Page 42 of Tracking Wolfe

He lifted a brow. “Should I be?”

I met his eyes. “Definitely not. You’re gorgeous. And fit. And your scars are hot as fuck.” I trailed a finger over the thin, silvery line on his side. “You know that, right?”

Trace leaned down and kissed me again, his lips turned up in a smile. “I certainly like hearing it. From you, especially. Feel free to repeat it as often as you like.”

He moved his kisses down my neck to my chest, then over, catching a nipple between his teeth. I sucked in a trembling breath, every inch of my body twanging with need and desperation I was trying to hold back.

Trace Bishop was nearly naked on top of me.

In my bed.

And, most fantastical of all, not telling me all the reasons why it was a bad idea… even though it definitely was.

“Want your mouth on me,” I said in a low voice, as if speaking too loudly would wake him up and scare him off. “Please.”

He moved down, leaving a wet trail of open-mouthed kisses along my chest and stomach. With each press of his lips on my skin, he glanced up at my face to check in with me. “Okay?”

I threaded my fingers through his wavy hair and tugged. “No. Not fast enough.”

He grinned. “Not what I meant.”

After that, he seemed to go even more slowly, dragging his tongue over my skin like a new kind of torture. By the time his fingertips dipped beneath the waist of my boxer briefs, I was breathing in shallow pants, underlaid with a soft whine.

“Fuck, look at you,” he whispered appreciatively when he’d pulled down the waistband to reveal my weeping cock. A sticky puddle of precum was caught in my happy trail, and Trace’s tongue came out to lap it up.

I groaned and squeezed my eyes closed, imprinting the vision in my brain to keep it forever. “Gonna kill me,” I breathed. “Please, please just suck my cock.”

He nosed at the crease of my thigh, sucking in air through his nose like he wanted to inhale the scent of me. Trace’s hot breath between my legs made my stomach tighten, and when he finally opened his mouth to suck one of my nuts onto his tongue, I nearly levitated off the bed.

I knew I made an embarrassing noise, but I didn’t care. Instead, I began letting out expletives like a long string of staccato notes. Allegro, then even faster—straight to prestissimo—with no transition.

The sound of Trace’s satisfied chuckle came in like a counterpoint, right before he took my cock into his hot, wet mouth.

And then my words were gone, replaced by one long, choking cry that wasn’t please or fuck or more because my mouth was suddenly too open and slack to form letter sounds.

I thought vaguely that I should have been doing something to please him at the same time. Reaching for his cock or maybe turning myself around to attempt sixty-nine. But there was no way I would have been able to pull it off. Not when Trace Bishop was sucking me off and running strong, warm hands over every inch of my skin.

My orgasm hit hard, like Wile E. Coyote suddenly falling off a cliff and leaving nothing behind but a white cloud of vapor.

I was in free fall.

“That’s it. So good.” Trace’s voice crooned softly as his hand pulled the last few drops of my release out of me. “So fucking pretty laid out for me like this.”

I turned and arched into him, tucking my face into his neck to indulge in him a minute longer while the aftershocks of my orgasm still ran through my body. “Oh god, fuck. Fuck.”

The deep rumble of his approval vibrated through his chest and did crazy fucking things to me. I wasn’t super into a daddy/boy dynamic, but I could see the appeal. Pleasing Trace, bringing him pleasure of any kind, made me feel powerful.

“So beautiful, Wolfe.” He moved a hand up to smooth his thumb lightly over my cheek. “Pink and flushed for me. Fucking gorgeous.”

My brain came back online, clear enough for me to want to give him the same pleasure he’d given me. Impress him with the fact that I knew what I was doing in bed.

I kissed down his chest, making sure to press one over that silver thread, before running my tongue through the hair below his navel. His dick was fully hard, pressing the cotton of his briefs up into my chest and neck.

Trace cupped the back of my head. “You sure? Don’t have to do this.”

I huffed out a laugh instead of answering. As if putting my mouth on him, feeling the weight of his heavy cock and balls on my tongue, would be a chore. As if I hadn’t dreamed of this.

I pulled his underwear down and off, revealing a thick cock ruddy and damp at the tip. His balls were heavy, and I immediately wrapped them in a loose grip, enjoying the harsh intake of breath that made Trace’s chest lift.