Chapter 16
KENDALL
“What do you mean someone sent you a check?”
“Well, it’s a money order, not a check,” my mom says. “With a note that it’s for me, from a well-wisher. Plus there’s a bunch of gift cards and somebody delivered groceries. You sure it ain’t you or your brother?”
“I swear,” I tell her. She won’t accept help from me or Blaine; we’ve both tried multiple times. “It doesn’t have a name?”
“Nope. I checked the gift card balances, though. They’re real.” She pauses. “I can’t keep this, anyhow. Altogether it’s five thousand dollars worth of stuff, Kendall. Who do we know with that kind of money to spare?”
My breath freezes. That bastard actually did it.
“You have nowhere to send it back to, Mom. Just keep it. Maybe you can pay it forward someday.”
She scoffs. “Now wouldn’t that be a sight.” I hear scraping noises over the phone, like she’s stirring a pot of something. “If this is some kind of trick you or Blaine are up to—”
“It’s not, Mom. I promise.”
“Well.” She sighs. “What do I do with all this?”
“You keep it. That’s what you do.”
“I wish I knew who sent it,” she says quietly. “I’d have a word with them.”
We chat for a little longer, and I think I convince her to keep the money. When I hang up, I lie back on the couch. My heart pounds, so I inhale, exhaling slowly to calm myself.
I pick up my phone. Grant answers on the fourth ring.
“Hello?” Sleepiness coats his voice.
“Oh, shit. Did I wake you? I’m so sorry.”
“No, no.” I hear some muffled rustling noises, and he grunts. “It’s okay. I swear.”
“I was going to ask you to come over,” I say, “but I’ll let you go back to bed.”
“Oh, hell no,” he breathes. He sounds more awake. “Give me your address. I’ll come over right now.”
“I don’t want to interrupt your precious sleep time,” I say, and I’m not even being sarcastic. He doesn’t get enough sleep to be sacrificing any of it.
“Kendall,” he growls, “if you want me to come over, that’s what I’ll do.”
“Fine.” I give him my address, then I get up and pace my apartment for a little while. By the time I answer my door, I’ve ramped up to an anxiety level worthy of a tiger attack.
“Whoa.” Grant takes in my tapping foot and my twitchy demeanor. “Are you okay?”
“You sent my mom money!” I nearly scream it at him. I gesture for him to come inside, and he follows, still eyeing me with some wariness.
He follows me to the kitchen counter.
“You can’t prove it was me,” he says.
“Grant.”
“All right.” He leans onto the counter. He wears a T-shirt and basketball shorts, and his forearms are thick and on display as he pushes against the counter, though I’m not going to dwell on that right now.
“The dress didn’t feel like enough, and I knew that you weren’t ready to take anything else from me. ”
“I feel weird about it, though. You don’t think it’s icky? Also, are you trying again to buy my forgiveness? I told you that wouldn’t work.”
“It just felt like the least I could do.”
“Okay.” I sag against one of my kitchen barstools. My adrenaline has drained a little. “I mean, I do appreciate it. I’m not going to make you take it back or anything. She needs it.”
“I didn’t do it for the thank you.”
“Yeah, I know.” I move into the kitchen. “You want something to drink? Wine or something?”
“No,” he says.
When I turn again, he’s staring at me. He swallows. I watch the slide of his Adam’s apple up and down with the intensity of a starving woman at a buffet. His eyes track over my thin pajama shorts and top, snagging on my bra strap that peeks out.
He reaches for me, and I reach for him, and then we are absolutely ravenous.
He backs me up against the wall, caging me in between his arms. There are a few seconds where we take a breath together, our chests rising and falling with the weight of the moment.
I twine my arms around his neck, and he pushes his thigh between mine in a reenactment of our kiss earlier this week.
I start to rock against his leg, and he grabs my ass, urging me on.
“Kendall,” he moans before he kisses me.
The first touch of our lips sends a tingling spark down my spine.
His lips are soft and pliant. I want to kiss him for hours, days, for the rest of my life.
For that moment, I don’t care about hating him.
I only want the next press of our lips together.
I push my tongue into his mouth, and he nudges even closer to me, and now I’m really riding his thigh, rubbing myself against him without an ounce of shame.
I pull away, but his mouth follows, and he kisses down the side of my neck and shoulder. His warm lips find the skin just under the strap of my tank top. I shiver.
“Bedroom?” I incline my head toward my room.
He nods and extracts his thigh from between my own. “Hell yes.”
He follows me, his front plastered to my back, so that when we reach my bedroom and I spin around he’s right there. I lay a hand on his chest to stop him.
“Can we talk about the unsexy stuff?”
“I’m infection free,” he says. “I haven’t been with anyone in months, either.”
“Same for me,” I say. “And I have an IUD.” I drag my hand down his chest. “I have some stipulations.”
His face is flushed and his hair sticks out at odd angles from where I ran my hands through it. He’s beautiful, even with trepidation covering his features.
“Okay,” he says, “I’m listening.”
“This is still just for me.”
His shoulders slump. “I’m still not allowed to finish yet? That’s what you mean?”
I shake my head. “Take it or leave it.”
“Dammit.” He bites his lip, and I want to trace my tongue over the indentation in his skin. “I’m going to die, but okay. I’m down.” He smiles. “I did say I would do anything you asked.”
“You’ll tell me if you hate it? Or if you want to change what we’re doing? I can’t have you going along and feeling awful about it.”
“Kendall. I would give literally anything to get my hands on you in any way I can. If that’s happening, there’s no way I’m not going to like it.”
I grin back at him. In the dim light of my room, illuminated by just a single gold lamp, he’s softer, almost like his former self is just a false memory. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“What now?”
I grip the sides of my tank top and in one smooth motion pull it over my head.
I’m standing in front of him in my pink satin bra.
My breasts look amazing in it, I know, even if a little dart of insecurity zips through my brain.
I’m gratified when Grant hangs his head and blows out a frustrated breath before he looks at me again. I can almost hear his gulp.
“God, Kendall.” He takes a step toward me, then halts. He rakes a hand down his face. “Your tits are phenomenal. Like, the best I’ve ever seen. I’m not even kidding.”
I start to unbutton my shorts so I can shimmy out of them. “Take your shirt off,” I say. I inject a little command into my voice.
He complies immediately, ripping his shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor.
I stare at him while I slide my shorts down my thighs.
He’s muscular, which isn’t that surprising given that his only activities are probably working and going to the gym, but I still love seeing the way his biceps pop when he crosses his arms over his chest again.
His little huff of air is so sexy I almost reach for him. He follows it with a groan. “Jesus. And your legs . . .” His eyes flick up to mine. “I could fucking devour you.”
“Maybe you’ll get that chance.” I run my hands over my body, and he shivers. “If you’re good.”
“What now?” His gaze crawls all over me, up and down.
“What do you want the most?”
“To get my hands on you,” he says quickly. His fingertips dig into his forearms, then he uncrosses his arms and steps forward.
“Not yet, then,” I say. “I don’t think you deserve it.” I give him an evil little smile.
I extract some lube from my beside table and lean back on my bed.
Grant’s gaze burns another path along my body.
His attention presses on me like a touch, a weighty thing that steals my breath.
When I look at him, I’m gratified by his mussed hair, his glassy expression, and the tortured way he grips my doorframe, like he could crush it in his hand.
I lie down in front of him and rest my head, trailing my fingers along my abdomen.
When I part myself and run a finger along my clit, Grant’s soft groan reaches somewhere primal in my brain, some long-forgotten recess of my mind.
I’ve never felt like this. Knowing he’s watching me, wanting me, waiting on my instruction as I touch myself makes me incandescent with desire.
I’m trembling now, rubbing my clit as he watches.
“Kendall, please,” he says.
I sit up, shaky, and unhook my bra, slowing my movements until Grant’s fidgeting restlessly in front of me. I take it off and drop it to the floor, then lay back again. My hands find my breasts, and I run my fingertips over them, savoring the feel.
“Babe, I’m dying here.”
“You want to touch me?”
“Christ. Yes.”
I hear him move, then he hovers over me. His hands plant on either side of my hips as he stares down at my face. I grin at him.
“All right, then,” I say. I take my hand off myself. “Get me off.”
He murmurs into my skin as he kisses a trail down my chest. “You want my fingers? My tongue?”
“Both.”
He lays the flat of his tongue on my nipple, and I arch up off the bed.
He kneads the other breast with his hand, and though I’m the one moaning and writhing, the look on his face is one of absolute rapture.
I want to frame a picture of his face so I can go back in time to show this to him, just so he knows how he would worship me one day.
He continues his path down my body, skipping over the part where I want him the most. When he licks a trail up one of my calves, I jolt a little.
“Oh, God. Why does that feel so good?”
He chuckles.