“What he did hurt you,” he says, quiet anger in his voice. “Maybe it shouldn’t have, but it did, and he should know that.”
“It won’t make a dif?—”
“You deserve an apology. Or closure. Or something from that asshole,” he says, turning toward me. “Why does he get to go through life not giving a fuck who he hurts?” He steps toward me, and tears prick my eyes. “Why are you so okay with being collateral damage, Gen?”
And suddenly, I’m angry, too. At him for assuming what I need or deserve, or at Will, I’m not sure.
“Maybe I don’t want any of that. Maybe I don’t need closure.”
“Maybe I do,” he says on an exhale, his anger blowing out with it, and something in my chest twists at how honest he’s being, at how easily he’s trusting me with his heart. I want to cradle it, want to lock it away where not even I can hurt it.
“I haven’t thought about him in weeks, Grant. I haven’t felt the way I used to in months. Do you knowwhy?” I watch as his tongue brushes his lip before he presses his mouth into line, his throat bobbing. “Ask me why?”
He doesn’t answer, just lets his searing gaze roam over my features before he relents.“Why?”
“Because all I can think about is you.Youare every thought I have. Every one—it’s all you.”
When I say it, it’s true. And still, this small voice in the back of mine asks: how are you simply done with the one person you thought you’d have forever? But I have to be—want to be. Because what I really want, with every fiber of my being, is standing right in front of me.
He releases a shaky breath as his hand brushes against my hair, cups the back of my head, and I know we’re okay.
“I just…want you to know how much you’re worth. How much you deserve.” The words skate across my skin, coil inside me.
“You could show me.” I feel the need for him like a drum beating steadily inside me, know the throbbing feeling between my legs won’t be satisfied by anything but all of him.
“Gen.” Restraint coats my name, and I watch as he goes to war with himself.
“We’re not acquaintances anymore. I’ve gotten to know you. You’ve taken me out. You brought me home to meet your parents,” I huff a nervous laugh, wanting him to want me. “What excuse could you possibly have?” I ask him, my voice hushed.
He’s still hesitating, worry lodged in the back of his gaze, but I inch forward anyway, barely brushing my lips against his. He maintains the distance, and the longer he does, the more I want him. The more I need him.
Chest heaving, I almost wonder if I’ve made a mistake,pushing him to do something I shouldn’t have, but then something flickers in his gaze.
“Fuck it,” he whispers against my mouth and the breath I release is part laugh, part awe. Every inch of my body hums with need as he claims my mouth, his tongue brushing past my lips to plunder mine. I touch his face, his beard rasping against my palm, and hear him exhale against me. Dipping his head, he hungrily kisses my neck as his hands explore me and I turn in his hold, desperately wanting him to touch me everywhere. My head tips back, landing on his hard chest, and I’m an electrical current—buzzing and zapping and intensifying with each stroke, each brush, each caress. Pleasure pools between my thighs, and the force of this feeling is going to swallow me whole and I’ll let it.
I drag his hand to my leg and barely suggest he let it travel further before he’s raking his fingers against the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh. He slips under my skirt, beneath the seam of my underwear, tugs them downward, his touch exactly what I need. I fail to contain my whimper as he strokes me there, two of his fingers driving into me as his palm brushes against my clit.
“Is this what you wanted?” The desperate edge of his voice has me clenching around his fingers.
“More,” I manage to say. “I want more.”
His quiet curse drives the pressure building between my thighs further, and I pull myself away for just a moment but it feels like an eternity. Every inch of me pulses with need as I loop my arms around his neck and he braces his arms under me, lifting me.He’s strong and capable beneath my legs wrapped around him. His lips devour mine and relief twines with pleasure as I’m overwhelmed in the best way, the masculine notes of him sending shivers down my spineas I breathe him in—dark and rugged, woodsmoke at the end of the night.
He lays me against the bed, his powerful arms bracketing me, before he kisses his way down the taut lines of my body. I feel his touch everywhere, and when his fingers brush beneath the waistband of my skirt, the current has pleasure pulsing everywhere. Hot, wet kisses tease the sensitive skin on my lower stomach as he tugs the skirt down, his tongue swirling against my skin. And suddenly I’m bared to him, the sight of him watching me maybe the hottest thing I’ll ever witness.
He swipes a finger up my slit, then down it, watching the motion, before sliding his fingers into me. His eyes lock with mine and take me in as I moan and gasp, feeling overexposed in this impossibly addictive way.
“I dream about tasting you. Do you know that?” he tells me, adding a finger before pressing down on my clit, and it’s whine that escapes me. He dips his head and his tongue licks up my slit and I think I die. He does it again, more slowly, his groans of pleasure indicative of how much he’s enjoying this, and it pulls me that much closer to the release I’m so desperately chasing. My hands fist the sheets beside me as I watch the delicious twitch and strain of his neck and shoulders. He presses his tongue in just the right place, swirls his tongue around it and sucks it into his mouth.
“Oh my god,” I can’t help but say, and I couldn’t have died. I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. When he drives a finger into me, and then another, I feel that familiar pressure build and finally unravel beneath his touch. I’m spasming and falling and clawing and being swept away by a tsunami of pleasure. The calluses on his hands roam my skin, skate across my breasts under my top as he kisses his way back up my body.
I lift the hem of his shirt, wanting to feel him against me, the motion forcing him to sit up. He peels the shirt off, never taking his eyes off me, the half naked sight of him feeling unreal. I want to feel my way up and down the rippling expanse of it, run my fingers through the perfect smattering of hair I didn’t know I’d findsosexy. And he’s watching me, watching me process him, with this sensual glint in his gaze. I push up on my forearms, leaning back, biting my lip out of nervousness, my growing smile pulling my lip from my teeth.
“Come here,” he tells me with authority so reverent, I feel my nipples harden against the fabric of my bra. When I do, he pulls my shirt off me with ease and dispenses with my bra before I can even think to help him. Cool air washes across my skin and it sharpens everything into a fine point. Self-consciousness drapes itself over the need still pulsing under my skin, and I swallow hard.
“Fuck,” he says under his breath, but I hear it, the word itself winding that coil of heat inside me tighter. His hands find my waist, as they always do, but this time it’s his fingertips against my bare, sensitive skin, and I want them everywhere.
“I’ve never been naked in front of anyone…except I guess my ballet company,” I admit, letting him take his fill. A part of me thought I wouldn’t like this feeling, baring myself so completely, soup close; instead, my heart rate slows into a steady stream of energy, all sensual excitement and anticipation, and the thought of Grant knowing me like this is exhilarating.
