Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
GRACE
H e’s big and so damn hard. The soft, velvety tip is heaven under my fingertips. I brush my thumb over it again, and the aching in my apex intensifies taking him in naked. Raw. The way I am, bare and on my knees for him.
“Fuck, Gracie.”
His legs tremble. The tile bites my knees as I take him into my mouth. I’ve never enjoyed doing this. But it’s completely different when you want to do something versus having to do it. The head is warm and soft and hard at the same time. It’s a literal oxymoron, hard and soft. Gentle and tough. So many ways to describe this man.
I slide him into my mouth. His hands snap from flat on the tiles, where they were for the past five minutes, to straight into my wet hair. The shower is warm. The drops caress my skin as I stroke him, one hand tight around his base, the other bracing against his thigh. His muscles move, bulky under my splayed-out fingers.
Swirling my tongue over the tip, I pull up, sucking hard.
“Gracie. Gorgeous girl, you’re gonna have to stop.”
I lose him from my mouth with a pop. His hooded eyes drop to my face. Chest heaving, every muscle in his beautiful body strained tight, he looks like a god from my place below him on the shower floor. If it wasn’t for the large scar on his hip and the smaller ones dotted over his torso, you’d think he’s Zeus. Or maybe he’s Zeus because of them.
“It’s just fooling around, Mack.”
He huffs a strangled laugh. “Yeah.”
I used to think about this kind of thing, once. Dropping to my knees for a guy. But the shine wears off when you’re at someone’s beck and call with nothing ever received in return. I push the memories from my mind and focus on the man standing in front of me. The good one.
“Can I keep going?” I ask.
“Are you asking for my permission or yours?”
A bit of both.
“Yours.”
“No, Grace, tell me what you want.”
He means this has to be what I desire. Something I get a rush out of as much as he does.
Gathering up a whole lot of bravado and a little sass, I reply, “Come in my mouth, Mackinlay.”
His guttural groan is followed by his hands in my hair. I sink over his cock, taking him in as far as I can. Throbbing blooms to life in my clit. I absolutely get something out of this.
With the last scrap of bravery I have, fueled by the fire that’s now licking my core, I sink my free hand between my legs. I’m soaked. Slick. And not from the warm water pelting down around us. Looking up, I find Mack’s gaze roving my body, snagging on the hand at my center. I take a long, languid pull on his cock, sucking my way over every hard inch and swirling my tongue around the tip before plunging back down. My grip on his base is firm.
Brushing my fingertips over my aching center, I moan around his length.
“Sweet Jesus, Grace.”
I have never been so turned on in my entire life.
I pick up the pace, sucking his shaft, teasing the tip. His legs tremble. One hand slaps back onto the tile to brace against the overwhelming pleasure that looks like it could take him down with any given stroke of my lips.
I sink two fingers into my wet core, moving them in time to the pulls of my mouth. Heat pools in my belly like it did on the bed when his face was buried in my pussy. The next sweep of my thumb over my clit, I explode around my fingers, whimpers cascading from my mouth.
“Fuck . . . Good girl.”
As the sensation flooding my body settles, I lick a long stroke up the length of his cock. His breathing shatters. He’s so close. I pump hard and suck with slow, coaxing movements. His hands, still in my hair, tighten. Salty warmth streams into my mouth. “Fuck, gorgeous girl.”
His eyes are closed, his head tilted back.
Every inch of Mackinlay trembles.
I swallow every last drop he gives me. His legs falter. I grab his hands as he slides down the shower wall to his seat, only somewhat in control of his motions. Dark blue eyes meet mine. Strong arms reach for me. “Come here.”
I crawl onto his lap, and he folds me into his chest.
He drops a kiss into my hair, another to my temple. My heart all but explodes. We sit on the tiled floor, soaking up all the warmth the water and steam allow. His heartbeat drums against my cheek. Mine races along. How is being intimate with Mack so easy? So satisfying?
So . . . addictive .
I glance back up, and his eyes are closed. His breathing slow and even. He’s asleep. Or at least, almost.
“Mack?”
He grumbles something incoherent and cracks one eye open.
“If you fall asleep here, I’ll never be able to shift you.”
Brushing the hair matted to the side of my face behind my ear, he nods. I move to stand, but he holds me in place. With a swift motion, he’s on his feet, the tremble in his legs from before nowhere to be seen. Padding into the bedroom, he walks us straight past my bed and into his room.
A moment later, I’m in his bed. He spoons me and pulls me into his hold.
“I should get supper organized,” I mutter. Not sure if me being in his bed is the best idea. What would his family think if they knew?
We’re only fooling around. Right?
“A few minutes, then we can go back to the real world.”
“A few minutes.” I wriggle further into his hold, my back flush against his warm chest. My ass bunted up to his groin.
He slides an arm around me and buries his head in my hair. “I’m proud of you, Grace, for taking what you want.”
I huff a laugh. “Wait until I put that on my resume.”
A hearty laugh huffs through my hair.
A handful of heartbeats later, my eyes flutter shut.
Clink.
Clink.
Clink.
I sit up, only a sheet over my body. It falls away. Confusion sets in for a second. The room is different.
Mack’s room. And . . . I’m naked.
The last hour before we snuggled into bed floods back in. Heat instantly fills my belly, low. I glance at the clock on his bedside table.
5:00 p.m.
Crap! I have to start supper.
I fly out of bed and tiptoe to my bedroom. I pass the gym on the way, slowing as I do. I watch as Mack pushes out another rep of his shoulder and arm exercises. Holy hell, he is definitely putting on muscle. His sweat-covered arms rise, pushing the weights up again. I hold my breath.
Corded forearms and bulging biceps.
Pretty sure my ovaries just did somersaults.
He meets my gaze as he lets the machine back down. Jaw clenched tight, legs bracing his body, he finishes the set and shakes out his arms.
“You alright?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
My face must look ridiculous, if the expression on his is anything to go by. Dammit.
“I—I was—” I clear my throat. “Nope, I’m going to make supper.” I’m naked and blushing like an absolute idiot. I have one arm wrapped over my breasts, and a hand covering my now very wet center. Damn you, Mackinlay Rawlins. I have chores.
He simply smiles and nods to the hallway. As if telling me to get on with it. Ugh, fine, two can play that game, Mackie-boy. I cringe at the stupid nickname Lawson calls him. I can see why he hates it. It’s childish and corny.
And my best weapon.
Pulling on short denim shorts and a T-shirt, I forgo the bra since it’s just the two of us and I’ll be going to bed in a few hours. My phone buzzes on the dresser. A text.
I pad to where it sits and swipe it up.
Opening the screen, I tap on a number I don’t recognize. The message is empty. Like someone tapped out a bunch of spaces and hit send.
My gut sinks.
I haven’t heard from Joel for weeks. The last text he sent—which I ignored—was during Sunday lunch at Louisa’s. Nothing since.
Same old thing every time.
Where are you?
Why did you leave?
None of your goddamn business. Should have left sooner.
I will never respond. I can’t. I won’t.
The phone vibrates in my hand again. It almost slips from my hand when I realize it’s ringing.
Joel.
All I can do is stare at it.
Too angry and shocked to answer, I let the call go to voicemail. I toss the phone onto the bed like it’s on fire.
“Everything okay, gorgeous?” The low rumble comes from the doorway.
I spin back, my heart in my throat. It’s as if somehow Mack knew Joel is still contacting me. My place here is over. He grips the top of the doorframe with both hands and swings forward on his feet. His focus drifts to the center of the bed. Fire consumes my cheeks. I shove my hands in my back pockets and swallow, dropping my eyes to stare at the floor.
The phone rings again.
“You gonna get that?” Mack says, nodding toward the buzzing.
I lift my head to meet his gaze and shake my head.
“You should. Tell them what’s what, Grace.”
The air lodges in my windpipe. Releasing his grip, his arms fall, and he steps over to where I stand. “Do it for your own peace of mind.”
I should.
I should be brave enough to tell Joel to take a hike. To never contact me again.
A firestorm of wasps in my chest have stolen the last of the useful oxygenated blood from my brain, leaving my neurons to short-circuit. “I’ll just let it go to voicemail...”
Mack raises an eyebrow at me for the second time this afternoon. “You know, ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away. This really smart, beautiful girl I know taught me that.”
I roll my eyes at him.
He’s talking about me, right?
I lean over the bed and pick up the phone. My hands shake. The missed call notification sits on the screen. I tap it and hit the messages icon. The unknown number and Joel’s last text still show in the recent tab. Opening Joel’s messages, I tap out a message.
Do not contact me. Ever again, Joel.
I hit send and Mack folds me into his chest, his chin on my head. The breath he releases is long and his body relaxes around mine. But I can’t help but feel that responding, even telling Joel to leave me alone, will only make him more persistent. Because now he has confirmation that I’m alive and well. Choosing to be anywhere he’s not.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Mack dots a kiss on my cheek before unfurling his hold on me. The chill that falls in as he moves away is part his absence and part my unease. If I know Joel, he won’t heed anything I tell him. He never has.
Shaking it off, I wander to the kitchen, sliding my phone into my back pocket. Mack is pulling items from the fridge. “I’m cooking tonight. Pick a movie on Netflix, will ya?”
I hover by the kitchen counter a moment. I would rather be busy. My mind doesn’t need a second’s leeway to dwell on the threat from Mississippi. So, I try to help, and he bats me away. “Ah! My turn. You do enough around here.”
The sofa gives way like an old friend when I sink into it and hunt through the cushions for the remote. With the telltale echoing sound of Netflix bursting onto the TV, I lean into the softness. Like I’m searching for refuge, and its cotton filling is my sanctuary where none shall find me. I toss my phone onto the small side table and flick through categories trying to find something we will both like.
Romance movies – no.
Thriller – hell no.
Military flicks – ah, probably not.
Comedy – sold!
I chose a popular standup gig that’s a good hour and a half long. Enough time to eat and cuddle up. A man and two bowls appear as I shuffle the cushions around to make our spot in the center. I take the bowl from his hand and toss the salad and chicken with ranch dressing using the fork already dug into the mix.
Mack is planted by my side a second later. I press play and a British guy starts up. He’s like a life-size version of a ventriloquist doll. But hell, he is funny. Inappropriately so, most of the time. I shovel my delicious meal into my mouth between bouts of laughter. Mack is doubled over by midway through.
It’s so wonderful to see his face lit up with pure joy. Tears leak from his eyes as he clutches his stomach. When his hysterics finally die out, he shakes his head. “Jesus, Grace. I’m gonna choke on my chicken.”
The mouthful I was chewing lodges in my airway. Choked out gasps compete with the laughter I can’t stifle at Mackinlay’s ridiculous face. He pats my back, and I manage to swallow the food, coming up for air like a diver on their last run, all out of oxygen.
“Fuck, sorry, gorgeous.”
His face is twisted, fighting hysterics. I push from the sofa and pull out two glasses, filling them with water from the fridge. On my return, Mack’s face has fallen, his gaze set on my phone. Like moving through molasses, I turn to find what has his attention.
Another text.
Joel.
I pass the glasses to him and grab the phone. Not hesitating this time, I open the message.
Bile claws its way up my insides, burning like a house fire in June. I can’t pry my eyes from the screen.
So few words.
Impact—unfathomable.
You don’t walk away from me, Graceless. I WILL FIND YOU.
The air in my lungs stalls out. My chest burns. My heart flings against my ribs, sending a burning flurry of ash down my limbs.
“The asshole agree to leave you alone?”
I snap my head up. Hopeful blue eyes study my face. The happy man I’m falling for from just moments ago flashes through my mind. Everything he has gone through after his tour... I will solve my own problems. Fight my own battles.
Mack pats the cushion beside him. On wobbly legs, I walk between his and drop onto his lap, burying my head into his neck and letting my hair fall around his shoulder and arm. Right here, I’m safe. So here is where I intend to stay. He turns away and chugs down water. I delete the message and toss the phone onto the sofa.
“Yep,” I say, but even the word burns my tongue. I already regret my first and last lie to Mackinlay Rawlins.
“You want to see what else the funny man has to say?” he whispers into my ear, sending goosebumps over my body.
“Sure.” I ignore the stone forming in my throat.