Collaboration (20 page)

My laughter dies abruptly when his index finger grazes my pebbled nipple before traveling down my stomach, my eyes closing in anticipation of its destination. Circling my clit and then exploring my folds, every nerve is now on high alert. Just when I’m about to reach down there myself, he thrusts two fingers inside of me, and I react by pushing up on my tiptoes, giving him better access. He doesn’t hesitate to push them further into me while his thumb rubs my clit. As his tongue lavishes attention on my neck and his fingers work me like no one ever has before, I can’t control the animalistic sounds I’m emitting. All I know is that I want this exquisite torture to end—or maybe I don’t. I can’t even think straight anymore.

“Trace,” I moan, pulling him toward me, wanting to feel his skin against mine as he makes me come.

“Let go, baby, I got you,” Trace assures me. With those words, I allow myself to finally let myself go in his arms. Keeping his fingers inside of me, he stills them before gently releasing them from my warm wetness. He continues to massage my folds and clit until I come down completely. Although I can add this one to the list of out-of-this-world orgasms Trace has given me, I need him inside of me. I grab his cock, pulling it close to where I want it to be, but he pulls back a little.

“You’ve gotta be sore, are you sure?” He looks at me warily but I nod my head. “What about protection, Peaches?”

Although I’m glad he remembered, my head is clear enough to know what I want. “I’ve got it covered and I’m clean. You?”

“Well, I obviously won’t have it covered,” he jokes, “but yeah, girl, I’m clean. Using condoms religiously will do that for ya. But again, are you sure?”

In answer, I raise my leg and with my hand still holding his cock, I position his tip at my entrance, continuing to stare into his baby blues.

Never in my life have I felt pure ecstasy from one thrust of a man. “Shit, Peaches, oh shit—you feel so fucking good,” he says with a grunt. “I can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.” Feeling him deep inside me and hearing those words have me on the brink already. “You are so fucking tight.”

I’m practically bouncing off of his dick, his hands on my ass. Not having anywhere to put my hands, I wrap them around his neck. “And these tits…fuck, Taryn.” A growl comes from deep within him and he takes my nipple into his mouth, flexing into me one last time before he stills. Just as he comes inside of me, I find myself releasing the second orgasm he’s given me in only a few minutes.

Holding me steady against him, his full, wet lips travel from my shoulder to my neck, up my chin and then land on my lips. The gentle and steady kiss he gives me makes me feeling like I’m floating above cloud nine.

“You’ve wrecked me, you know that?” he asks, leaning his forehead against mine. Since it doesn’t seem like he’s expecting an answer and I’m not sure I can speak right now, I remain silent as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me firmly against him. We linger under the water for what seems like hours, not talking but just listening to the sound of the water and our breathing. I’ve never experienced anything like it with anyone ever before.

After a few minutes, Trace grabs the shampoo and massages the suds into my long hair. We take turns washing each other’s bodies before finally emerging from the safe confines of the shower. Wrapping one another in towels, we walk back to my bedroom.

“It’s time for me to make you some breakfast,” I tell him while I put on some yoga pants and a tank top.

“I don’t know about that—breakfast is my meal
.” He can make me whatever he wants
, I think, while attempting to burn the image of his naked body into my mind before it’s all covered up. After he dresses, Trace struts over to me with his classic smirk and my stomach fills with those familiar butterflies I get anytime he approaches me.

I take his hand and lead him down to my kitchen, where he makes a beeline for the fridge.

“Let’s see…” he mumbles, “You don’t have much, Peaches.”

“I’m not here very often,” I inform him.

“I guess eggs will do,” he says, pulling out the plastic container. “Organic, huh? I shouldn’t have expected anything less. But fucking free range?” he asks with a smile, shaking his head.

“Hey, it’s healthier.”

“So they say. Ain’t nothing wrong with what our Mommas gave us,” he says, digging through my cabinets for the frying pans.

“Maybe
your
mom. My mom’s version of eggs was taking me to the diner for an omelet.” I laugh but he turns around, smiling at me sympathetically. I don’t want him to feel sorry for me.

“I guess our moms were different.” The sadness in his eyes overwhelms me. For the first time, I realize that he’s never spoken about his parents—not to me anyway. I do remember him mentioning them in his acceptance speech at the Grammys and I vaguely recall an uncle being mentioned one time.

“Trace, can I ask you a question?” Based on the way his back muscles tighten and his hand pauses in mid-stir, he already knows what I’m going to ask. An uncomfortable tension fills the room for a few pin-pricking minutes before he sighs and says without emotion, “They’re dead.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, immediately regretting that I asked—maybe we’re not ready for this. He places the spatula down and turns around to face me.

“It’s okay, it was a while ago,” he assures me but his eyes clearly state that it’s
not
okay. He’s so young to have lost both his parents, so I’m imagining that something traumatic must have happened. “Where’s your nine-grain, organic, gluten-free bread?” he jokes, obviously trying to put an end to this discussion. Not wanting to ruin our brief time together, I decide to go with it. “No bread, all those carbs,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. I walk over and grab some tortillas out of the fridge before tossing them on the counter.

“Shit, Taryn, you have white, flour tortillas. I doubt there are any carbs in these,” he states sarcastically, the smile that I love finally back on his face.

“Just make me a breakfast burrito, funny man,” I say, grabbing two plates.

He rolls his eyes and chuckles while finishing up with the food. A few minutes later, we sit at my breakfast bar and eat the mouthwatering burritos Trace managed to make with the little food I had in my fridge and cabinets. We’re almost done when we hear his phone in the hallway. “And so it begins…” he mumbles, walking over to retrieve it.

My eyes follow him and I notice a few of our clothes from last night strewn across the foyer. The memory of what happened when he closed the door makes me shiver, and I’m practically wet—again—when I think about what occurred when we finally made it to the bedroom. Lost in my recollection, I’m jolted back to the present when I hear Trace yell, “What. The. Fuck?”

Without giving it a second thought, I jump up and look out my front window. Peeking through the blinds, I see swarms of paparazzi, all lying in wait. Trace pulls me back and against the wall. “That was Cal. Some fucker got a shot of us last night.”

I think of us together in the storage room, me entering his car in the parking garage, and then him escorting me out his car before we entered my house. “Where?”

“Where do you think? You need a better fucking security system, Taryn.”

“I’m sorry, Trace, but I didn’t think people would be out there so late at night. Maybe I should hire my own detail like you,” I scoff.

“What the hell is wrong with your mom anyway?” he asks, ignoring my remark. “You should have cameras all over the place, a privacy fence, and you sure as shit shouldn’t be able to press a button on your keychain to open your fucking gate. You’re lucky some fucker hasn’t snuck in here already and done God knows what.” He’s now pacing while shaking his head and I’m now getting pissed off.

“It’s not like I can control who is outside, Trace, and don’t bring my mom into it,” I respond. I’m not sure why I’m defending her because I know he’s right, but something about his reaction is just rubbing me the wrong way. “So what is this
really
about?”

He turns slowly, asking, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I won’t be your little secret anymore.”

The shock of my words is evident by the expression on his face. In two long strides he’s standing in front of me. Taking my hands in his, he says, “Taryn, that’s not it. I could give a flying fuck what the world thinks about us. It’s your safety I’m concerned about. It pisses me off that your mom and Backlash haven’t protected you like they should. But it stops right now. You aren’t coming back to this house until I make a few changes around here.” I’m sure I should be even more pissed by his controlling words, but
his overprotectiveness feels nice. For once, someone cares about me without an agenda. It's not the money or the fame, it's just me.
I definitely need to armor myself because Trace is beginning to sneak in, one line at a time.

He bends down to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, Peaches. I have a habit of overreacting sometimes,” he says with that sexy smirk of his, and I can’t do anything but press my lips firmly against his. “So, I’m forgiven?” he murmurs against my lips.

I answer by plunging my tongue into his mouth and he answers by pushing me against the wall. Just when things are really starting to heat up, a loud knock on the door instantly cools us both down. “Who’s that?” I ask dazedly, wondering how someone made it through the gate. Maybe he has a point.

He tells me Cal is here for backup and then steps away from me, walking toward the door. Spotting my panties near the entrance, I call out to him, pointing to the floor. “Shit, good call,” he says, picking them up and shoving them in his pocket. How embarrassing would
that
be? Then again, I’m pretty sure Cal knows what we’ve been up to.

Trace yanks open the door and ushers in his bodyguard. “Mornin’, Ace. Miss Starr,” he nods his head my way.

“Please Cal, call me Taryn,” I tell him but he remains focused on Trace.

“What’s it like out there?” Trace asks, moving toward me before wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me into his body.

Cal stares at us curiously before his lips turn up slightly on either end. Of course, if you weren’t looking closely, you’d miss it. “Like I said, there’s a photo of ya’ll already plastered everywhere. Paps are waiting outside the gate to get the shot of you coming out of her house…they know that’s where the big money is. Wanna sneak out or face the music?” Cal asks Trace, who is now staring down at me.

I see the questions swimming in his eyes that I know are a reflection of mine. Are we ready for this? It’s not just what our family and friends think—it’s America. Hell, it’s the world. Will we be ridiculed? Will we become the headline jokes on all of the late-night talk shows? How will it affect our careers? I don’t have any of the answers, and although Trace doesn’t either, he surprises me by telling Cal, “I’m going out the front.”

He winks at me and a small smile creeps across my face. We’re actually going to do this. He bends over and kisses my lips. “Give us a second, bro,” he says after pulling away. “Why don’t you grab a quick drink from the kitchen?”

After Cal walks in the direction Trace indicates, he looks at me with concern. “Are you okay with this?”

I nod my head—I’m more than okay with this. I have never felt more ready to face the unknown.

“Taryn, if we do this, things have to change. This means a whole lot of fucking press and if we thought the paps were bad before, it’s going to be a nightmare now. You need security, babe. No more going places without it, understand?”

I nod again, wishing he was going with me to some of those places—or any of them really. Not knowing when we’ll be together again is really starting to hit me hard.

As if listening to my thoughts, he says, “Good. Now give me some lovin’…it’s gonna have to last awhile.” Without another word, I kiss him with every ounce of the angst I’m feeling, and he kisses me back like he could never possibly get enough of me. After a heart-stopping five minutes, we finally part. “I won’t be forgetting that one anytime soon,” he tells me. Damn, the man always knows just what to say to make me swoon.

“I’ll call you tonight and we’ll compare schedules. I’m sure we can find some way to meet up,” he says, addressing another of my silent concerns. Before I can respond, Cal enters and stands at the door as Trace gives me a final chaste kiss. He then winks before putting his sunglasses on and walking out the door. I feel his absence immediately but then my door opens back up and Trace peeks his head in. “Peaches, lock the fucking door,” he demands and then his lips curl up into a bright smile before he shuts the door again.

I rush over and lock the door. The longer he stands around out there, the more magazines he’s selling. As I walk upstairs, I think about the shitload of things I have to do before I head to the airport in an hour. When I enter my room, I hear my phone vibrating and it hits me that my mother is probably on the warpath—nine texts and six missed calls confirm it. At least there are some from Regina to break it up a little.

Mom: Taryn, you need to call me.

Mom: Call me NOW!

Gina: Details babe…call me!

Mom: Answer your phone.

Mom: Are you with him?

Gina: Man, he must be really good???

Gina: Seriously Tar, come up for some air.

Mom: Taryn????

Mom: I’m on my way. Do NOT leave the house.

Shit, my mom’s last text was sent ten minutes ago—she’s already on her way. I might as well pack up so I’ll be ready. The less time alone with her, the better. I shoot Gina a quick text, letting her know that I’ll call her later. Not even three seconds later, she responds.

Gina: You better. I’m pretty mad that TMZ has more information than me. LOL

Thirty minutes later, I hear my mom’s heels clicking across the foyer. I haul my suitcases downstairs, where I get my first look at my mother, who is standing with her hands on her hips, steam coming out of her ears. Only I would notice that she’s a little less put-together than usual, most likely after the rough night she had and an equally rough morning.