Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
GRACE
M ack’s hard length underneath me has me breathless as I wait for him to tell me to hop up. Get off him. Because rejection and conditional love are the only two things I have felt from a man. Joel was only ever interested in his own release. The only way I have ever reached that point was a few times in the shower when he was not home. At least, I think I did? It wasn’t anything worth committing to memory.
Deep blue eyes study my face as Mack stands and shifts me onto his hips. It’s all I can do to hang on to his shoulders and wait for him to dump me on my bed. His gait is steady but slow. The extra workouts have paid off exponentially.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I need a shower.”
“And you need me, because . . .”
“You’re now also covered in sweat; ergo, you require one, too.”
“Mack. My room is the other way.”
“I know.”
“You need me to undress you and give you a sponge bath?”
“The only person who deserves pampering in this house is you.”
I scoff. “Yeah, right.”
He stops mid-stride. “I’m serious.”
I stare at him, heart flinging against my ribs. I let my hands wander up his neck, one into his hair, the other cupping his jaw as I search his gaze. “You do, too.”
Heat coils deep in my belly. I’m wet simply touching his face. It’s the first time I’ve held onto him that hasn’t been to help or platonic. It’s all-consuming. Overwhelming. If he doesn’t kiss me, I may implode from the intensity.
I want him to touch me. I want his warmth around me.
But even his free hand rests softly against my back as if he’s holding something fragile.
“You can touch me, Mack. I won’t break.”
“It’s your choice, Grace. It will always be.”
Relief unfurls in my rapidly moving chest. I nod. I knew this about him already. The day I saw him with Trigger, I discovered the shape of his heart. He continues down the hall, and when we walk into his bedroom, I can’t hold back a second longer. Hands around his face, I sink my lips over his. He opens for me, and I take everything I can until we’re a tangle of tongue, teeth, and breath.
Breaking away, he groans, “Fuck, Gracie.”
Eyes darkened, he lets me down to my feet. I stand, waiting for the blow. He’s changed his mind. Realized who he’s kissing.
Holding my face, he walks forward, sending me backward. The back of my legs hit his bed. “I’m going to have a shower,” he rasps. “When I’m clean, we can?—”
I press a finger to his lips.
He stays silent, so I drop my hand and grab the hem of my shirt, lifting it over my head. His throat works.
I release the button on my jeans and push the zipper down.
“Gorgeous girl, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna. Not for me,” he rasps.
My hands still on the waistband of my jeans. “Maybe you’re right. I need a shower, too.”
“You don’t need a damn thing, you’re fuckin’ perfect.”
A blush floods my neck and face, and I can’t look at him. An iron fist grips my heart with his words, fighting the disbelief that’s too quick to spring to mind.
His hand lifts my chin, turning my head until I’m forced to meet his gaze. “I would ask who did this to you, but we both know. So now, I’m going to show you exactly what you’re worth. How fuckin’ incredible you are. That okay with you?”
All I can do is swallow, ignoring the tears burning behind my eyes, as I give him a shallow nod. He tugs his shirt off and tosses it onto the bed. A second later, I’m being hauled into the en suite, his hand wrapped around mine. In only shorts, he leans into the shower and turns on the water.
Seconds later, steam curls through the small space and out the en suite door. Filling the room, but not doing a thing to settle the blood thundering through my head. Or the rattle my heart is making watching him. His forearms flex as he pushes my jeans from my hips, and he throws them out the door and to the bedroom floor. He turns back to find me breathless. Tilting his head, he shutters his eyes closed ever so briefly.
I fight back embarrassment and the whimper wanting out of my throat. Desperate to fixate on anything but my insecurities, I let my eyes wander over his muscled body. The fire in my core that sparked with the touch of his hands on my skin a second ago sinks. Now I’m glad the lacy navy lingerie I splurged on last month is what covers my skin.
Mack raises a hand. “Can I touch you?”
“Me first?” I utter on threadbare breath.
He smiles and steps forward. I lift a hand to his sculpted chest, running my fingers over the peaks and valleys of his shoulders and pecs, and letting them drift lower. Small shrapnel wounds dot his skin. Their coarseness files against my fingertips. “Did these hurt?”
Stupid question, Grace. God, I am ridiculous right now.
“A little,” he rasps.
I follow the defined V past his hips. But the scar from his surgeries snags my fingers. And all I can see as I trace the raised line is Mack laying on some foreign street in some crappy country, banged up so bad he can’t save himself. Emotion clogs my throat as I whisper, “Shit.”
Warm hands cup my face. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, Gracie.”
I don’t understand why I’m on the verge of tears. We’re only a little more than friends. We didn’t even know each other when this all happened. But stripped down to the bare necessities, it’s like my first chance to heal. After months of survival. Mack seeing me vulnerable and raw is a growing pain I desperately need.
“Shower’s ready, gorgeous girl.”
I’m swept into his arms and against his chest a heartbeat later. A second passes and my feet meet warm tile. The steaming water courses down my body and soaks my lingerie. Why am I still wearing it? “Take it off, please.”
He swallows, hesitating. “We can take our time, if you need to.”
“Sure.”
That little voice pops into my head, screaming, See? He’s not into you, Graceless .
“Okay if I shower?” he asks.
“Sure.” Ugh, know any other words, Grace? I’m so hot and bothered, and he still has his shorts on. He’s not touching me. He simply stands beside me in the water and squeezes shampoo into his palm. The rejection burns. My neck and face are on fire. I push out of the shower, plucking a towel on the way past the rack. “Excuse me,” I choke.
I leave my jeans where they lay on his floor, opting for a quick exit over retrieving them. I fly from his bedroom and into mine in a few strides.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
I scrub my hands over my face, refusing to let the tears lighting up the bridge of my nose with a hot prickle fall. I wrap the towel around my shoulders and sink onto the end of the bed. I scream, low and quiet, into the towel bunched in my hands. God, what is wrong with me? I want him, I don’t want him. I don’t want to be wanted. I can’t take not being wanted.
Lord above.
Water drips onto my feet. I drag the towel down from my face.
Large feet are planted on either side of mine. Water continues to drip to the floor, running down his legs. I don’t want to see his face right now. Please don’t make me look up.
Knees bend.
Dark blue eyes appear below me as he crouches down, and warm hands rest on my knees. “Need to talk about it?”
I scoff quietly and glance out the window, not wanting to see his handsome damn face. That’s rubbing salt in the wound, Mackinlay.
“Gorgeous, what happened?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like it.”
I see his brow raise in my peripheral.
“What do you want me to call you?”
“Grace.”
“Okay, gorgeous Grace,” he says as the corner of his mouth lifts.
I sigh and snap my gaze to his. “Really, Mack, you don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s debatable, but okay . . .”
“Stop treating me like I’m something you want.”
He pushes up and stands tall. “Right.” He walks out the door. A moment later, he returns.
“Give me the towel,” he barks.
I jerk and stiffen on the bed. He tugs at the towel, and I let it go.
“You want to know how much I don’t want you, Grace?”
I lower my brows. He’s dried off, his shorts tented. His jaw clenched. His chest heaving.
“Answer the question,” he prompts.
“How much?”
He takes my hand and tugs me to my feet, pressing my fingers to his throat. His pulse bounds, hard. Fast.
Lowering my hand, he rests it over his chest. His heart slams into my palm. His breaths are quick, shallow.
I force my eyes up to him and this time I send my hand downward by itself. The hard ridge in his shorts jerks when I brush my knuckles over it.
His breathing shatters as he rasps, “I want you about as much as I want oxygen. But I’m not taking anything from you. I’m not him. I’m giving instead. My turn to take care of you.”
I open my mouth to say something. I don’t even know what.
He dips his head. “Do you want this?”
I know he means this thing between us. The tension. The chemistry. The bond we’ve made, living and recovering in this house together. I know Mack like I’ve never known another man before. Another person. I trust him.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
He crowds me now, his hot breath hitting my face. Nipples hard, panties soaked, I can’t get close enough. His hands cup my jaw, his mouth dropping to cover mine. Pliant, I lean into him, opening as he sweeps in. My fingers are in his hair. His trail down my neck and over my shoulders.
He breaks away, pressing kisses to my throat, tracking lower across my collarbone, one side and then the other. I pass the point of no return, my insides melting further with every carefully placed kiss. He takes his time, checking back in every now and then. And when his lips brush over the soft flesh of my breast, I can’t help the whimper that falls out.
“You want me to stop, gorgeous?” His voice is deep, gravel.
“Please,” I pant, “please don’t.”
He pops his head up, eyebrows raised as if needing clarification. I shake my head and push his head back down with both hands. His hearty chuckle vibrates through my chest. Resting my palms on his broad shoulders, it takes all I have to stay upright as Mack continues his work of taking care of me.
Each kiss brings electricity to the surface.
With every press of his lips to my body, it’s as if I’m waking up from a numbness so constant, I forgot it was there. He’s more overwhelming—in the best way possible—than I imagined.
I need more.
I need his touch, everywhere.
So, when a hand slides over my hip and tugs me closer, I huff a moan in assent.
“I could do this all day, gorgeous.”
“I would let you...” My words are almost inaudible.
He rises and sweeps me off my feet, one strong arm under my butt, the other wrapped around my shoulder. I can’t take my eyes off his face. I’m the one getting loved on, but it’s his face that’s strung out. I touch his jaw with my hand absentmindedly. He turns, kissing my palm. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
He falters a little as he places me on the bed. I can tell all this carrying and lifting me is taking its toll on his hip and leg. So I shuffle backward. He crawls over my almost naked body, eyes roving my curves. “Sweet Jesus, gorgeous.”
I fight the urge to cover up.
My hands drift toward my chest, and he bats them away. He slides his under my back, dipping his head between my breasts. His teeth skate over my hard nipples. I arch off the bed. The clasp on my bra snaps apart.
“Very clever, Mackinlay,” I gasp through a smile.
A soft chuckle slips past his lips. “I thought so.”
The cheekiest grin lights up his face. I all but melt into a puddle on the duvet. Dark blue eyes tighten as his breathing kicks up. His hands slide the straps over my shoulders. Material still covering me, he nods to it. “Take it off for me, Grace.”
I know what he’s doing.
He wants me to own this.
To feel confident.
An equal party in this, not the doormat I was. Lying down for three minutes to be a good girlfriend and carrying out my obligations.
My eyes shutter closed briefly before I meet his hooded gaze. I want to be that woman. For myself. For him.
I slide a finger under the lacy fabric. The short breaths failing to fill my lungs burn. My throat thickens. The pad of my finger brushes over one sensitive, hard bud and my lips part.
His nostrils flare. His strung-out face is all but wrecked.
“Now, gorgeous,” he rasps.
I slide the lace down, letting my breast pop out and spill over the bunched-up cup.
I swear he stops breathing as he growls, “Fuckin’ hell.”
I do the same with the other, tossing the bra to the floor. He sits back on his heels, fisting the duvet by his sides. With a jerk toward my panties, he grunts, “Those go next.”
Shit.
I worry my bottom lip through my teeth.
“Gracie, you’re killing me. Please...” No man has ever begged for me—or asked, for that matter. It was always just an expectation.
I wedge my fingers under the band at each hip and lift off the bed. As they slide down to my knees, he grabs the thin fabric in one big hand and tugs it off my legs, and the panties join the bra.
My heart flings against my rib cage.
Partly from being self-conscious. Partly from being this wound up.
Mack opens his mouth to speak, but shallow rasps steal his words. Working his way up my legs with kisses, he dots one on each hip. One just above the aching throb in my center. He crowds me against the bed, hands on either side of my head. He drops his mouth to mine. I open instantly, needing him more than ever.
A hand cups my breast, his thumb flicking over the nipple. A whimper rushes from my mouth, and he devours every small sound I make. My body is shaking by the time his hand brushes over my stomach and his fingers circle my clit. I’m on fire. I swear I could combust from him touching me there.
“Can I kiss you there, Grace?” he says, forehead pressed to mine.
“Um, you don’t have to.”
“What if I want to?” He pushes up on one corded arm, hand planted by my head.
My brows shoot down. “Nobody’s really ever—” I shift on the bed. His erection digs into my center. It feels huge. “I never saw the point, I guess.”
“The point?” Now his brows fall. “Grace, have you ever had an orgasm?”
Blush fills my face faster than air can pour into my lungs. “Um, I’m not sure...”
“You would know if you did, gorgeous, trust me.”
“Then I guess not.”
“Fuck,” he mutters. He leans back on his heels again. This time, he studies my face. “Hold onto the bed, Gracie.”
I grab the duvet like my life depends on it. I close my eyes as his head lowers and his hands slide under my thighs.
Oh my god .
Hot kisses dust over my belly before he starts to trail them lower. And lower. I can barely breathe when his hands move, shifting my thighs wider.
His tongue runs through my wet center. I arch off the bed so fast, I’m sure I break vertebrae.
His hand splays over my stomach, holding me down. The other trails featherlight touches up and down my inner thigh.
Another long languid stroke through my center, and this time I swear he groans. He likes it? The pad of his finger dances over my entrance. I almost choke on an inhale. Warm lips close around my clit.
“Ma—Holy. Shit!”
He suckles it before his hot tongue strokes over it again and again. Warmth pools fast, sending wet need to my core. My knuckles whiten around the bunched-up duvet I cling to.
“Mack . . .”
“Mhmmm?”
“Oh. What th?—”
Again through the center, and two fingers sink into me as he sucks on my clit with long, hard pulls. Lightning floods my veins as I shatter at the core.
“Mackinlay!”
Arched off the bed, my body convulses more with every wave he coaxes from me, each languid pump of his fingers, every move his mouth makes. My hands are in his hair, and I grip tight. He smiles against my pussy. I can’t breathe.
I don’t want to.
Settling, I plummet back to the bed, arms by my head on my pillow, eyes slammed shut. My chest caves with every deep breath. He crawls over me, his warmth covering me again. His scent folds around me. A soft kiss presses to my forehead. I close my mouth and open my eyes. He pecks each temple before landing a kiss on my lips.
When he pushes off the bed and disappears through the door, I stare after him in awe.