Page 45 of The Fangirl and the Grump

“What kind of rules?” he asks.

“No anal,” I say with a perfectly straight face.

Trace gasps, his wide gaze moving from the road to me. My serious façade crumbles, then bright laughter pours out of me. Trace’s hand squeezes my thigh tightly, and I squeal and squirm as I try to dislodge his grip.

“Don’t,” I laugh. “That tickles.”

He eases his grip, but doesn’t move his hand. I settle down as my laughter fades, then ever-so-slightly spread my thighs. I hear Trace take a quick breath, then his pinky slowly brushes up my inner thigh, making me gasp with pleasure.

“Rule number one,” I say between heavy breaths. “This thing between us has an expiration date. When I leave Evening Shade, it’s over.”

Trace’s hand tightens on my flesh for an instant before his grip eases and his hand slips an inch higher. “Agreed.”

“Rule number two,” I say, spreading my legs a little wider in invitation. “If any feelings start to develop on either side, see rule number one.”

“Sounds good,” he grunts, his hand moving again, only stopping when his pinky brushes against the damp material of my underwear.

He swears under his breath, but keeps his eyes on the road.

“Rule number three,” I say, lifting my hips slightly to encourage more light touching. “Even though it’s casual, it must be monogamous. No seeing other people.”

I hold my breath as I wait for him to argue that one. But he only nods as his eyes remain on the road and his finger brushes against me through my underwear a little more firmly.

“And rule number four,” I groan as he increases the pressure right over my clit. “No falling in love with me, Trace Bardin.”

That last bit comes out as he pulls the truck into the inn’s lot and parks in front of the office. Pulling his hand away from my thigh, he turns off the truck, unbuckles his seatbelt, and twists to lean over the center console. His right hand tangles in my hair, pulling me closer for a ravaging kiss as his left hand pushes between my legs. I groan as he strokes me through my underwear, his touch firm and the motion steady and in tempo with the movements of his tongue against mine.

After several long moments, he breaks away, saying, “Deal.”

It takes me a moment to recall what he’s agreeing to, and before I can respond, he’s out of the truck and dashing around to my side to open my door for me. Helping me down, he closes the door behind me and takes my hand.

When we’re upstairs and behind the closed door of his apartment, I take a moment to look around. The place is small, but tidy. There’s a tiny living room and an even smaller kitchen in the main space. An open door reveals a bedroom filled to its limits with a king-sized bed, and another door leads to a small bathroom.

When I finish my perusal and look back at Trace, he’s staring at me with obvious hunger in his dark eyes.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, taking a slow step toward me.

I shake my head, and his lips curve up into a feline smile as he closes the distance between us. His hands grip my hips, taking only a moment to knead them with a moan before he lifts me up to his level in a single, rough motion.

I squeal because…when has any man ever picked me up? Never. That’s when.

But Trace lifts me like I weigh no more than a rag doll, and my legs automatically wrap around his waist as he spins and heads for the bedroom. His mouth presses against my throat, licking and nipping as we move, then my back hits a soft mattress. Trace stretches over me, his hips settling between my legs as his lips and tongue blaze a path across my collarbone and down the cleft between my breasts.

I can feel his hard cock pressing against me, and my hips buck as I rub myself against it. Trace grabs my hip with one hand and pushes down as he lifts his head to meet my gaze.

“If you keep doing that, I’m never going to last,” he says in a thick, gruff voice.

I nod as a thrill shoots through me at the admission. Knowing Trace, who’s older, wiser, and most likely more experienced, is having trouble controlling himself with me? That’s fantasy file gold, right there. I tuck that little nugget away to pull out later when I’m alone and refocus on the here and now.

And right here and now, Trace Bardin is pulling the neck of my dressandmy bra down to reveal a single breast. I close my eyes as his breath wafts over the tip, making it even harder than it already was. A second later, my spine is bowing, and I’m gasping for air as his hot mouth devours me, sucking that nipple hard and deep as his tongue rolls around the sensitive bud.

“Trace,” I moan, and he runs his tongue over every inch of my breast before lifting off me.

“You have on too many clothes,” he says when I look at him wide-eyed for an explanation.

I lift and shift my weight to help him as he tugs my dress up and over my head. All it takes is that few brief moments for me to get inside my own head, and I suddenly feel exposed and nervous.

How wide do my hips look in the underwear I chose while laying down? I made sure they looked good while standing in front of my mirror, but gravity works differently when a person is stretched out on their back.

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