Defending Serenty (12 page)

“I trust you, Trace, okay? But I don’t think
this is going to work,” she pants.

“Shh, baby, you have to relax. It’ll work.
We’ll go slow.”

I fight the urge to just plunge into her. I
don’t want to hurt her. Hell no. Then she won’t let me do this
again. And I have to do it again. I reach for the vibe control and
kick up the speed. It rests against her G spot and she softens in
response to the additional stimulation. My cock slides in a little
farther. Squeezing my eyes shut, I count to ten. Almost there, but
she needs a little more. Finding her clit with one hand, I rub in
hard fast circles. Now her pants are from desire and she is making
the soft moaning sounds that tell me she’s close. She rolls her
head back and forth on the pillow and grinds her mound against my
hands. The movement forces my cock another inch up her ass and she
groans and repeats the movement.

I release a pent up sigh--finally--and in a
long slow move drive myself to the hilt inside her. She tenses up
again, and I grit my teeth at the sensation of her clamping around
me.

“Relax, Serenity,” I order. “Or I’ll come
right now without you.”

I hold her gaze as she struggles to comply.
When she lets go, I thrust in and out of her in short, slow
strokes. I’m not going to last.

“Now. Come
now
, Serenity,” I
grunt.

My balls tighten and the most intense orgasm
I’ve ever experienced rips through me. She cries out my name and
trembles beneath me. When I withdraw minutes later, she moans a
protest, closes her eyes and curls onto her side. Pausing a moment
to trace a line down her waist to her thigh, I stand beside the bed
and study her before turning for the bathroom.

After disposing of the used condom and
washing my hands, I grip the sides of the sink and stare hard at my
reflection. I haven’t let myself feel anything for so long, it is
hard to identify the emotions racing through me now. Relief. She’s
given herself to me completely. The trust I need from her. Want for
her has always burned in my blood, and that is easy enough to name.
But the hope...my chin drops to my chest and I take a deep breath.
Hope is dangerous.

Straightening away from the sink, I hit the
light switch and walk back into the bedroom. Her breathing is deep
and easy, and I know she is already asleep. I crawl into bed beside
her and tug the quilt over both of us. Arms crossed under my head,
I stare up unseeing at the ceiling. We have to talk. Soon. The
years I didn’t hear from her weigh on me and I want an explanation.
And then there is the future to consider. She rolls over, rests her
head on my shoulder, and throws one leg across mine. My arms come
down around her, holding her tight, and I close my eyes. Tomorrow.
I’ll bring it up tomorrow.

Chapter Nine

Serenity

I wake the next morning to the sound of
Christmas music and the smell of fresh coffee. After taking a fast,
hot shower, I drag myself to the kitchen and pour a cup liberally
dosing it with sugar and milk. A few sips later, my brain starts to
wake up and I hear voices from the front room. Then I spot a box of
Krispy Kreme donuts on the table. Either Trace has already been out
this morning, or the mysterious visitor brought them. I pick out a
chocolate glazed and walk toward the living room. Once I reach my
bedroom door, alarm quickens my pace. That isn’t just any voice. I
should’ve known my mother would take matters into her own hands.
This is bad.

She laughs at something Trace murmurs, and I
freeze when I step into the room. They are a study in contrasts.
Mom is petite and perfectly made up as usual, in designer slacks
and a sweater, and Trace is tall, broad, and rough looking, his
tattoos just visible under the sleeves of his short sleeved shirt.
She’s a sweet Southern belle and he’s a criminal. I’ve been
thinking about making this relationship real, making it long term,
but I haven’t really thought about how to explain it to my family,
especially my mom. How do I do that? Hey Mom, I want you to meet
Trace Graham. Remember him? Well he’s back and definitely not
reformed and by the way I’m having the best sex of my life with
him. Okay, I’ll skip the last bit.

I can only see his profile, but Trace looks
relaxed and at ease like a man who enjoys a good relationship with
his girlfriend’s mother. Joanne must approve. She certainly won’t
hesitate to protest if she doesn’t. It’s surreal. I hope it doesn’t
break her heart when I explain things to her later. I walk into the
room, take a bite of my donut and sit down on my creaky couch. At
the noise, they both look at me. Mom smiles and arches one
perfectly sculpted eyebrow while Trace settles his hands on his
hips and looks me up and down.

“Well, she certainly looks better than she
did last night,” Joanne says to Trace.

He nods. “She does.”

“Hmm,” I answer. “Maybe because my alarm
clock seems to have disappeared.”

He grins. “I’ve decided the best thing about
being out of Holman is the fact that I don’t have to live on anyone
else’s schedule.”

“That’s the best thing?” I ask with a hint of
outrage.

Then I blush. Oh God, I need to rip out my
tongue. I’d said that in front of my mother. What is Trace doing to
me? Mom just laughs and turns back to the tree. Trace has put up
the artificial tree (I can’t imagine Mom doing it) and draped it in
multi-colored lights, and they stand in front of it arguing over
what ornament should go where.

“I was just telling Trace how you agonized
over finding him the perfect gift that first Christmas he was gone.
We must have gone into every store in Birmingham.”

I tremble and grip my mug, and finally dredge
up the courage to meet Trace’s piercing gaze.

“And I was telling her that I never got it,”
he says softly.

I can see my mother’s smile in profile and
know she’s accomplished whatever goal she’s struck out to reach. I
really need to get her alone so I can set her straight.

“Look at the time. Y’all finish this up,
hear?” She walks over to me and pecks me on the cheek. “I’ll be
back after my appointment, and then we can go shopping. You didn’t
forget, did you, sugar?”

I glare at my mother, stand up and cross my
arms. Like I’m in the mood to shop now?

“Trace’s coming with us. We’ll have an early
dinner after, I think.” She walks to the door and he helps her into
her coat. Reaching up, she pats his cheek and murmurs, “Such a
sweet boy.”

My eyebrows fly up. Trace? Sweet? In what
reality?

With a waggle of her fingers and a quick
“I’ll see you later,” Joanne is gone, and I’m alone with Trace.
Again. We stand at opposite ends of the couch and stare at each
other. He is first to break the silence.

“She never told me what the mysterious
present was.”

I blink and go to the coat closet. After
digging around the top for a minute, I come back with a small box
and toss it to him.

“You kept it?” he asks, surprise in his
voice.

I shrug. I really don’t want to talk about
that time in my life. He lifts the lid.

“I had no idea what you might want,” I say
with an embarrassed smile. “You loved that car though.”

He smiles and picks up the pewter keychain
with the Camaro logo carved into it.

“It’s perfect,” he says softly. “Why did you
keep it from me?”

Moving to the tree, I pick up an ornament and
think over my answer. I can’t come up with one that doesn’t make me
sound like a pathetic lovelorn sap. He comes up behind me and puts
his hands on my shoulders, moving to lightly massage the nape of my
neck. Releasing a moan of pleasure, I let my head fall forward.
After a moment, Trace turns me around and lifts my chin with one
hand.

“Why didn’t you?” he asks again.

I sigh. “I don’t know. I ruined your
life--you wouldn’t have been there in the first place if it wasn’t
for me.”

“You became a cop because of me.” He looks
bewildered for a second but then he teases me. “If you’d gone to
law school instead I might have got out earlier.”

I laugh. I may not be sure what my next step
is but I’m pretty sure I’d hate being a lawyer.

“Anyway you didn’t want anything to do with
me. You made that clear the last time I saw you. Remember?”

“Oh Christ,” he groans. “I wanted you there,
all right. Every day, every year that I didn’t hear from you I
hated you a little more. I had this plan to get out and make you
suffer.”

I lean my forehead against his chest, cursing
myself for being a fool. Of course that makes perfect sense. Hell,
I already knew it. I try to move away, but his arms clamp around my
waist. I push against his chest and glare up at him.

“Let me go, Trace.”

“No, Serenity.” He laughs. “I don’t think
so.”

“I really hate that name, you know. That’s
what my father called me.”

“Too bad.” He grins. “I like it.”

Sobering he asks, “Was he as bad as the
rumors?”

Oh hell no. I’m not having that conversation
with him. But for some reason, I find myself answering anyway.

“He was controlling. Autocratic.
Hyper-critical.” I sigh, then whisper. “I don’t want to talk about
him. I refuse to relive the past. We’re free now, Mom and I.”

“Not exactly,” he answers softly and I
struggle to decipher what I hear in his voice. Rage. Tenderness. “I
don’t think I’m ever going to be ready to let you go. You should
start wrapping your mind around that concept.”

Oh my God. My heart races while my stomach
flips. He tugs me over to the couch and sits down, pulling me into
his lap. He’s intense and serious.

“Ten years. My hate and your sense of guilt
built so much, and here we are, but hate is the last thing on my
mind now. You have to decide if you’re with me because you still
feel guilty, or because of something else,” he ends softly.

Thinking hard, I stare at the blinking tree
lights. Had I loved him then? Do I love him now? Or is guilt
pushing me toward him? Well, that and a healthy dose of lust.
Things are changing between us, will no doubt change more, but I’m
not ready to make this decision yet. I avoid the subject.

“Where did the lights come from? Mine didn’t
survive the move. I was going to get some today.”

He gives me a look that says he knows exactly
what I’m doing but he lets it slide.

“I picked them up at the grocery store this
morning. You know, you have no food. You need to take better care
of yourself,” he says.

Is that disapproval I hear in his voice? This
morning is getting stranger and stranger. I’m desperate to get back
on footing I understand. His hand strokes up and down my back. The
motion, which is both soothing and comforting, melts something
around my heart and I start to believe. With a heartfelt sigh, I
curl into him and let my hands wander over his body. Lazy morning
sex is just what I need.

I give him a teasing smile and sit up enough
to pull the sweatshirt over my head. I’m not wearing a bra, and his
gaze immediately zeroes in on my nipples, which harden in the
room’s cool air. I tug him forward and yank his shirt over his
head, sending it flying across the room.

I straddle his waist, running my hands over
his chest. It is broad and smooth, every inch of it well-developed
muscle. He’s bruised from sparring with Lake. I lean over to press
a kiss against one then move to swirl my tongue over one rigid
nipple. His hands twist in my hair, and his groan gives me an idea.
After last night’s slow torture, he deserves some of his own.
Crouching lower, I slide my tongue down the center of his body,
pausing to dip into his belly button before continuing on.

I move to the floor between his thighs and
reach for the snap on his jeans. He stands up and strips off both
them and his underwear. By the time he sits back down, his cock
stands at full attention. I look up to meet his gaze. It’s hot and
needy. So, my being on my knees in front of him turns him on? I
should have known. What man doesn’t have that fantasy? Leaning
forward, I lick his shaft from base to tip and down again, until he
tugs at my hair and groans.

“Serenity, for the love of God, I’m dying
here.”

I close my mouth over the head of his cock
and hold his balls in the palm of my hand. Kneading them, I lightly
suck him until he tries to thrust into my mouth. Opening it, I take
him deeper and grip his length with one hand, bracing myself
against the couch with the other. Letting him set the rhythm, I
slide my mouth and hand up and down his cock until his breath comes
in pants and he pulls me up.

“Enough,” he says gruffly, standing and
reaching for his jeans.

I pull mine off as he rips the foil from the
condom. He rolls it on, and then positions me leaning forward over
the back of the couch. Moving in behind me, he thrusts deep in one
quick motion and builds a fast pounding rhythm. I’m already slick
and when his fingers find my clit and pinch, it is all I need to
come. My whole body seems to clench around him, and with a roar he
comes right after me.

Lying over the back of the couch, I try to
catch my breath. Is it my imagination, or is this getting better? I
am so screwed if he decides to take off. But he’s said he doesn’t
think he can. Do I dare trust in that? I can’t deny that part of me
wants to. I try to contain my excitement, my hope. He strokes a
hand down my spine sending shivers through me.

“How long will your mother be?” he asks
softly.

Talk about a splash of cold water. I
straighten and he backs away. I miss his heat. His weight against
me.

“Not long. Thirty minutes or so. You don’t
have to go with us.” I offer him an out. “It would probably be
better if you don’t, actually.”

How am I going to explain him to my mother?
His expression shuts down.

“Embarrassed of me, princess?”