She looks defiant for a moment, then exhales and nods. “And then what?”
I let my eyes roam over her one more time, and there’s no question what I’ll be thinking about for the next several hours. When I answer, it’s the pure, unfiltered truth.
“And then I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk.”
Chapter 25
Heather
The first thing I’m aware of is that it must be morning, because I can see the sunlight even through my closed eyelids. The second thing is the pounding in my head.
It isn’t the horrible, awful kind of hangover that makes me want to curl into the fetal position and cry, but it’s still intense enough to let me know I had more wine than I probably should have last night.
And now, finally, I’m aware of the hard, warm, massive body that’s resting against my back.
My eyes fly open, and I start to gasp, but catch myself just in time before I can say or do anything truly embarrassing.
Because it’s Grant, of course.
He’s behind me, with one heavy arm draped across my waist and his broad chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths against my shoulder blades. His body is solid but still warm and inviting, and I can feel every taut muscle and hard plane through the thin fabric of my dress.
My dress.
I’m still wearing my outfit from last night, and speaking of truly embarrassing, I don’t know if I’ll ever live down the way I acted when he got home.
He’s still here, though. Shirtless and protective, and too damn hot for his own good, even fast asleep.
I shift slightly and can feel the soft fabric of his pajama pants against my bare legs. Okay, so at least we’re both still fully clothed. Well, mostly clothed.
If I’d had my way, we would’ve been waking up naked and disheveled and probably more than a little ashamed. He really was looking out for me last night, even though it didn’t feel that way in the moment.
And now other fragments of the night are coming back to me as well. The bar. The wine. Watching him on TV. Coming home and waiting for him. The things I said—telling him how I touched myself while I thought about him. Throwing myself at him. Kissing him. Begging him to fuck me, then begging him not to leave me alone when he stuck to his guns like the gentleman he is.
That’s it. I seriously can’t be left unsupervised while I’m drinking wine anymore. Like, ever.
He stayed, though. He didn’t fuck me, but he stayed to make sure I slept. To protect me. And I must have fallen asleep within minutes of my head hitting the pillow, because the last thing I remember is feeling warm and comfortable. Like nothing else mattered, at least for a little while.
His arm tightens around my waist in his sleep, and he pulls me closer against him. He’s hard, and there’s no way to ignore that thick length as it throbs insistently against my ass.
Heat flashes through me, so fast and intense that I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning out loud.
I should stay still until he wakes up on his own. Or maybe I should slowly creep out of bed and put some distance between us before this gets out of hand.
But there’s been a running theme in my life lately of not being very good at doing all the things I should.
So of course I press back against him.
Not forcefully. Just slightly. Just enough to feel the full, heavy weight of his cock as it settles right between my ass cheeks. Then I press back a little more, until a low, rough sound rumbles from his chest.
“If you keep doing that, I’m going to break the promise I made last night.”
There’s no hint of teasing in his words. He really does want to fuck me right now, and that knowledge lights a fire in my core that makes it hard to think about anything else.
With my brain short-circuiting, my body takes over, and I roll my hips back against him until I can feel him harden even more.
“Please,” I whimper, and for a moment I think he might actually give in.
He grips my hip harder, and his breath goes ragged against my neck. But then he stops and rolls me onto my back in one smooth motion that completely turns the tables on me.
