In any case, the appletinis had done the final damage, and she passed out before Magic Mike ever made it to Myrtle Beach. I felt kind of bad for her because that last scene…holy shit. I could only describe it as foreplay. All that dry humping and naked man meat left me feeling…needy.
Which was why after the movie was over and I called Willow’s name a few times and she didn’t so much as twitch, I snatched up my phone and took it to my bedroom. I told myself that I just needed to hear Trace’s voice. After the argument we’d had the other night, I hadn’t been able to get him off my mind. My chest was filled with a mixture of guilt and fear. Guilt for the way I’d treated him, and fear because I both meant, and truly regretted, the things I’d said to him. My brain wanted the future I’d worked for and planned out for myself, but I worried that what my heart wanted would get in the way of those plans. Before Trace, there’d never been a problem with anything getting in my way. Except for Couch Cat.
My heart and my plans were at complete odds, and I had no idea how I was going to reconcile the two.
After shutting my bedroom door, I laid on my bed, glaring at the phone. It was two in the morning, and I had no business calling Trace in the middle of the night, but he’d told me I should call if I had a chance. He didn’t say call any time, but I convinced myself that’s what he’d meant. Besides, my thumbs had a mind of their own, and after bending to Willow’s will all night long, I was in no mood to deny myself now. I pressed the last number and chewed on my bottom lip as I waited. It only took two rings before Trace picked up.
“Cricket?” He was alert which made me feel better that I probably hadn’t woken him up. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Uh…” My earlier confidence died away at the sound of worry in his voice. “Nothing.”
Silence. And then, “Is your sister still there? Are you having a good time?”
“Yes. She fell asleep on the couch. She’s asleep. Well, she passed out. She’s not awake.” Hello, Captain Obvious. Let’s just keep repeating things stupidly to hide the fact that you called just because you wanted to hear his voice.
He waited, as if expecting me to tell him all the details of the visit. When I didn’t, he changed the subject. “Where are you?”
“In my bed.”
He chuckled. “My favorite place.”
I reached up to wrap a piece of hair around my finger, wanting to say so many things yet scared to let those thoughts free. I felt like someone was standing on my chest and I couldn’t breathe.
“I miss you,” I finally said. The relief was immediate. Like those words had been suffocating me. Maybe they had been.
“Ditto.” Trace’s voice had gone deep and smooth like it did when he was about to say something filthy and inappropriate.
My hand slid down across my stomach to dip between my legs, rubbing over the denim of my jeans. “How much?” I asked him, my voice going breathy, hoping for and expecting one of his usual sexual innuendo responses.
“Are we really doing this, Cricket?” He chuckled again.
My fingers stilled in embarrassment as I realized he knew. He knew what my hand was doing. He knew why I was calling. “What?” I went for innocent, but I didn’t think I pulled it off well.
“Phone sex. You think I can’t tell what you sound like when you’re ready to be fucked into next week?”
If I thought I’d humiliated myself in front of Trace enough for one lifetime, I was wrong. I was a fathomless well of self-mortification, and I was suffering through yet another moment. I was planning to get myself off just to the sound of his voice, and he’d called me out on it.
“Because,” he continued, ignoring the fact that I hadn’t answered. “If we are, I’m going to need to put you on speaker so we can do this shit right. I’m going to need both hands.”
That made me miss him even more.
Hold on. He was okay with this?
I laughed inwardly. He was a guy. We were talking phone sex. Of course he was okay with it.
“Okay,” I agreed, eager that we were in this together.
“Wait. Is Buzz part of this phone call?”
“No.” I swallowed. “I was just going to use my…hand.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ve got a better idea. Invite Buzz to the party. I’m going to call you back in five minutes, and we’re going to do this shit over Facetime. Because fuck…if we’re going to do this, I have to see it in person.”
Without waiting for me to agree, he hung up. I stared at the phone for all of three seconds before I hopped up from the bed. First things first, Buzz needed to prep for the party. I’d barely gotten him clean, and myself undressed down to my bra and panties before my phone sang out with the Facetime ring.
I answered it right away, hoping that Willow was still peacefully passed out and hadn’t heard. Trace’s face flashed onto the screen, his hair a wild and sexy mess, like he’d been running his hands through it in worry all day long. And that was a strange thought because Trace never worried. That was my job. He was carefree and always went with the flow.
I didn’t focus too long on the hair because my eyes hungrily found the rest of him. I could only see his chest, but it was bare. And perfect.
“Fuck, Cricket. Lay down and show me,” he ordered, not wasting any time with pleasantries.
I resisted the urge to tell him to stop being so damn bossy and moved to the bed to do what he said. Because the truth of the matter was, I liked it when he took charge. My life was always so orderly and controlled, it was a turn-on to give that control over to him in the bedroom.
“Show me,” he repeated.
Once I was laid out on the bed, I tilted the screen of the phone to give him a slow rolling view from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
“Back to the bra.” His demand was needy and excited. I liked it. “And take it off,” he added.
It was awkward to hold the phone and try to undo my bra, but Trace didn’t seem to care as I fumbled around like a teenage boy faced with his first trip to second base. Trace hungrily watched as I struggled with the clasp and then peeled the scraps of lace away. My nipples hardened in the cool air.
“Panties,” he growled.
“Boxers,” I retorted.
He chuckled, but the camera on his phone panned down until I saw that the boxers were long gone and his hand was already stroking. He kept the camera still, pushing his hips up in a slow sensual rhythm so that it looked like he was fucking his hand. He groaned…the type of groan he made when he was thrusting into me…slow and deep.
Oh my God. I was never going to get that visual out of my head.
I didn’t want to.
I was tingling with so much anticipation I thought I might detonate when I finally touched myself.
“Panties,” he demanded again, leaving the camera pointed downward so I could watch as he continued to thrust into his hand.
I didn’t even attempt to be graceful about getting my panties off. In my haste, I was now showing him the floor of my room where my clothes were scattered.
“Show me.” His voice was losing the demanding edge, almost seeming needy.
I tried to do what he asked, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of him to be bothered to see whether I was tilting the camera properly to show him what he wanted to see. I must have eventually gotten close enough to the land of pie because his next order was, “Two fingers. Just so I can see how much you want this.”
I swallowed back my self-consciousness. Trace had seen me at my most vulnerable. He’d already walked in on me masturbating once. There wasn’t much I could do at this point to be any more awkward than I already was. Besides, he seemed to enjoy my brand of clumsiness.
Sliding my hand down between my thighs, I let my legs fall wide open and pushed two fingers inside. I moved them in time to the stroke of his hand on the screen. My hips lifted of their own accord, echoing the motion of Trace’s hips, my back arching and my eyes fighting to stay open. To stay trained on him
.
Our hands and bodies moved in tandem, both of us groaning half-formed words like “so good” and “faster” and “deeper” and “show me.”
“Fingers in your mouth, Cricket. And suck.”
I didn’t even hesitate, I just did what he demanded. I needed to follow his orders, to let him tell me how to pleasure myself. Because seeing how much he liked it? It was like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
I withdrew my hand, trailed my fingers up the center of my body, and lifted it to my mouth. Wrapping my lips around my fingers, I moaned which caused him to curse as he stroked himself even harder.
“Buzz.” He said it like even getting that one word out took too much effort.
I groped around on the bed beside me, feeling around for Buzz because I couldn’t be bothered to look away from Trace. My fingers made contact with the familiar curve of my toy and with a grin, I brought it into view. I slid it across my breast, circling my nipple before making a slow path down my body, dragging it along my stomach and thighs. I spun the dial at the base so that the toy turned on, and my body began to writhe under the touch and vibrations along my skin.
“Tease,” Trace cursed. “Put it in.”
I smiled triumphantly, but he couldn’t see my expression since the camera was focused on Buzz as I traced the slow journey across my pelvis with the toy before dipping it between my legs and sliding it slowly, slowly…achingly slowly inside me. My voice came out in a low, pleased exhale.
“Fuck.” Trace’s hand moved in short pumps along the tip of his erection as he begged me, “Come on, Cricket. Fuck Buzz like it’s me.”
With a flick of my wrist, the toy pumped in and out, and my hips started to roll and lift so that I could feel the heady vibrations filling me over and over again. All I could see was Trace and his hand and the way he was thrusting and groaning and fucking himself. As a hot tingling sensation built at the base of my spine, I felt like I was standing on the beach, the ocean sucking back away from me in that dizzying way it had before it rushed back in and crashed over me. I knew with every cell that when I fell under the waves of what we were doing, I was going to be annihilated in the best way possible. And I wanted it. I wanted to be taken under and held down until I was forced to come up for air. I wanted to lose control, to feel the orgasm grip me so hard that I’d worry for my own survival. I wanted it to break me into a million pieces…completely shatter me.
“Oh God,” I chanted the words again and again as the pressure mounted and the wave of my climax threatened to drag me under. My mind was barely lucid anymore. My body was lost to the pleasure; my gaze was locked on Trace.
“Harlow.” He stretched my name out into a long groan and I could see the way he was trying to hold back, to wait for me.
That’s all it took. The crest of my orgasm curled up and over me in one tantalizing breath before crashing into me. My eyes closed as the waves of it washed over me. My body jerked and rolled, riding it out as Trace’s name was all I needed to keep breathing under the pressure of it all. Vaguely, I could hear him answering me with a groan of “Harlow,” but I was already drowning in the aftermath of my own pleasure.
I don’t know how much time passed before I realized that we were both lying there silently except for the sounds of our breathing. The phone was face down on my chest, and I must have turned off Buzz and tossed him to the side because I was sprawled out on my bed like a shipwreck survivor who’d washed up on shore.
“Cricket?” Trace’s voice was thick and sleepy, content.
I lifted the phone and was met with his cocky, satisfied grin and just-fucked hair.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded. “I still miss you.”
“I’ll be home Sunday night.” He yawned and then grinned again.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I hung up and let the phone fall back on my chest. He’d be home Sunday night.
Home.
Home?
***
“Why do you have a photo of you with Trace Stone on your phone? I didn’t think you even liked sports.”
I peeled my eyes open, squinting against the light that was streaming in through the window. Willow was standing next to the bed with one hand on her hip, and my phone in the other. In a sudden panic, I did a quick mental review of my current status and was relieved to find that at some point I had hidden Buzz from view and put my clothes back on.
“What? How do you…?” I stared in confusion at her. The haze of sleep was still wrapped thickly around my brain, but I was pretty sure she mentioned Trace.
She turned my phone toward me, showing me the background photo on the screen. And sure enough, it was one of Trace and me.
“Were you going through my messages?” I snapped.
She frowned at me and her hip popped out in jaunty attitude. “I’m not Marlow. I might be nosey, but I don’t invade your privacy. You were holding this, and when I picked it up to put it on the nightstand so you wouldn’t drop it, I accidentally hit the home button and this picture popped up,” she said, showing me the photo again. “And what I want to know is how does my nerdy little sister, who doesn’t know the difference between goofy foot and regular, have a picture of Trace Stone on her phone?”
Goofy foot? I had no idea what she was talking about. “How do you know his name?”
She huffed. “Everyone knows his name, Harlow. He’s only an X-Games superstar. I mean…” she trailed off and looked at me, cocking her head in question. “You knew who he was, right?”
I huffed right back at her. “Yes, I knew who he was,” I said indignantly. “His picture is on my phone.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Yeah, but I saw the surprise on your face when I said X-Games. Did you even know he was a snowboarder?”
I paused. “Yes.” He’d mentioned that. I think.
Willow sat down on my bed, her grin widening with unchecked glee as she stared at me. “Oh my God. You had no idea he was famous. Did you?”
I bit my bottom lip. “How famous?”
“Wait here.” She got up from my bed and hurried out of the room, which would have been funny if I wasn’t freaking out in the most epic way possible. Willow never hurried. She sashayed, she prowled, she strutted. But she never hurried. That was too unladylike.
She came back in seconds and threw herself onto the bed next to me, one of her gossip magazines in hand. She rifled through the pages until she found what she was looking for and turned it so I could see.
There was Trace staring back at me, with nothing on but a snowboard, snow boots, and a milk mustache. His wild, blue-tipped hair was vibrant, his naked muscles were glorious, and he was wearing the cocky smile I was so used to seeing.
Trace Stone had his own fucking Got Milk ad.
What alternate universe had I fallen into?
“He’s only the most eligible bachelor on snow,” Willow said with a sigh. “He’s won gold at several X-Games, and he’s an Olympic hopeful.” She shrugged. “At least he was until he got hurt last year.” She turned to face me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ad. “You really didn’t know?”
I shook my head.
“I’m going to ask again, how do you have a picture with him? And why is it your screensaver?”
Silence.
“Harlow?” She waited but my tongue was cemented to the roof of my mouth as my mind replayed all of our interactions together.
Had he ever told me what he did for a living? Had I ever asked? And if he was some famous athlete, what was he doing taking classes at Maryland? How come no one knew he was here? Surely if he was famous, he’d have people badgering him for autographs and—
Flex. That’s why my best friend was so enamored with Trace. That’s why he always called him by his full name. Flex knew who he was and I had been kissing the guy for weeks and had no clue. And now it made sense why we didn’t hang around campus or in public much and why he always had a baseball cap pul
led low over his eyes. I thought it was just me and my homebody tendencies that forced us to stay in most nights, but maybe Trace was trying to keep a low profile.
But why?
“Are you dating him?” Willow asked.
I screwed up my face in distaste and prepared myself to duck and dodge. “You know I don’t believe in dating. I’ve got more important things to do.”
She clucked her tongue at me. “You mean like hunky snowboarders? You’re having sex with him aren’t you?”
“No!” Ugh. Even I could hear the lie in that response.
Willow threw herself back into the pillows, giggling. “Oh, this is so rich. Perfect Harlow is bumping uglies with a guy she doesn’t even know. And he’s famous. I can’t wait to tell Marlow.” She tossed the magazine onto my stomach and pushed up from the bed. When she reached the door, she turned around to face me. “You know once she finds out, we’ll get the full truth out of you. How long this has been going on; how you met—”
Her eyes lit up with sudden understanding, and she slapped her hand over her mouth.
“Oh my God. Vegas!” she squealed. Willow pointed at me, her finger waving in accusation. “ShredCon was going on the weekend we were in Vegas for your birthday. That’s why you didn’t come back to our room!” she cackled. Literally cackled like the wicked witch she was. “My sister is a dirty, slutty little snow bunny! Perfect Harlow had sex with a stranger! A famous stranger!”
I groaned and hid my face behind the magazine. Willow’s laughter echoed behind her as she left my room on a one-way trip to spread my humiliation to Marlow.
This was bad. Problem number one—Willow knew about Trace, and once she blabbed to Marlow, they’d never let me live it down. Problem number two—Trace wasn’t just some guy on campus, he was famous. Problem number three—I was still married to my famous mistake.
— TRACE —
23. THE BEST MAN
November 6, 2016
Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2) Page 23
