Page 35 of Grant’s Flame

I didn’t know what it was about Rio Gibson that had me thinking in a way that was one hundred eighty degrees from the way I usually did. But, well, here I was. Doing just that.

A conviction that, in the next moment, got soldered to my brain—in the form of the woman’s own silky voice, drifting through the cabin door.

“Come on, big boy.” Her sigh, while exasperated, was an ideal addition to the sweet feathers of her tone. “Don’t be like that.” Another perfect sigh and then a curiously long pause. “You’re much braver than this, Robert. I know you are.”

Aaahhh, that explained where she’d gotten off to so early this morning. Although, when I looked at the clock on the nightstand, it wasn’t really that early. Last I’d checked, we’d finally stopped fucking around two. The fact that it was now nine wasn’t really that out of line.

My stomach growled its embarrassingly loud opinion on the matter, and I thought as soon as my morning erection subsided, I’d be able to get out of bed and focus fully on food.

“Robert! Silly cat! No, come this way, crazy boy.”

Well, there was a nice, full incentive—and a perfect piece of inspiration. With Rio’s lush voice trickling in through the walls, I rolled out of bed, padded to the bathroom, and cranked the shower all the way to “H.”

As soon as I stepped under the water spray, I gave in to the sweet sorcery of her muffled voice—and mixed it with the magic of my memories from last night.

Instantly, my morning wood was fueled into full arousal. It got even better with a generous amount of body wash, as I roughly worked my cock with one hand and my balls with the other.

“Fuck yes,” I croaked, thumping my head back against the shower enclosure. Steam billowed around the cramped space and quickly created a sultry atmosphere in the poorly ventilated bathroom.

I fantasized that my hands were Rio’s, and instead of the tentative, feminine grasp she normally used, she handled my dick in the rough, aggressive manner I preferred. It was fucking amazing.

That’s right, girl. You know just what I need.

I pictured her staring back at me with her expressive eyes. Sometimes completely wild, sometimes curious and cautious.

Of course, you can suck me, baby. It’s all for you, but only if you take it all without gagging, sweetheart.

Christ, the look I’d get after a comment like that. But that was exactly the point, since her array of expressions had the same wicked effect as her actual mouth around my erection. But I’d want more…so I’d taunt her more.

Look at me, girl. Uh-oh, I see someone forgot their tear-proof mascara today. And why do these black streaks running down your perfect, pale cheeks make me want to come, Blaze?

I had absolutely no interest in drawing out my pleasure. My orgasm was going to hit like an unexpected traffic accident. Hard and violent. And no matter what I did to try to change course, I couldn’t stop it.

You are so fucking perfect. No…

And then I must have groaned aloud, in real time to match the one in my imagination because the sound that bounced around the small shower stall actually startled me that I chuckled.

I’m not going to fuck you today, baby. All you get is my dick down your throat. Yesssss! Squeeze my balls while you do that. Naughty girl. Look at you, perfectly naughty girl. I fucking love this perfect mouth…this perfect cunt. Touch yourself for me. Oh, hell yes. Yes! Yes, baby! I love everything about you, girl. I just—

“…love you.”

I stopped suddenly. But not for long. As soon as the words—those crazy, unthinkable words—hit the air they bounced around the small stall like a bullet in an old, empty steel drum.

But they weren’t errors.

Not by a goddamned long shot.

The mantra repeated in my mind as I rubbed out the orgasm with furious pumps and a couple of guttural groans. It didn’t take long to milk myself dry. It never did when my gorgeous Blaze was the star of my private peep show.

My eyes were squeezed shut so tight, I saw a rainbow of pinpoint lights dance across the backs of my eyelids when I snapped out of my fantasy. My neck had a terrible cramp on one side, but the orgasm felt so fucking good, it was completely worth it. I was a Rio Gibson junkie and had no interest in getting sober.

Or so I told myself before reaching for my shampoo on the ledge of the shower stall. And lifting my gaze to where Rio stood, framed by the bathroom doorway.

Holy mother of God.

“Rio.”

“Grant?” Though her tone was reasonably light, swatches of light and dark pink were scattered across her face. Was she horrified? Aroused? Both? If so, what was that ratio? What the hell was she feeling? Thinking? Concluding?