Free My Heart's Beat (Hard Love & Dark Rock #2) by Ashley Grace

from my hips to my waist to my ribs, pushing the dress up as they went.  I raised my arms, and he stood and pulled the dress over my head quickly, tossing it aside.  His lips came back to mine, pressing me back down onto the mattress as he crawled onto the bed above me.
    I wanted to feel him against me, to feel his bare chest against mine.  My hands slipped under his shirt, tracing the grooves of his ribs, following the taut skin of his flanks to his broad, muscular back.
    With my head on the pillow and his knees straddling my waist, Trace straightened up and pulled the shirt over his head.  I looked up at him, at the chiseled muscles of his abdomen, the broad power of his chest, the panorama of dark tattoos adorning his body.  He looked majestic and tragic and beautiful, like a god looming above me.  I felt a rush of heat go straight to my core, felt myself getting wet for him.
    I reached up, my hands nearly trembling.  My fingertips touching his hard, flat stomach, feeling the power that lurked just beneath his thin skin.  My hands flowed outward to his hips, my fingertips dipping into the groove that angled down toward his crotch.  I traced that groove until it disappeared into his low-slung jeans, which drew my attention to the bulging package behind his fly.
    Suddenly I felt nearly desperate to get at that hidden treasure.  I needed to see him, to feel him in my hands.  I'd already been denied the opportunity once that night.  I wouldn't let it happen again.
    My fingers went to the button of his jeans, popping it loose.  I caught hold of his zipper and pulled it down, folding his fly open.  I hooked my fingers over the waistband of his jeans, trying to tug them down.
    "Hold on," he whispered, "just a second."
    But I couldn't wait any more.  The need to see him was like a fever, burning in my blood.
    I tugged again, the jeans slipping another inch lower on his hips, revealing a teasing hint of dark curls.
    He flopped down on the bed beside me, bracing his back and his heels against the mattress, lifting his hips up so that I could pull his jeans off.
    I rolled up onto my knees, ignoring the twinge of pain I felt beneath the bandages, and jerked the jeans down over his knees.
    Freed from the confines of his jeans, his cock came springing up toward my face.  For a moment I froze, startled.
    In all honesty, I didn't have a lot of experience with boy parts, and what little experience I did have consisted mainly of a few drunken fumblings in the dark.  I'd never actually been able to take a good, long look at a real penis in my life.  And now I had possibly one of the most dreamed about dicks in the whole world—the one belonging to Trace LeBeau, Dark Rock God slash Megastar Sex Symbol—right here in front of me, all to myself.
    And suddenly, I had no idea what to do with it.
    "You okay, Anne?" Trace said.
    I looked up at him.  I nodded my head.  And then I looked back down at his dick.
    The first thought that came to my mind: how in the world is that supposed to fit inside of me ?
    It was long and thick, bigger than I thought it would be.  The skin on the shaft looked slightly darker than the rest of his body, as if it had caught a tan that the rest of him hadn't.  The head was smooth and round, a delicate shade of purple.  And his balls looked heavy and dense, held in a tidy sack just beneath the root of his cock.
    Tentatively, I reached out for it, tracing a fingertip over the seam that ran along its length.  It felt hot to the touch, and as hard as wood—though the skin itself seemed surprisingly soft, like velvet.
    As my finger came near the head, his cock seemed to jump, and Trace let out a low sigh.  A little drop of clear liquid oozed out of the slitted hole at the tip.  It glittered in the light like a jewel.
    I looked back at his face.  He'd propped himself up on his elbows and caught his lower lip between his teeth.  His eyes watched mine, and somehow he managed to look both slightly