Beautifully Damaged (Beautifully Damaged series) by L.A. Fiore (10)

I arrived home from work one night, a few days after our fight, and I was greeted at the door by Trace, who pulled me into his arms and kissed me—a nice, long, sizzling kiss.

He reached for my hand. “I want to show you something.”

We started down the hall, but I stopped when I saw the living room, more specifically the picture on the wall: a picture of me. Trace’s walls had always been empty. In my mind it was symbolic of how he kept people at a distance, and yet there I was. I didn’t even know he had taken the picture. I can’t begin to describe the feelings that burned through me knowing that I rated not just a picture, but the only picture on his wall. I turned to Trace to find that he was already looking at me.

“When did you take that?”

“Not so long ago. You were so absorbed in your book you didn’t even notice me.”

“Why did you hang it? You don’t have pictures,” I asked and watched a smile tug on his mouth before he replied.

“After you showed up at my apartment that first time, I knew.”

“Knew what?” I asked.

He held my gaze and answered softly, “That you mattered.”

I had no words, so instead I leaned into him and pressed my lips to his. He reached for my hand and pulled me down the hallway to his bedroom.

“Was that what you wanted to show me?”

“Part of it.” He flicked on the light before moving to the closet and when he opened it, I saw that half of the space had been cleared out. It took me a minute to understand and when I looked over at him, it was to find him watching me silently, almost causally, but I didn’t miss the tension in his shoulders or the hardness of his jaw.

“I emptied out two of the drawers in the dresser and made room on the counter in the bathroom. I know you are already living here, but I wanted to make it official that you are living here with me.”

I had no words. Trace was sharing his private space with me. He was lifting a part of his armor and letting me in. I felt joy and love fill me with warmth over the commitment he was offering me. My excitement dimmed, though—I didn’t know if he was doing this because he really wanted to or because after our fight he felt he needed to make some concession. Was this his way of giving in to me without having to open up? I couldn’t answer that question but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it because whatever his intentions, the gesture was still beautiful.

I had the distinct impression that he thought I would refuse his offer, as if I didn’t want to be here with him, and wondered again what happened in his life that made him think so very little of himself. I smiled a big, goofy grin.

“Consider it official. Being here with you is exactly where I want to be.”

His response to that was interesting. He said nothing and started from the room. “I’ll go check on dinner.”

“Trace?”

He stopped in the doorway, but he didn’t turn to me when he answered, “Yes.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking?”

The silence that greeted my question stretched out for so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer me and then, to my surprise, he turned his head and looked me right in the eyes.

“I just need a minute.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t every day a wish comes true and you, Ember, are the answer to my wish.”

He walked out of the room before I could respond, but I was completely undone by his confession and couldn’t even speak. I dropped onto the edge of the bed and just stared at the empty doorway.

We didn’t speak about Trace’s gesture for the rest of the night. Later, when I was getting ready for bed, he came up behind me and pulled me back against him. His warm breath brushed over my ear. “My bed, every night.”

I was about to agree when those hands moved up my body to my breasts, where he caressed me through the silk of my nightgown. He slipped under the silk so he could tease my pebbled nipples, rolling and tugging at them. An ache started between my legs as he ground his hips against me. I pressed back, cradling the growing, hard length of him. The moan ripped from my throat when Trace’s finger slipped into my panties, brushing over the sensitive nub before going lower. He pushed two fingers inside of me as his other hand worked my nipple. My head fell back against his shoulder. He pressed a kiss right in the spot on my neck that made my knees go weak. I felt the start of the orgasm just as Trace’s hands pulled away.

“Don’t stop,” I pleaded as he reached for my nightgown and lifted it up over my body. My panties followed.

“On the bed.” His voice was gruff and sexy as hell.

That was an order I was more than happy to oblige as I climbed on the bed and fell onto my back so I could watch as Trace removed his clothes. He was exquisite; my focus traveled down his body to see him thick, hard, and ready.

“Flip over, Ember.”

Everything below my waist clenched in anticipation.

He straddled my legs so that his erection was pressing against my ass, causing a surge of moisture between my legs. It was the barest of touches as he ran his fingertips down my shoulders, along my spine, over the small of my back. The ache for him was almost unbearable but Trace seemed completely content with his unhurried exploration. He leaned forward to press a kiss on my shoulder blade, which pressed him even harder against me, and I tilted my hips back in response. I felt his restraint slipping when he took himself in hand and rubbed himself down my ass and between my legs. I felt my muscles clenching, desperate and hungry for him to fill me. He moved, keeping his hard length between my legs, and leaned over me and grabbed for my breasts that were pressed up against the mattress. He squeezed as he rubbed himself against me and I instinctively spread my legs and lifted my ass.

“On your hands and knees,” he ordered, but his hands were already circling my waist and lifting my hips up as he settled himself between my legs. His hand slipped between my thighs, his finger running up and down the swollen wetness, and I almost came. Too soon his hand was gone, and he gripped my hips.

“Put your hand between your legs and touch yourself.”

His words shocked and aroused me and for a moment I couldn’t do anything. Never had I been asked to touch myself, to give myself pleasure in front of another, but it was Trace and I wanted it to be different with him. My hands were shaking as I slipped my fingers between my legs and stroked myself.

“Tilt your hips. I want to watch as you push your finger inside.”

I felt a wave of shyness at his request even as my body throbbed with lust. I didn’t know if I could do that, if I was bold enough to do something so personal in front of him. He seemed to understand my hesitation as he ran his hand up and down my back.

“Close your eyes, Ember, and pretend it’s me touching you.”

My body shook with nerves but his gentle touch helped as he continued to caress my back. I closed my eyes and thought of him as I rubbed my fingers over my aching flesh. His hand moved lower to stroke my ass and the sensation of his touch, along with my own, had me stifling a moan when I slipped my finger inside, my body clenching around my finger as I slid it deep.

“Pull it out and sink it back in, really slowly.” His voice had grown hoarse.

Desire burned through nerves as my hips moved while I worked myself with my finger.

“Another finger.”

The second finger joined the first and I dropped my head as my body spasmed with the start of an orgasm.

“My turn.” Trace’s voice was pure sex. He pulled my hips back and I braced as he thrust forward, sinking himself deep inside me. I came on a scream. I was still riding the orgasm when Trace demanded, “Again.”

He pulled all the way out before slamming back into me. In this position he was going so deep, stretching me to the point that it hurt in a really good way. I didn’t think I could come again, but the sound of our skin smacking together, his nearly painful grip on my hips as he pounded into me, his finger moving to fondle that pleasure point, had another orgasm quickly following the first. He froze as his orgasm moved through him and the sexiest sound rumbled up his throat. He dropped his forehead on my shoulder before pressing a kiss there and then he moved, rolling onto his side and pulling me up against him.

“Was that too much?” he asked, as if he knew my thoughts. It was wonderful but I definitely felt a little off-balance.

“Ember?”

“I’ve never done that before.”

He touched my chin to lift my gaze to his. “Nothing we do in here is wrong, but if you aren’t comfortable, just say so.”

What did he like to do? I didn’t think I wanted to know. Again he seemed to know my thoughts.

“I’m not into pain and I don’t do toys, but your body is beautiful and I do intend to explore every inch of it, repeatedly. Are you okay with that?”

I was surprised at my honest answer. “Yes.”

His arms tightened around me and I knew there was something else on his mind so I asked, “What?”

“It isn’t my place to ask.”

I turned my head to him, “After what we just shared, you can ask me anything.”

“Trust me, I understand the irony of me asking this, but how many before me?”

“One and it was a disaster.”

I knew he heard me, but he said nothing. Minutes ticked by and my eyelids grew heavy. I was almost asleep when I heard Trace say, “Look, my avoidance isn’t personal and if there was anyone I’d share it with, it would be you.”

Instantly I was wide awake. Trace continued, “There’s someplace I’d like to take you. Will you come with me?”

“Anywhere.”

Affection curved his lips before he said, “Lucien sponsors an annual picnic in memory of Sister Anne, a nun who took him under her wing when he was younger. One day each year he brings together the kids from the orphanage where she worked. It’s his way of remembering her. The picnic is next week.” Silence followed that insight and I thought Trace was done sharing when he added, “The orphanage is where Lucien, Rafe, and I met.” He brushed a kiss on my forehead. “Good night.”

Tears burned my throat because he had shared a piece of his past with me.

A week after my interview with In Step, I was offered the position and, though I would be working from home most of the time, I had to go into the office to meet everyone. I dressed in one of my only pantsuits and pulled my hair up into a twist before adding a touch of makeup. Trace was in the living room when I entered.

“You look beautiful.”

I self-consciously looked down at my Jones New York pantsuit before replying, “Thank you.”

“Are you nervous?”

“A little, but I am so excited to be getting this opportunity.”

“They’re lucky to have you.”

There was something in his tone that made me tilt my head to study him. “What’s wrong?”

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looked down a second before meeting my gaze.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Could I get a ride?”

His face just lit up before he asked, “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely and maybe I could call you to pick me up?”

The smile that spread over his face was beautiful and to know that he was going to miss me—this tough, strong man—caused a long, slow pull on my heart. He walked over and wrapped me in his arms and just before he kissed me, he whispered, “I would really like that.”

The building was located in Midtown, and In Step took up two floors of the fifty-seven-story building. I was met in the lobby by my immediate supervisor, a Mr. Stanley Baker, who was one of the people with whom I’d interviewed.

“Ember, so nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Mr. Baker.”

“There’s a staff meeting in an hour, which will be a great opportunity for you to meet everyone on the team. Like I mentioned in the interview, you’ll work from home on most days, only coming into the office occasionally for meetings. In the beginning, I’ll give you the assignments, but once you get comfortable, you’ll have free range to pitch the stories that interest you. We’ll monitor the success of those and make changes accordingly.”

“Sounds great.”

When we reached the office, I was surprised by the number of people milling about, since I assumed that most people would be working from home. As I was led down the hall, people stopped to say hi. Everyone seemed very friendly—well, almost everyone. There was one person who seemed to not like me. Unfortunately she was the editor in chief, Caroline Wiggs. If the editor in chief didn’t like me, then how did I get the job?

“Caroline, Ember Walsh is starting today.”

Caroline looked up from her writing, but her expression was anything but friendly. “Ember, welcome to the team.”

And yet despite her words, she didn’t make me feel even slightly welcome. Before I could reply, she lowered her head in a clear sign of dismissal. We continued on our way as Mr. Baker said, “Sorry about that. I’m not really sure what’s up with her.”

I smiled in response, but kept my mouth shut. No sense in starting off on the wrong foot with everyone.

The staff meeting was awesome: people throwing ideas out, brainstorming, laughing, joking. It was so much fun that I found myself actually looking forward to our next meeting. Before I left I was given my assignment: to write up a film festival that was happening over the weekend. Mr. Baker walked me to the elevators and shook my hand before he said, “Welcome to the team, Ember. It’s really great to have you.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Baker.”

When the elevator doors closed, I pulled out my phone and called Trace, who answered on the first ring.

“Hey, how did it go?”

“It was awesome. I’m really going to love this job. My first assignment is a film festival in the Village this weekend. Are you free to come with me?”

“Absolutely. So are you ready for me to come get you?”

“I am, yes.”

I walked through the doors out into the sunshine just as Trace said, “Look up, beautiful.”

And when I did, there he was, resting against his bike with a big smile on his face.

The festival was wonderful, but the company, Trace, was even better. Trace offered me the use of his office, a place he disappeared into several times a week—but to do what, I didn’t know. So on Sunday, after Trace went to the gym, I made my way to the room at the end of the hall. I pushed the door open and my feet just stopped, since there on his desk was a new laptop with a big red bow on it. My journal, which I had taken to the festival to jot down notes, was sitting next to the laptop and a beautiful Tibaldi pen rested on top of it. I moved around the desk and settled in the chair as I ran my hand lovingly over the computer. Demons or not, there was a wealth of love in that man. I then noticed a note sitting next to my journal.

Ember,   

The man at the shop set it up with all of the requirements that your Mr. Baker recommended.   

Your ID is EmberLove and your password is Mine. Have fun.   

Love,   

Trace   

Was it any wonder why I loved that man so much?

I lifted the lid of the laptop and got to work. I was at it for over two hours before I needed a break. I moved to stand, but as I turned in my chair, I accidentally hit my pen, sending it over the edge of the desk. As I moved to catch it, I noticed a slip of paper on the floor. I retrieved the slip and happened to glance at it and noticed it was a bank deposit slip. My eyes widened to the size of saucers to see the balance in the account. Growing up, my dad was lucky if his savings hit four digits, but Trace’s account was well into seven digits. I just stood there, transfixed, having never seen that much money before except in board games. When the initial shock wore off, I placed the slip on the desk and tried not to think about it. Trace’s finances weren’t any of my business, but when he said his investments were profitable, he wasn’t kidding.

“Good work on the festival piece and nice initiative proposing the picnic piece. We might feature that in the main well this next week depending on how that turns out. I like the reclusive orphan billionaire angle. There’s also a gallery opening this weekend that I’d like you to cover.”

Pride washed over me, but Stanley was not one to linger on compliments so I tucked the moment away. Our phone conversations were usually short and to the point, so I asked, “I’ve only been to one gallery opening and it was casual, but the ones I’ve seen in the movies are very elaborate. Which category does this opening fall into?”

“Business casual, but there will be those who are all decked out, which I don’t get since you’re only looking at paint drying. Can you tell I’m not a fan?”

“Yes, but I’m looking forward to it.”

“Good. Keep me posted.” And with that he hung up.

The picnic Lucien sponsored ended up a pretty grand affair held on the grounds of the orphanage where he grew up in Hell’s Kitchen. The proceeds from the day were filtered back into the orphanage, providing new books, clothes, and food. I knew he was rich and had countless connections but I had the sense that he wanted to keep his professional life separate from this personal tribute. There were sponsors, but they were all organizations dedicated to helping those in need; the YMCA, Brothers and Sisters of America, Goodwill. Was it possible that he feared Sister Anne wouldn’t approve of how he made a living?

The picnic was clearly bittersweet for Lucien and I found I wanted to know his story but, like Trace, he wasn’t at all forthcoming. I had asked Lucien if he would mind if I wrote a piece on the picnic for In Step. The article wouldn’t have an effect on the current year, but maybe next year there would be a bigger turnout. He was very receptive to the idea since the more in attendance meant more would be given back to the orphans. Three days after the picnic I turned in both of my assignments.

I was still riding the high over Trace sharing a small piece of his past, but his reveal had only left me with more questions. He had no love for his parents, but to learn he was an orphan surprised and saddened me. That article I found in his storage unit—was it possible that the horrible recounting of those murders was about Trace’s parents? I had thousands of questions but I was definitely chipping away at his outer wall.

That night, Trace and I sat in the living room watching the news. Well, I wasn’t paying any attention to the news—I was straddling his lap, pressing kisses on his face.

“Did I thank you for the laptop?”

“Repeatedly, and you are welcome to continue thanking me.”

I spread kisses down his neck as my hands reached for his shirt so I could lift it over his head and then I took a moment to really appreciate his very fine form. My hands couldn’t help reaching out to run over his chest, down his abs, up his arms, and over his shoulders. My exploration of his magnificent body turned his eyes dark with desire.

“Don’t stop there, sweetheart.”

Trace’s expression never wavered as he took my hand and moved it down his body to the large bulge pressing against his jeans. My eyes held his as I rubbed him, but it wasn’t enough so I flicked the button on his jeans and unzipped them, slowly, before my hand sought and found him. His eyes closed on a moan as I ran my hand up the length of him, twisting slightly as I reached the tip. It was empowering to render this incredible man weak with need, but I affected more than just him. I was about to rectify that when something on the news made Trace’s eyes fly open, and he physically lifted me from his lap. His eyes narrowed and then he was standing, zipping up his jeans, and pulling on a T-shirt.

“Trace?”

“I need to go out.”

And then he was gone.

I sat there in mild shock, wondering what had just happened. I turned to the television and reached for the remote to rewind. Some local, Charles Michaels, had announced his intent to run for state Senate. I sat back on the sofa. Who the hell was Charles Michaels to Trace?