Page 47 of About Yesterday (Foothills #5)

Trace fiddled her tongue over her tooth, studying his expressions, so much hidden behind a smile, and so much hidden behind each scowl. Needing that contact, the feel of him near her, she tucked her hips against his. “That’s got to mess with a person, never getting to feel safe.”

“You weren’t wrong, that I run.” He reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. “There was always this sense of terror, that if I sat still for too long, it would all catch up to me.”

“You say that like it’s in the past, but how can you be sure? You’ve never sat still long enough to know that you even can. And don’t put that pressure on me, to be the only thing keeping you from running again.”

Brow lowering, he kissed her with a heartbreaking sweetness.

As he drew back, he fell into a subtle smile, the ache simmering, broadening.

“I missed the quiet of this place. I missed Jeremy and Ellen. Peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and mountains and having a beer with my friends around a bonfire.” Tipping his forehead to hers, he swallowed hard.

“When I was so broken I thought I might actually be dead, I began to wonder if you had only ever been my imaginary friend.” He laughed softly, hoarsely as he tipped his head back against the door and hooked a sheepish smile.

“I came back because this is home. Because this is where I belong. Where I’m happy.

If I can get us out of this, I’m going to spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you that I will never get enough of you.

Whatever happens, I’m glad I got to see how real you are. ”

Something constricted around Trace’s ribs, crushing her sternum, her legs threatening to collapse.

Struggling to stay afloat, she braced her hands on his middle, refusing to let him see how terrified she was.

Of so many things. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.

” Trace swallowed hard and set her hand on his cheek, tracing her thumb over the pulsing in his jaw.

“I am so in love with you, and I think I always have been.”

He crushed his mouth to hers, kissing her long and deep and aching with so many moments that may never happen. He held her close and tipped his forehead to hers, framing her face so they were the only two people in the world. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that.”

Hands sliding under the hem of his shirt, she grasped his waist, palmed his back, the desperation so different from last night. A laugh under her breath, she asked, “Aren’t you going to say it back?”

He grinned and shook his head, nipping a kiss. “I’m going to say it to you every day for the rest of our lives, but not until this is over, so whatever happens, you know I’m coming back.”

“Was this whole talk a clever strategy to get me to wear the pink thing?” she teased before nipping his bottom lip and licking over the bite.

He kissed her harder, rougher. Already breathless, he asked, “Did it work?”

“Out. Give me five minutes,” she murmured, indulging in one last, thrusting kiss before pulling away and shoving him out the door.

Humor gleamed in his eyes as he backed out of the room, biting his tongue playfully as he watched her. Behind that look, she could see he was shaken, struggling to stay in the moment.

Jaw pulsing, shoulders back, feet ready to take off. “Turn on some music,” he said, his expression dark despite the sultriness of his tone. “Trust me.”

Nerves on fire, Trace flicked on some music.

Mood music, apparently? An odd request, considering the circumstances were odd at best. She quickly dug out the skimpy getup from her suitcase and worked her way back into it, adjusting the girls—the upper and lower bits—into place.

In the corner mirror, she did a few Insta-worthy poses until she felt like a complete idiot and decided she was never doing that again.

She opened the door a crack, and he was just coming out from the bathroom, his hair damp from where he’d splashed water over his face.

Lips curling into that wicked smile, easing slowly as one sided lifted higher than the other, he stalked toward her, and she absolutely knew that his targets were intimidated as hell when he came after them. They wouldn’t get to see that smile though, nor see the spark he could never hide from her.

She pushed the door open and set her hands on her hips, flashing a daring nod.

As if she’d stabbed him right in the heart, his mouth opened a breath, brow drawing together hopelessly, and he slowed his pace. “This is the pink thing?” he asked as he reached her. Waiting, tormenting her, he didn’t touch her.

“Yes,” she said, drawing the sound of the word out, feeling completely, utterly silly and sexy at the same time.

“I like it,” he said, voice low and froggy, gaze scanning every scrap of fabric and every part of her that wasn’t covered by fabric.

“It’s not black lace,” she said, tilting a curious, devious look, daring him to play.

He shrugged lightly, that uneven, devilish grin lifting higher. “I fucking love this pink thing even better than black lace.”

Lifting his hand, he traced his fingertips down her sternum, brushing a knuckle across the curve of her breast. Without any sign of a rush, of the imminent threat looming over the house, he took her completely in, curious, appreciating, savoring, each look and light touch making her feel like the only thing on his mind.

His quiet perusal sent electricity tingling up her spine, skin prickling in the wake of his touch.

As her legs turned to jelly, melting, heat rushing through her veins, he kicked the bedroom door shut behind him and moved her toward the bed.

She squeaked as he hooked his hands under her and dropped her onto the bed.

He crawled over her until reaching her mouth, the smile that he hadn’t been able to mask from his eyes spreading until he was grinning with the same thrill she was.

She laughed as he was on all fours, leaning down and teasing her with playful kisses along her jaw. “You’re making great progress on your bear crawls.”

“It’s all about the right motivation.” He laughed and nibbled at her collarbone.

He nipped at her breast and she laughed out loud, quickly quieting as she realized she really, really didn’t want her voice to carry down the stairs.

He trailed his tongue along her breast, dipping under the fabric.

“Fuck black lace,” he said, moving his way down her body and nipping along the way. “Pink silk is it for me now.”

“It’s ridiculous,” she said, keeping her voice calm as he shifted between her legs.

With unshakable focus, he braced his hands on her thighs and shifted the fabric apart with his thumbs. Breath hot against her core, he murmured, “Impractical. But so fucking hot.” He trailed a long, wicked kiss over her, then sunk his tongue thickly into the center of her.

Hands braced on her thighs, thumbs pinning the fabric out of his way, he isolated his focus.

Resisting the urge to close her eyes just yet, she looked down and watched as he breathed slow and heavy, braced over her, touching his tongue to her core, slowly and methodically, each lick sending her a degree higher.

Faster, longer, he worked her until her control slipped. Back arched, chest rising as she breathed hard, sounds vibrating her throat and beyond her ability to silence, she savored each sensation.

Although night had faded to full dark outside, safety lights brightened the forest behind the house to near daylight. She bit her lips together to keep quiet, pulse beating faster, control slipping as her sighs became gasps.

Each time Cole brought her higher, he’d shift his focus.

Thick, indulgent, he filled her with his tongue and then covered her, vibrating until she arched her back and about came off the bed.

With his fingers, he massaged, penetrating her.

Accelerating, encompassing, he licked and sucked on her until she couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but how he made her feel.

With what little control she had left, she said his name, again.

The heat of his mouth, the pressure, drew her past the safety of comfort or the meditative massage as when he’d begun, and it all eclipsed as her climax spiked. Waves of orgasm surged over her again and again, her breath carried by each, her body rising to meet his mouth.

As it eased, he slowed, carefully bringing her back down. For a moment, he closed his eyes and touched his forehead to the inside of her knee, and he laughed subtly. “Fuck I hope you’re not still imaginary, because… that… holy shit, Trace.”

She tipped her head further into the pillow and laughed out loud. She opened her mouth to say something, realized she didn’t have a single coherent thought in her mind, and laughed again.

When words failed her, she sat up and rested her hand on his jaw, brushing her thumb over his lips, swollen and wet as she was.

He nipped at her thumb and moved with her, under her so he lay on his back, smiling curiously at her as she shifted his jeans out of the way and pushed his t-shirt up.

Indulging in the moment, as tomorrow might not come, she lowered her body and took him into her mouth to unsettle him as much as he had her.

When he writhed and groaned and gritted his jaw tighter, she released him and quickly sheathed him in a condom, straddled and took him.

The moment so acutely, exquisitely fragile, neither said a word.

With his eyes, his hands, he studied her, watched her, felt her, while she steadied her hands on his chest and rocked, tightening around him as each motion sent heat coiling in her belly, radiating until she soared.

Shifting the delicate fabric, he took her breasts in his hands.

Overwhelmed by him, by the strength of her reaction to him, her body taking control, her pace quickened, faster, her focus narrowed in on one sweet moment.

His gray eyes clouded, his control faded with hers, and he gripped his hands at her hips, pacing with her, his focus strained, and she felt him holding on as long as he could.

With one final, sudden rush, orgasm took over and her body moved of its own will, riding it, owning it, and she felt him releasing with her.

Wrung out and spectacularly energized and confused by the intensity of it all coming together, she shifted and laid down at his side, tucked into the crook of his arm with her leg draped over him.

He kissed her temple, then collapsed back on the bed, wrapping his hand around her leg and his other around her middle, both holding on as they caught their breath.