8. Hannah
HANNAH
Sunlight filters through the curtains, and I roll over lazily and burrow into the pillow. It’s unusual for me to sleep past sunrise, but my body is heavy in the nicest way, as if I had a hard workout, and all I want to do is sink into the mattress.
My mind turns over last night; the desire reflected back at me from Grant. The frantic move to the pantry and the way he made my body hum until I was putty in his hands.
Afterward, I was so tired. He flicked the oven off and carried me up the stairs to bed. I was almost asleep in his arms. I vaguely remember him pulling back the sheets and tucking me into bed, a chaste kiss on the forehead, and his retreat from the room.
His retreat. I sit up in bed as the night becomes clear in my mind. There was definitely a moment when Grant began his retreat, and it was well before he carried me to bed.
We were kissing, and I had my hand on his incredibly thick and rock-hard cock. Then he pulled back emotionally, but I was so caught up in needing him that I missed something.
He gave me so many orgasms that I lost count, and I never did anything for him. He pulled back, and I have no idea why.
I huff out a long sigh as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. It shouldn’t surprise me. The man’s been holding back for the past three months. I thought knowing I want him might be enough, but I guess not. People leave me, and Grant is no different, no matter how much I want him to be.
I wrap my housecoat around me and pad down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sawyer and Liam are at the kitchen table, and Rachel pours milk into their bowls.
The kitchen is how I left it last night. The pastry rolled out with a half dozen circles cut out of it, flour dusting the counter, and the melted chocolate gone solid in the pan on the stove.
“Why didn’t you finish the cookies?” Sawyer asks.
Rachel gives me a knowing look. “Looks like you got interrupted.”
She can’t hide her smug smile, and I try to think of an excuse why I’d leave a batch of cookies half-baked. I’ve never done that in my life.
“I got tired and went back to bed.”
“You got something,” Rachel says in a sing-song voice as she passes me on the way to the fridge.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I hastily grab the pastry from the counter. It’s gone rock hard, and I peel it back and chuck it in the trash.
“What happened here?” Abby asks from the doorway, her gaze scanning the messy kitchen.
“Hannah got some last night,” Rachel says before I can answer.
“Got some what?” asks Liam in his squeaky voice.
Abby’s eyes go wide, and she puts a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. “It’s about time.”
Some of the pastry has stuck to the counter, and I grab a spatula to scrape it off.
“I did not get anything.” But the lie makes my cheeks even redder.
I got several orgasms, and I thought that was what I needed, but today I just feel hollow.
Rachel and Abby giggle as if we’re schoolgirls again, and the boys join in even though they don’t understand the joke.
There are heavy footsteps outside and the kitchen door rattles, and a moment later Grant is standing there. He comes in with a whoosh of cool air that does nothing to stop my blush.
He’s in cargo pants and boots, and his cheeks are ruddy from the cold air outside.
The kitchen goes quiet apart from the clinking of spoons against cereal bowls and the slurp of kids eating.
“Your perimeter is secure,” Grant says.
I’m not sure how that sentence can carry any innuendo, but both my sisters erupt in fits of giggles. I spin on them, giving them both a look that should silence them, but instead they laugh more.
I’m so horrified I can’t face Grant. It’s bad enough that he retreated like he did, and now he thinks I’ve been blabbing to my sisters.
“Stop being childish,” I hiss at Rachel and Abby.
The boys are staring at their mom and at least she’s laughing, which she doesn’t do much. So I guess something good has come out of this.
Grant coughs, and I slowly turn around to face him.
His eyebrows are raised and I shake my head slightly, indicating I didn’t tell my sisters anything.
“They came down and found the kitchen in a state, and my sisters are speculating about things they know nothing about.”
“What does speculating mean?” asks Liam.
“Guessing,” I clarify.
Grant tips his head to the side, and I would give anything to know what he’s thinking right now.
“You want a coffee?” If I make him a coffee, maybe we can talk, and he can tell me what’s going on in that big, silent head of his.
“Nah, I’m good.” And with that, he heads back outside and closes the door behind him. Firmly shutting me out.
The sounds of Grant’s retreating footsteps clomping on the paving stones as he leaves are a harsh reminder of exactly why I don’t let my guard down. People leave: Mom, Dad, Granny, and now Grant is leaving before we’ve even gotten started.
It’s for the best, I tell myself. His emotional retreat will save me heartache in the long run. I make myself a fresh pot of coffee and finish tidying up the kitchen, but the glow I felt on waking has turned into a hollow ache.