This isn’t just Grant the Grump anymore. He’s not just a sexy guy I share an office with. A Dom I play with. He’s this man. A little wild, a little nostalgic. Good at reading people. He has friends who love him and a heart of gold that he would never, ever admit to.
I’m shivering slightly from the cold, from his kiss. He urges me closer, and we’re pressed so tightly together, and this closeness doesn’t just feel sexy; it feels necessary.
This. Here. It’s what we’re meant to do. Aside from what we did in the kitchen at work, I haven’t experienced this kind of dry-humping since I was a teenager. And let me tell you, it is underrated. His hands on my ass, guiding me, his erection turning me on, and his mouth making me lose my ever-loving mind. That’s how it is when I come.
Out in the wild. With no one around but an owl, hooting from the woods.
I pull back, my pulse flickering at the back of my eyes.
“I love that.”
“What?” I pant, like I’ve just run a marathon.
“When you come. Each one is different. This time, you scrunched your face up, and bit your lip, and made this little noise.” His thumb swipes my mouth. I try to catch it, but it’s already gone.
“What kind of noise?”
His teeth flash in the moonlight. “You’ll just have to pay attention next time.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“Should I record you?”
“No. Absolutely not. I hate everything about my voice.”
“Really?”
“Yes. It’s like a foghorn.”
He barks out a laugh. “No, it’s not. It’s sweet. I like it. I… I love it.”
The way that word vibrates in the air between us feels like it means more than it does. I’m so raw from what I’ve admitted tonight that I bat all the feelings back and turn to humor for distraction. “Yeah, well, you should hear me sing.”
“Oh, I’d like that.”
“Actually, you wouldn’t. I guarantee it.”
“Bullshit. Come on. Sing.”
“Nope.”
Grant leans forward and tickles me on the stomach, and I attempt to roll up like an armadillo. He gets through, though, and tickles harder, which makes me laugh like a hyena.
Now he’s laughing, and I’m howling, and we’re sort of wrestling in the boat, and then, I’ve got no idea how it happens, but I go from ridiculous, teasing fun in the warmth of the blankets to holy shit, I’m about to fall in.
He catches me just as the boat starts to tip, pulls me into his chest, and uses his weight to counter the move.
“You okay?”
I nod slowly. Tears pop, unbidden, into my eyes. Ugh. I really need to stop all the crying.
“Hey. Hey, what is it? What?” We’re on our sides in the bottom of the canoe, and it’s cold, but his arm’s tight around me. The boat’s floating, the water just an occasional splash against the side.
“I haven’t done this since I was a kid.”
“Kissed in a canoe?”
I gently smack his arm. “Been in a canoe at all.”
