Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
GRACE
B lue looks good on Mackinlay. My favorite color on my absolute favorite person. I track the paintbrush over his collarbones, and he groans. Dark blue eyes follow my hand before flitting back to my face. I wonder if he’s connected the color yet? His dark blues now the valleys of the mountains on my canvas. The depths had to be him. My reminder of how far he has come. Come back from. Just how deep he lives inside my heart these days.
“And this part, is what kept me here. I knew it was in there, all it needed was a little coaxing out.” I run the bristles over his chest, right above his heart. I want it to be mine. So much. I’m desperate for this to be permanent. To not wake up one day to have him change his mind, realize I’m not enough, not what he wanted.
“Hey, and you did.” His hand raises my chin. Those dark blues reach my own eyes. I can’t breathe. “Finders keepers, gorgeous girl.”
Lord above, how does this man read my mind so easily? I huff a strangled laugh. It’s as if he can see right through me. “I’m going to hold you to that, Mack.”
“Good.” Warm hands frame my face. “I can’t promise it will be easy, not all the time, Grace. Nothing this strong ever is. Only worth it.”
I slip the brush between my fingers, cupping his face, smashing my mouth to his. I open, wanting him in. Wanting him to claim me. Needing him to take what’s been his for so long. Strong arms fold me in closer. The brush drops from my fingers to the floor. Hands work my ass before he hauls me onto his lap. He’s hard beneath me, shoulders plummeting with every breath he takes in.
“I’m guessing this paint ain’t edible?” he asks.
I laugh, my head tilting to one side. “Nope, it’s not. But...” I lean back and pull open a drawer from my small desk. Fingers curling around a flat tin, I rock back toward him and hand over the watercolors. “These won’t kill you.”
Cheekiness pulls at his face, his shit-eating grin widening. “God help me, I’ve created a paint-eating monster,” I say, pushing my palms together in mock prayer. Mack stands up from the stool and lowers me to my feet. Swiping up cushions from the small sofa I have against the wall for sketching, he drops them to the floor.
“What are we doing with those?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer, simply sending his fingertips over my neck, down my sternum. My gaze follows his hands as they gently work my body. I stand, heart thumping against my ribs, breaths shallowing out. Snapping up a brush, he dips it into the water sitting in the jar by the easel and flips the lid of the watercolors open. “Which color, gorgeous?”
“You choose,” I breathe.
He eyes the palette of dulled blues, greens, yellows, and reds, then swirls the bristles through the lightest blue. The brush hovers in front of my chest, like he’s hesitating. A thought about my wellbeing no doubt holding his mind hostage. I snatch up the handle, claiming it back. “I need the rest of these clothes off, Mackinlay.”
He studies my gaze for a moment before working the buckle of his belt and letting the Wranglers fall. Next the boxers go, freeing his hard length, making my mouth water. “I’m dirty, Gracie. Needin’ a shower.”
“Better make it worth your while then...” I trace the brush over his shoulder and down his biceps, into the crease of his elbow and down his ropey forearm. A flood of goosebumps trails over his skin as the brush moves. I can tell he’s itching to touch me. But I’m going to take my time. Make the most of this moment and make certain it becomes a memory I’ll never want to lose.
The bristles dry out and the light blue fades out with the next stroke. I replenish the paint and pick up where I left off. Blue trickles over Mack’s chest as I move the tip of the brush over each angle, every plane of his body that does something to me. He stands still as ever as I let the tip trail downward.
The bristles bump over the ridges of his six-pack, above the defined V, and his body tenses, chest heaving, hooded dark blues homed in on my face. Beautifully wrecked. The words I would choose to describe Mackinlay Samuel Rawlins in this very second. I refresh the blue again and this time send the head of it over the V, slowly.
A strand of hair falls into my face as I lean down to capture the deep angle. I blow it away and run my bottom lip through my teeth. A growl from above my head sees me swinging my gaze upward.
Rough hands have my hips in a tight grip before I can read the emotions filing through those dark eyes, tugging at my hip. The side buttons of my overalls are released. Both sides. I fight back the smile trying to win over my face at the hungry desperation on his.
This.
This is what it feels like to be wanted.
Needed.
Desired.
Something I thought I would never have.
His hands close around the buckles at my breasts, and I slide my own over them.
“Mack,” I whisper.
I’m crushed against him instantly. His forehead presses above my brow, ragged breaths shattering over my face. “Yeah?”
“Take what you want. No gentle.”
Lord, my words barely make sense.
He knows what I mean. He tugs the straps over my shoulders and shoves the denim to the floor and rips my ratty old t-shirt from my body. I stand in nothing but the yellow lingerie that has become our favorite as he draws me up onto his hips, smashing his mouth to mine. A few short strides and I’m on the table by the door, his tongue working me over in long, delicious strokes. I return them, hungry for this man who woke me up. Breathed life into my timid, beaten-down soul.
He pulls back, taking me in for a moment.
“Fuck, Gracie,” he growls.
“Please, Mackinlay. Don’t make me beg . . .”
I palm my breasts, knowing exactly what it will do to his control.
Rough hands snap around the backs of my knees, dragging me toward him. He dips his head and nips my nipple. The sting is followed by a long, slow, sensuous suck that lifts me, arching my body off the table with a heady moan. The clasp of my bra releases. The synthetic material burns my skin as he rips it away. The panties go next. Not caring to look, he tosses them away, and they land on the corner of the easel.
I pull him down to me, wanting his mouth on me, my lips, my skin. I don’t care. His cock rubs into my already throbbing clit. Blood sinks, pooling delicious heat deep in my belly. I pinch a nipple and slide my hand down my stomach toward the ache. Needing to see him watch me touch myself. Wanting him to unravel even further as I do.
Nostrils flaring, he stands upright, making space for my hand. Lips parted, breaths too quick, he watches as I circle a finger over my clit. Lightning floods my limbs with the slightest touch to the oversensitive apex. I arch again, and a whimper slips out.
Something thuds on the floor. My hand is batted away. His warm tongue sweeps through my center. I’m fucking soaked. If I wasn’t as wound up as Mackinlay right now, I might be embarrassed. The fact he does this to me. I do that to him. Nothing ever felt more right. His lips close around my clit, and I grip the edge of the table, trembling with every suckle, every movement he makes. The jars of water and mixed paints on the table wobble.
“So fucking wet for me, gorgeous girl. I’m not going to be able to control myself.”
The elation flooding me at those words is overwhelming. “I don’t want you to. Break me, Mackinlay. Don’t you dare be gentle.”
With a long stroke of his tongue, he pushes to his feet and grabs me up, his mouth crashing to mine. He tastes like me—it sends me higher. I grab his hand and shove it back to where I want it. His fingers sink inside me a heartbeat later. I moan, arching into him. Fuck.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, so damn tight.”
“Fuck me, Mackinlay. Now.”
Pulling his fingers out, I send them straight to my mouth, sucking them clean. Sucking them so hard, my cheeks hollow out. His other hand slams down beside me, rattling the jars. His tip nudges my entrance. I hold his gaze. He pushes in. The stretch makes my mouth water. He gives me another inch. It’s not enough. It’s too slow. Too controlled. I sit up and let a hand wander between us, fondling his balls. “This is the last time I’m asking, soldier. Ruin me.”
“Gracie, you sure?”
“Yes,” I rasp. “I want it all. I trust you. Can you do that for me?”
He closes his eyes, still only just inside me. His hands rest at his sides for a few breaths. When his eyes open, the man standing before me is transformed. Hungry.
Wild.
Savage.
I know the second our eyes lock that this is the version of him I am going to want for the rest of my days. I lean back on the table, elbows propping me up. “Do it. I know you want to.”
His hand wraps around my throat as he slams into me. So fucking deep. The other slaps my legs wider. He pulls out and slams in again. Sinking deeper. I’m impossibly wet. Every feral sound he makes driving me more and more insane, I meet him with every thrust. The table rocks, hitting the wall. He tilts his hips up and drives in again with a husky growl. I slump, back and head meeting the hard wooden surface. Feeling too much. I’m losing control a little more with every move he makes.
He leans over, slamming his hands beside my head. Eyes burning into mine, he mouths something I can’t place before snapping his head down. Teeth sink into the side of my breast. I cry out. The sting. The pleasure building in my core. The contrast sends me spiraling. I claw at him as he picks up his unrelenting pace. The table hits the wall with savage force. Jars of paint and water pots scatter to the floor.
“Fuck me, Grace. The strongest fuckin’ woman I’ve ever known. You’ve met me at every milestone. Braved the world in the worst way possible. And this is what you give me. Strong doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
His lips close over my nipple. This time, his tongue flicks around the hardened peak, and I whimper, sending my hands into his hair. Pulling at it as he thrusts harder. My body trembles all over with the current he’s sending through me. I moan past his hand as it closes over my throat again. Straightening up, he thrusts deep. Beautiful agony builds, and I snag his gaze, my hand on his jaw. He knows what this means.
“Not yet, gorgeous.”
I’m scooped up off the table, and he pivots and lowers me to the floor. Making space between us, he falls from my dripping center, leaving me empty. I fucking hate it. Flipping me over, he pushes my head into the cushion. Snatching up my hands, he cuffs them with one of his behind my back. My ass is in the air. My pussy so wet that my need is leaking down my thighs.
I turn my head to find him fisting his cock for a moment. He shoves my legs wider and closes in between my legs. Leaning over, he gathers up my hair in a rough-fisted hold and sinks into me. The angle, the depth sees me cry out. “Fuck, Mackinlay.”
He’s so deep, it’s impossible to tell where he ends and I start. Our souls fused together.
He pistons into me. Keeping me where he wants me, one hand holding my wrists at the small of my back, the other still tight in my hair. I’m putty in his hands. I’m his to control. And I fucking love it. Submissive to this man is not the same as to anyone else. Anything else. The willingness to give yourself over fully to another person. Heart and soul. It’s an act of trust.
It’s . . .
Love.
My breath leaves.
I gasp for more.
Finding none.
Love.
The last thing I thought I would ever find.
And to have found something this deep. This all-consuming and otherworldly... I realize in this moment, watching his face fall apart more and more with every strong thrust into me, my life can’t go anywhere else but in this direction. I have arrived. Found the place I’m meant to be. The heart I am meant to protect.
His.
I swallow past my tightened throat. As if reading my mind, like he does in so many of our moments, he leans down. Releasing my hair and wrists, he pulls me up to my knees, my back to his chest. His hand trails down my stomach as he thunders into me. His breaths all but gone, his body trembling. I turn back and kiss his mouth. Needing to be closer. Wanting to show him this moment means everything .
He breaks away, dipping his head by my ear. “I love you more than you’ll ever know, Gracie.”
I suck in a ragged breath, and a sob tumbles out with the next exhale. Tears sting the back of my eyes.
Mack’s hand squeezes my breast, reducing to two fingers as he pinches the nipple. I gasp, hardly able to catch a single breath.
He growls against my neck. “Now, come with me, gorgeous.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, and his mouth covers mine. His tongue sweeps in, stroking. The fire in my belly he’s been igniting since I landed on the paint table surges. Two warm fingers find my clit, pinching, swirling across it. I explode around his cock. Each wave tightens. “Mackin—” I jerk my hips against his hand, legs shaking. Splintering release encapsulates every cell of my body. “Oh my god. Mack!”
“Good girl.” He grunts. “Fuck!”
His pace turns erratic. He pushes me to the floor with one hand, slamming into me harder than before. He bends down, fingers sliding into my mouth. I suck them before they hook over my jaw. He slams in, faster still.
“Gracie!” My name is a roar. The slap of his body slamming into my own. Devine. Hot rope floods my center. A moment later, his thrusts die out, and he peels me from the floor. I’m pulled flush to him, sweat sticking us together. Gentle hands search my body quickly, as if checking me over for damage. When none is found, he pulls out. I am at a loss without him. Spinning on my knees, I take his face in my hands.
“Mackinlay...” He studies my face, as if waiting for me to tell him he hurt me, his face falling by the second. “It’s okay. I’m good. Better than good. And...”
“What is it?” His breath hitches.
I kiss his jaw. His lips. Pulling his head down, I dot another to his forehead. Tilting his head up, I meet his gaze. “I love you, Mackinlay Samuel Rawlins.”
I’m folded into his hold before the next heartbeat.
I haven’t only found my place. I have found my home.