Page 113 of Chasing Shelter

I dropped the box and the phone to the bed and hit the speaker icon. “Done, Chief.”

“Need to imagine you. See you in my mind. Imagine what it would be like to peel every piece of clothing off you. Tell me.”

I glanced down at what I was currently wearing. “I’ve got on those starry sweats of mine. The neon blue ones with the embroidered metallic stars.” My lips twitched. “Not very sexy.”

“Want to know what I think about those sweats?”

I made a humming noise in the back of my throat. “I’m not sure, honestly.”

Trace chuckled, the sound skating over the line and across myskin. “All I could think about was pulling those bottoms down, gripping your hips, and sinking so deep inside you that I’d brand myself on your bones.”

My lips parted as I sucked in a sharp breath.

“The thing about those sweats is that you can see every curve when you move. How they cup your ass. Curve around your breasts. The only thing that might be better is that kilt-skirt thing you’ve got.”

A laugh spilled from my lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You’d better,” Trace ground out. “Where are you now?”

“Standing by my bed.”

“Take off your sweatshirt and tell me what’s beneath.”

I lifted the soft cotton over my head and let it drop to the floor, the brush of it against my skin feeling like infinite finger brushes. “My tank top and bralette.”

Trace made a sound in the back of his throat. “Lose the tank top, keep the bra. Tell me what color.”

“Green.”

“Like my girl’s eyes. Tell me, are those pretty little nipples poking through the lace?”

The buds pulled up tighter, straining against the fabric as if they had a direct line to Trace. “Yes.”

“You like to play,” Trace murmured.

I shifted then, my thighs pressing together, my core already aching for relief. “I think I do.”

I could hear the smile in Trace’s next words. “Kick off your shoes and get out of those sweats. But I want you to take them off slow. Feel your fingers ghosting over your skin. Know they’re getting what my fingers are dying for.”

My breaths came quicker as I toed off my fluffy boots that wouldn’t have stood up to any sort of snow. Then my fingers hooked in the waistband of my sweats and started to tug.

“What do those beautiful thighs feel like? Soft and strong?” Trace rasped over the line.

“Smooth,” I whispered. I’d done my shower routine when I gothome—shaving, exfoliating. But I often didn’t stop to think about how it felt tome. I’d so often done it for the benefit of someone else.

“Tease that skin. Glide your fingers over it. Soak in that feel for me.”

I did as Trace instructed, sweeping my thumbs over my thighs as I sent my sweatpants sailing to the floor. I kicked them to the side and straightened. “They’re, um gone.”

“Blaze, what did you have under those?”

I was quiet for a moment, my cheeks heating, even though he couldn’t see me.

“Ellie.” There was more command in Trace’s voice now, more authority.

“Nothing.” The word wasn’t a whisper, but it certainly wasn’t a roar.

“Killing me,” Trace said. “Walking around that yard, cooing to a goat, and not wearing any fucking underwear.”

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