The Trail of Lost Hearts by Tracey Garvis Graves

Author:Tracey Garvis Graves
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

Chapter Twenty-one

Marshall wakes me with a brush of his lips, startling me. “How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

“About twenty minutes. I looked over and your eyes were closed. You must be worn out,” he says.

“I guess so. But I feel good now.”

“Want to join me in the shower?” he asks once we’ve reached the sanctuary of our room.

“It’s like you read my mind,” I say, already untying my shoes and shucking my jacket.

“Please let me take off the rest,” he says with a grin, looking at me like I’m a present he desperately wants to unwrap.

I laugh. “Have at it.”

Boy, does he.

Peeling me slowly out of my clothes, he gets out of his in record time and joins me under the spray. There is a visual component that was missing in the woods, and finally, our eyes can roam, taking in every inch of each other, followed by our hands. Marshall’s body is incredible, chiseled in all the right places. As we soap each other’s skin, our hands exploring shamelessly, Marshall inhales sharply when I kiss him and stroke him at the same time, which pleases me to no end. I want him to feel every bit as good as he made me feel. I don’t stop kissing and stroking until he cries out, pulsing in my hand, and then it’s my turn again. It’s only through sheer will and frequent breaks that we complete the actual purpose of the shower. When we get out, we dry each other off and Marshall takes me by the hand and leads me to his bedroom.

Our bodies are intertwined, and the kisses are hot, so hot, hotter than they ever were with Rob. I could kiss Marshall for days and not get tired of it. Then he flips me onto my back and leaves a trail of kisses down my body, not stopping until he’s buried his face between my legs. His mouth and tongue bring me to the edge several times and it’s only when I gasp “Marshall, please” that he stops teasing and brings me all the way there. I’m transported to a place where the past doesn’t exist. It’s blissful and it takes me several minutes to come back down to earth and catch my breath. I look over at Marshall, now stretched out beside me, one leg over my body, eyes closed, smiling. Overwhelmed by my desire for him, I say, “I want you to come in my mouth,” mere seconds before closing it around the length of him. With his hands twisting strands of my hair, and with light moaning that builds and rises in volume and tempo, he complies.

Finally spent, we lie in each other’s arms. “When’s the last time we ate?” he asks.

“Breakfast,” I say.

He pulls on a pair of sweats and tosses one of his T-shirts to me. In the kitchen, we put together a spread of sliced apples, cheese and crackers, and chocolate chip cookies, then sit down at the table, and eat ravenously.

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