He wanted to hurt me, and the impact is written all over my face on the screen.
I’ve seen enough. My hands tremble as I close the laptop and set it aside.
He slides the skillet off the burner and steps between my legs. Torment contorts his expression, and his arms fold around me. With a hand gripping my nape, the other bites into my spine, holding me so tight I feel the remorse coiling his muscles.
“I love you.” His mouth presses against my shoulder. “I love you so much it terrifies me.”
“I’m scared, too.” I let myself hug him back, thawing in the exquisite warmth of his embrace. “One day at a time, okay?”
He exhales heavily. “Okay.”
We eat side by side on the couch in the front room, sipping our coffee and lost in our thoughts.
He finishes first and leans back, watching me. “You don’t have a TV in here or your bedroom. But there’s a nice one in the basement.”
“It was Cole’s.”
“But it works?”
“Yep.” I collect our plates and walk to the kitchen.
He trails behind me. “I don’t understand why it’s in the basement.”
I set the dishes in the sink and brace my hands on the counter. “I moved all of his things down there.”
“Except the Harley.”
“If I could roll it down the stairs, I would have.” I smile, and it feels like a grimace. “Seeing his stuff every day wasn’t helping my grieving process. I had a rough few months after he died. Kind of lost myself there for a while.”
Rather than offering condolences or useless words, he gives me exactly what I need. Framing my face in his huge hands, he rests his lips against my forehead. I slip my arms around his waist, and we stay like that until the doorbell rings.
He greets his driver at the door and collects his overnight bag. Then, with his hand in mine, he leads me to the bathroom. “Shower and a nap. Sound good?”
Sounds perfect. I only slept a couple of hours last night, and I doubt he slept at all in his sports car.
In the bathroom, he wedges into the tiny walkway between the sink and tub. Does he intend for us to shower together? My belly flutters at the thought, which is ridiculous after what we did together last night. But I haven’t seen him nude from the waist down.
He grips the back of his t-shirt and yanks it over his head. His hands fall to his pants, releasing the fly and shoving them off with his shoes and socks. Then he turns to me, wearing tight black briefs and nothing else.
All that flawless skin and sculpted muscle makes my mouth water and my insides throb. His beauty is the stuff of legends, and he exudes the kind of vibrating power one would find amid a Viking siege.
Every mythical god began with a story, based on a person and a series of events. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Norse divinities of war, beauty, and sexuality began in Trace’s family tree. He’s so damn gorgeous and tall and insanely intense I can’t stop myself from trembling.
And it’s my turn to remove my clothes. I’m not a shy person, not even a little, but stripping while he watches suddenly feels like I’m stepping off a plank.
“You’re nervous.” He touches a finger beneath my chin, lifting my face.
My nipples tighten, and I bite my lip.
All drama and heartache aside, I’m undeniably attracted to him. I went so long without sex, and now that I’ve been with him, it’s like all these dormant cravings have been jarred loose. We had angry sex—hateful, bitter, pound-me-into-the-floor sex, and it was mind-blowing. I can’t stop wondering what other kinds of sex would be like with him. Gentle, playful, kinky… Jesus, after the spanking and choking, I know he’s a kinky bastard.
I might not be able to forgive his heartlessness, but I can’t ignore this snarling, relentless hunger he’s unleashed in me.
“I’m just going to wash you.” He runs a hand through my hair, his voice soft and scratchy. “Okay?”
“Okay.” I slowly release a breath.
He slides the shower curtain back and stares at the tiny green tub with wide eyes.
“You had that exact expression when you drove my Midget,” I say.
“I imagine Cole experienced the same claustrophobic horror when he saw this green coffin.”
A swallow sticks in my throat. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Include him. Talk about him.”
“Yes, I do. He’s part of you, and I don’t want you to ever close off that part, or any part, of yourself from me. If you need to talk about him, I want to be the one you come to.”
He’s trying, and gratitude tingles through my limbs. But there are some things I won’t share, like how many times Cole followed me into that tub and fucked me against every square inch.
“But I require something from you,” Trace says. “If and when you forgive me, I need you to make room for me”—he taps my chest—“here. Understood?”
“Yes.” My heart pounds, devouring his words and the vulnerability in his eyes.
I reach for the hem of my camisole, but he brushes my hands away and lifts the top over my head. Then he slides off my boyshorts, his fingers caressing my skin with tenderness.
Any nervousness I felt about being nude is muted the instant he removes his boxer briefs. A different sensation grips my body as I take in the glorious shape of his. Appreciation, amazement, desire—all of it expands my chest with a heavy intake of air.
The strength and definition packed into his shoulders and arms, the grooved washboard of abs, and the heavy cock hanging hard and long between powerful legs makes me weak in the knees. I reach out and brace an arm on the wall.
Chin angled down, he raises a brow. “Get in the shower, Danni.”
I move my feet, and he follows me in. Then he takes over, lathering his hands and massaging my neck, my toes, and everywhere in between. He’s thorough, gentle, and sinfully seductive.
He cleans my hair and turns me toward the wall, gliding soapy fingers over my breasts and between my legs. I drop my head back on his shoulder, not even trying to muffle my moans.
“You’re making it impossible to keep my word.” He slides his lips down my neck, his breaths hot and hungry. “You and your tight little body.” He slams a palm against my ass then rubs the hurt with wicked pressure. “I want to do things to you. Things that should be illegal.”
I spin in the circle of his arms and grip his face. His lips part, and his eyes search mine. Then he kisses me—a deep breathless kiss, full of fire and need. Tongues tangling, hands grasping, we fall against the shower wall, locked in a frenzy of desire.
His swollen cock presses against my belly, and I curl my fingers around it, stroking up and down and wrenching a choked groan from his throat.
“I said I was just going to wash you.” His hands plunge through my hair, and he rocks his hips, sliding his length in my grip.
“You washed me. Now you need to put your massive cock inside me.”
“Danni.” His hand covers mine around his girth, halting my movements. “I want more than sex with you.”