Chapter 17
seventeen
LILIANA
Grant is a sucker for pillow talk.
After he tenderly cleans me up in his bathroom, sends me spiraling over the edge of his sink’s countertop, then cleans me up again, he wraps me in the comforting cotton of a band t-shirt.
The sun is still shining bright through the gray curtains of his bedroom, but he tucks me into his silk bedsheets before lying next to me.
“You can stay the night, if you want,” he mumbles against the side of my neck. His arm draped across my stomach shakes when I laugh.
“It’s not even dinnertime, and you’re thinking of sleep?”
He moves back to stare at me, blinking. “Have I not tired you out yet?”
I chew on the inside of my lip, my cheeks feeling hot. Having two mind-blowing orgasms was not on my agenda for a Saturday afternoon, and my legs are already aching from the squeezing and shakes that Grant has wracked through me.
But the thought of it, staying here in the warmth of his bed and being sent to my climax another handful of times throughout the night, energizes me. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.
I capture his lips in a soft kiss. “I don’t think being tired is a concern to either of us.”
There’s a familiar and playful glint in his gemstone eyes.
“That’s just another reason to stay over.”
It’s not a question of whether I am or not. As soon as he slipped me into his clothing, the smell of sage and feeling of Grant enclosing me, there was no way I was going home. It’s less about if I’m staying, and more about how I’m going to tell Rosie she doesn’t have to stay up for me.
Everything moved rapidly fast. Maybe it can be attributed to how long we’ve known each other and wanted one another, but tonight went far beyond anything I imagined. And it’s exactly what Rosie predicted. I’m never going to hear the end of this.
“Oh my gosh.” I cover my face in my hands and feel Grant staring. “How did we get here?”
Turning to my side, I lay my head on his probably too expensive pillow and face him, brown hair falling over his features and red plaid pajama pants riding low on his hips.
With his chest exposed, the blush that usually flushes across his neck is highlighting the planes of his torso, and I reach my hand out to touch.
“How we got here?” He repeats my question, and I nod. “Well, I live here. You took the train, but I offered to drive you.”
“Shut up.” Our laughter harmonizes and I smack the skin of his shoulder. His body is built, solid and lean just as I thought it would be under the warm fabric and neutral colors he wears. “You know what I mean.”
“Well, I agreed to help a beautiful girl with a project and got really lucky she didn’t think I was an idiot.”
“Since when do I not think you’re an idiot?”
He pinches the side of my thigh playfully. “Hey, don’t forget who’s been helping you with your homework.”
Most of the time, it’s impossible for me to forget about my assignments and Grant’s help. But today has been different. His mention of it is the first time it’s crossed my mind.
His thumb circles the skin of my thigh he pinched, and it’s a reminder that we’re doing something totally unrelated to my short story. The assignment that brought me to him in the first place.
“Isn’t it funny that we’re in this position because of school?”
He chuckles. “I know. I’m going to find our old professor’s email and thank them for making us project partners.”
I frown, confused. “Our comms class?”
“Yeah.” His voice is even, like it’s obvious. “That’s where we met.”
“Well, yeah, I know that. But I was talking about my romance assignment.”
“Oh, right.” Grant’s hand hooks around my knee, pulling me against his body and caging himself in with my leg. “That too. Thanks to you, thinking to ask me for help, even if you didn’t forgive me yet.”
Forgiveness, again. I’m starting to notice a pattern of Grant going back to that. I’ve forgiven him, and he knows that, but it’s like his brain won’t let him accept it.
I note it for later. Grant pays such close attention to me, my wants and needs. I want to care for him in the same way. Equally. And something tells me that forgiveness is more of an issue than he lets on.
For now, I’ll leave it alone.
Instead, I focus on the ridiculous sequence of events that brought us back together. The memory of me trying other solutions to my writing issue emerges in my brain. I put a hand over my face, snorting.
“You won’t believe the stuff I tried before asking you for help.”
Grant nudges my hand away from my face, his own splitting into a wide smile, dimples and all. “Tell me. I want to know.”
I groan, embarrassed. “I forced myself into romcom marathons, tried interviewing my parents about their love lives—horrible idea, by the way.” He winces the same time I do.
“Oh, I tried those interactive story games, like on your phone. But I just ended up reading a lot of stories about vampires and werewolf omegas?”
This time, Grant doesn’t wince. He asks, “Got any recs?”
“Oh, suddenly you’re a reader?” I ignore his incessant nodding, laughing while I continue. “Rosie thought it would be a good idea if I started dating guys for, what she called, research purposes.”
The corner of Grant’s mouth lifts in disgust. In two seconds, I’m wrapped completely in his arms, his legs switching to cover mine and my chin tucked into his chest.
“No. Nope. Absolutely not.”
I try to move out of his arms, to look up at his face and see if his low tone is synonymous with his facial expression, but his tight grip doesn’t budge. My chest shakes with laughter.
“Are you jealous right now?”
“Of course.” He’s so open and carefree with his feelings, it sends me mentally reeling. Is this why he was so casual about setting up his sketchbook, and hoping I’d reciprocate? “I hate the thought of you being with someone else. Even if it’s fake.”
My arm finds its place around his waist and up the smooth skin of his back. “I wouldn’t have meant anything, anyways. I was totally against it.”
“You think that, but then the guy would have seen how gorgeous you were, and then fake dating turns into Love Don’t Cost a Thing and he’s stealing my girl.”
I smile into the solid space of his chest. My girl.
Between that, baby, and Lily, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to remember being called anything else.
Phantom sensations of his tongue tracing between my thighs and over my breasts kindle over my body. I subtly rub my legs together and will the sensation away. No more than an hour could have passed, and I’m already starting to pool again, ready for him.
My mind reaches for any semblance of normality, to reply to his comment without giving away his effect on me.
“Love Don’t Cost a Thing?” I repeat and try to ignore his hand rubbing up and down my thigh.
“Yeah. That movie with the nerdy guy who fake dates the popular girl.” My mind is trying so hard to focus on his words, but his fingers slip a centimeter more under the hem of his t-shirt. “They fall in love, but he gets too cocky. Eventually he goes back to being a nerd.”
I gulp. “Don’t you mean Can’t Buy Me Love?”
He loosens his grip on me. I’m thankful for the space so I can get my body under control, but there’s a sense of emptiness that nearly has me leaning back into him.
Grant fully slides his hand under the fabric of his t-shirt, creeping closer to my butt. He looks at me unflinching, green eyes focused on mine. “Aren’t you supposed to be a romance girl? Love Don’t Cost a Thing is the superior of the two.”
The room is so much warmer suddenly, my legs and arms and neck heating up despite no longer being entrapped by Grant’s frame. The air feels the same as it was in the living room—sexually charged.
What were we talking about? I’m fighting to remember. The conversation is disintegrating. Grant leans over to lay me on my back, his rough hand slowly pushing my legs apart so he can fit in the space between.
My breath catches in my throat when he traces his way up, practiced fingers teasing over the bare area of my folds like he’s already memorized the landscape of them.
One finger eases into me, and I’ve lost control of how to breathe. Grant leaves hot kisses up and down the side of my neck, biting when his thumb rubs circles into my clit and rips a large moan from my throat.
“Lily.” He calls, but it sounds distant from how far I’ve fallen into ecstasy. “Let me see those pretty eyes.”
I didn’t realize they were closed until I opened them, staring back at the man who has me rolling against him instantly.
The first two times he brought me to an orgasm, he was fully clothed.
But with his shirt off I can see his bicep flexing in time with his languid movements. It makes everything hotter.
“You’re so sweet when you’re like this. So pretty.
” Grant’s praise causes my back to arch, my eyes to shut in hopes of intensifying everything he’s making me feel.
His left hand comes up to rub my temple and reminds me to look at him.
“You like the sound of my voice, baby? Like hearing me compliment this body and all the things you do right for me?”
I can’t stop my hips from chasing his finger, begging to be filled with something bigger. Something more.
Like he’s reading my mind, Grant adds another and presses deeper.
“How many times are you going to come for me tonight? Take a guess.”
His words start to taper off at the end, becoming distant. Euphoria is building, hairs raising on my skin and pleasure becoming the only thing I know. His fingers reach into the deepest part of me, and he repeats himself.
“Guess, Lily.”
Guess? I can hardly think of anything but Grant’s low voice and his hand pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
A third finger traces where our bodies are meeting, and it’s the only thing I can comprehend.
“Three.”
“Three?” He repeats the number with shock on his face. By the time I’ve registered what I’ve said, that he wouldn’t be able to get anything but this last orgasm out of me, his eyes are already pointed in challenge.
“How about three each?” His third finger reaches into me, movements turning rougher and less careful. My hips are rocking on their own, rutting in his hand and chasing the pleasure that’s so, so close.
“Three with my mouth,” he starts to explain, “Three with my fingers.” He’s pounding relentlessly into the spot that sends my toes curling, uncaring of how loud I’m becoming or how harshly I’m gripping his pricey bedsheets.
I can’t keep my eyes open anymore, shutting them to find the orgasm I’m on the cusp of.
Grant doesn’t ask me to look at him, his left hand pushing my shirt up around my breasts so he can tug on my nipple roughly.
There’s a gravelly tone in his voice. “And three orgasms, you do yourself, and I’m going to talk you through it. Fist my cock while I make you come with my words.”
The image is vivid. Grant sitting across from me, hand wrapped around himself and veins popping while he works over the skin. Head thrown back. Deep collarbones on display while he watches me lay myself out bare for him.
My orgasm slams through me. I arch my back and follow the motions of his hands, in and out of my slit, pulling on the flesh of my chest. I moan out his name more times than I can count. It’s the only thing I can remember during the white heat of coming.
Grant’s fingers slow when the shaking in my thighs calm. He pulls his hand from between my legs, keeping his sinister eyes locked on me when he licks the come off his fingers.
My breathing hasn’t steadied yet when he speaks, “That was one with my fingers. First two were with my mouth.”
For the first time tonight his ghost touches aren’t used on me. His hand lightly trails the waistband of his pajama pants, inches away from the bulge I desperately want to touch. I watch his movements like an addict. I’ve never wanted anything or anyone this badly.
His left hand stays on my breast, massaging over the skin while his right reaches behind the fabric of his pants and grips himself. Teasing, I can see the outline of his hand moving up and listen to his voice catching when he talks.
“Six orgasms left, baby. Which one do you want next?”