Chapter Twenty-Six
Huxley
Contrary to her telling me to pick the restaurant, Grace apparently doesn’t really want me to choose, because when I suggest Mexican, she purses her lips. Korean gets a frown. She shoots down French and Italian. Finally, I suggest a sandwich shop and she says yes.
If this is her being hormonal over pregnancy, it isn’t too terrible. I’ve had worse with not-pregnant women unable to go along even after telling me I could make the decision.
Grace grabs some kind of club sandwich with bacon. She declines chips and gets the largest-sized iced tea. I order a roast beef with extra horseradish. Chips and Coke, of course. She doesn’t say anything except “Thank you” when I pay for the lunch. Either she’s peeved about something I did, or her emotions are all over the place because of the pregnancy. At least she’s able to eat normally, unlike Lucie. Sebastian was going crazy until they discovered she can stomach key lime pie.
And the baby in Grace’s womb is behaving and not giving her issues—another blessing. Although I haven’t received the paternity test results yet, I have a gut feeling that the child is mine. And my instincts are rarely off—at least when my mind isn’t clouded with rage and a sense of betrayal.
We take a small table, and Grace unwraps her food. “Have you seen the themes for the wedding?” she says finally, then bites into her sandwich.
I nod. Madison showed me some ideas she worked on. As expected, she did an excellent job, even though I scoffed that “Saving Grace” would be more suitable than “Here comes the bride.”
“And you’re okay with the final choice?” Grace’s carefully smooth tone can’t hide the razors underneath.
“I’m okay with whatever.” Is she upset because she didn’t have any direct input from the start? I thought she would appreciate the help, since she can’t count on Karie.
Perhaps I should clarify some things about the ceremony. “I’m not going to spend any more time and energy on this than I have to. It’s your wedding.” There. That should improve her disposition. All women dream of weddings, make plans for them and obsess over the details. I take several big gulps of Coke to wash down the sandwich, and wait for her to smile gladly.
Grace’s expression turns stony.
Of course. I should add one more thing. “You can continue to use Madison. She’s efficient and knows what will please me if you want my input but don’t want to bother me.”
“You don’t want to be involved?” Her voice is slightly shaky.
What’s that about? My sisters-in-law didn’t really care that much about my brothers’ input, did they? I can’t remember, since I only showed up for the ceremonies. Then an idea finally hits me. “Did Karie call you and refuse to pay for the wedding?” I snort. That entire family is so predictable and pathetic. “Don’t worry. I’m paying, and you’ll get a proper wedding, just the kind you’ve been dreaming of.”
Instead of smiling with delight, Grace gives me a strange look. “How about the baby?”
“What about it?” What’s with the abrupt change in topic? She could’ve at least said thank you. I generally don’t care if people give me credit or not, but I want her to smile at me and call me awesome. My stomach twists sharply. What the hell? I’m acting like a teenager in throes of his first love. Ugh, no. More dignity, less ridiculousness, I lecture myself, and keep my expression unreadable.
“It’s your responsibility, too.”
“I know. I’ll provide everything the baby needs. You don’t have to worry about that.” I reiterate my commitment, but I’m sure I’ve already made it clear I won’t shirk my duties on that front.
She continues to stare at me like she can’t process this. What did I say that was so weird?
I add, “I’ll be in London for three weeks. It’s unavoidable.” I’ve been putting this trip off for a while, and now I have to go or else. The timing isn’t ideal, but I’ve made arrangements for Grace. “You’ll get security to ensure that there won’t be a repeat of the Nelson incident.”
Instead of being touched, she looks vaguely annoyed. “You mean somebody to spy on me and report my every move?”
“Of course not. It’s for your own safety.”
“No, thank you.”
I ignore her intransigence. “This is non-negotiable. But don’t worry, they’ll be unobtrusive.”
“Sure, like a chastity belt,” she mutters.
“What?” My irritation mounts over her refusal to accept my considerate gesture at face value.
“Nothing. But when you’re back in town, I don’t want them anymore.”
Calm down. She’s pregnant and hormonal . “Fine.”
She expels a breath. “Is that all?”
“Madison’s coming with me. So there may be some delay due to the time difference, but she can still coordinate with you.”
Something volatile and dangerous crosses Grace’s face. “Are you sleeping with her?” The question is like a crack of a gunshot. Shocking and enraging. What the hell kind of gears turn in her little head?
Her questioning my honor is infuriating. I haven’t been able to quit thinking about her, and felt like an asshole for getting an erection last night, lying next to her, given her physical and emotional state. The need didn’t go away in the morning, and I’ve been trying to be a gentleman, only to be accused of betraying her?
“No. Don’t be absurd,” I bite out.
She tilts her chin stubbornly. “But you’re with her all the time.”
“No, she is with me . Not the other way around. Because she’s my assistant. It’s her job.”
Grace shakes her head. Her thoughts are transparent on her face: So what? I don’t believe you .
“Are you kidding? You’re moody because you think I’m screwing my assistant?”
Grace stares at me like a mule refusing to move. “What if I am?”
“If you are, you’re being absurd.”
“Fine. Make me believe you. Put Madison somewhere else in the company.”
The blatant display of jealousy stirs an inexplicable euphoria, but the possibility that she’s trying to control the way I run my agency dampens it. It reminds me of my grandmother’s sneaky scheme to wrest ownership of the business from me.
There’s only one way to show Grace how ridiculous she’s being. I toss the paper napkin over my tray, stand up and wrap my hand around her wrist.
“What are you doing?” she says.
“I’m going to fuck this nonsense out of you.”
* * *
The Aylster Residence is close and convenient. And the perfect place to remind Grace of the chemistry we had. Does she think that happens all the time with everyone?
I pull her into the room. The door shuts with a click.
She glares at me. “Is this what you use for your rendezvous with her?”
Her question throws another bucket of gas on the fire inside me. “If I were screwing my assistant— which I’m not —I wouldn’t have to bother with a hotel. I’d do it in the office!”
Her cheeks flush, but the sharp glitter in her eyes doesn’t diminish. The plain skepticism fuels more than just my rage. My overheated blood pools into my cock, and I want to screw her until she accepts that I’m not the kind of man who sees nothing wrong with fucking multiple women at the same time. Just because I’m forced to marry her doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon my sense of right and wrong. I am not my father.
Digging my hand into the silk of her hair, I kiss her, careful not to reinjure her mouth. She slaps at my shoulders, then bites my lip. The copper tang fuses with the sweet taste of hers. Perversely, it only strips a layer of civilized restraint from me.
Her breathing grows uneven. Her slim fingers thread in my hair and clench it, but she doesn’t push me away. She seems torn about something, and I lick the cut on my lip, then run my tongue over her mouth, earning a small tremor from her.
“Kiss me with all the rage and fire you feel,” I demand. “Kiss me like you own me.”
Her eyes flick up at me. “Are you really mine?”
Jealousy burns in their blue depths, and I’m gratified. “You’d better hope so. Because I’m about to fuck you like I own you.”
“You don’t own me any more than I own you,” she counters, her voice raspy.
“We’ll see about that. That ring is the mark of my ownership.”
Pushing her to the bed, I press my mouth over her neck, suck and nibble the thin, sensitive skin there. Her pulse beats erratically against my lips and tongue, betraying her reaction. She tightens her fingers in my hair possessively and a soft whimper vibrates through her chest.
I grip the sides of her dress and rip it open, the buttons in front flying across the room. Grace gasps. “What am I going to wear?”
“Who cares?” I whisper darkly as I push down the bra and cup her breast.
The hardened nipple presses against my palm, and her back arches as I brush my thumb over the sensitive tip. Her body is incredibly responsive, sensual shivers running through it at my slightest touch. A lovely shade of rose colors her from head to toe, and the fragrance the body wash she used this morning— my body wash—intensifies, smelling sweeter than it does on me, mixing with her feminine aroma.
My mouth waters, and I pull a nipple into my mouth. She cries out softly, twisting into me, pressing her body upward. Her grip grows tighter and more desperate. She always clings like she can never be sure if she can count on a satisfying climax.
My girl, you’ll always get multiple orgasms that rock you to the core.
I let go of the nipple and suck on the other one. Her legs move restlessly over the sheet. She rubs her inner thighs against my pelvis, showing what she wants.
I nip and suck her breast until she’s softly malleable, but it isn’t enough. I want her complete surrender. Her acceptance of her place in my life and a promise never to doubt my honor.
Her breathing hitches. She’s close, small tremors racing through her. I pull back.
“No!” she cries.
“Patience.” I kick off my shoes and rip off my suit, cursing softly under my breath at my tailor for placing so many damn buttons on my clothes. She watches, her eyes avid and greedy. Her earlier skepticism has dissipated, replaced by need and desire. But this is temporary. She has to look at me like this all the time, not just in the throes of lust.
When I’m fully naked, I loop my finger under the thin string over her pelvis. She doesn’t show any signs of pregnancy, but the knowledge there’s a life growing in her womb gives me a sense of excitement and awe. I lay endless kisses over her belly—over our child. Showing her that she won’t be alone in raising it.
She gasps, her stomach fluttering. She opens her legs, and I snap the string, ripping the flimsy thong. Her scent is stronger, all female arousal, juicy and delicious. She’s visibly wet, and I smile with satisfaction.
“Huxley…” she begs.
“My pretty, pretty girl,” I purr. “So open, so wet for me.”
She tilts her hips.
I run the flat of my tongue over her wetness. Her fingers twist the sheets, her back arching. Breath catches in her throat as she throws her head back. It’s as though her body is suspended, waiting in breathless anticipation. I pull her flesh apart to reveal the swollen clit, and run the tip of my tongue over the quivering nub. She cries out, chokes out my name.
“If you’re really mine, too, prove it,” she pants.
I pull her delicate flesh into my mouth, use my tongue and teeth to make her feel good. She grows impossibly wet, the slickness like hot honey. She grinds her hips against my face. Fuck I love it when she’s blatantly carnal. A huge wave of lust crests over me, and precum drips from the tip of my cock. The tension in her body is almost at the critical point, and I stop.
“No,” she begs. “Please, Huxley, please.”
“Oh, not yet, my Grace. You haven’t earned it yet.”
The pleasure-dazed look on her face is so tempting, I want to say fuck it. But I refuse to veer from my course of action, especially when I’m going to be away for three weeks. I won’t have my fiancée imagining me in bed with my assistant.
I push her up on her knees and position myself behind her, so she’s leaning against my chest, her ass resting in my lap. The door to the walk-in closet is open, showing our reflection in the mirror inside.
“Look,” I say.
She blinks, then squints at the mirror. Her face flushes bright red. “My God.”
“You see this cock?” I glide my dick between her legs until she can see the tip and the glinting silver ball. She shivers, biting her lip. “Feel how hard it is?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been like this since I met you. I think about you, and I want to take you.” I move my cock along her folds, making sure to bump into her clit, squeezing a helpless sound from her throat.
Her eyelids start to drift lower, and I stop. She digs her nails into my forearms in protest.
“Don’t close your eyes. Watch,” I command.
I take my fingers and spread her open, so she can see better in the reflection. My cock pushes into her dripping pussy, inch by agonizing inch. My balls tingle, and my spine prickles with the need to pound into her. But I don’t want to be rough when she’s with our child.
“See how well you take my cock,” I order her as my shaft drives deeper into her. Her thighs shake, and she puts her hands on my hips for better balance. She’s so hot, and the sensation of her slickness directly on my dick without anything between us pushes my blood to the boiling point.
“Huxley…”
“This body was made for me.” I run my hand over her chest, caress her plump breasts, down to her belly and lower until two fingers rest over her clit, then press with just enough force to push her higher, but not over the edge.
Even more wetness drips along my cock. I maintain eye contact in the mirror and pull back, showing her my dripping shaft, its veins pulsing.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes glaze.
“You’re mine, Grace. And I’m yours. No other man can fill this pussy, and no other pussy can take my cock.”
“Huxley…”
“Say it,” I order her.
She moans, but won’t repeat what I said. She rocks her body, trying to take the pleasure I’m denying her. I tilt my hips so she can’t get the right angle, but I stroke her clit, teasing her.
“Please. Huxley, please!”
“Say it.” I rub slightly faster, making her arch into my touch and grind into my finger, move up and down my cock. I pinch her nipple and tug. All the delicious sensation, but none of it enough to satiate. She moves harder and faster. But everything she’s doing is as futile as someone drinking seawater to quench their thirst.
The sight of her taking my cock drives me to a fever pitch, and my instinct screams at me to push her down and fuck her hard and fast until she screams my name. But I rein the impulse in. Lust isn’t in the driver’s seat. I am.
A strong tremor racks her sweat-misted body. A sob tears from her chest; her breasts shiver. Tension grips her, but she can’t go over the edge. Her pussy tightens around my cock, and sweat pops out along my hairline. I grit my teeth, fighting my baser instinct.
She’s biting her lip in the reflection. I smack her ass, urging her to say the words before my control breaks. A breath shudders out of her, the tight inner muscles gripping my dick. I slap the other cheek, earning a soft moan. My jaw clenches as I struggle to hold on. But seeing the red handprint on the baby-smooth skin only fuels my desire.
“No other cock can take my pussy,” she sobs just as I’m about to say fuck it. “And no other pussy can take your cock. Oh my God, please .”
Elation sears through me, and I grip her hips and pound into her, finding and hitting the spot that drives her wild.
She screams her orgasm at the first thrust, then again as more powerful and relentless orgasms break over her. I watch her reflection, her bare breasts bobbing with each drive, her eyes glassy and mouth slack with bliss. I kiss her neck hard enough to leave a mark.
Her voice goes hoarse, and she collapses in a boneless heap as I empty myself inside her in a violent climax that wrings everything from me. Air saws in and out of her, rough and uneven. I wrap my arms around her, spooning her, then press a firm kiss to the base of her neck.
When I can breathe more evenly, I instruct the concierge to bring an emerald-green Dior dress from the boutique on the second level of the hotel. Pink isn’t Grace’s best color. She squirms a little, turning to face me, her beautiful face soft with the pleasure I’ve given her. I kiss her hard.
“Now. Forget that nonsense in your head, and be a good girl until I get back.”