Chapter 27 Heather
Heather
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and push myself up to standing, already thinking about the shower I desperately need. But my legs wobble like a newborn fawn the moment my feet hit the floor.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, grabbing for the edge of the nightstand to steady myself.
The low, rumbling chuckle coming from the bed behind me is enough to embarrass me and turn me on at the same time, making my cheeks flush with heat.
“Not a word,” I warn him, even though I’m starting to smile now too. “Not one single word.”
When he told me he was going to fuck me until I couldn’t walk, I thought that was just an expression. A little bit of sexy swagger and confidence.
And then I saw his cock. And now here we are.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” His voice is full of smug satisfaction, and now I’m definitely smiling even though I’m trying desperately to school my features into something more disapproving.
I glance back over my shoulder, and yeah, he looks so damn pleased with himself that I either want to kiss him or throw something at him.
The latter seems like the best choice at the moment, so I grab the nearest pillow and chuck it in his direction. It hits him square in the chest, and his grin only widens.
“Okay, maybe I was going to say something.” He gives me a half-shrug and catches the pillow before it falls. “But can you blame me?”
I don’t dignify that with a response. Besides, I already have my hands full focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and making my way to the bathroom without falling flat on my face.
Once I’m safely inside the bathroom and can brace myself against the countertop, I flip on the light and catch the first sight of myself in the mirror.
I freeze, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me.
My hair is an absolute disaster—a tangled, wild mess that looks like I’ve been through a hurricane. Which I suppose is fitting after what Grant keeps calling me.
There are strands sticking up in every direction, and I’m pretty sure there’s a knot somewhere in the back that’s going to take half a bottle of conditioner and a lot of patience to work out.
My skin is flushed and slightly blotchy, marked with red patches along my neck and collarbone where his stubble has scraped against me over and over.
And the hickeys… holy fuck. There’s one just below my ear and two more at the base of my neck.
I turn sideways to get a better look in the mirror, and yeah, there’s another one on the curve of my shoulder.
Even my lips are swollen and tender, still a bright pink from all the kissing.
I look nothing like my normal self. Even after standing and staring, squinting as I look for the single mom who is admittedly slightly disheveled but still mostly put together and ready to take care of everyone else in my life… I don’t really see her. She’s not in the room with us at the moment.
The woman I’m looking at has been thoroughly, completely, absolutely wrecked.
And she’s honestly kind of sexy.
A smile spreads across my face as I lean in closer to the mirror and examine every mark, every sign of what we’ve been doing.
I can’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but there’s no denying that something snapped in both of us the moment we finally gave in and stopped fighting what was bound to happen.
We’ve basically been in bed since that moment, only taking breaks to hydrate, catch our breath and let our bodies recover for a few minutes at a time.
I haven’t felt this insatiable since I was a teenager.
Even then, I usually didn’t give in to my raging hormones or act out every fantasy that popped into my head.
But with Grant, it’s been no holds barred, constantly craving him, constantly reaching for him, needing his hands on me, his mouth on mine, and his body pressed against me.
The fact that he’s been just as desperate for me makes it even sweeter.
Grant’s reflection appears in the mirror behind me, as if he’s been conjured by my dirty thoughts. Like me, he’s still completely naked, and even after everything we’ve done this weekend, the sight of him still makes my breath catch in my throat.
He’s so damn gorgeous it almost doesn’t seem real.
All those hard muscles, the thick tattoos that cover his chest and shoulders, and the way he moves with such easy confidence. Even just standing here, he looks like he was carved from stone by an artist who happened to share my exact vision of male perfection.
He steps up closer behind me, and I meet his eyes in the mirror. His gaze has been roaming up and down my body, too, and all I can do is sigh and lean back against him when he lowers his head to press his lips against the side of my neck.
His arm wraps around my waist and pulls me closer while his other hand slides down between my legs.
I wince.
I can’t help it. I’m sore—more sore than I want to admit—from all the sex we’ve been having. Even though every ache and twinge is a reminder of just how thoroughly he’s claimed me, it’s also another reminder that I’m not twenty anymore.
Not even thirty anymore.
He freezes immediately, and I can see the worry reflected in his handsome features.
“You sore?”
I nod. “A little.”
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He starts to pull his hand away, and I can see that the concern is quickly changing over to guilt. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” I say, catching his wrist before he can fully pull away. And to be fair, I asked for every inch of him. Repeatedly.
I guide his big hand back between my legs.
“And anyway,” I shrug, then smile at him in the mirror. “I’m not that sore.”
“Fuck,” he growls as one of his thick fingers finds its way to my clit and slowly starts to circle the over-stimulated nub. “You’re already wet again.”
I bite my lip and try to suppress the whimper building in my throat, but he adds a little more pressure and I melt against him.
“That’s right, beautiful.” His words send a shiver of anticipation up my spine, and his teeth lightly scrape against my earlobe. “You like when I touch you like this?”
I can’t do anything but moan and nod as he continues working the sensitive bundle of nerves, his touch making it impossible to hold back the pleasure building inside me.
“Look how good you look right now.” His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “All flushed and needy for me.”
His gaze roams over my body again, and this time I feel more exposed than ever—standing in the mirror while he fingers me, completely reduced to a whimpering, needy mess by the touch of his hand.
And when his eyes travel down to my stomach, all I can think about is how different my body is now compared to what it used to be before I got pregnant and had April. Before my twenties turned into my thirties.
I instinctively move my own hand to cover my belly even though he’s already seen every part of me, as up close and personal as we could get.
“No.” He says it so firmly, and the sudden sternness in his voice surprises me.
Then his free hand is on top of mine, stopping me from covering myself and slowly pulling my hand back.
He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the backs of my fingers. “Don’t hide from me. You’re fucking perfect.”
“I’m not perfect. I’m—”
“Everything I want,” he cuts me off.
He presses his palm flat against the slight swell of my stomach while his other hand keeps working between my legs, teasing my opening and making me forget all about my insecurities.
“I’m going to spend the rest of the weekend proving to you how sexy you are,” he murmurs into my ear. “Until you believe it.”
My thighs start trembling.
“I’m going to show you with my fingers, with my mouth, and with my cock. Just like this.”
His hand is moving faster, and it feels so damn good. If he wasn’t holding me up with his other hand and supporting me with his hard, muscular body, I would have already collapsed to the floor.
“I’m going to worship every inch of you.”
My hips buck against his hand, and I belatedly realize I’ve been moaning loud enough for it to echo off the bathroom walls.
“Do you like that, Hurricane?” He dips a finger inside, teasing me. “You like being mine? Ready for me whenever I touch you?”
I can’t answer. I can barely even breathe. All I can do is whimper and nod and pray he never stops touching me.
“I need to hear you say it, beautiful. Do you like being mine?”
“Yes!” I gasp, finally managing to choke out an answer. “Yes, yes, oh fuck, Grant!”
My orgasm is so intense that the entire world goes fuzzy. For a split second, I can’t tell which way is up or down.
But his hands are on me, holding me, guiding me. One still between my legs, gently coaxing the last aftershocks of my release, and the other wrapped tightly around my waist, supporting me.
“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, slowly bringing one hand up to his mouth and then licking his fingers clean. “And you taste amazing. I could get addicted to this.”
It’s probably just the orgasm-fueled fog in my brain, but those words make my heart beat even harder. A warm, happy feeling spreads through me, radiating from my core and reaching all the way to the top of my head and back down to the tips of my fingers and toes.
Then my stomach rumbles, bringing me back to reality in the most embarrassing way possible. But Grant doesn’t tease me. Instead, he immediately looks concerned.
“When was the last time we ate?” Now he looks even more worried. “Was it last night?”
“I think so.” Time has lost all meaning since I’ve been in bed with him. I wouldn’t even know what day it was if I didn’t have to go pick up April at some point.
“Shit, I’m sorry. I should be taking better care of you.”
I open my mouth to tell him he doesn’t have to worry about taking care of me, or apologize, for that matter. But he scoops me up into his arms so fast that I can’t get the words out in time.
“I’m going to run you a hot bath and make us breakfast. We can relax for a while, and then—”
“Then back to bed?”
I reach down to feel the length of his cock, already half-hard at the thought of more sex, and marvel all over again at how long and thick it is, hot to the touch.
“You’re trying to kill me.” He leans in and plants a kiss on my neck, then grinds his fully hard cock against my hip. “But I can’t think of a better way to go.”