“Stop talking,” she huffs. “I was promised leg shaking. And they’re not shaking yet.”
Tightening my grip on her hips, I dig my fingers into her soft flesh. I want to bruise her. Leave her with a reminder that I was here. Touching her, feasting on her sweet pussy, fucking her with my tongue.
I keep pace, and she bears back, moving to my tempo, faster and faster until she’s close again, right there. But then she slows, hesitates. Her muscles tense.
“Problem, Gracie?”
Sighing, she slumps against the back of the couch, hiding her face in the cushion. “It’s… not gonna happen. I told you. I’m notbuilt for that, much as I want to be. I’m… I’m taking too long. You have to be at work soon and I can’t?—”
Hauling myself up on my knees, I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her back into my chest, squeezing, trapping her words. Her body comes alive instantly. She’s so goddamn responsive. The moment I put on that pressure, clamp my fingers down the way she likes, her need takes over, and a sudden wetness drenches my fingers.
“Stop thinking,” I say as I settle behind her. “Focus on me, on what I’m doing to you. How tight I’m squeezing your throat.”
I press a little harder, and when her muscles settle, her body relaxing against mine, I start circling. Slow at first, easing her in, and then, as she moves her hips, keeping rhythm, faster. Like that first night, she fucks my hand, taking what she wants.
“That’s right, Gracie. Make a mess on my fingers, let me feel how fucking wet you get when I touch you like this.”
I tug her closer and add more pressure to her throat. She grips my wrist, digging her nails into my skin.
God, she’s hot. Completely naked, grinding on my hand, her ass rubbing against my cock, edging me closer right along with her. If she doesn’t fucking slow down, I’m gonna blow, but I can’t stop her now, not when she’s this close. So I focus on her while tamping down on the well of pleasure pulling at my stomach, tightening my balls, begging for release.
“I’m close,” she moans, voice strained from the pressure at her throat.
Fuck. Me too.
Her movements quicken. Her moans get louder. She dips her head back against my shoulder, grabbing my hair, pulling me closer, her body fucking shaking. And her ass. That perfect, beautiful ass slides up and down my pants, stroking me. I roll my hips, my resolve cracking, and give in. Gracie Donovan is gonna make me fucking come. And she’s barely even touching me.
The moan she releases when she finally topples over that ledge is what does it for me. It’s like a goddam war cry. I groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck, holding her tight to my body as my balls pull up and I let go, soaking my briefs as wave after wave of cum spills from my cock.
“Fuck” I grunt, steadying myself on the back of the couch as she collapses.
We’re silent a minute, and then she shakily pushes up and releases a husky laugh. “Did I just make you come in your pants, Decker?”
Grinning, I tug her into my chest, hand on her throat, thumb at her battering pulse as I kiss her. It’s addictive, this mouth of hers.
“Don’t be so proud of yourself, Gracie,” I say as I release her. “So? Did I make your legs shake? Or were you faking that?”
Pushing me back, she hops off the couch. As she tugs on my T-shirt, she keeps her eyes trained on my still-hard dick pressing against my pants. “I’m not in the business of making men feel good about themselves when they don’t deliver.”
A loud vibration sounds from my kitchen table. Not my work phone or my personal phone. It’s the one Axe makes me carry. A device that belongs to god knows who. I sigh, irritation rolling through me, as I tread out of the living room and read the text.
Shit.
Teeth gritted, I glance at Grace, who’s pulling on those lacy purple panties. “I gotta get to work. Get dressed. I’ll drive you to Jack’s.”
“I can figure out my own ride. Can I use your shower?”
“The last time you had free rein in my house, you destroyed everything you could get your hands on. So no. You can shower somewhere else.”
Her expression hardens. “Back to asshole, then?”
Shrugging, I thumb out a reply, not bothering to fight the anger swelling in my chest. Another cryptic demand with very little context. A time and a place. An order. A reminder of what I am, of who I’ve become.
God, I fucking hate this guy. And myself. I fucking hate him too.
Attention fixed on my phone, I say, “I’m an asshole all the time, Grace. The difference is that you seem to care a lot less when I got your legs spread. Get dressed and get in the fucking truck. I won’t ask again.”
She grasps my chin, jerking my face up, forcing my attention to the angry scowl she’s suddenly slipped on.
