bought toys for us to have here,” he says, dunking his large arm into the open shipping box. He pulls out a strap-on, dropping it onto the couch where I sit down. Next he retrieves a dildo, holding it out. I take it from him, completely turned on that he bought all of these things for us.

“Last item,” he says with a wink that makes my pussy weep. From the box he produces a purple gag ball with two black straps and a buckle. “For when you get tired of my mouth.” He grins.

My stomach flutters.

“There’s one other thing, but it’s in my room.” He drops the box and extends his hand to me.

I fold my arms over my chest, teasing him. “Let me guess, the surprise is in your pants.”

He tips his head back, his Adam’s apple sliding as he roars with laughter beneath his stubbed, inked skin. “Good one, and the answer is yes, I do have a surprise for you there but there’s also an actual surprise,” he says, wiggling his fingers. I place my hand in his and he pulls me to my feet and we walk down the hall together, my heart pounding.

I thought I’d never be back here, and now I feel more at home than ever.

He flicks on the light and drags me to his closet, where he shows one side completely empty. “You have half of the dresser, too,” he says proudly. I let go of his hand and stand in the clear space, next to where his black t-shirts and long-sleeved flannels hang.

“You made space for me to keep things here,” I stammer, completely overwhelmed by the permanency of the gesture.

He nods. “Now, please, get naked and let me fuck you because that hand,” he says, nodding to my bandaged palm, “is making me hard.”

Laughing, Trace steps in and starts undressing me, only making me laugh harder. I’m going a little hysterical, I think, but I choose to embrace it as I nudge off my slippers, stepping out of my leggings and panties.

“My hurt hand makes you hard?” I ask, still a bit breathless from everything.

He nods as he tears his clothes off, leaving us both completely nude in the dimly lit closet. “Knowing how big you feel,” he says, smoothing his octopus-covered hand through his long hair. I reach out and wrap my hand around his erection, making him groan. “That’s how it makes me feel.”

Then I’m over his shoulder, his hand smacking my bare ass as he takes me to the bed. He tosses me onto the center and stalks over me, nudging my legs apart with his knee. Skating his lips down my neck, he carves kisses along my collarbone, discovering the space between my breasts. “You’re a bad girl, Ivy, but you’re my bad girl, aren’t you?”

I nod, sifting my fingers through his hair then down the carved planes of his shoulders, my eyes fighting to stay open. “Yes,” I breathe, “please fuck me, Trace,” I plead. My legs tremble around him, warmth leaking from my pussy as my clit throbs, begging for touch.

He kisses his way down my belly, taking care to not touch my new tattoo. When his mouth finds my clit, my back arches and I smack my palms against the mattress, howling out for him.

“Oh god, Trace,” I moan, “yes, yes!”

He nibbles my clit as he drives two fingers inside me, my body hungrily accepting him, coating him in arousal. In and out he plunges his fingers, curling them when he’s deep, his tongue painting my clit with affection in slow, delicate licks.

“I need you inside me, please,” I beg, my legs shaking, my core the same.

He crawls over me, kissing me with his lips flavored like me, and I moan in response, loving that I’m all he tastes right now.

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