Knotted (Trails of Sin 1)

He backs into the inky depths of the barn, beckoning me without lifting a hand.

My square toe boots kick up dust in my hurry toward the entrance. Will he grab me the second I step inside?

I hold my gloved hands low and close to my body, protecting my wrists as I slip through the crack in the door.

Darkness.

It closes in around me, shuddering with hunger and luring me deeper into its fold.

No amount of blinking adjusts my eyes to the blackness, and the reverberation of music hammers so loudly I can’t hear myself breathe. If I scream, no one will catch the sound. If a panic attack rises, no one will know. The thought empowers me.

I blindly feel my way through the murk, toeing my boots across the dirt floor. My shoulder brushes a back. My hand grazes a leg.

The darkness bends and undulates with people at various heights and positions. Rocking against the walls, kneeling on the ground, sprawling, sitting, straddling—the unviewable landscape heightens my senses. Faceless, nameless sex thickens the air and presses against my skin, intensifying the temptation. The anticipation.

Where is he?

When I reach the rear wall, I lean my back against it, remove my gloves, and tuck my hands behind me. Uncertainty careens my pulse against my jugular, and my teeth saw the inside of my cheek.

He doesn’t make me suffer long.

The blast of music drowns out his footsteps, but I feel him. His heat. The power in his body. The persuasion in it.

I should be afraid. Petrified. Adrenaline courses through my nervous system. Tremors hijack my limbs. But it’s not fear. It’s relief. Like a release valve is turning inside me, letting off the steam of pressurized energy.

Warm fingers brush my jaw, and every muscle in my body tenses. His gloved palm rests against my throat, the leather stiff and hard like his coat. I touch the sleeve, stroking the shape to feel the muscle beneath.

Strong forearms, imposing height, patient hands… Without my sight, he could almost be Jake.

I don’t want that.

Except I do.

I haven’t seen Jake in over a year. Haven’t touched him in three years. All I have is memories, and the sharpest ones aren’t tender.

The caress along my neck pulls me back to the stranger. He’s probably ugly as sin with an oversized nose and a face covered in pimples. I don’t care what he looks like, but suspicion lifts my hand.

When my fingers connect with smooth skin and a sculpted jawline, I imagine Jake’s mouth, his brown eyes, and the alluring smile that brightens every gorgeous feature.

Stop it.

I slide my touch to the man’s cheek, and he catches my fingers. Not my wrists. Just the tips of my nails, like he knows exactly where to grip me.

He’s probably seen me at this party before. Probably witnessed what happens when someone grabs my arm in the crowd.

Lowering my hands, he guides them to his narrow hips and adds pressure. A silent command to hold on.

The heat of his breath signals his nearness. When the rim of the baseball cap bumps my brow, he rotates it backward and cups my face.

Is he trying to see me in the dark? Is he speaking or smiling or glaring? The booming music pulses through us, drowning out the rush of my breaths and whatever sounds might be passing his lips.

How strange to engage a man without eye contact or conversation, but it’s better this way. It’s intimate, without making it personal.

His exhale feathers my face, and velvety lips find my skin. Soft and warm, they kiss a path along my jaw, my cheek, dipping down to taste my neck. My pulse careens out of control, and I sway beneath a head rush of euphoria.

He pushes the coat off my shoulders, and his mouth continues its seductive hunt along my collarbone, nudging aside the neckline of my shirt to lick my skin.

My nails bite into his hips, slipping beneath his waistband, and he releases an intoxicating huff. Then he works his way back up, his lips opening against my throat. His breath rasps out as the ardent flicker of his tongue teases my flesh.

I shiver all over and pull him closer. The hard length of him pushes against my stomach, and a tingling burn ignites deep inside. He presses against me again. And again. Then his mouth seals over mine, devouring my gasp.

I wrestle with the next breath, because holy fuck, it’s been so long since I’ve been kissed.

His tongue sweeps past my lips, and I flounder against him, groping at his waistband in the dark. He tastes like cigarettes, cloves, and other non-Jake things. Same dominating control, though. He invades my mouth with possessive flicks, piloting my movements and swallowing my moans.

God, he’s good. I’ve only ever kissed one other man, but this one… This one powers his way through me, demanding I feel his kiss in the curl of my toes, the waver in my knees, and the tight, hard throb between my legs. By the time he releases me, I’m swaying unsteadily and panting with unquenched desire.