Page 22 of The Foreman
When he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, Macy’s breath was ragged. Her pulse fluttered wildly, not from fear, but from the simple, staggering truth: she didn’t want distance. Not from him. Not now.
Trace cupped her face in both hands, holding her as though she might vanish. "Tell me to stop."
She shook her head, eyes dark with need. "I know the club's rules, and I still follow them. I'm clean and on birth control, so don’t even think about it. I want to feel you."
He lifted her, carrying her from the couch and setting her down, guiding her backward until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She stripped away her top and bra in one smooth movement, then hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her jeans and peeled them down, shedding every last barrier between her body and his.Macy sank onto the mattress, eyes locked on his as he unfastened his belt and let it fall.
Trace toed off his boots and shoved his jeans and briefs down to the floor. Kneeling between her legs, his mouth found the curve of her neck, then her collarbone, then lower. He didn’t rush. He didn’t grope. He worshiped. Lips and tongue moving with reverence and heat as he mapped the lines of her body like a man committing every detail to memory.
She gasped, hips arching as his palms claimed her breasts, heat flaring where his thumbs circled her nipples until they peaked and throbbed. Her hands tunneled into his hair, desperate and sure, tugging him closer as if she could fuse them together through touch alone. Every sweep of his hands sent another ripple through her, each teasing pass a promise of more.
"Trace," she breathed.
He leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh, slow and deliberate, his lips dragging heat across her skin. Her breath hitched, fingers curling in the sheet as anticipation and arousal fused together. He paused just long enough to make her whimper, then dipped his head and parted her folds with his tongue—soft and coaxing at first, then more insistent. Every stroke sent electricity through her, teasing her higher.When she came, it was with a broken cry that shattered the air, her body convulsing in waves as he held her through every pulse.
He didn’t stop. He anchored her hips with firm hands, locking her in place as his mouth worked her with ruthless precision. His tongue traced her folds in long, decadent strokes, then circled her clit with slow, deliberate flicks that built until her thighs trembled. He sucked gently, then harder, drawing cries from her throat she couldn’t have silenced if she tried. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, then fisted in his hair, trying to guide, to plead, to ground herself. But he was relentless, devouring her with a hunger that had nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with worship.
Her breath fractured, each inhale ragged and shallow. Her thoughts splintered, scattered like glass under pressure. She wasn’t just close—she was dangling on the edge, every flick of his tongue tightening the ever-increasing tension in her belly. His tongue kept moving, coaxing, demanding more. The second wave hit fast, sharper than the first, making her sob as her thighs clamped around his shoulders. Release slammed throughher again, fierce and consuming, her voice raw, her entire body shuddering as he pulled every last tremor from her with wicked precision. When he finally lifted his head, she was wrecked—sweaty, gasping, and more turned on than she thought possible.
He kissed his way up her trembling body, each press of his lips drawing another shiver from her skin. When he reached her mouth, she surged upward, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss that was fierce and possessive. Her mouth claimed his with a hunger born of adrenaline, desire, and something deeper she couldn’t name. It was a kiss that said, mine, and demanded more.
"I want you," she said, voice raw.
Trace groaned as he pressed into her, slow and deliberate, his body sinking deep until he filled her entirely. The stretch was exquisite, a claiming that made Macy arch beneath him, a gasp tearing from her lips. Her hands slid up his back, nails raking down in response to the delicious pressure and fullness. He began to move, each thrust unhurried but powerful, grinding against the ache already blooming inside her, his breath hot against her throat as he drove her higher.
The rhythm between them surged, friction and heat winding tighter with every thrust. Their bodies moved in raw, hungry harmony. His pace was deliberate, hers eager, the mattress groaning beneath their joined weight. With each powerful drive, sensation coiled in her belly, sharp and unstoppable. His low, primal groans near her ear made her nerve endings crackle, pleasure streaking through her in wicked pulses she couldn't suppress.
"You feel like home," she whispered.
He kissed her hard. "You feel like salvation."
Their coming together had been a collision of raw heat and aching vulnerability. Trace drove into her with a force that stole her breath, his face buried in the curve of her neck, breathhot against her skin. She arched to meet him, her legs locked tight around his waist, holding him there. It wasn't just for the pleasure, but for the connection that pulsed deeper than anything she’d expected. Her arms curled around his back, fingers digging in, not out of desperation but possession. She wasn’t just holding on—she was claiming him. And in that moment, wrapped around each other in body and in soul, nothing existed beyond the rhythm of their bodies and the unspoken truth that neither one could walk away.
No more distance. No more pretending.Only truth.Only them.
The alert panel on the wall blinked to life.
Trace lifted his head, eyes narrowing. "Shit. Stay here."
Macy sat up, heart still pounding from more than the orgasm. "What is it?"
He read the encrypted message. Then looked back at her, face grim.
"They've found us."
7
TRACE
Trace didn’t waste time. The moment the alert flashed across the panel, he moved.
Macy watched from the bed, her body still humming from everything they'd just done, but her instincts snapping back to alert as Trace crossed to the console.
"What does it say?" she asked.
"The safehouse just triggered a breach alert." He toggled the encrypted feed and scanned the readout. "Motion sensors lit up along the eastern perimeter. Surveillance lost visual two minutes ago. Last image shows three figures approaching in tactical gear. Two guards are down, one unaccounted for. Whoever's out there is surgical. Professional. And headed this way."
He didn’t say it, but she heard the implication loud and clear: They were next.
