Page 17 of Grant’s Flame

He kept his eyes closed as if he were sleeping too, and I took the rare opportunity to stare at him. His hair was damp, but he smelled fresh, like old-fashioned bar soap. Nothing fancy from a mall specialty store like he normally used, just pure and natural, and it still suited him. His beard was growing in, but not too dark. Since his hair was naturally blond, his whiskers were light too. That morning, while out on the sunny deck, I noticed a bit of auburn in the stubble too.

He had such wholesome good looks, with his formidable cheekbones and defined brow bone, but beneath was a wicked and filthy mind. His mouth—Lord, his mouth—and the rest of his body could deliver on all the dirty promises that clever brain came up with. I pressed my legs together subtly, not wanting to shift too much weight on the mattress. There was a good chance he wasn’t really sleeping, but in case he had drifted off, my sexual frustration was not going to be what woke him.

Still, my hand burned to touch him. The longer I stared, the more insistent the need became. I wanted to feel his firm skin beneath my fingers and run them through his thick hair. The sun had kissed the prominent angles of his face, and he had a promising start to a golden tan. I let my gaze roam down his corded neck to his broad chest. Thankfully he’d put a regular T-shirt on after showering, because the tank top he’d had on to work out would’ve been the death of me. Nevertheless, the tee provided a perfect showcase for his strong arms, ending with long, skillful fingers tipped by perfectly manicured nails.

Just thinking of him wrapping those arms around me again…touching me…stroking me…pleasuring me… Nirvana.

My breath stuttered when his cheek twitched, and I watched as it became a devilish grin. It took every effort to hold in my own guilty giggle, knowing I was busted.

Without opening his eyes, he asked in a low, husky voice, “Like what you see, Blaze?”

“Sleeping,” I mumbled as a last-ditch effort to get away with having stared at him for the past ten minutes.

“Bullshit.” He chuckled, grin growing wider. “You’ve been undressing me in your imagination since you rolled over. Don’t lie about it.”

God help me, somehow he looked even sexier than before.

Grant Twombley wore confidence like a second skin. The guy was tall, fit, and ridiculously attractive, and he knew it. He dressed like a fashion model, had the money of a king and the carefree attitude of a prince. Yet for some unexplainable reason, he was deeply invested in me. While many women would sell their soul for the dream, most of the time, I felt like his charity pet project. His version of giving back to humanity. Heal the broken girl’s heart and mind and secure your place just to the right of the highest.

“Well?” he prompted. “Are you going to answer me?”

“You’re definitely easy on the eyes, Tree. But you know that already. All your little fangirls feed your ego enough—you don’t need me to do it too. Do you?”

Yeah, so it was a tactic. But I’d worked the anger-over-arousal angle with him before and went all-in on it working again now. Though after a few moments, I wondered if he was going to be the issue here. Being this close to him, with our bodies stretched out and nearly touching…the proximity wasn’t as easy as it once was. Not by half. His powerful poise, leonine grace, and sensual self-awareness were like catnip to this starving kitty.

He finally opened his eyes, and I fell into the blue pools. My breathing kicked up as I watched him assess me from head to toe. My sexual frustration was a living, breathing thing between us on the plush bed.

“Blaze,” he almost moaned, and an audible gasp tumbled from my lips in response.

Without embarrassment, he freed the hand that had been between his head and pillow and reached into the elastic band of his shorts and palmed his erection. It was impossible to miss in the soft, yielding fabric of his athletic shorts, but I had been doing my level best to not let my eyes drift below his collar. Now, he was drawing a giant neon arrow down there.

I gasped again. His groan was doubly gruff as before, especially as he blatantly gripped himself. As I watched, rapt and hypnotized.

“Baby, I’m sorry, but I’m dying here. All I can think about is the heat of your pussy around my cock. Lying this close to you without touching you…” He flared his nostrils when he inhaled and said, “Shit, I will beg if it means feeling you again.” With eyes as dark as the midnight ocean, he studied me.

I was frozen where I lay, so unsure about the right thing to do.

Finally, I rasped, “Show me.” The two words were all I could manage through the thick lust constricting my throat.

“What?” he asked and then swallowed so roughly I almost burst into flames watching his throat contract with masculine power. “Show you what?” he asked then, maybe wanting to make sure he wasn’t falsely hoping I’d said something I didn’t.

“I want to watch you come. I want to see you grip yourself and get yourself off.”

One side of his luscious mouth inched up. “Are you sure you don’t want to help?”

“No,” I answered, meeting his hungry look with a matching one of my own. “You.”

“What about you? What will you be doing while I beat off for you, Rio?”

I shrugged. The details of my brazen plan weren’t that thought out. I just knew I wanted to push him to his limit. But wanting to seem like more of a vixen than that, I said, “I’m not sure. Maybe I’ll use my mouth just before you come. I haven’t decided yet.”

He tugged his shorts and boxers down before helping me shimmy the bed’s comforter down to the floor.

“Where do you want me? Beside you? Over you? Tell me.” He fisted his shaft aggressively and began stroking. “Wet my hand.” He held his palm out to me, leaving the how for me to decide. God, I could barely unscramble my thoughts enough to take action.

“Rio,” he said in the darker timbre his voice naturally shifted to in the bedroom. “Help me.” He thrust his upturned palm closer, so I leaned in and licked his upturned hand from the tip of his middle finger to the fleshy part of his palm. I kept my eyes pinned to his while I hovered over the center and let as much saliva that I could quickly pool together slowly dribble from my mouth to his receiving hand.

“Fucking hell, woman,” he groaned and then inspected my deposit. He added more of his own spit to the small amount on his palm and coated it over his cock. The tight skin was slick and shiny from our combined efforts, and he began roughly stroking. The muscles in his forearm bunched and flexed as he moved from the base to the full crown.