Realization hits me. Grant didn’t want to have sex, or be exclusive, until I finished my assignment. He didn’t want a repeat of undergrad.
On Grant’s bedsheets that have begun to feel like a second skin, the memory of loathing him feels miles away. The thought of feeling anything but love and adoration for him splinters a hole in my chest.
“You were always deserving of me.” My thumb traces over the indent where his left dimple rests. “I hope you know that.”
He kisses my thumb, and my palm, before gently guiding my hand to the buckle of his belt.
“I hope you do, too.”
Every time before tonight, when Grant would bring me over the edge with his tongue or by talking me through it across the bed, hand working over himself, it was frenzied passion. Clothing only half off before one of us ran our lips over each other.
Tonight is different. Grant takes his time, slowly untying the back strings of my dress and cherishing the moments as he peels it off my body.
“Another time,” he says while kissing the exposed skin of my chest. “You’re going to keep this dress on, and I’m going to bend you over and fuck you from behind in it.”
Wetness pools between my legs, and I almost ask him to hand the dress back so we can make it happen.
Words are lost in my throat when Grant starts inching the last piece of clothing off his body. His fingers twitch while I watch him, Armani branded boxers easing down his defined hips and thighs until his cock springs out.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen him exposed like this. He made good on his promises to get off while watching me touch myself. But those times before, he kept his distance.
He doesn’t stop me now when I reach out and wrap my hand around him.
“Fuck.” Grant drops his forehead onto mine. His eyes close. I’m tempted to rub his temple jokingly, tell him that it’s his turn to pry his eyes open in the middle of ecstasy, but it’s too cruel.
He’s already bucking into the space of my grip and groaning into my ear.
“It’s so fucking good, baby. You’re so good.”
The praise makes me hot everywhere. With one hand working over his length, the other forces my panties off my body. Grant and I are two bodies, limbs entangled and sweat pooling in anticipation.
Licking my lips, I roll my thumb over the slit of his cock, gathering the precum and rubbing it down his shaft.
“Lily, stop.” He’s panting and I remove my hand instantaneously. “Sorry, you’re fine. I was just about to come.”
“Why didn’t you?” My fingers twitch. I want to send him spiraling into an orgasm like he’s done with me so many times, but he shakes his head.
“Too soon. I need to be in you.”
My hips roll, searching for something to touch the most sensitive part of my body and finding nothing. It’s been too long. I’ve pictured what it would be like with Grant whispering pretty things in my ear while his cock moves inside of me, and my imagination has been good every time. The real thing has to be better.
Mind slipping to the pleasure, I don’t hold back from touching myself, running my fingers over my most sensitive area so I can feel something.
Grant watches. His gaze burns on my skin and another wave of heat shoots through me.
“You’re gonna finger yourself for me, you want it that bad?”
Moaning, my body arches and I slip two fingers into myself. His left hand pumps his cock twice. The tattooed ink on his forearm flexes during the motion and I lose all sense of dignity.
“Yes, Grant, please.” I moan out through gritted teeth. “I’ve been waiting so long. I need it, please.”
My fingers do enough to get me to the edge and leave me teetering on it, but never to satisfy. I stare at Grant and try to convey how desperately I need him.
“Grant, please.”
He breathes once before reaching over to a nightstand. “Let me get a condom.”
“Forget the condom.”
