Page 43 of Tracking Wolfe

“Fuck, Wolfe. Okay.”

I wanted to laugh. He sounded like he was bracing himself, like he needed to talk himself into accepting this from me.

We’re doing this. This is happening.

I nosed up his warm shaft and stuck my tongue out to taste the sticky fluid at his tip. And maybe I made sure he could see it, that he knew exactly who was tonguing his slit. When I glanced up through the hair in my face, his pupils had overtaken most of the color in his eyes, and red apples blazed high on his cheeks.

I kept eye contact as I pulled his cock back to press it onto my extended tongue, to lick up and down the underside of his dick without closing around it.

The tease punched a sound out of his chest, and one of his hands gripped the duvet by his hip. “Gonna fucking kill me,” he breathed. “Okay. Fuck.”

I preened under his compliments, loving the fact that he found me sexy. His inability to resist me, both during the kiss at his cabin and now, was intoxicating.

When I finally wrapped my mouth around him and sucked him down, he arched back and let out a choked sound.

It was a good start. But part of me wanted to punish him for waiting this long. Show him he’d missed out on six fucking years of the best head he could have been getting all that time.

I licked and swirled and sucked until he was pressing into my open throat with a gasp. “Baby, baby, be care— Fuck, how can you— Fuck!”

It was only seconds later that he was warning me off. “Gonna come. Baby, stop. Can’t—oh god!”

The warm pulse of his release in my throat was welcome, but the volume threw me. I tried to hide the quick sputter as I swallowed, but he was too perceptive.

“Fuck, c’mere.” He yanked me into his arms on top of him, cupping the back of my head and holding me to his chest while we both heaved in deep breaths. The air was stuffy and warm, scented with sex and masculine sweat. It only made the entire experience even hotter. “So good, Wolfe. Fuck.”

I wanted to laugh. Trace had a great vocabulary from being a voracious reader. We even shared an interest in poetry, as I’d discovered when working on a literature project in my junior year of high school. Hearing him reduced to expletives now was incredibly satisfying.

“Y’okay?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my hair.

“Mmhm.” I nestled into him, ignoring the sticky, damp skin between us.

Trace’s hand moved up and down my back in a rhythm almost soothing enough to make me want to fall asleep in the middle of the day.

But my brain was too wired. Too busy wondering what this meant and what would happen next. Maybe I should set a timer to measure how long it would take him to go from fucked out bliss to apologetic runner.

How long it would take before he mentioned one of my fathers. Responsibility. Guilt. Family. The word shouldn’t.

I stared at the silver thread on his chest, the physical manifestation of his fear over our age gap. My finger reached out to press it down, to stroke it into his damp skin, but every time I did, it popped back up again into an errant curl.

He brought his hand up to still mine, holding it against the center of his chest.

“I don’t want to know how you’re so good at that,” he muttered. It took me a minute to realize he’d meant the blow job.

“Practice,” I said, deliberately petty because fuck him.

“Mpfh.”

I wanted to say more. Maybe go through some of the more memorable practice sessions I’d had over the years with various men. Men who’d picked me up in bars or contacted me on the apps. Men who’d found me even at my cousin Alex’s restaurant in Legacy, right after I’d been ignored yet again by Trace.

And I realized I didn’t need to wait for Trace to ruin the moment. Resentment was already budging its way in, reminding me this wasn’t any kind of happily ever after.

I didn’t suddenly have a boyfriend. I’d had one single sexual experience with my crush. That was all. Only a child would see it as more than that.

“Thank you,” I said, because I wanted him to know I truly did appreciate having finally had this. “You’re welcome to take a shower before you go. It’s tiny, but it works.”

Silence descended between us swiftly enough to indicate I’d said the wrong thing.

“Okayyy,” Trace said. “I take it that’s my cue to leave.”