Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
AMELIA
My back crashes to the wall, jiggling the stock artwork that whoever rents this place out must’ve picked out. It’s certainly not the style of the man who’s currently sucking my tongue. The wall bounces with the abrupt motion and I feel it all the way to my core, which makes me groan straight into his mouth.
Weston’s body crushes mine to the drywall, my legs wrapped around his waist and his hands splayed across my ass, supporting my weight as we devour one another’s faces.
We definitely didn’t do this last night. It’s so intimate, so deeply personal, the way he’s consuming me with his mouth, like there isn’t enough of me to go around.
Hands roaming, I work to get his shirt off without breaking contact between my pelvis and his abs. It’s not working out for me, but I’m inspired.
Grinding on his belt buckle, I time my movements to let me peel the button down from beneath my legs and pull it up.
Why is this the one time he’s not wearing a white tee shirt?
Once it’s freed from my thighs, at least I can unbutton it without stopping our make-out session.
His talented tongue sweeps into my mouth again, sending chills down my spine and making me grip him tighter, using my legs for leverage. A growl rumbles across my tongue, and I nearly come on the spot. In return I whimper, which drives him crazier.
His hands leave my ass, trusting his hips and the wall to hold me up as he uses both hands to grip my face, cupping my jaw, fingertips on the back of my skull as I work frantically to undo the buttons, one by one. I’m close to ripping the damn thing off at this point, and he chuckles against my lips at the exasperation brought on by my raw need.
“So impatient, darlin’.”
Weston nips at my swollen lower lip and I nip right back, capturing his lip in my teeth and biting down enough to show him I’m not playing.
“Not the time to be a Boy Scout, Weston. Fuck me like you mean it.”
His eyes darken in an instant, and that playful demeanor melts into a kind of skillful predator I don’t want to imagine how he perfected over his life without me. I’m feeling a little possessive at the moment.
“Those are the magic words, angel. Tell me why you stayed and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Because I wanted to,” I gasp around drugging kisses.
“Why?” he presses.
“I like it here,” I divert.
His lips close on my jaw, then move over to my chin as he works his mouth down my neck, using his tongue to tease me as he wants to along the way.
My shirt gets pulled up to my shoulders where he pins it in place with one forearm, mouth still roaming my bare skin.
“Why?” he asks again before closing his lips over my pierced nipple through the bralette and tugging on the metal.
That gets a loud moan out of me, head thrown back against the wall, core pressed as close as I can get to him on that shiny belt buckle he wore over his jeans tonight.
“Last night wasn’t enough,” I admit, breathless.
“Fuck no it wasn’t.” His teeth come out to play with my nipple, bringing new noises out of me, and then he licks it all better, straight through the fabric.
“Tell me what you want.”
He’s out of breath, as needy as I am, but he holds my hips with his hands until I drop my legs, then he falls to his knees, leaving me floating against the wall, pinned by his grip.
Weston presses his face between my legs, nipping at my pussy through the thin material of my stretchy shorts, and I think I might’ve broken him last night, or maybe it was by coming back. Whatever the cause, he’s absolutely unhinged right now, feral compared to the composed, laid-back, golden retriever of a man I’ve spent so much time with these past weeks.
He swings my legs over his bare shoulders, face pressed into me, waiting for my answer.
I want to be brave enough to go after what I want.
A home.
Friends.
Family.
Him.
“All of you,” I tell him the short answer, and that does it.
He growls, ferocious and gravelly, before lifting me from the wall, supporting me with his arms behind my body, my legs over his shoulders as I squeal the entire way to his bed. He drops me down, letting me fall several feet under his watchful stare.
The man must be a pro, because in what seems like a flash, he’s naked and so am I.
In another breath, he’s pushing inside of me, from the top, and I don’t stop him. On the contrary, I urge him on, short black nails in his back, lips to his ear, mewling, begging him to take me, to give me more.
I want all of what he has to give me.
And I think I finally trust someone enough to let myself take what they have to offer.
As long as his name is Weston Grady.
Soft fingers trail through my hair, playing with the strands as I wake, face nestled in a hard, bare, masculine chest that smells familiar. Something woody, spicy, and safe that stirs memories of feeling cherished, even worshipped.
“Mmm,” I murmur, opening my eyes to take in the man beneath me.
His other hand traces over my arm, stretched lazily across his upper body.
“Mornin’, darlin’,” he says in a sleepy voice that might even be hotter than his normal one.
“Time is it?” I ask, bleary-eyed.
“Late,” he says with a quiet chuckle.
We stayed up most of the night again, making the most of my return to Smoky Heights. When the girls and guys night at the bowling alley finally ended, I went to my van, acting like I was going to spend the night in Van Gogh, and when the others had left Weston grabbed me and whisked me to his place in his pickup, covering our tracks. Our hands wandered the entire way home, and we barely made it in the door without him inside of me. We didn’t waste a minute of the night after that.
Not too keen on wasting any time today either. It’s Sunday, meaning neither of us have work until tomorrow and we have the whole day to ourselves.
Weston lifts his shoulders off the bed so he can kiss the top of my head, and I snuggle further into his body. Settling back in, I feel something solid poke my arm, and some parts of me wake up faster than others. A low burn pulls in my belly, and I shift my hips closer to him.
My left hand trails down his abdomen to greet my visitor. West sucks in a breath when I grasp his thick cock, and a smile pulls my lips up at one side.
“I couldn’t leave without getting to suck you off,” I tell him sleepily.
“You can’t leave after that, either,” he teases. “If that’s all that’s keeping you here, I’m going to have to hold out on you, darlin’.”
“Mmm, no fair,” I say in my soft morning voice.
I can barely open my eyes, but I manage to bring my head further down his stomach until the head of his cock is at my lips.
My tongue darts out, teasing the slit, and I feel him jolt beneath my touch.
“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Marsh,” he says, throat thick, words strained.
Waking up faster now, I give him a giggle as I roll over onto all fours, facing him, tongue out and ready.
“God,” he breathes out, eyes heated, looking like a deity himself, muscular body on full display on the navy sheets, giant cock standing erect. “You couldn’t look better.”
That earns him a dirty smile before I take a long lick on the underside of the sensitive head, and his eyes shut. “I take that back. Only way you could look better is with my cock inside you.”
Using my tongue, I wet my lips and open my mouth to take him in. It’s true, he’s enormous, but it’s also true that I’m tiny. I’m not sure whether to blame his giant dick or my small mouth, but it only takes a couple of attempts for me to realize this isn’t going to work the way I’d hoped.
“That’s okay,” he tells me, leaning forward to run the backs of his fingers along my cheek. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I tell him. “Let me keep trying.”
Sitting back he puts an extra pillow under his head to get a better angle on watching the performance, and it makes him look even hotter. Like I’m the one worth watching, not him looking like a Norse god.
“Can’t decide which way to have you face, what’s the better view here, darlin’. Watching that sweet mouth try to fit my cock in it, or looking at you dripping for me while you suck the cum right out of my tip.”
My eyes flutter shut at that visual, as my pussy does just that at his dirty words. Bending further down, I waggle my ass in the air and his pupils blow out, looking between it and my face a few times before settling on my face for good.
“I’ll just have to lick you up after you’re done sucking me dry, I guess.”
My nipples peak and I rub my thighs together, trying to relieve some of the need that’s building in me already at his never-ending stream of filth. The delicious, aching soreness that’s acted as a constant reminder for two days now isn’t even enough to keep me from wanting more from him when he looks and talks like that .
“Do me a favor,” he says, face pulled tight. “Leave your legs spread the whole time. Let the cool air hit that pretty pussy and remind you who every drop is for.”
I bite back the words that want to taunt him right back, the groan building deep in me, and I channel my efforts into sucking him off.
Head has never been my strong suit, whether it’s the disadvantage of my size, my history of predominantly one-night stands where I never got too adventurous with any one partner, or maybe it’s just not my gift in life, but I’m giving it all I’ve fucking got for this man.
Tongue out, I trace the underside of his cock, from the base, pressing in where it joins his ball sac, and lick a path all the way up to the tip. He hisses out a breath and I flick my eyes up to watch his reaction.
Still using my tongue, I lick all the way around his head, getting it nice and wet, and then my lips press to it, doing everything I can to slip it in, suck it down. I usually get lockjaw after a couple minutes, but I’ve never had this particular issue before. This is about to get embarrassing.
“’S all good, angel. Just take what you can, you’re doing so good,” he tells me, tone gentle. It hardens a moment later, when he says, “Shit, I could come just from you breathing on my dick, I don’t need to fuck your face to get off. Just play with it.”
Those words unlock a freedom in me to experiment in a way I’ve never felt safe to with anyone before him.
Play, I do.
Lips trailing his length, I kiss the entire thing, up, down, anywhere that calls to me. I make excellent use of my tongue, dragging the tip of it around his girth, drawing a design, then tracing his veins as we both watch.
Precum bubbles from the opening at his head and I lick it up instantly.
Eventually I’ve sucked my way around the whole thing enough times that I want to taste the cum of his I’ve earned, and my hands come out to play too.
Thighs still spread—breeze teasing me just like he wanted—leaning forward on my elbows, I use both hands to grip him, jerk him off, and get the rhythm going that my mouth wishes it could be delivering on right now.
The stream of grunts, curses, and encouragements he’s kept up this whole time turn more strained, and I notice a tendon in his neck popping out as he struggles to keep his eyes open.
“Gonna come if you keep that up,” he tells me.
Part of me wants to keep playing longer, to ease up on this grip, this rhythm, and drag this moment out for both of us. But the knowledge that I can just do this to him again in a few minutes makes the decision for me.
Not that I’ve had that many repeat hook-ups, but I’ve never met a guy with a refractory period as quick as Weston’s. My mind races with ideas for the rest of our day together, and my smile ticks up, thoughts probably written all over my face.
I lock my grip, jerking him at a furious pace that jiggles my chest with every motion of my arms, loving that he’s watching what I’m doing to him so closely.
“You wet?” he asks me.
“Soaked.”
“Get ready to scream,” he grunts out, teeth clenched. “Gonna eat you out all night after this.”
I tsk him, shaking my head slowly from side to side, and press my lips to his cock again, sucking him wherever I can.
“Tonight’s my turn,” I say against his purpling flesh, loud enough he can hear me up there, which earns me a fierce curse.
“Unless you want a facial, back up,” he warns me, just in time.
I sit up on my folded legs, thighs still spread, arms still working him, and watch as he erupts. His cock spurts with his release, and at the first shot I lean down, suctioning my lips over the head and sucking the cum out as he explodes into my mouth.
Weston’s hips jerk when my mouth makes contact and he curses. The salty release coats my tongue and I swallow it down with every rope he gives me.
“Fuck, Amelia,” I hear him muttering, cursing, worshipping my name over and over again, and I don’t stop until his dick is done, totally spent.
Pulling back, I sit up and look up at him, a cocky smirk on my face.
His eyes soak in my appearance, my swollen lips, pebbled nipples, thighs spread wide, pussy on display for him—practically dripping, just like he asked for.
“You’re so fucking perfect, angel.” His voice is incredulous, face earnest.
Before two nights ago I would’ve said his words were too much. I tried to stop him last time he told me that. But now, somehow, the praise slips under my skin, warming me in a way I never expected, and I smile instead.
“Best head of my damn life and you didn’t even get me past your lips.”
I just tap his thigh impatiently. “Let’s go, Boy Scout. Pitch me another tent, that was just the first round. You’re the one keeping count this time while I get to play.”
Amazingly, his cock twitches, thickening again as I watch. Incredibly, my mouth waters at the sight, like I didn’t just swallow down a load and a half from this huge man.
And even more insane is the door we hear opening, a male voice calling, “Weston!” as footsteps head down toward the bedroom.
“You ready?” comes the familiar timbre.
Squealing, I dive for the top of the bed, leaping up and under the covers, pulling them to my chin as Weston only has time to shove a pillow over his lap, shouting to the intruder, “No, man, gimme a sec!”
But his brother must not register the words because Wyatt steps into the doorway, taking in the very guilty sight in front of him.
“What the fuck!”
“Come on, bro!”
The two men yell at the same time, and I just let out a squeak of despair.
Wyatt slaps his hands to his eyes, turning his back on the two of us, and storms down the hall.
“Gimme a sec, Wyatt!”
Weston scrambles out of bed and into some sweats, jogging into the hall. At the doorway he looks back at me, apology in his eyes, and holds a finger up.
“Let me fix this,” he pleads. “Stay here.”
I’ve never needed a knight in shining sweatpants and I don’t need one now either.
What would be great is if the Grady men learned to knock though.
I follow behind him, rapidly dressing in the first clothes I can find. A tee of his that hangs to my mid thighs, and my shorts, just to be safe. I don’t need to scar Wyatt any further than he’s already been damaged by this moment.
As I rush after them, I hear their argument from the bedroom.
“You’re not the same fuckup, isn’t that what you said?” Wyatt’s voice is angrier than he has a right to be.
“Hey!” That bite is new for Weston. “This isn’t like that. She’s not some random hookup for me.”
“I can’t believe you!” Wyatt hisses. “Rory is working her ass off, trying to get her to stay in town, and you can’t even wait a day to get her in your bed, doing your damn best to run her right back out of here.”
“That’s not fair! I can explain, man.”
Wyatt doesn’t give Weston time to respond, his scathing attack just keeps going. “What? You asked Santa for some pussy for Christmas and he delivered four months late?”
My blood chills at the words and my temper takes hold of me.
“Excuse the fuck out of you!” I say, barging into the kitchen, where the two men are facing off. “You have no right to put your nose in his fucking business like this. And you have even less right to put it in mine.”
Puffing up my chest, bringing myself up to all of my five feet tall, I hold my hand in Wyatt’s face and he dodges it with a swerve of annoyance.
“Your face has clearly been in his business,” Wyatt spits out, eyes on my swollen mouth.
Shame that the only time my lips look like anything is after a BJ. As useless as having to go to the beach to get beach hair. The puffy pout is a dead giveaway, and while it’s none of his damn business, there’s no denying his accusation either.
“My face can do what the hell it wants,” I retort.
“My brother and I had plans now,” Wyatt seethes, face close to mine. “Seems you were distracting him from our family dinner, and what pisses off my wife, pisses me off tenfold. So this is my family’s business, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t you fucking talk to her like that!” Weston is in front of me, protective stance and all, roaring at his brother.
“I don’t need you to defend me!” I shout right back at Weston.
“Fuck this,” Wyatt says, shaking his head. “Don’t bother coming. I’ll get the grill by myself. You just have fun, like you always do. Don’t worry about a thing. You never fucking do.”
Wyatt turns his back and stomps off, but Weston calls out after him.
“Why do you need my help with the grill?”
“I don’t, asshole, I was trying to spend time with you. My mistake.”
The door slams, shaking the house, and Weston shouts, “Fuck!”
He spins around, hands knotted in his messy, thoroughly sexed golden hair.
“He’s such a prick!” Weston yells.
“So are you!” I tell him.
“Me? What the fuck did I do? I was standing up for you!”
“Yeah, well, don’t! I don’t need you defending my honor. I can take care of myself, Weston.”
The mask of anger falls from his face, replaced with concern as he steps closer to me.
“Hey now, I know you can.”
He reaches out an arm for me, and I duck it, pissed.
“Talk to me, Amelia. What’s going on?”
Taking a few calming breaths, I reevaluate my environment. Count the knives on the block on the counter. Realize there is no danger here. Weston isn’t my dad.
As much as that encounter annoyed me, I’m okay. We’re all okay.
But the worst part of that little blowup is the memories I work so hard to outrun have caught up to me. Triggered by their words, the anger in their voices, and Weston’s stupid need to defend me, the worst days of my life float in front of my eyes once more.
Flashing lights, sirens. Headlines that I couldn’t escape. Whispers, jeers, and taunts.
Questions pound my mind, the kind that kept me up for years, that I do my best not to think about these days.
Is someone’s entire existence reduced to their worst hour? The final moments of someone’s life?
I can’t help but think the human experience is more nuanced than that.
No part of me excuses any part of what my dad did. No part of me apologizes for the things he’s done. But sometimes I miss the good times we had before he ruined everything. And while I’ll never stop loathing him for the last hours of his life, a part of me can’t stop hating myself for still loving who he was before that day.
How can a good person miss a monster?
The conflicts physically churn in my stomach, making me nauseous.
It’s just a small part of why I try to never revisit the past.
Which, thanks to the two Grady brothers, is now swallowing me whole.
I head to Weston’s cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with water from the filtered pitcher next to the sink, then taking several gulps, practicing my breathing as I do.
It’ll take me a while to calm down, but in a day or two, I’ll be normal again. Back to pretending my past isn’t the specter over my shoulder no matter how fast or far I run. It’s not like I haven’t been going through this for fifteen years now.
I just need Weston not to fight my battles for me again.
After a moment of deep breaths I turn back to face him.
“I have a thing with men trying to defend me,” I admit. “I don’t want to get into it, okay? Just please don’t do that again. I’m not some delicate little flower that will get crushed without you. I’m strong and hard to fucking kill. I don’t need the macho bullshit.”
His gaze steadies on my eyes, tries to read me for everything I’m not saying, and he nods. Weston opens his arms and I fold myself into them, nuzzling into his chest as he wraps his strong arms around me.
“You got it, darlin’. I’ll be here if you need me though, okay?”
I nod against his chest, not having the strength to argue that point.
I won’t need him. I haven’t needed anyone but myself in all these years.