Chapter 23
23
TESSA
We hadn’t talked about the Baader Meinhof in weeks, but mine was out of control. I woke up and thought about Grant. I saw a funny joke and wanted to text him. I walked by my Christmas tree and my eye caught on his little icicle ornament.
“You okay?” Grant murmured, lifting his head from where he’d been kissing my collarbone to look at me curiously. “You made a sound.”
“I’m fine, don’t stop,” I said in a rush, but the words only made his brow arch in question.
Grant propped himself on one elbow. “Nothing’s going to stop me from making love to you tonight, but I’m not in a rush. What’s up, Tess?”
Making love. Was that what we were doing now?
But I knew the answer. Of course it was. The better question would be if I minded or not, but that answer popped into my brain just as easily. “Does this count as a bed?” I asked, which sounded like a simple question, but I was wondering so much more.
“I wouldn’t care if it was,” he said, answering my unasked question. “I thought avoiding beds would keep me from falling for you, but it didn’t. I don’t even think it slowed me down, Tessa. What I’m feeling…” He rubbed the center of his chest as if it hurt, and I wondered if it did, because I positively ached for the man. “It can’t be avoided or slowed down or stopped by anything. And it’s not just desire, Tessa. I told myself it was, but I was lying. It’s consuming. I don’t just want fun nights bent over a couch, I want your laugh and your smile and that line you get over your left eyebrow when you’re worried.
“And the craziest part is this isn’t some sort of unrequited love thing. You feel the same goddamn way, don’t you?”
“Grant,” I said weakly, unable to admit I felt that way and then some. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know, Tess. I’m saying…maybe your sisters would grow to like me.” He shrugged one shoulder, just the tiniest movement, and he seemed so vulnerable in that moment. I owed him total honesty.
“It’s not just them,” I whispered.
His eyes grew wide, the rotating colors of the lights reflecting in them. “Other people hate me?”
I touched his face, running my hand down his scruffy cheek. “No. That wasn’t what I meant.” I swallowed hard, rolling onto my back and looking up at the tree. “Have you ever heard anyone in town talk about me and my sisters?”
“No, of course not. Are they saying something?” he asked, and I glanced toward him. The knot in his brow suggested he was ready to charge out the door and defend my honor, but I didn’t need that.
“They always say the same thing. They have my whole life. They comment on Emily’s smarts, Claire’s beauty, and Nora’s personality.”
“What do they say about you?” Grant asked cautiously.
“Nothing,” I replied simply. “Most seem to forget I exist. Some think of me as the ‘other sister.’”
Grant’s expression was thoughtful, but he said nothing, waiting for me to say more.
“My mother has tried to set up both Emily and Claire before—hell, she was so determined to set you up with Claire she nearly ruined Claire’s relationship. But she’s never suggested a man for me.” I shook my head. “And I’m not an idiot, I know I don’t want my mom meddling in my life all the time, but never ? I’m the family’s modern-day spinster.”
“But you’re not,” Grant protested. “You’re smart and sexy and funny as hell, and I don’t want your mom setting you up because you’re mine , Tess.”
“It's not just them. It’s everyone. Everyone in this whole damn town knows you pined after Claire as a teenager and they’ll think I’m a poor man’s Claire—they already think it, you’ll just be proving them right.”
“Tess,” he protested gently.
“I’m a poor man’s Claire, Grant. That’s why I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when she decided to move back. Because when my sisters are here, I don’t exist.” I’d said too much—revealed more to Grant in five minutes than I’d told anyone before. Anyone except Val, of course.
“No,” Grant said flatly.
“No?” I parroted, perplexed. It was a very small response to my very big and complicated feelings.
“Sometimes our experiences cloud our perception—they make us see things all wrong—and this is one of those times, Tess. I am looking at the most beautiful, intelligent, genuine human on the face of the Earth. I don’t want anyone else, and I don’t care what anyone thinks about it. I’ve kept quiet out of respect for your wishes, but I’ve been yours from the start, Tessa. No matter how hard you push me away, I’m yours.”
I turned to look at him, facing him fully as if I might catch a hint of doubt, but there was none. Grant always meant the words that came out of his mouth, which was why they so often tumbled from his lips without a filter. Sometimes those words seemed harsh, but today they were beautiful. “I don’t mean to push you away,” I replied quietly.
“Then don’t. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk into my parents’ house tomorrow with nothing to hide? We could sit next to each other at dinner and then, later, together by the fire, drinking eggnog. And when you got tired, you’d lean on my shoulder and I’d kiss the top of your head and sneak a little sniff of the lavender shampoo you use.”
“Grant.” The word was meant to be a protest, but it came out as a helpless little wheeze.
“Tess,” he replied, his voice gentle. “Tomorrow is Christmas, and the only reason I care is because of you. And we can pretend to mean nothing to each other, but I will be pretending for the rest of my damn life, because there’s no way I’m ever going to find someone else who makes me feel like you do.”
I couldn’t process his words fast enough, or maybe my sluggish mind was just too busy imagining a thousand scenarios in which his words were true. Walking through the park, looking at the lit-up trees, stopping to do last-minute shopping together at my favorite little vintage store in town, sitting next to Grant in front of his parents’ tree while we opened gifts, then heading home to share his bed.
They were scenarios I wanted.
Scenarios I loved.
“Okay,” I said. And perhaps he’d expected more of a fight, because for a long time he only stared at me. “Grant?” My words were soft, my fingers light on his cheek.
His brow tightened, his usual crease even deeper than usual. “I’m sorry, Tess. I don’t know what okay means in this case.”
Grant may’ve been confused, but I wasn’t. Those two little syllables had been freeing. I wouldn’t have to lie or sneak, I could openly love Grant. And it would be okay. Okay . I felt buoyant, and I climbed forward, onto his lap until our lips met and we fell back onto the floor. I didn’t want to stop kissing him, but I had to—I had to explain myself. “Let’s go to Christmas together tomorrow,” I said.
“Really?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and the first, hopeful hint of a smile curving his lips.
I nodded, pushing away all the terrifying thoughts about my family. “I want all those things, Grant. Everything but the eggnog. Eggnog is gross.”
Grant wove his hand around my neck, his thumb running the length of my throat. “Everything but the eggnog, Tess,” he agreed as he pulled me closer and kissed me deeply. “Come to my bed,” he said when our lips parted.
I shook my head. “Another day. Tonight I want to stay right here, by the fire and the tree, wrapped up in this amazing duvet.” I pulled the blanket higher on my shoulders. “Where did you get this thing? It’s so goddamn cozy.”
“Shut up about the duvet,” he laughed, dragging me close to kiss once more.
I’d scoffed at Grant’s rule about beds, but I could now say, with absolute certainty, that there was a difference between what we’d been doing and lovemaking. First, there was the speed. I’d been with men who rushed—Grant was not one of those men. I couldn’t think of a single sexual encounter we’d had where he’d rushed past my needs. It simply wasn’t in his meticulous, perfectionist nature. That said, sex in cars or up on counters or pressed against the wall simply weren’t protracted events, if for no other reason than because they became uncomfortable rather quickly.
Tonight, Grant was in no rush, and I was yet to decide if it was incredible or sheer torture. He’d kissed his way down my entire body, slow and tantalizing brushes of lips and beard that I arched into wantonly. He made his way to the tender inside of my thigh, pressing my knees apart with his wide shoulders until I was opened to him.
I often shied away from oral sex, but it felt different with Grant. First off, I knew he wouldn’t do it if he didn’t want to, but I also knew, even before his mouth settled on my most private parts, that he would make it feel mind blowing. Grant liked to be good at things, and he’d studied me. His lips and tongue followed the familiar path I’d taught him weeks ago in the closet at City Hall while his fingers pressed into me and his thumb stroked up the wishbone of my clitoris.
“God, yes,” I moaned, and Grant hummed his agreement, making the breath catch in my throat. I tried to suck in more air, but the air caught in tiny, little hiccuping noises until the orgasm hit and it was all I could think or feel.
As soon as the feeling passed, I hauled Grant up toward me until his body hovered over mine. “I’ve wanted this since the wedding last summer,” he said.
I peeled off his shirt, but fumbled on his pants. “What did you want?” I asked, grunting unhappily when his button still did not open. “Take off your pants.”
Grant laughed as he stood up and stripped off both his pants and underwear. He was so beautiful nude, even more beautiful than in his clothes. Grant rolled on a condom, still standing over me, then slid under the cover, his body propped over mine. “This,” he answered. “Sex with you is always amazing, but I’ve wanted you under me since that first night.”
“Me too,” I murmured, canting my hips until I felt the smooth latex and the throbbing heat below. Wrapping an arm around the small of my back, Grant sat up and watched as he entered me, groaning deep and low in his throat. He pumped in and out, long and slow, as his face dipped back down for a kiss.
I held him close even when our lips parted, our foreheads touching and his blue eyes bright. “When you’re mine, Tessa?—”
“I’m always yours,” I said before he could get out the words.