Burdened (A Burdened Novel) (18 page)

Grabbing them, he lifts his head to look at me. I don’t move his hands, looking back at him for only a second, until I place my hands against his, pushing them downward—letting him know it is okay for him to take them off. He does, slowly, and removes my shoes at the same time.

He doesn’t come back to me but kisses my inner-thighs. Creeping up, inch by inch, he moves back to my navel. My emotions and hormones are all over the place. My nerves are shaking in anticipation as his hand travels from my thigh to my middle, accompanying my warmth with the heat of his fingers.

They rub against me and I move against them, increasing friction, with his eccentric kisses enraging my need. He moves to the waistline of my panties. I lift so that he can take them off and he does. Removing them slower than I thought he would, and butterflies flutter in my stomach, and the tips of my toes and fingers tingle.

“Calm down, Tracey,” he says to me, in that comforting and welcoming voice I’ve only heard him use with me. When he makes contact back with my skin, his lips are against my sweetest spot and I melt.

Every kiss he had applied to my lips, he makes double the effort applying them there. His hands grip my thighs tightly, squeezing them off and on with the motion of his mouth. It takes every effort to not run my fingers through his hair, yet I grab and pull his arm and the comforter I’m laying upon.

He tells me to be quiet a couple of times, and his warm breath brushing across my skin does something unruly to me, in replace of him stopping. My body shakes repulsively and I’m unable to control it.

He kisses me twice more before sliding my panties back on. He grabs me some shorts from his drawer and sides them on me as well. Not able to move, he moves me along the bed and pulls the covers over me.

Disappearing into a door in his room, he closes it behind him. I hear water running, telling me it’s a bathroom. When he comes out, he has on nothing but shorts. He climbs into his bed next to me, pulling me against him. I’m out in seconds.

I wake up feeling as good as when I went to sleep. My shirt is changed into one of his, but he’s gone—like every morning I wake up.

“Nathan,” I say, without raising my voice, certain that he can hear me.

Good morning, beautiful. I put some clothes for you in the bathroom, along with a couple of towels. A new toothbrush is sitting on the sink, and the toothpaste is in the drawer. Let me know when you’re finished, and I’ll come get you to bring you to the kitchen. I’m making you breakfast.

Breakfast?
You’re cooking?

Yes.

You can cook too? I don’t know, Nathan. I may be a little inadequate for you.

Don’t, Tracey. You are perfect for me. Hurry up. I’m almost finished
.

I get in the shower, letting the hot water run over my face without getting my hair wet. The tub is big and he has one of those waterfall shower heads over you and another on the wall. There is liquid soap for women—a type of Dove, which is full. There is soap that looks like he uses on a regular basis. I grab it, smelling it. It almost smells just like him, save the earthy-like musk he wears.

I finish my shower, not ready to get out—the hot water assisting my good feeling. I reluctantly get out—thinking about Nathan—brush my teeth, and run my fingers through my hair, pulling it up into a bun, letting it sit messily atop my head. I look cute with my hair messy.

I put on the clothes he had left out for me. Everything looks new, which, with the soap and the toothbrush, indicates he has been up for a while and went to the store. He has all of my sizes right, down to my panties and socks. He also has a new pair of sneakers waiting for me by the foot of the bed.

The door knocks. I finish sliding on my shoes and walk over to the door. “Yes?”

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Do you have a bag I can put my clothes in?”

“No, just leave them on the floor.
Pailen will get them.”

I open the door. “Who is
Pailen?” And why am I comfortable with her touching my drawers?

“She’s our housekeeper. She cleans and washes the clothes, and I want you to have something over here, just in case.”

“That’s why you went shopping and bought me this stuff?” I point to my outfit.

“Yes, and yes, you do look cute with your hair messy.” He kisses my forehead. “Come on, and leave the door open so
Pailen knows I need her to go in there.”

I do, and I follow him on a hike, long journey to the kitchen. I’m feeling good, refreshed, happy, and hungry. And if his food is good, there is nothing that could mess up my day.

“It will be good.”

“I believe you. Where’s your mom?”

“Her and my father went to a family member’s house to include the rest of the family in on what’s going on.”

“What’s going on?” I shrug. “What do you mean?”

“Scott and Glen. I told my father about the way Scott has been acting and it raises some red flags. So they went to have a family meeting.”

“You didn’t want to go?”

“No, not really.”

“Why?”

“Because I would have to bring you, and everybody would steal you away from me.” He pulls me around a corner to a kitchen that has to be the size of my entire house. “It’s not that big, Tracey.”

“Nathan, this kitchen is huge.” The smell of bacon fills my nose and my stomach grumbles loudly.

“Are you hungry?”

“I guess so.” I chuckle.

There is a six-seater, table-sized island sitting in the middle of the kitchen, with barstools facing the kitchen sink and stove. It’s like they’re meant for you to watch the cook. I sit on the one facing the sink. A huge window is behind the sink, looking out into the backyard, and farther behind it is the lake.

He sits next to me, after setting down two plates full of food. The food looks delicious—eggs, bacon, pancakes, grits, sausage links, and hash browns. “You couldn’t have cooked all of this,” I say in disbelief.

“I did,” he defends as he gets back up to grab two glasses and a bottle of orange juice that is sitting on the counter. Coming back, he pours the juice and hands me a glass. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “I was waiting for you. Aren’t you going to eat?” I mock.
“With me?” I add sweetly.

He smiles at me.
“Of course.”

I start eating my scrambled eggs first. They are delicious. I don’t need to add salt, pepper, or syrup—I like syrup on my eggs sometimes. My bacon is cooked perfectly. I love it crispy but not burnt.

“You want some syrup for your pancakes?” I nod. “My mom makes it from scratch—best stuff you’ve ever tasted.” He hands me the ceramic pourer with the syrup.

I pour it over my pancakes and taste it. And it is…the best syrup I’ve ever had. I resume eating everything, surprised by the satisfying taste.

“She taught you how to cook?” I ask, eating my last sausage link.

“Yes, she did.
Just in case.” He drinks his orange juice.

“In case of what?”

“What do you think, Tracey?” He doesn’t look at me as he finishes his grits and scrambled eggs. They are mixed together.

His mood has changed. I can feel it shift in my own.
Weird. We’re almost finished eating. “You
do
know how to cook. This breakfast is delicious.”

“Thank you,” he says, before gulping down the rest of his juice. “You have me all to yourself today. What do you want to do?”

“Watch the sun set,” I say, remembering he said we would, as I stare out the window at the water.

“That’s on the list, but later.” He looks behind him. “It’s still early—11:53.”

“Can we walk, and you tell me more about you?”

He looks back at me. His eyes are brown, giving a glimpse of hazel with how the sun hits them. “Yeah, we can do that.” He looks at my plate. “You finished eating?”

“Yes, thank you.” I grab my orange juice, finishing it. He waits until I do, then takes my plate and glass, along with his, to the sink. I walk over to him as he rinses the dishes. He seems out of sorts. His mellow mood concerns me. “You feeling okay?”

“Yes, beautiful. Don’t worry about me.” His head is slightly turned, looking down at me through the corner of his eyes.

“Umm, I don’t know. I think I want to.” He finishes rinsing the dishes and places them in the dishwasher.

Drying his hands, he asks, “You ready to go?”

“Yes,” I answer, plotting on figuring out his mood, concerned about what is bothering him.

“What are you thinking, Tracey?” Nathan asks me, after a long moment of silence. We walk along the grassy edge of the sand, far from the water.

Something very bad.
“Why are you asking?”

“You told me to stay out of your head. I’m working on that.”

“Last night. What you did to me.” A smile, ear to ear, spreads across my face.

He pulls me in his arms so he’s walking behind me, and slows our pace. “You liked that?” he asks calmly.

“Who wouldn’t?” I kiss his hand nearest my face. “Although, don’t think I didn’t notice you still didn’t give me what I wanted.”

“Hmm, but was it enough?”

“Yes, it was. Never knew I could do that, or someone else could do it to me,” I say in astonishment, more to myself.

He chuckles deeply. “What am I going to do with you, Tracey?”

“I don’t know,” I joke.

“You like stuff like this?” His hand moves out as if he were presenting something to me. “Doing nothing?”

“What? Like walking, talking?”

“Yeah.”

“I do, it’s relaxing. No people around, it’s quiet. I like just hanging around, joking, laughing, talking—even if I’m talking about nothing. Especially with you.”

“Uh huh?”

“Yep, but I don’t want to walk and talk about me.” I pause to look at him. “I’d much prefer if we could talk about you.”

“And what is it you want to know?”

“Everything, but I’ll give you a runway.” I move from in front of him so we can walk side by side.

He laughs softly. “Okay.”

“Your eyes, they change colors, based on your moods, right?”

“Yeah, most of the time.”
He puts his hand that’s not holding mine into his pocket. “When they don’t, that means we haven’t learned to control it. I let you see my eyes change, because I’m comfortable with you. I know you won’t freak out when they do. But if I wasn’t, you would only see my brown eyes.”

“Is that your natural eye-color?”

“No.” He walks slower. Again, I can feel his mood change.

“Okay, then what is?”

“Dark-blue and grey.” My breath catches. Eyes like that
should be
appealing, but when I saw them on Scott, they weren’t—although, his were outlined in green.

I ignore that—well, try to. “When we kiss, they turn a bright, ocean-blue, and I can see a sand-like, brown circle behind it.” I pause. “It’s actually hypnotizing.
Very beautiful.”

“Really?”
He gives me that side-look again.

“Yes.” I smile. “And what mood would that be?”

“Humph, I’ve never seen my eyes change that color before. I mean, I can feel it when they change, but I thought they were changing to another color around you. I didn’t know that color existed.”

“And what would that be?”

“The color I thought my eyes changed to?”

“Yes.”

“Green and brown.”

“They turn that color too, but when we are all over each other they turn hypnotizing.”

“They
could
be hypnotizing you, which is what makes you turn freakish.” He smiles.

I punch him. Although, he is probably right, considering he told me I can get drunk off him. I shrug. “You might be right.”

“Probably. I have to make a mental note to look for that. I’ve really never seen that before.”

“No other girl has ever seen that color?”

“No other girl has ever seen my eyes change
period
,” he states in a tone.

“So how many girls have you been with?” It is a question that has been on my mind since our conversation the night we first talked.

He tenses. “Why are you asking me that?”

I don’t understand his discomfort. “You know how many guys I’ve been with. I don’t see the harm in the question.”

“There is no harm. It was before me. As long as whatever the number is doesn’t increase after me, I’m okay with that.” He looks at me, taking a minute to study my face. He squints his eyes before looking back in front of him. “A few,” he answers.

“So three?”
He shakes his head. “Five?” He shakes his head again. “Am I hot or cold?”

“Cold,” he says in a smooth, low voice.

Cold. “Okay, north or south?” He wants to play the guessing game.