Chapter 26 Gracie #3
Another finger squeezes in, but I’m so swollen, it barely fits. I moan, circling my hips in his lap, and his chest heaves beneath me. “Tell you more?” he asks, voice unravelling. “You really want to know my dirtiest dreams, Gracie?”
“Please,” I gasp as the hand on my belly slides up to my throat, gently gripping until my head falls back onto his shoulder.
He pushes his fingers deeper, reducing my breath to fragments. His exhale could be a curse, and I turn my head enough to lick the salty side of his neck. To see the edge of his profile, staring down at my writhing, sweat-sheened body.
“Fuck, I want—” His eyes slam shut as his hips and hands flex involuntarily.
“I want to wash your hair. I want to put you in a bath and paint your fucking nails. I want to dress you in lingerie and rip it off. I want—” His entire body shudders, and I can’t hold on much longer.
His thumb is erratic on my clit, fingers pumping faster, and I’m going to come too hard this time, but it’s not what scares me.
What scares me is the torn seam in my chest, exposing just the barest sliver of how I feel for this man who desperately wants to take care of me.
And how badly I want to let him.
His voice is choked and feverish as he lays his whole palm over my pussy, fingers still tucked deep inside.
He’s pressing me down, grinding me against his cock, and I’m floating.
“I want to buy you a new car and burn your old tires,” he says against my ear, and the first spasms twitch through me.
“I want to put diamond chains around your neck and wrists so everyone knows you’re mine to spoil.
I want to order you food every goddamn night and feed it to you,” he pants, and I can tell he’s losing control.
“I want to take care of you. But most of all,” he says, hand flexing on my throat as his voice turns into a growl I feel against my back. “I want you to like it.”
My orgasm blindsides me like an avalanche. A total whiteout that knocks away my ability to breathe, or to even tell whether I’m tits up or buried upside down. It makes me question if I’ve ever even come before, if I wasn’t coming with him.
His sharp grunt snaps my eyes open, and I look down to see his hand between my widespread legs, fucking me like my pleasure is the only thing that will get him off.
It’s loud, and wet, and when he bites my shoulder, my cry is uncontrollable.
He groans into my skin, teeth sinking deeper, and I know he’s coming, too.
It’s too much and nowhere near enough—not when I can’t see him lose his careful control.
Not when my heart is beating backward to get closer to his.
But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe if we were heart-to-heart and sharing exhales, I’d be in deeper trouble than I already am.
When we’re both spent, twitching and gasping with aftershocks, I don’t think I could move if someone dangled ten million dollars an inch from my face.
I’m draped over him like a corpse, and somewhere in the static of my mind, I consider the very real possibility that I’ve passed away.
It has, I decide, been a good life. If he sells Larkwood, I’ll just become the resident ghost, moaning for more.
I’m only half conscious when he rearranges my limp body in his arms. When he carries and then tucks me into the softest bed I’ve ever felt, I only realize I’ve dozed off when he wakes me with a soft, “Gracie. Angel. Can I clean you up?”
I nod, unable to keep my eyes open, and hum in pleasure at the soothing heat of a warm washcloth between my legs.
“You did so well,” he tells me in a low voice, kissing my bent knee. His praise curls into me, soft and addictive.
“Me?” I say weakly as he finishes and sits me up enough to take a sip of cool water. “Pretty sure I’m not the one who deserves a gold star here.”
“I don’t want a gold star,” he says, turning off the bedside lamp and climbing in behind me. He tucks us under the covers and pulls me against him. “I want you to fall asleep so I can confirm that you snore.”
“I don’t snore!”
“Of course you do,” he murmurs, finding my hand to hold in the dark. “Like a chainsaw.”
I laugh, but it morphs into a yawn. “And I gave that impression… how?”
His voice is muffled against the back of my neck. “No one can be this perfect.”
My heart stutters. When I came here tonight, I told myself I wanted something simple.
Being with Jude was supposed to be my way of proving that I can have the sort of no-strings hookups that ward against heartbreak.
If I were following my own rules, I wouldn’t be staying the night.
But right now, my legs have the structural integrity of a pair of Slinkies, and my will to leave his embrace is even weaker.
Because tonight was anything but simple. It altered me in ways I’m only beginning to process. So much so that I don’t even question the last thought I have before drifting to sleep.
That maybe “simple” isn’t what I want at all. Maybe, I want to be tied up in all his strings, just so he can unravel me like a pretty little bow.