I roll my eyes.
“You haven’t!” he presses. “You’ve been honest, and that’s a lot harder than I think you realize. Most people aren’t.”
“Yeah, but Ihadto be honest. That’s the thing with being a ‘late bloomer’ or whatever you want to call it—there’s no hiding it or pretending it doesn’t exist. You’re outside of the club, waiting for the urge to go inside, all the while everyone is watching you through the windows, wondering why you’re out there, why you’re such a fucking weirdo—” I snap my mouth shut, realizing I’m rambling, that I’m taking this out on Graham and it has nothing to do with him. “Sorry,” I whisper.
His hand covers mine, slowly easing the death grip on my pen that I didn’t realize I had. “There’s nothing wrong with waiting to feel ready for something,” he says quietly.
My gaze falls to his thumb gently stroking the back of my hand, to his fingers wrapped around mine, his forearm flexed as he leans toward me. My gaze travels up to his bicep wrapped tightly by a black t-shirt, then his shoulder, his neck, his mouth.
And just like that, it all clicks into place. “I think I’m done waiting,” I breathe, my gaze flitting up and meeting his.
Realization washes over him immediately, and his gaze dips to my lips then back up. “Are you sure, Dee? Because—”
I reach for the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine. And whatever hesitancy he’d been holding evaporates. He spans the little distance left between us, scooping me up into his arms and standing, his lips pressed to mine the whole time. My arms loop around his neck, holding him tight as he carries us down the hallway and into my bedroom.
Our kisses slow as he places me down at the foot of the bed, his hands reaching up to tangle in my hair as his tongue dances against mine. Both excitement and nerves tangle in my stomach, a cocktail strong enough to keep my brain fuzzy for weeks.
Graham’s hands move, and his fingers skim the bare skin of my stomach, right at the edge of my t-shirt. “As cute as this top is on you, Trouble,” he breaks the kiss to say, “I’d like to see you without it.”
I lift my arms as Graham pulls the shirt over my head and tosses it aside. He briefly glances down at my pink, lacy bra before pressing a deep, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of my neck. I sigh, eyes fluttering closed. As he kisses his way across my skin, I feel him fumbling with the buttons of my jeans, undoing them and then standing back to slip his t-shirt off and get to work on his own jeans.
I stand there, chest heaving, watching him. Fuck, his muscles look so much better in person than they did in that stupid dating app photo. Abs for days, arms that flex as he works the zipper on his pants.
“Quit staring at me and get out of those,” Graham says with a smirk, nodding to my jeans, although I can tell he definitely doesn’t mind the staring.
I take in a shaky breath, doing as he says, stepping out of my jeans and kicking them aside. Graham does the same, and soon there we are, standing before each other in nothing but our underwear.
A wave of shyness passes over me, but not enough to stop me from reaching out to gently run my hand over Graham’s sculpted abdomen. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Graham’s breath hitches as my fingers dance across his skin, simply feeling him, taking him in. “You’re so … hot,” I breathe, feeling immediately embarrassed by the obvious and less-than-sexy bedroom talk.
But Graham seems nothing short of thrilled.
He grins down at me, gently scooping me up under the thighs and tossing me onto my bed, crawling up beside me. “Thanks, Trouble,” he says with a smirk. “And in case nobody’s told you lately, so are you.” He leans down and, to my surprise, takes his tongue and licks it up the center of my body—from my navel all the way to the underside of my bra. “Sofucking hot,” he murmurs, his eyes on mine.
My mouth drops open, the skin where he’d licked me practically on fire.
Graham deftly reaches underneath me, unhooking my bra and then—with my cooperation—disentangling me from it and tossing it away. And then his tongue is back on my skin, drawling slow, lazy circles across my breasts, my nipples, sucking and nibbling until I’m whimpering beneath him.
I’m vaguely aware of his hand traveling lower, across my belly, dipping below the hem of my panties, his finger sliding along my slick center. He moves up and down a few times, finally settling against my entrance and prodding gently.
I suck in a breath, and Graham leans up slightly. “Can I?” he breathes.
“Yes,” I answer, my body practically doing it for me.
His eyes on mine, he gently pushes his thick finger inside of me, and I moan softly as he fills me up. “That feel good?” he asks, and I nod, biting my lip.
He smiles, his eyes alight with relief and arousal. He gently pulls his finger back, almost all the way out, and then back in again. He does that a few times before finally seating his finger all the way in and then curling it upward—andholy god in heavendoes that feel unlike anything else I’ve ever experienced in my life. My back bows off the bed, and I cry out—from both pleasure and surprise.
Graham pins me down with his free arm, grinning from ear to ear. “That’s it,” he praises. “Right there.” He does whatever the fuck it is again, and I nearly cry.
“Graham,” I whimper. “Fuck, what is that?”
His finger presses harder, and I’m panting, writhing against him, unable to stop the pleasure rising within me.
“That’s your g-spot, sweetheart,” he says. “And I think we’ve just learned youreallylike it being played with.”
A muffled groan escapes me as he continues his assault, stroking that spot inside me harder and faster. I grip his arm that’s holding me down, my fingernails biting into his flesh. “Oh god, oh god, ohgod,” I chant, the pressure almost too much.
