Page 28 of The Foreman
His mouth crashed down on hers, fierce and possessive. His tongue swept into her mouth, staking a claim with every stroke. She met him with equal heat, their kiss an electric clash of hunger and defiance. He pressed her against the wall, the unrelenting hardness of his arousal grinding through denim, making her gasp into his mouth as her nails dug into his shoulders, needing something to anchor her to the moment before she flew apart.
When he finally pulled back, Macy sucked in a breath like she'd surfaced from deep underwater, chest rising sharply as the shock of separation hit her harder than expected. Her lips tingled, swollen from his kiss, and her thighs clenched involuntarily at the lingering heat he left behind. The wall was still at her back, but everything else felt like it had shifted.
"You do not provoke me without consequences."
"Then punish me," she taunted, not sure if she wanted him to or not.
He flipped her around so fast her head spun. Her hands hit the wall. His palm cracked across her ass, sharp and unapologetic. She moaned.
"Count," he growled.
"One," she whispered, voice shaking.
The second slap landed, heat blooming across her skin.
"Two."
Each one burned. Each one lit a fuse inside her she'd never known existed. She'd also never submitted to discipline during her time at the Iron Spur and now wondered what she'd missed. By the time he reached ten, she was dripping. Needy. Desperate. Her body vibrated with aching tension, and she could feel her own arousal slicking her thighs.
He stepped back, admiring the flush on her cheeks. His gaze was dark, hungry as he opened his fly.
"On your knees. Mouth on me. Now." Trace's voice was low, commanding, thick with restraint about to snap.
Macy dropped to her knees with practiced grace, her palms gliding up the powerful lines of his body as she looked up through her lashes and freed his cock. The hunger in his eyes punched the breath from her lungs. Her core pulsed, tight with need, as she leaned in. Her lips parted slowly, reverently, around the swollen, rigid heat of him, the weight of his arousal claiming the space between them. The salty tang on her tongue, the throb beneath her grip, the harsh sound of his breath above her—each one lit her up from the inside.
Her tongue swept the sensitive underside of his shaft, drawing a raw groan from his throat that vibrated through her bones. She dragged her lips slowly down his length, every motion calculated to torment. Hollowing her cheeks, she took him deeper, her throat stretching to accommodate the weight of him. Her hands locked onto his hips, fingers digging into hard muscle as he began to move in time with her, shallow thrusts that matched the rhythm she commanded with her mouth. Every inch of him pulsed with heat and need, each pass testing the edges of her control.
Trace growled low in his throat, threading his fingers through her hair with a grip that claimed rather than guided. The pressure of his hand anchored her, a silent demand wrapped in restraint. Every line of his body vibrated with control on the edge of collapse—thighs flexing, breath hitching, jaw tight against a guttural curse. She felt the ripple of muscle beneath her palms and the brutal shiver he couldn’t quite suppress when her tongue traced a slow, deliberate circle around the crown, teasing him with practiced precision and reckless intent.
He pulsed against her tongue, his restraint fraying. "Stop. Now."
She obeyed instantly, pulling back with swollen lips and heavy breath, her chin glistening with arousal and pride.
Trace stared down at her, chest heaving, jaw locked tight. "You have no idea what you just started. Get on your back on the bed. Now."
She moved without hesitation, the command in his voice bypassing thought and sparking a visceral reaction. Her pulse pounded as she stepped away from the wall, body still thrumming with the aftermath of his touch, nerves lit like live wires. Each movement carried the weight of what had just happened, and the promise of what was still to come.
He stripped as she climbed onto the mattress, her gaze devouring every inch he exposed. His shirt came off first, revealing the chest carved from discipline and scarred by battles she could only guess at—a living map of pain and survival. Each mark made her want to trace it with her tongue, to ask the story behind it, to claim every one as hers.
Then came the jeans, sliding down lean hips and powerful legs. She watched, transfixed, as they dropped to the floor, baring the full truth of him. Her breath caught hard in her throat, her thighs pressed together in reflex. God help her, he was magnificent. Thick, heavy, already hard for her. Not justperfect, but fierce, devastating, a weapon forged in combat and now wielded solely for her.
A shiver rolled through her, desire licking along her spine. Her nipples peaked, the air around them suddenly too sharp, too cold. Every nerve felt exposed.
She licked her lips, desire sparking hot and molten at the back of her tongue, her gaze raking over him like a match to gasoline. A pulse beat in her core, heavy and insistent, a raw hunger that had nothing to do with food.
Tonight wasn’t just about sex. It was war. And she was already surrendering.
He knelt between her thighs, his hands curling around her waist and sliding down inch by inch with maddening slowness. His lips followed the path, brushing a trail of heat from the sharp curve of her hip to the sensitive hollow where thigh met pelvis. He paused there, nuzzling gently before pressing a firm, open-mouthed kiss to the spot that made her gasp. Her breath caught, body arching slightly toward his mouth, the anticipation so sharp it bordered on pain.
Then his mouth descended with deliberate hunger, replacing the heat of his hands with something far more devastating. His tongue parted her folds with a slow, reverent sweep that sent a bolt of white-hot sensation up her spine. He licked her with a purpose that bordered on worship, alternating between gentle flicks and deep, possessive strokes that had her writhing, gasping his name into the sheets. The sound of his mouth working her, wet and obscene, filled the room, mingling with the raw, desperate cries she couldn't hold back. Her thighs clamped around his head as the pressure built fast, brutal, unstoppable. She exploded against him, a helpless shudder tearing through her as she convulsed, her vision going white. But he didn’t stop. He kept going, relentless, merciless, drinking down every twitch and sob like a man starved. And when her body shattered asecond time—harder, hotter, deeper—she screamed his name, not as a question but as a claim.
She shattered on his tongue. She sobbed his name, back bowed, hips rising. Trace didn’t stop. He licked her through the aftershocks until she twisted the sheets beneath her fists, her thighs trembling.
As the tremors of release subsided and her breath slowed, Macy became aware of the solid weight of Trace's body hovering over hers. His eyes were dark with unspent hunger, stormy and intense, locking on hers with a possessive heat that stole what was left of her breath. The blunt, thick head of his cock nudged against her slick entrance, a promise drawn taut with anticipation. She felt the tension in his body, the controlled restraint in his posture, and the raw, unspoken need that radiated off him in waves. Her thighs fell open in silent invitation, body already reaching for him, aching to be filled. He held still for a heartbeat longer, as if giving her the chance to change her mind—or to brace for the impact of what came next.
"Ready?"
"Trace... please."
