Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

The music guides my body into a slow, swinging cadence that compels hers to do the same. Our hips sway together, hovering around the sliver of space between.

Her palm rests against mine, joining us by that single point of contact. There’s no urgency. No expectations. No demands. It’s just her and me and the connection of our eyes.

I lift my other hand to her elbow and whisper my fingertips along her upper arm. She breaks out in goosebumps as I lightly follow the delicate curve of her shoulder.

My barely-there touches set the footing. My hands move, and she follows my lead. Fingers kiss skin, brushing, roaming, and indulging as we rock gently together in tune with the melody.

I’m certain she’s never permitted herself to touch a man this way, to caress and explore for her own curiosity and pleasure.

She peruses me with her eyes, learns me with her hands, and matches my steps with a slow, seductive roll of her hips.

Each verse brings us closer, and closer, until our foreheads meet, and our breaths mingle. I stroke my nose along hers, my hands gliding down her arms and pulling her in with just the friction of our skin.

Our caresses tease, light and airy, as if a heavier touch would break the natural rhythm between us. We become one. One dance, one body, caught up in the electricity of closeness.

She reaches for the back of my neck and idly traces my shaved hairline. I shudder and press in, seeking the pounding reverberation of her heart and taking comfort in the beauty she emits. A beauty that floods my senses with life.

Her hand slips through my hair, cupping the base of my skull. Her lips float to my cheek and graze the scratchy stubble. Then her head tilts back, offering her gorgeous face, and I touch it, with my hands, my breath, my gaze.

As the song leads us, we move in exquisite synchronicity, staring at each other, lost in the sensations while cradling the solidarity of our souls.

This is the most intimate we’ve ever been, yet no part of us below the waist makes physical contact. We embrace without arms, kiss without lips, and fall with the ground firmly beneath our feet.

“I hear you.” She gazes up at me, her eyes bright and mouth against mine in an almost-kiss.

“I hear you, too.” I rest my head against hers, swaying to the music, tranquilized by her nearness.

When the song ends, I walk her back to the house, my fingers woven around hers and my thoughts on the bed that awaits.

She pauses at the door and finds my eyes. I lean in, run my hands around the graceful column of her neck, and sink into the long strands of her hair.

Then I kiss her. Slow and gentle, our tongues touch and slide together. Breaths stroking, lips curving, it’s a kiss that marks a moment, not the end of one, but the beginning.

We come up for air, and she steps inside the house. Then she glances back at me.

If she asks me to come in, I will. I’ll take her to bed and spend the rest of the night inside her.

But she doesn’t ask. She closes the door and rests a hand against the glass, regarding me from the other side.

The currents shift between us. Creases fan out from the corners of her eyes, and her expression twists with turmoil.

She seems to be trying, and failing, to grasp something that will pull her free of this thing between us. I won’t help her with that.

Her desperation beats against me, and I welcome it. I’ll accept every emotion she offers. Because I want all of her. Every fear and desire, weakness and strength, nightmare and dream.

But she’s not ready for that. Not yet.

“Lock the door,” I mouth.

She turns the lock.

“No! Absolutely not!” Lorne plants his boots in a wide stance on the front porch, his eyes wildly scanning me before swinging back to Conor. “It’s too risky.”

Going out for a family dinner wasn’t my idea. After last night, I prefer some time alone to sort the bleeding, ugly mess he made of my insides.

“Fine. We’ll take a vote.” Conor crosses her colorfully inked arms, glaring at her brother. “All those in favor of eating at a quiet, safe restaurant say Aye.”

The whole family is here for the intervention, and a chorus of unanimous Aye’s echoes around me.

I’m the only one holding my tongue.

He needs to leave the ranch and interact with society, just for a couple of hours. At the very least, he needs to spend time with the people who mean the most to him. His family waited eight years for his return. Their reunion is as important to him as it is to them.

I can only imagine how hard it is to build those relationships back to what they once were. He’s not that eighteen-year-old kid anymore. But fighting them on something as simple as going to dinner only increases his emotional distance.