As the song ends, I release the air from my lungs and wait for his reaction.
“I’ve never seen you dance to that.” He doesn’t move, his eye contact oh-so steady.
“It’s one of those songs…” I drag a hand through my hair. “I wasn’t ready to feel it before.”
He straightens from the doorframe. “You feel it now?”
I feel so many things, but chief among them is acceptance. Acceptance of his mistakes and imperfections, his bad days and bad moods, and the scariest of all, his mortality. He might look like a god, but he’s not invincible. He could die, abandon me in grief, but I accept that risk. Because I’m decidedly, irrevocably committed to fighting for a future with him.
“I feel it.” My feet carry me forward, one shoe sliding before the other.
His lips part, and the necktie in his hand slips through his fingers, slowly pooling on the floor.
When I reach him, I flatten my palms on his chest, caressing the soft fabric of the button-up and savoring the rhythmic pound of his heart.
“Say you won’t let go.” I peer up into his crystal blue eyes.
“I won’t let go, Danni.” His arms envelope me, lifting me up his chest to touch his forehead to mine. “You’re stuck with me.”
Tension loosens inside me, replaced by waves of warmth, hope, promise.
I hug his shoulders and hook my legs around his hips. “I love you.”
His breath catches, and he tightens his arms, burying his face in my neck. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life to hear you say that.”
“The hard-won victory.” I smile and stroke the trimmed hair on his nape.
He leans back and stares at my mouth. “These are the moments worth fighting for.”
“The moments of utter madness.”
He captures my mouth in a kiss that transports us into passionate communication. The trembling slide of our lips confesses our fears. The rub of our tongues promises we won’t take advantage of each other. The clash of our teeth vows we will fight for this, for us.
Fingers clutching, heads tilting, we plunge deeper, faster, into a boundless place where souls touch and dreams swell. Entwined together by an untamed force, we lick and moan and fuse with belonging and commitment.
It’s a kiss that defines love, and when our lips separate, I feel it everywhere, stretching beneath my skin, growing, protecting, and persevering.
“Wow.” He pants against my mouth. “That was…”
“As real as it gets.” I lower my feet to the floor, rubbing my tingling lips.
His stunned expression makes me laugh. Then I laugh harder, because he just looks so perplexed.
“Are you ready to hit the road?” I ask.
“I’m rethinking that plan.”
“Oh, no. You promised me a date without panties.”
A growl vibrates in his chest. But rather than arguing, he snatches the necktie from the floor and holds it up. “With or without?”
“I don’t like casual sex. You should wear the tie.”
With a smirk, he moves to the mirrored wall and lifts his chin, efficiently tying the knot at his neck. “You assume we’re having sex tonight.”
“Don’t fuck around with me, Trace Savoy, or I’ll kick your ass.”
“All I heard was fuck and ass.”
“Dangerous words. Shall I pull out the thirteen-inch dildo for his pleasure?”
His chest hitches with an almost-laugh, and he stares at the floor, smiling to himself.
“What?” I step into his space, squinting up at him.
“You make me ridiculously happy.” He trails his fingers across my cheek and tucks my hair behind my ear. “It’s a novel feeling, like I discovered a magical cure. But with that comes the overwhelming need to lock you away and protect you.”
Lock me away? I laugh. “I won’t go quietly.”
“I expect nothing less.” He grabs my hips and throws me over his shoulder.
The air rushes out of me. I hang upside down, bracing my hands on his back as blood drains to my head.
He pivots toward a mirror and flips up the skirt of my dress, exposing my nude backside. “Goddamn, I wish you could see this.”
I crane my neck, attempting to catch a glimpse of my reflection, but the angle’s off. I see his hand, though, as it glides up my thigh and disappears between my legs.
“I fantasize about your pink little cunt and all the ways I’m going to tear it up.” His voice is guttural and breathy, his fingers creeping, sinking, twisting into my pussy.
Liquid heat melts through my body and dampens my folds. I sag, boneless and panting, draped over his shoulder.
“Already wet.” He thrusts his hand, stimulating my inner muscles and shortening my breaths. “So fucking responsive.”
Pleasure rises, consuming me in pulses of electricity.
Until his touch disappears.
“Not yet.” He presses a kiss to my hip, adjusts the skirt over my butt, and caveman-carries me out of the house, locking the door behind him.
“You’re such a tease.” I squirm in his hold as the driveway blurs beneath his swift long strides.
He laughs, dumps me into the backseat of the waiting sedan, and proceeds to tease me for the duration of the thirty-minute drive.
I don’t know where we’re going, and I can’t find my voice to ask. His fingers are relentless, bringing me to the brink of orgasm and pulling back before I come. Over and over and over.
He keeps me in a heightened state of arousal, teasing and denying to the point of mindlessness. So mindless the driver’s presence in the car fades into oblivion. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again. Trace’s drivers are as consistent as his moods.
“We’re here.” Trace slides his fingers from between my legs and straightens my clothes.
That’s not going to work. My insides clench so viciously I’m seconds from exploding.
“I need to come.” I release the seatbelt and swing a leg over his lap, fumbling with the button on his fly. “Just fuck me. Right here.”
The driver—an older gentleman in a black suit—steps out and shuts the door. Beyond the windows, the only building in sight is a gas station, surrounded by a packed parking lot and endless crop fields.
I mold my fingers around the hard shape of him beneath the zipper. “Pull it out, Trace. We can be quick.”
He straightens his tie. “I’m thinking about Virginia in her granny panties.”
My head jerks back, eyes wide. “What the actual fuck?”
“Guaranteed boner-buster.” He lifts me off his lap and steps out of the car, pulling me with him. “This place has the best Bar-B-Q.”
“It’s a gas station,” I grumble and trudge beside him, my hand locked in his and my thighs sticking together. “I’m dripping down my legs.”
“Dripping is exactly how I want you.”
The discomfort continues through dinner. He keeps his hands to himself, but those damn hooded eyes never stop touching me, caressing me, and making my pussy thrum.
And the gas station in the middle of nowhere? Turns out, it serves the best pulled-pork sandwiches I’ve ever tasted.