“Let’s see how much.” He dives at me, and I laugh for only an instance before my air comes in gasps because, my God, that mouth. It takes me whole, trying to swallow me down as Grady’s nose tickles over my clit. His tongue fucks me, his fingers gripping my thighs and pulling them around his head.
Locking my ankles over his back, I writhe like a snake in heat. All my focus is on that talented mouth and what it is doing to me. Driving me into a frenzy as he circles my walls. Nips at my sensitive lips. Suckles my nerve endings.
With my legs where he wants them, his hands move to other body parts. One on my stomach, one on my left breast, kneading my nipple into an impossibly hard pebble. He pinches, and I arch off the bed, calling his name.
He hums in appreciation, and it sends a wave of pleasure from my core to my throat.
“Grady,” I scream as I come in waves, like the ones outside my window. My orgasm ebbs and flows into him. A passing of energy, life force, something invisible but powerful. Intimate. Themostintimate. “Fucking hell, am I going insane, or have I never had a true orgasm before?”
His body shakes with laughter as I try to regulate my accelerated heart rate. Small kisses are pressed to my thighs, intertwined with little licks as he tastes more of what he brought out of me.
My blood races again, and Grady crawls up my body. So large over me, but it doesn’t bring fear. His shadow is a blanket of protection. Once again, I wrap my arms around his shoulders, returning kisses to whatever piece of skin I can reach with my lips.
His arms snake under my knees, pulling them up to frame his body as his dick plunges into me. It steals my air in the best way.
Like the first time, we both freeze, for a moment, gazing at each other. Feeling each other. The fullness, the tightness. The togetherness. It’s never been like this before, not with anyone else. I’ve never experienced this tether to another person, this cord between us. This spark.
I can’t explain it away. Or rationalize it. I can only revel in it.
Fuck me, I try to say. But the words come out differently.
“Love me, Grady.”
Eighteen
Grady
“We should all start to live before we get too old. Fear is stupid. So are regrets.”
Marilyn Monroe
“Love me, Grady.”
Those three words play like a lullaby in my head for days.
After Lou came hard in my mouth, we fucked relentlessly. Taking our time the first time, feeling every inch of each other’s bodies. The way her pussy squeezed my dick, the way she called my name, the way her body reacted to mine…it was the best sex I’ve ever had, hands down.
A couple hours later, I’d woken with her sprawled atop me, my cock ready for more. It must have woken her up too, because her head was propped on her hands on my chest as she watched me wake up.
It was the sexiest thing, her patiently waiting for me to come alive and fuck her again. And fuck her, I had. That time was more rushed. Animalistic and urgent, just our biological needs. No romance, no finesse. But still, she came in shaking sobs.
I’m convinced her assessment was correct. She’d never experienced a full orgasm. Not at all surprising, since she’s been with a man who sounds like nothing less than a malignant narcissist. It makes me sad for her, but also, it’s the biggest ego boost a guy could have. Especially since she comes so easily for me.
“Love me, Grady.”
I don’t think she meant it to come out the way it did. I think she meant to say make love to me. But, fuck me, those words will ring in my ears until my death. The plea and need in them.
And, for better or fucking worse, I am more than halfway to loving the complicated woman. The one with the mysteriously glamorous life I’ve only seen on the screen of a phone, who doesn’t seem to fit with the down-to-earth version I see every day. Here, she’s a woman who’d rather spend her time in a thrift store than dressed up in a gown that costs as much as my truck.
There isn’t a single thing that I know or understand about the world she comes from. For some strange reason, that doesn’t scare me. Instead, I’m only more intrigued by her.
But that may be my downfall. I trusted the wrong woman once before. One I thought I knew everything about. How well will I fare with a woman I only know half of?
Which half is more important to know? Surely, this half. The half where she doesn’t have to spend all her time pretending and hiding. The half that she allows to live and learn. She has, too. I see how much she’s grown in the couple of months she’s been here, how much she’s discovered about herself.
The world sees Lou with a painted smile. I see her reality. Vulnerable and original. Special and strong.
That has to mean more. It has to. Because I don’t know what my life looks like without her in it somehow. I don’t want to be reduced to the populace that only sees her on glossy paper.