Chapter 10 Graham
CHAPTER TEN
GRAHAM
I woke to the sound of Rose trying to leave.
She was doing it quietly, easing out from under my arm, sliding one leg toward the edge of the bed like a woman who’d perfected the art of not disturbing sleeping animals.
I caught her wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
She froze. Then turned her head, and the look on her face, somewhere between guilt and amusement, rearranged my entire morning.
“Horses,” she whispered. “It’s almost six.”
“Hank’s got it.”
“Hank doesn’t—”
“I texted him last night. After you fell asleep.” I tugged her wrist gently. “Told him you needed the morning off.”
Rose stared at me. “You texted my ranch manager.”
“Aye.”
“From my bed.”
“From your bed.”
“While I was asleep.”
“While you were asleep.” I tugged again. “He said, and I quote, ‘About damn time.’ Then he sent a thumbs-up emoji. Hank uses emojis, Rose. That man contains multitudes.”
Her expression shifted into something unguarded and almost fragile. Like nobody had ever thought to handle the morning for her before.
“Come back to bed,” I said.
She came.
Not reluctantly. She came back like a woman who’d decided the world could wait.
She kissed me first, slow, languid, tasting of sleep and the faint salt of last night’s sweat. My hand slid into her tangled hair, cradling her head, and she hummed low against my mouth, the vibration traveling straight to my cock.
“Morning breath,” she murmured.
“Don’t care.”
“You should. It’s criminal.”
“I’ve survived worse.” I rolled her beneath me, settling between her thighs, our bodies aligning with the ease of two people who’d spent the night learning each other. “Fermented shark in Iceland. On camera. Nothing scares me anymore.”
Rose laughed, bright and unguarded, and the sound went through me like sunlight through a window I’d forgotten to close.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said, but her legs were already hooking around my hips, her heels pressing into my arse, urging me closer. I rocked against her, hard and aching, but she pressed a hand to my chest.
“Condom,” she whispered. “Drawer, remember?”
I reached, tore the packet with my teeth, rolled it on with hands that weren’t quite steady. When I pushed inside her, slow, deep, feeling every tight inch yield to me, the heat of her nearly undid me.
Her breath caught. Mine stopped.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Eloquent.”
“Give me a second. My brain’s—” I rocked deeper, savoring the way she clenched around me. “Christ, Rose. You’re like everything I’ve been missing.”
She arched beneath me, hands roaming my back, learning me the way I was learning her. Nails dragging lightly made me shudder; teeth at the curve of my neck made me thrust harder, deeper, drawing a soft moan from her throat.
“There,” she whispered. “Like that.”
I gave her exactly that. Long, rolling strokes that dragged against every sensitive place inside her, the bed creaking softly under us.
She was exquisite like this: hair fanned across the pillow, lips swollen, violet eyes locked on mine with quiet intensity.
I could feel her tighten around my cock, fluttering, clenching.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I told her, voice rough. “Every inch of you. I could stay inside you forever and still want more.”
“Don’t get sentimental while you’re fucking me.”
“Too late.” I slid my hand between us, thumb finding her clit, circling with the same slow rhythm as my hips. “I’ve been sentimental since the moment you looked at me like I might be worth trusting.”
Her eyes went glassy. She pulled me down, kissed me deep, tongue stroking mine in time with our bodies, and I felt her start to tremble.
“Close,” she gasped. “Graham, I’m—”
“I know, love.” I pressed my forehead to hers, holding her gaze. “Let me feel you come around me. Let me feel every pulse.”
She shattered quietly. Body clenching, a soft, broken moan spilling into my mouth. The rhythmic squeeze of her dragged me over with her, pleasure ripping through me in slow, devastating waves. I buried deep and groaned her name like a prayer.
We stayed locked together, breathing each other in, until the aftershocks faded.
“Okay,” Rose said to the ceiling, voice wrecked. “Maybe mornings off aren’t terrible.”
“I’ll tell Hank you said that.”
“You will not.”
I grinned. Kissed her knuckles. Held her until the world felt bearable again.
“Shower?” she said eventually.
“Together?”
She tilted her head up and looked at me. “Is that a problem?”
“That,” I said, “is the opposite of a problem.”
The shower was tiny, barely enough room for one, let alone two, which forced us skin-to-skin under the spray. Hot water pounded my shoulders and I groaned as knots began to unwind.
“Turn around,” Rose said.
I did. Her hands were magic. Firm thumbs digging into the tight muscles along my spine, working the knots between my shoulder blades with a pressure that made me drop my head forward.
“You’re a mess,” she said. “These knots have knots.”
“Blame your ranch.”
“I blame your terrible posture with the post driver.” Her hands moved lower, along my ribs, and paused.
I knew what she’d found.
“Graham.” Her voice softened. “What happened here?”
Her fingers traced the ragged scar on my side, then the longer one across my back.
“Patagonia,” I said quietly. “Glacier traverse. Ice gave way. Fell about forty feet into a crevasse. Hit a ledge on the way down, cracked three ribs and the ice tore me open.” I kept my voice even.
“Dex anchored a rope, rappelled down, and hauled me out while I was going in and out of consciousness. Took him three hours.”
“Three hours,” she repeated.
“Sat with me in a Chilean hospital for two weeks after.”
“Is that why you trust him the way you do?”
“That’s why I trust him with everything.”
Rose pressed her lips to the worst of the scars. The same way I’d kissed hers last night. You survived this. I see it.
Then she turned me around slowly, water streaming over us both, and dropped to her knees.
My breath punched out.
“Rose—”
“Shh.” She looked up at me through wet lashes, eyes dark and sure. “Let me take care of you.”
She wrapped her hand around my cock, already rock-hard again, and stroked once, twice, slow and firm, thumb swiping over the head to spread the bead of pre-cum. Then she leaned in and took me into her mouth in one smooth, deep glide.
“Fuuuck,” I hissed, head dropping back against the tile. “Jesus Christ, Rose—”
She didn’t tease. She sucked hard, tongue pressing flat along the underside, cheeks hollowing as she bobbed, taking me deeper with every pass. My hand fisted in her wet hair, not pulling, just holding on, while the other braced against the wall so I didn’t collapse.
“Your mouth, fuck, that’s so good—”
She hummed around me, the vibration ripping a curse straight from my lungs. Water poured over her face, down her neck, over her breasts, and the sight of her, lips stretched wide around my cock, eyes locked on mine with fierce, quiet hunger, sent heat roaring through every nerve.
She pulled back just enough to swirl her tongue around the head, sucking hard on the sensitive ridge, then plunged down again, faster, wet and sloppy and relentless. She moaned like she was the one getting off on this.
“Rose, gonna come if you keep— fuck—”
She didn’t stop. She took me deeper, throat working, one hand cupping my balls and rolling them gently while the other stroked what her mouth couldn’t reach. My hips jerked, shallow thrusts she welcomed, eyes watering but never breaking contact.
“Christ, I’m—”
She pulled off with a wet pop, lips red and swollen, breathing hard. “Not yet.”
She stood, kissed me filthy, the salt of myself on her tongue, and then pulled back with a look that was equal parts desire and practicality.
“Condom,” she said.
We both looked at the nightstand through the open bathroom door. Ten feet away. Might as well have been ten miles.
“Don’t move,” I said, and made the most undignified wet sprint of my life, naked, dripping, fully erect, to the bedroom and back. Rose was laughing when I returned, steam billowing around her, one hand over her mouth.
“Very sexy,” she managed.
“I’ll accept the mockery.” I tore the packet open, rolled it on with hands that were not remotely steady. “Now where were we?”
“I believe you were about to fuck me against this wall.”
I lifted her, her back against the tile, one leg hooking my hip, and thrust inside her in one long, deep stroke. We both groaned.
We locked eyes.
No rush this time. Deep, deliberate glides that made her gasp every time I bottomed out, my hips grinding slow circles to drag against her clit.
“Graham,” she breathed, my name a broken plea, nails biting into my shoulders.
“I’ve got you.” I buried my face in her neck, tasting water and skin. “You feel so perfect. So tight.”
We moved together, water pounding, bodies slick, every stroke building toward something massive and unstoppable. Her walls fluttered, tightened, and I felt her start to shake.
“Come with me,” she whispered. “Please. Together.”
I angled deeper, grinding hard against her clit, and she broke first. A sharp, shuddering cry, body convulsing around me, walls pulsing in fierce waves that dragged me over the edge with her.
The orgasm hit like a freefall, my vision whiting out as I slammed deep and came with her name on my lips, both of us shaking, locked together, the water the only thing still moving.
We stayed like that, trembling, breathing ragged, until the aftershocks finally ebbed. I eased out, dealt with the condom, then pulled her back under the spray and held her.
I’d been telling myself that whatever was happening between us was temporary. A detour. A story I’d tell later about a ranch in Colorado and a woman who’d taken me apart and put me back together differently.
Standing there with the water going lukewarm and Rose’s cheek against my shoulder, I stopped telling myself that.
I held her tighter.