"Yes," I say before he can ask. "Yes."
The zipper slides down with a whisper, and then his hands are on my bare skin, tracing the line of my spine. I shiver, and he smiles against my mouth.
"Cold?"
"No." I'm burning up, every nerve ending on fire. I tug at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons until he takes pity on me and does it himself, shrugging out of the fabric and letting it fall to the floor.
He's beautiful. Broad shoulders, defined chest, the kind of body that comes from long hours at the gym. There's a scar along his collarbone, old and faded, and I press my palm against it.
"Sailing accident," he says. "In college."
I lean in and kiss it.
His breath catches. Then he's lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to the bed. He lays me down with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger in his eyes, and for a moment, he just looks at me.
"You're so goddamn beautiful," he murmurs.
I reach for him, pulling him down to me, and he settles between my legs with a groan. We kiss until I'm dizzy with it, until I've lost track of where I end and he begins. His hands map every inch of my skin, and I do the same to him, learning the planes and angles of his body.
When he finally moves lower, pressing kisses down my stomach, I think I might combust. He looks up at me, asking permission with his eyes, and I nod. He hooks his fingers in mypanties, sliding the fabric down slowly, and then his mouth is on me and I gasp.
He's incredibly attentive, learning exactly what makes me feel good. The pleasure builds and builds until I'm shaking with it, my hands fists in his hair, and when I come apart, I can barely contain myself.
He kisses his way back up my body, and I'm still trembling when he reaches my mouth again. I can taste myself on him, and it should probably embarrass me but instead it just makes me want him more.
"Grant," I manage. "I need?—"
"I know." His voice is strained. "I know, sweetheart."
He reaches for his wallet, pulling out a condom, and I watch through hooded eyes as he strips off the rest of his clothes and rolls it on. Then he's settling over me again, braced on his forearms, his forehead pressed to mine.
"You're sure?" he asks.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck. "I'm sure."
He pushes inside slowly, giving me time to adjust, and the feeling of him inside me is almost too much. I arch up, taking him deeper, and he groans.
"God, Emma."
We move together, finding a rhythm that quickly brings me to the brink again. He keeps his eyes on mine, and the intimacy of it—the connection—makes my chest ache. This doesn’t just feel physical. It's something deeper, something that terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.
The pleasure continues to build, different this time, winding tighter and tighter until I'm clinging to him, my nails digging into his shoulders. He picks up the pace, his breath hot against my ear.
“Fuck, I’m going to come. You’re so damn tight.”
When I come this time, it's with him inside me, and I can’t help how loud I am. He follows seconds later, his whole body shuddering, and he buries his face in my neck as he rides out his release.
For a long moment, we just lie there, tangled together, our breathing slowly returning to normal. I feel like I could stay like this forever, completely blissed out.
Grant finally lifts his head, brushing my hair back from my face with a tenderness that makes my throat tight.
"Hi," he says softly.
I can't help but smile. "Hi."
He kisses me, slow and sweet, then carefully withdraws and disappears into the bathroom. I hear water running, and then he's back with a warm cloth, gently cleaning me with an attentiveness that makes me feel both cherished and slightly embarrassed.
"Come here," he says after, pulling back the covers.
