“I’m fine. I promise.”
“Don’t let me hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I whisper, although most likely he will. Grant lies over me, parting my knees with his, and I can feel him there, his foreign hardness probing, bobbing along that tender part of me that waits for him. He hikes up on his elbows with his gaze meeting mine, his breathing already at a dangerous clip, his eyes hooded over with lust.
Grant enters slow and steady, never taking his eyes off me. The girth of his body stings as he stretches me to accommodate him. Here it is. The moment I’ve waited for with a boy I love more than my own life. Grant takes up my hand and interlaces our fingers as he thrusts in as far as my body will allow.
“I love you, Ava Vincent.”
“I love you, too, Grant Jones.”
And just like that, we’re one.
Grant
There are veryfew things in life that physically feel good—the running jump of a successful layup, crashing on a mattress after a ten-mile run, but never has any physical release felt so bone penetratingly satisfying than burying my body inside of Ava’s.
The morning sun shoots through the wall-to-ceiling windows with its razor sharp blades, spearing us in the eyes.
Ava groans and pulls the blanket up over her head. We went from lying on it to tossing it over us as we drifted to sleep. Lawson is going to kill me for defiling his family’s shag rug. Not that Ava and I did anything that could be classified as defiling. What Ava and I did last night—hell, until all hours of the early morning, was beautiful, an elixir for my wary heart. Ava and I knit one another together again by way of our soul-melting kisses, our hungry bodies coiled around one another like forged metal never able to be the same again.
Ava emerges from under the blanket and presses her soft lips to my chest. “Morning, you.”
“Morning, you,” I parrot back. “You hungry?” I brush the hair from her eyes. Ava’s hair is like an entity all to itself, so full of life and movement it’s more like an extension of her emotions than it is inches of dead keratin.
“Yes.” She pulls me forward with a greedy gleam in her eyes. Ava has the most beautiful pale, sapphire eyes. “I’m starved for your affection.” She leans in and takes a playful bite out of my neck. “But I’m gross, and I should probably shower.”
“I promise, you’re far from gross. You need me to help you wash your hair?”
Her face deepens a rich shade of crimson. “I—um—uh, maybe—”
“How about I raid the fridge and make breakfast?” I press a kiss to her forehead. I get it. Some girls are shy about flaunting themselves in broad daylight. But Ava has nothing to worry about. Every delicious curve of her body is perfect.
Ava wraps herself in the blanket and takes off while I get dressed and fry up some eggs and bacon. The stove has a huge griddle built into it, so I go to town with a box of pancake mix I found in the cupboard and whip up a mixing bowl full. Just as I’m about to ladle out a serving, an idea hits me, and I dump the entire bowl onto the heated metal. Carefully, and with great precision, I fashion a heart out of the batter. By the time the food is done, Ava finds me in the kitchen and marvels at my culinary expertise.
“You’re beautiful.” I can’t help but say it. Her hair is slicked back, wet in thick glistening strands, as if it demanded I note its glory. Ava’s face gleams with the illumination of an angel—all of her fresh scrubbed natural beauty glimmering through.
“Thank you.” She pecks a kiss to my cheek. “And, wow—I think you just made the world’s largest pancake”—she cranes her neck while squinting at it—“and, is that a heart?”
“The artist does love when his public can relate to his work.”
“The artist’s food sculpture is quite fantastic. How is that ever going to fit on a plate?”
“Here.” I pull out the syrup and pour it over the food sculpture in question before handing her a fork. “How about we just dive in and eat our heart out?”
“I see what you did there.” Ava cuts off a piece and touches it over my lips, denying me the bite as I lean in to take it.
“The Ava I know and love isn’t a tease.”
“You’re right.” She inserts the fork into my mouth. “The Ava you know takes it all the way inside of her, deep”—she pulls the fork in and out slowly—“with all the thrusting and pummeling you can muster.”
I buck with a laugh, removing the fork before I choke to death on a heart-shaped pancake.
Ava moves toward me with a laugh, and I scoop her in close, the silky white robe she’s wearing stops shy of her thigh, and the slit down the front affords me a glimpse of the girls.
“Did I impress you with my thrusting?” I cock my head, piling on the raunchy humor. The only thing I hope my thrusting did was leave her unharmed. Last night was her first time. The last thing I want is for Ava to fear any part of my body.
“Let’s see…” She taps her finger to her chin. “Actually, I’ve forgotten all about your thrusting. Perhaps you could remind me?”
