He must have seen my expression. “We don’t have to.”
I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Shut up,” I said, scooting up on the bed to make room for him.
He climbed on, the weight of him compressing the mattress. I drew in a sharp breath. Oh shit. Oh shit. This was happening, and I was both terrified and beyond excited.
On his hands and knees, Rory bent over me, his much shorter hair still long enough to tumble into his eyes as he stared down at me with a lustful gaze. His mouth parted, hanging there in anticipation. I lifted my head, trying to nibble him. He tipped his back, smiling. Tempting. His tongue swiped along my lower lips, and I caught him with my teeth. It was an erotic struggle, capped with my fingers finding his hardness and squeezing. His body arched like a bridge.
Breaking free of my mouth, Rory marked a trail along my body, pressing kisses down my chin, my neck, between my breasts, and then to my trembling stomach. His fingers took hold of my waistband, and slowly he slid my pants over my hips. He dipped his head between my legs, swiping his teeth over my panties. I wasn’t sure when he removed them, but I was well aware of the moment they were gone and his fingers and tongue were upon me.
It was akin to an electrocution, my body convulsing with tiny pulses of electricity. I gripped the comforter, arching and moaning.
“Holy fucking shit, Grace,” he remarked.
I didn’t really need his commentary, just more of whatever the hell he was doing. The mattress compressed again. Rory’s fingers gripped my thighs and I parted my legs wider, and in the moment, I felt no fear. No second-guessing. There would be no regrets. This was what I wanted. As it was always intended. Just me and my drummer boy.
He took it slow, allowing my body to adjust and for the pain to subside. But once I was there, pleasure skipping through my insides, Rory took no mercy. I had to cover my mouth with my hand to keep my shock and awe from reaching his neighbors. No one could keep up that pace. Rory didn’t last long, his sexy body shuddering, then stalling in midair before collapsing on top of me.
I lay there a moment, both of us panting and my fingers tangled in his hair. I was still throbbing down there and unsure if it was due to pain or unquenched thirst. After a brief moment of rest, Rory slid back down my body and brought me the rest of the way there.
25
RORY: THE BANK OF TRUST
She lay on her side, nestled in my arms. Random kisses peppered my neck and cheeks and lips. But as much as I wanted to be present for Grace, I couldn’t stop myself from glancing at the door, worrying about what might burst through and punish me by hurting her. I’d only ever had myself to protect, but now I had her, and something told me Grace didn’t move fast.
Maybe I shouldn’t have had sex with her in my bed because now I was expected to stay. What I hadn’t told her in my “nobody stays” speech was that I’d adopted the same behavior as a protective mechanism: leave before they could leave me.
It wasn’t that I wanted to leave her, but I’d been trained to run. To never get attached. Sex, for me, had always been on the move. There was no lingering or talking about feelings. In and out like a fast-food drive-through. If I wanted to stay with Grace, I needed to rewire my entire thinking and learn to fine dine. But nothing in my nomadic background had taught me how.
“You okay?” she asked, tracing her finger along my chest.
I gritted my teeth. “Mm-hmm.”
“That’s not encouraging. You look like you just watched your cat get hit by a semi.”
“I’m gonna be honest with you. If I had an ejection seat right now, I’d already have pushed the button.”
“Oh.” She lifted her head up to look me in the eyes. “That’s not insulting at all.”
She spoke with humor, but I realized how it might sound. “That came out wrong.”
Propping herself on an elbow, Grace pulled her hair to the side. “You’re lucky I’m a lastborn child, and very little hurts my feelings.”
“Trust me when I say it’s not you. You’re fucking amazing, Grace. It’s all me. I’ve got… issues.”
“I know. You told me.”
“I know it’s contrary to our towel hut experience, but I don’t like confined spaces. I don’t like closed doors. I don’t like being alone with people. I feel trapped, like I’m suffocating. And I know I have to find a way to deal with it or I’m going to lose you, and that stresses me out more.”
“So, me stuck to you like a Band-Aid probably isn’t helping with the anxiety,” she said, grabbing her bra and sitting up.
“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“You’re not hurting them,” she said with no offense at all. “I know a thing or two about boundaries. I understand you didn’t ask for your… issues, and that it’s not what you want but what you need to breathe.”
“Yes,” I said, stunned she got me on the first pass. “How do you know that?”
“I grew up with someone like that. My brother. You remind me of him… a lot.”
