I kissed him again and felt him groan into my mouth. “I'll tell you if it hurts. I promise. But if you don't take me to bed right now, I'm going to lose my mind.”
He studied my face for a long moment, searching for something—hesitation, pain, uncertainty. Whatever he found must have satisfied him, because he nodded once and took my hand. “Slow,” he said.
“We'll see.”
He led me toward the bedroom, and I followed. The room was small, barely big enough for the bed and a dresser, but it felt massive with both of us in it. Grant turned to face me, and for a second we just stood there, staring at each other in the dim light filtering through the window.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he said.
“Not a chance.”
He closed the distance between us and kissed me again, slower this time, deeper, his hands moving to my waist to pull me closer. I went willingly, pressing against him, feeling the hard line of his body against mine and wanting more. Needing more.
Grant's hands found the hem of my shirt and started to lift it, then stopped. “Shoulder,” he said.
“Careful,” I agreed.
He helped me ease the shirt over my head and I gritted my teeth against the pull in my shoulder. Once it was off, he tossed it aside and ran his hands over my chest, my ribs, my stomach—mapping me like he was memorizing every line.
“You've lost weight,” he said.
“Haven't been eating much.”
His jaw tightened. “We're fixing that.”
“Later.” I reached for his coat, started pushing it off his shoulders. “Right now I need you naked.”
Grant shed the coat, then his shirt, and I let myself look. I wanted to touch all of it, taste all of it, lose myself in the weight of him until I forgot everything else.
He caught my wrist gently when I reached for his belt. “Let me.”
I stepped back and watched as he undressed the rest of the way. His hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with steady fingers despite the heat in his eyes. The leather slid free with a soft whisper of sound that made my cock twitch. He popped the button of his jeans, dragged the zipper down, and I couldn't look away from his hands, from the deliberate way he moved.
When he pushed his jeans down over his hips, I saw the thick outline of his cock straining against his boxer briefs. The sight of it made my mouth water.
He stepped out of his jeans and kicked them aside, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them down. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed and already leaking at the tip. I stared, drinking in the sight of him—the way his cock jutted out from his body, the heavy hang of his balls, the trail of dark hair leading down from his navel.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Like what you see?” His voice was rough, strained.
“You know I do.”
He stepped closer, closing the distance between us, and his hands found the waistband of my sweatpants. “Your turn.”
I lifted my hips to help him, and he dragged the sweatpants down my legs, careful of the bad one. My cock was already hard, tenting my boxer briefs obscenely, and when he pulled those down too I hissed at the contact of cool air against heated skin.
“How's the leg?” he asked, eyes tracking over my body like he was cataloging every inch.
“Fine.”
“Jace.”
“It's fine. Just... don't put your weight on it.”
Grant's hand came up to cup my face again, grounding me. “You're sure?”
“I'm sure.”
