Chapter 22
CECE
H e tasted like heaven and I wanted him to touch me everywhere. I needed it.
My heart was still racing after that kiss. His hands were in my hair and his thumb traced my jawline as he looked down at me with those dark eyes. He was holding back, but it was clear he wanted this as much as I did. Hell, I didn’t know if it was possible, but he may have wanted this more.
I knew I was playing with fire by coming here to talk to him, but I had held strong right up until he’d pulled me close and comforted me. His strong embrace was like a key opening up locked parts of my heart.
We had both agreed it was a bad idea to let anything happen between us, but now we were standing on the edge together, each waiting for a signal to take the plunge.
“Tell me we can’t do this,” he murmured against my neck. His voice was rough with desire, vibrating against my skin.
“It’s the worst thing we can do,” I whispered, arching into his touch. “We absolutely can’t.”
“We just agreed.” His lips trailed lower, finding that spot just below my earlobe that sent a shiver down my spine. “We set boundaries.”
I groaned softly, drowning in the confusing mix of lust and regret that swirled between us. “I know,” I breathed out. “But maybe for just a little bit…”
He kissed me again. His tongue slipped into my mouth as his fingers trailed down my chest and cupped my breast. He groaned again. “Yeah, maybe just for a little bit.”
His words sent liquid heat straight between my legs. My nipples hardened against his palms as he kneaded me through the thin fabric of my T-shirt. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but feel the desperate ache building in me.
“We should go inside,” I managed to gasp between kisses.
He didn’t need to be told twice. In one fluid motion, he stood and pulled me up with him, his hands never leaving my body. We stumbled through the sliding door, mouths fused together, hands grabbing and pulling at each other with barely restrained hunger.
The moment we crossed the threshold, he pressed me back against the wall, his body caging me in.
The cool surface against my back was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his chest. His hands slipped under my shirt, rough palms skimming up my ribs, and I leaned into his touch with a soft moan.
“You’re so fucking soft,” he growled against my throat, his teeth grazing my pulse point. “I’ve been thinking about touching you like this since the night we met.”
His confession made me bold. I reached for the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He helped me pull it over his head, and then his hands were back on me, lifting my shirt up and over my arms. The fabric hit the floor with a whisper.
His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of me in my bra, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. “Christ, Cece. You drive me crazy with that body.”
Before I could respond, his mouth was on my collarbone, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the swell of my breasts. His hands found the clasp of my bra and deftly unhooked it. He unceremoniously tossed it on the floor.
The sound that rumbled from his chest when he saw me bare was purely animalistic. He cupped my breasts in his hands, thumbs brushing over my nipples until I was gasping and writhing against the wall.
“Grady, that feels amazing,” I breathed, my hands fisting in his hair.
He took one peaked nipple into his mouth, and the sensation shot straight to my core, making me clench around nothing. He alternated between gentle licks and firm suction until I was a trembling mess. My shorts felt too tight, too restricting. I needed more. I needed everything.
As if reading my mind, his hands moved to the waistband of my shorts, fingers hooking in the elastic. He looked up at me, pupils blown wide with desire.
“Yes or no?” he asked, voice strained. “Tell me to stop and I will.”
Instead, I lifted my hips, helping him slide the fabric down my legs. “Don’t you dare stop.”
With those words, his control snapped like a rubber band pulled too tight. He kicked my shorts aside and lifted me. My legs wrapped instinctively around his waist as he carried me toward what I assumed was his bedroom. I was wrong. He didn’t make it that far.
Instead, he set me down on the kitchen counter, the cool granite shocking against my heated skin.
His hands were everywhere—cupping my face, gripping my hips, trailing fire down my thighs.
I fumbled with the button of his jeans, desperate to feel all of him, but my fingers were shaking too badly to work properly.
“Let me,” he growled, making quick work of his jeans.
They hit the floor with his boxers, and then he was standing between my legs, naked and magnificent and so hard I could barely think straight.
I wrapped my hand around that damn thing and it was thick and hard, and I knew it was going to be damn good.
“Condom,” I managed to gasp out, the last rational thought I had.
“Fuck. Yeah.” He disappeared for what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds, returning with a foil packet. I watched, mesmerized, as he squeezed his cock once and then rolled it on. I chewed my lower lip in anticipation of what was to come.
Me. I was going to come. Hard. I didn’t need any foreplay. The last month had been foreplay. I was probably going to last all of ten seconds before I fell apart.
Then his hands were on my thighs, spreading them wider. I felt the blunt head of his cock pressing against me. We locked eyes as he pushed inside, both of us groaning at the sensation. He was big—bigger than I had ever had. The stretch was almost overwhelming. Painful in the best way.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathed against my ear, holding still to let me adjust. “So fucking perfect.”
But I didn’t want gentle. I didn’t want slow. I wanted him to fuck me like the world was ending, like this was our last night on earth. I rolled my hips, taking him deeper, and his control shattered completely.
He pulled back and thrust hard, setting a punishing rhythm that had me crying out with each stroke. The counter was the perfect height, letting him drive into me at an angle that hit every nerve ending I had. My nails raked down his back as I held on for dear life.
“Yes,” I gasped, my head falling back as pleasure built low in my belly. “God, yes, just like that.”
He buried his face in my neck, teeth scraping against my throat as he pounded into me. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the kitchen, obscene and perfect. I was already close, wound so tightly I could barely breathe.
I reached back and felt the fruit basket a second too late. It clattered to the floor and the fruit went all over but neither of us stopped.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded roughly. “I want to see you.”
I slipped a hand between us, fingers finding my clit, and he continued to thrust. The dual sensation was too much. Within seconds, I was flying apart, my orgasm crashing over me in waves so intense I saw stars. I cried out his name as my body clenched around him.
“Fuck, Cece,” he groaned, his rhythm faltering.
He came with a harsh shout. His hips jerked as he emptied himself inside me. His grunts echoed in my ears. His head rested against mine. We were both breathing like we had just run a marathon. I could safely say fucking on a kitchen counter was a new one for me.
Grady grabbed me around the waist and helped me off the counter. “Get a drink,” he said gruffly. “I’ll be back in a minute. And then I’m going to fuck you again.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head with his declaration. “But?—”
“I’m not finished with you,” he said as he disappeared down the hall.
I couldn’t stop the flutter in my chest. “What do you have to drink?”
“Beer is in the fridge,” he said.
I felt a little awkward walking naked to his kitchen, but after being sprawled bare assed on his counter, we were done with bashfulness.
I grabbed two cold beers from the fridge, hyperaware of how my nipples hardened almost painfully. My entire body was still humming from what had just happened, already anticipating what he’d promised was coming next.
The sound of running water came from down the hall, and I found myself staring at the scattered apples and oranges on his kitchen floor. I considered cleaning it up, but I should probably wash my hands before handling food.
When he returned, he was still gloriously naked, and I nearly dropped both beer bottles at the sight of him. His cock was already half hard again, and the predatory look in his eyes made my core clench with renewed need.
He took one of the beers from my trembling hands and set both bottles on the counter without opening them. Then his hands were on me again, sliding up my sides to cup my breasts.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he murmured, thumbs circling my aching nipples. “About having you in my bed, making you scream my name.”
“Then take me to bed,” I whispered, amazed at my own boldness.
He chuckled before running his thumb across my bottom lip. “I don’t think you’re the missionary type, are you, Cece?”
The weird thing about his question was that’s exactly what I thought I was. Until him.
I watched as he pulled open a drawer. It was a junk drawer. He rummaged around and pulled out a condom.
“You keep condoms in your kitchen?” I asked.
“No. This one had been in my wallet and I tossed it in here.”
He used his hand to stroke himself until he was fully erect once again. The second he was sheathed, he looked up at me and flashed a wicked grin.
“Turn around,” he commanded, his voice rough with renewed desire.
I obeyed without question, placing my palms flat against the cool granite. He stepped up behind me, one hand splaying across my lower back while the other gripped my hip. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, the hard length of him pressing against me.
“Ready?” he asked, his breath hot against my ear.
“God, yes,” I breathed.
He entered me in one smooth thrust. I cried out at the feeling of being so full. It had been so long since I’d had this—since I’d felt this alive, this desperate, this completely consumed by another person. But it had never been like this. Never this intense, this perfect.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, setting a rhythm that had me pushing back against him with each stroke.
His hands roamed my body as he moved inside me, one finding my breast while the other slipped between my legs. The stimulation had me gasping, my legs trembling as pleasure built inside me again.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, his fingers working my clit in tight circles. “Come apart for me.”
I shattered around him with a cry that echoed through the kitchen. My legs shook as waves of ecstasy crashed over me. But he didn’t stop. If anything, my orgasm seemed to spur him on, his thrusts becoming harder, more desperate.
“Living room,” he growled, pulling out suddenly.
We stumbled together toward the couch, hands grabbing and pulling at each other. He sat down heavily and I straddled him without hesitation, sinking down onto his length with a moan of satisfaction.
This position gave me control, and I used it, riding him with abandon as his hands gripped my hips. The couch creaked ominously beneath us, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except the friction, the heat, the way he filled me so perfectly.
“Shit, Cece,” he panted, his head falling back against the cushions. “You’re going to kill me.”
I leaned forward, changing the angle. We both groaned at the sensation. His hands moved to my breasts, kneading and pinching until I was writhing above him. The pleasure was building again, impossibly fast, impossibly intense.
“I can’t—” I gasped, my rhythm faltering as another orgasm approached.
“Yes, you can,” he said firmly, his hips bucking up to meet mine. “Give me another one.”
The couch gave a dangerous groan, but I was too far gone to care.
I came with a scream, my body convulsing as he thrust up into me.
The force of it, combined with my wild movements, was too much for the poor piece of furniture.
With a loud crack, one of the legs gave way, making the couch jerk to the side, but we didn’t stop.
We just went at it harder.