“I’ve been wet since the hallway,” she confesses, voice shaking. “Since I saw?—”
I cut her off with another kiss, deeper, swallowing the rest of that sentence. I don’t need the reminder; I just need her.
I walk her backward until her spine hits the bookshelves. Old leather tomes press into her shoulders. I pin both her wrists above her head with one hand. The other dives back into her leggings, pushing lace aside. Two fingers slide inside her easily, curling, and her head thumps against the shelf.
“Oh, fuck—” Her hips roll, chasing my hand.
I pump slowly, thumb circling her clit, watching every flicker across her face. When I add a third finger, she starts to unravel, thighs trembling, breath hitching.
“Come for me right here,” I order, voice rough. “I want to feel it.”
She does, hard, her body clamping around my fingers, a choked cry muffled against my shoulder. I keep stroking through it, drawing it out until she’s sagging in my grip.
I ease my hand free. I lick her taste from my fingers while she watches, dazed.
I release her wrists only to strip the rest of her clothes away. Leggings peeled down toned legs, bra tossed aside. She’s naked, flushed, gorgeous. I drop to my knees long enough to spread her with my thumbs and drag one slow lick from her entrance to her clit. She cries out and clutches my hair.
Then I’m up again, belt clattering open, trousers shoved down just enough. I sit on the wide leather couch and pull her over me. She straddles willingly, hands braced on my shoulders, eyes locked on mine as she sinks down.
The heat of her takes my breath. I let her set the pace at first, slow, savoring, watching her bite her lip as she adjusts to every inch. When she’s fully seated, I grip her hips and take over, guiding her up and down, deeper, harder.
“Like that,” I rasp. “Take what you need.”
She nods, rolling her hips, grinding her clit against me on every downstroke. Her breasts bounce with the rhythm. I lean forward and catch one nipple in my mouth, sucking hard. She cries out, nails raking my scalp.
I flip us in one motion, laying her on her back, one of her legs hooked high over the back of the couch. The angle opens her completely. I drive in again, slow at first, then faster, the slap of skin loud in the quiet room.
“Look at me,” I growl.
Her eyes snap to mine. I slide a hand between us, thumb finding her clit, rubbing tight circles. She’s close again; I can feel it in the way she tightens around me.
“Come again, Samantha. Let me feel you milk me.”
That undoes her. She comes with a broken moan, back bowing off the couch, pussy pulsing so hard it drags me over the edge with her. I bury myself deep and let go, groaning her name against her neck as I spill inside her.
We stay locked together, breathing ragged, hearts hammering in sync. I press lazy kisses along her collarbone, tasting salt and her.
Eventually, I ease out and collapse beside her, pulling her into my chest. She curls there like she belongs, one leg thrown over mine, fingers tracing the ink on my ribs.
“That was…” she starts, voice hoarse.
“Long overdue,” I finish.
“Grant, what are we doing?”
“What do you want to be doing?”
She shifts to look up at me. “I don’t know. This is complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“You’re my ex-boyfriend’s father.”
“Your ex-boyfriend is an idiot who didn’t deserve you.” I tilt her chin up. “What we just did has nothing to do with Logan.”
“Doesn’t it, though?” But she’s not pulling away. If anything, she’s pressing closer.
“Does it feel like it’s about him?”
