Wait for Morning (Sniper 1 Security #1) (24 page)

Nope. Not working.

Should she go apologize? Tell him she was
sorry for waking him up and maybe explain about the nightmares? Or was that simply
an excuse to go into his bedroom?

She had a feeling it was the latter. Would
he shun her if she did? Or would he pull her into his arms and make the
memories and the nightmares disappear for even a minimal amount of time?

Well, the last damn thing she wanted was
to lie there and think about the possibilities. So, that left her with two
choices … lie there and suffer or seek him out.

The next thing Marissa knew, she was
padding across the hall to the open door of Trace’s bedroom. She hadn’t seen much
of the interior of the room earlier when she’d brought him her laptop, and thanks
to the darkness, she didn’t get to see the one room that would tell her so much
about the man her body was aching for.

“What do you need?”

His gruff voice shook her from her
thoughts, and she peered through the darkness, attempting to make out his form
in the shadows. When her eyes adjusted, she saw him sitting on the edge of the
bed, a thin slice of light shining in through the gap in the closed curtains
allowing her to see his outlined form.

She didn’t answer his question. Instead,
her feet moved her forward, closer to where he sat. It was as though her brain
no longer had a say in the matter because she’d been fighting this attraction
for far too long.

Asking him to help her, to offer himself
so that she could eradicate the demons that plagued her just for a little while
seemed like a reasonable thing to do. Selfish but reasonable. When the morning
sun rose, she was sure she’d feel differently, but right now, she didn’t have
it in her to care. If he would put his hands on her, the rest of her pressing
thoughts could wait for morning.

“Marissa.” The way he said her name was
meant to be a warning, she was sure.

It didn’t stop her from moving even closer.
When she stood just a few inches in front of him, she stared at him, wishing
she could see him better, but for now the cloak of night was probably the only
thing giving her courage.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She wasn’t
exactly sure whether she was apologizing for scaring him with her screams or
for showing up at the edge of his bed, hoping for something from him.

“For what?”

Leave it to Trace to want her to clarify.

He was staring up at her; she could feel
the heat of his icy gray gaze along her skin. Unless he had an eerie sort of
night vision, she knew he couldn’t see her any better than she could see him,
but she suddenly felt naked although she was fully covered from neck to ankle.

“For waking you,” she answered, unsure
what she was supposed to do or say now.

“You didn’t wake me,” he said, his tone gravelly,
as though he’d been gargling sand. Was that because of her? Did she affect him
the same way he affected her?

She didn’t say anything, wishing he’d pull
her into his arms of his own accord, shelter her in his heat, but she couldn’t
bring herself to ask for what she wanted.

She inched a little closer and a warning
rumble came from his throat.

“You need to go back to bed,” he said, his
words clipped.

“I don’t want to,” she told him, her voice
barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.

“You
need
to.”

That sounded as though he needed her to
more than she did.

“Why?”

Trace didn’t answer her. He didn’t move as
they stared at one another, the heat engulfing them both. A firestorm of need
that had been refuted for far too long. It was stronger than she was, and she
was beginning to wonder whether Trace had the ability to hold out any longer.

“Go. To. Bed.” Trace’s words were low, an
animalistic rumble. As though he were trying to hold himself back and failing.

Or at least that’s what Marissa wanted to
believe. What if he really didn’t want to have anything to do with her? What if
he was trying to spare her feelings and she was about to make a world-class
fool out of herself?

No.

She’d seen the passion in his gaze earlier
that morning when he’d come dangerously close to kissing her in his kitchen. He
wanted her. He just didn’t like that fact.

“No.” Wow, had she really said that? So
adamantly?

“I’m warning you, Marissa. I can’t do
this.”

Can’t.
That’s what he’d said. Not
don’t want to
or something along those lines.

Moving another inch closer, Marissa’s
knees grazed his, and even through the cotton of her leggings, the brief
contact sent a tsunami of pleasure crashing through her.

Trace growled. This time the rumble was
clear; his intentions were clear. He was hanging by a thread, and damn it all
to hell, for once, just once, she wanted to push this man as far as he could
go.

And that’s what she intended to do.

From the moment Marissa had walked through
his bedroom door, Trace had been clenching his fists, praying she would turn
around and go back the way she’d come from. His self-control was shot. The
tattered thread of his restraint was quickly unraveling, and he was about to do
something that Marissa would likely regret in the morning.

So why did she keep pushing him?

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispered,
and Trace fought the urge to reach for her, to toss her on the bed and climb
over her, hard angles against soft curves, while he devoured every inch of her
luscious body.

“You need to,” he assured her, trying to
hide the need in his voice.

There were only so many warnings he could
give, and clearly she wasn’t heeding any of them. Which left him crumbling in
the face of his hunger for this woman.

She didn’t dispute him. Rather, she shook
her head slightly, letting him know in the intimate shadows of his bedroom that
she knew what he was after. And she wanted it, too.

“Last warning,” he told her roughly. “If
you don’t turn around and walk away, I’m gonna bury myself inside you until
you’re beggin’ me to let you come. Understand me, Marissa?” His voice was
rising, his threshold long since surpassed as he willed himself not to take her
the way he wanted.

She’d been through too much. More than he
could fathom, and he was supposed to be protecting her, yet what might happen in
a matter of seconds would likely break them both more than anything she’d
endured.

“I’m not leaving,” she said firmly.

Trace’s muscles locked. Her defiance
astounded him, made him want to dominate her. To show her just what he was
capable of, the pleasure he could and would wring from her body if she followed
through.

He had long since passed want, or mere
desire, and he was quickly barreling toward succumbing to the cravings that had
plagued him for far too long. She was everything he wanted and everything he
had denied himself. The moment his hands touched her flesh, he’d be a goner.
And right now, he could only pray that she understood that.

“Make it go away, Trace,” she pleaded
softly. “For however long you want, just make it all go away.”

Sonuvabitch!

Trace was up on his feet, his naked body
pressed to hers, his hands cupping her face as he lifted up slightly, forcing
her up on her toes as he ravaged her mouth with his. This wasn’t a gentle,
reassuring kiss. It was a promise of what was to come, an introduction to the
fierce, uncontrollable yearning that he had for her.

“Goddammit, Marissa,” he growled, unable
to disguise the hunger. “I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”

“You have me,” she assured him, her soft
tone spiked with what sounded like an answering passion.

Pressing his forehead to hers, he looked
into her eyes, the ice blue barely visible in the dark room. “This is your last
chance, sweetheart. You know all those rumors you’ve heard about me?” Trace
paused, waiting for her to answer him.

“Yes.”

“They’re all true. Every last one of them,
baby. And I assure you, one night will never be enough for me. I’ll have you a
million different ways and the cravings will never subside.” He was telling her
the truth, hoping like hell that one of them would come to their senses before
he opened the floodgates and there was no way to turn back.

“I want you.”

“Well, you’ve got me,” he breathed out
roughly, mirroring the words she’d said to him only moments before.

Before he had a chance to think it through
any longer, he was crushing his mouth to hers, giving in to the greed that had
consumed him since the first time he’d thought about Marissa naked beneath him.
She was a fantasy that never abated, one that only intensified over time, and
one that he fully intended to explore from this moment forward.

Turning her in his arms, he pulled her up
against him, her back to his front as she faced the bed. He nestled his face
against the smooth skin of her neck, kissing her softly, desperately trying to
hold on to his control before he ruined everything.

Calming himself slowly, Trace slid his
palms up the outsides of her thighs, making his way to the hem of the sweater
he had watched her change into earlier in the day. Should he or shouldn’t he?
It was the question that didn’t matter because there was only one answer.

He
needed
her.

Lifting slowly, he allowed his fingers to
graze the soft, smooth skin he revealed as he inhaled her fresh scent, continuing
to place kisses along the sleek column of her neck.

That was the moment he realized he’d lost
the battle. He was giving in. Every ounce of his control was gone. And that’s
when the world came into focus again, and a much-needed calm surrounded him.

Marissa.

He’d waited so long for this.

There was no hurry. Morning would come
soon enough, and as far as he was concerned, he’d be lodged deep inside of her
body when the time came. Until then, he was going to get intimately familiar
with every creamy, delectable inch of her. Even if she might regret this come tomorrow—which
he prayed she wouldn’t—Trace could no longer deny himself.

After grazing his knuckles over her
nipples, Trace proceeded to pull the sweater up and over her head. Stepping
away from her for a moment, he tossed it onto a lone chair in the corner and then
flipped on the lamp beside the bed. There was no way in hell he was going to
miss this. His imagination would have nothing on the reality, and he wanted to
memorize her with all of his senses.

Stepping behind her once more, he placed
his hands on her flat stomach, pulling her into him as he pressed his aching
dick against her lower back, grinding gently, the friction causing tremors to
course just beneath his skin.

When Marissa pushed back against him, he
sucked in a breath. She was going to be the death of him, he could pretty much
see it now.

Refocusing his attention on her, he moved
north, his hands sliding over her ribs to the underside of her breasts, then
higher, hefting the weight gently as he did. “How much do you like this bra?”
he asked.

“It’s not one of my favorites,” she told
him.

He had no idea whether that was the truth
or if she just knew what was about to happen. Either way, he was taking her at
her word. Gripping the edge of the delicate cups, he yanked, the fabric tearing
easily, her breasts spilling from the lacey confines. Without pausing, he gently
pinched her nipples between his thumb and forefinger, both at the same time,
until she gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder.

“Yes,” she hissed, the softly whispered
word urging him to continue.

Cupping her breasts, he gazed over her
shoulder, mesmerized by the dusky pink nipples between his thumbs and
forefingers. He continued to tease her, pinching her nipples simultaneously as
he squeezed gently. He wasn’t interested in hurting her, merely wanted to push
her beyond the realm of pleasure and into mind-numbing euphoria.

“Do you like when I pinch your nipples?”
he asked.

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation.

Leaning down, he nipped her earlobe with
his teeth as he watched his bronzed hands against her creamy, alabaster skin. A
stark contrast that made her femininity all the more alluring. “I’m going to
tell you everything I do as I do it. Do you think you can handle that?”

Marissa nodded her head as she tilted
forward, watching him pull and twist on the hardened nubs while he continued to
squeeze the glorious mounds.

“Put your hands on mine,” he instructed.
When she placed her hands over his, he slipped his out from underneath and
pressed hers against her breasts. “Play with your nipples. And don’t be gentle,
either.”

She immediately pinched her nipples,
plucking them as she groaned.

“Beautiful.” And fuck, that was such an
understatement. Marissa was one of the most sensual women he’d ever met, and
this wasn’t the first time he’d thought that. Until tonight, he’d only
fantasized about what he’d do to her, but right here, right now, this was far
beyond anything he’d imagined.

He expected Marissa to want moonlight and wine,
candlelight and silk sheets dotted with rose petals. Never in his wildest
dreams would he imagine she’d be so open to the raw, hedonistic pleasure that
he sought.

“I plan to taste them.” Trace continued
talking softly as he slid his hands beneath the waistband of her leggings,
forcing them past her hips slowly. “I plan to suck them and then nibble on them
until you’re writhing beneath me, begging me to let you come.”

Marissa moaned, her fingers stilling on
her nipples.

“Don’t stop,” he urged as he squatted
behind her, lowering her leggings to the floor and waiting as she stepped out
of them.

Holy hell. The lacey pink thong was barely
existent, yet it was surprisingly demure and erotic all at the same time. He
intended to rip it from her body, but not until he played with her some more.

Unable to resist, Trace pressed open-mouthed
kisses against the soft, warm globes of her ass, one then the other. Reining in
the overwhelming urge to rush things, he nipped her ass before standing to his
full height once more.

Grazing his chest against her back, his
rigid cock was pressed between their bodies, begging for attention he didn’t
intend to give it for a while. Right now was all about her. He was a greedy
man, but self-gratification wasn’t what he sought. His sole objective was to
bring her pleasure, make her come apart at the seams, begging for more while
she thought she couldn’t handle another second. That’s where his pleasure came
from.

“Beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.
“So fucking sexy, just as I’ve always known. You make my dick hard, Marissa.
I’ve wanted you for so long, denied myself the sweet taste of you because I
didn’t think you could handle what I can give you.”

“I can handle it,” she assured him, although
he wasn’t quite sure she knew the full extent of his intentions. When she dropped
her head back against his shoulder once again, he placed his fingers over hers,
forcing her to apply more pressure to her nipples.

He breathed in roughly as he said, “I
definitely intend to see just how much.”

□«»□«»□«»□

Marissa felt scorched from the inside out,
and this was only the beginning. The rough, callused slide of Trace’s hands
across her skin left tingles in their wake, making her want more, crave more.
Need
more.

When Trace had ripped her bra, the heat
that had consumed her earlier had intensified tenfold, a warm, insistent
throbbing starting between her legs. And the more he spoke, the hotter she
burned until she worried her temperature rivaled that of a million suns.

She’d heard rumors about Trace. Lots and
lots of rumors. Some she had believed before tonight, some she hadn’t. But
right here, clad in only her panties and what was left of her bra, she had to
wonder whether they were all true. According to him, they were. And based on
the way he was playing her body, at the moment, she sort of believed him.

Marissa had had only a few lovers in her
life, her abstinence mostly due to the isolation she was forced into for her own
safety. She had a penchant for her vibrator and didn’t shy away from porn,
which led to plenty of self-induced orgasms, but nothing compared to this.

Nothing.

Trace took her hands and pulled them away
from her body, freeing her nipples from the clamp of her fingertips. He moved
forward, forcing her to move with him, edging closer and closer to the bed. She
waited patiently, hoping he would tell her what to do next, because oddly
enough, giving herself over to his demands was refreshingly freeing.

“Put your hands on the bed and don’t
move,” he commanded, his hands gripping her hips and moving her closer to the
bed still.

Palms down, Marissa bent at a ninety-degree
angle as she supported herself on her hands while Trace roamed his palms over
her butt, the thong she wore offering absolutely no protection from the blazing
fire of his touch. A shiver raced down her spine as she remembered the way the
heat of his mouth against her bare bottom had felt moments ago. She wished he’d
do it again because even the erotic pain when he nipped her had been
incredible.

She wanted to spread her legs, to
encourage him to the spot that would light her up like a pyrotechnics show, but
she could tell he wanted to take his time. Considering she’d waited what felt
like her entire life for this moment, Marissa wasn’t interested in rushing
things, either.

“Oh, God,” she moaned. It was an
involuntary reaction to the way his big hands gripped her, kneading her butt
cheeks, separating them and then squeezing them together.

“Such a beautiful ass,” he growled, the
words guttural and laced with something that sounded a lot like longing.

Yes, she’d heard rumors that he enjoyed
kinky sex, and the most kink that Marissa had experienced was when she used her
vibrator while watching porn on television
in
her living room
, rather than getting herself off in the dark safe haven of
her own bedroom. She got the impression that what she’d thought of as taboo
wouldn’t hold a candle to what Trace had experienced.