Chapter Thirty-Two
Grayson
By the time I’m knocking on Holly’s front door, my nerves are about to snap.
I festered over my conversation with Harper and that slimy land developer the entire drive to Des Moines.
Each time I had to slam on my brakes to prevent a rear-end collision, I felt my shoulders tense up.
And by the fifth time a driver cut me off and flicked me their middle finger, I started to return the gesture.
I knock again on her door, this time a little harder, and she whips it open so fast her hair is blown back beside her.
I take her in, her long silky hair is slightly wavy, pulled to one side to drape over her shoulder, resting on her smooth collarbones.
It leaves her neck on display, and I suddenly don’t care about the conversation with my sister, her attitude toward our farm, or the shitty drive into the city.
All I can think about is the woman in front of me, the one whose tall figure is draped in a sleek emerald-green satin gown that I can’t wait to slip off her shoulders later.
“Baby,” I rasp, stepping into her apartment and shutting the door behind me. “You look…” I trail my eyes down her body and back up, unable to tear my eyes from the perfect amount of cleavage peeking out from the top of her dress. “You look incredible.”
I snake an arm around her waist and pull her to me, eliciting a squeal from her lips. Careful not to mess up her hair, I place a hand on her cheek, pulling her to me for a soft kiss.
“Do I look alright, or is it too much?” she asks against my lips, and I pull back, now noticing the strain etched on her face. I pull her to me again, enveloping her in a hug, rubbing my palm along her back, working to ease some of that tension.
“You are never too much. You look breathtaking, sweetheart. Sexy but still elegant.” I look down to my own outfit, now wishing I had taken my dad’s suggestion of a suit jacket. “Shit. I’m underdressed, aren’t I?”
She runs her palms up my chest and over my shoulders, clasping her hands behind my neck. “You look sexy. You’re dressy, but you still look like you, which is what I want. I’d be disappointed if you made yourself uncomfortable all night long just to please me.”
This woman. How I ever managed to stumble into her on a snowy street in the largest city in the state, to have her eyes notice me, and to somehow keep her interest is something I’ll never stop thanking the heavens for.
I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, and I can hear her shudder out a breath.
“I’m so nervous,” she whispers. “I haven’t been able to eat all day.”
With a gentle hand on her waist, I walk her further into the apartment until her hips rest against the counter.
“What can I do to help?” I lower my head, pressing my lips to her shoulder.
“How much time do we have before we need to leave?” I ask, brushing the words against her collar bone.
“I bet we have enough time for me to take your mind off of things.”
She hums her approval, tilting her neck to give me better access. “We only have about two minutes, and as much as I’m dying to feel you, I don’t think that’s quite enough time for what I want.”
She gasps when I fall to my knees, hands reaching for the long hem of her dress. I bunch it up over her thighs, and she reaches a hand to still me. “What are you doing?”
I push it higher, and she lets me, so I lean in, placing a soft kiss to her inner thigh.
“I know you want my cock, baby, and you’ll get it later, believe me.
But right now, all I can think about is tasting this sweet cunt, of making you scream and shudder and having you walk into the event tonight feeling weightless. ”
She hums in approval and reaches her arms out, curling them back to wrap her hands around the counter.
She’s mumbling something about how I don’t have to do this, how we should get going, but her eyes are already rolled back, and her head is tilted to the ceiling when I have her dress at her hips, her red lacy thong on display.
I press my nose to her apex, inhaling roughly, and I groan, my dick immediately hardening.
“Sweetheart,” I muse, reaching for her hand and ushering her to hold her dress up.
She gladly complies, and I tug her underwear down her legs.
Each movement is quiet. No other noise in her apartment besides the soft rustle of fabric, of her heavy breathing as her chest rises and falls with my deliberate movements.
When her thong falls to her ankles, I gently pull one leg out.
But instead of setting it on the floor, I pull it up, draping it over my shoulder, the movement causes her lips to spread.
My mouth salivates at the sight of her gorgeous pussy on display, already glistening for me.
“Your mouth is telling me we don’t have time,” I tease, swiping my pointer finger through her, finding her soaked.
“But your cunt is begging for my tongue, isn’t it?
” I lean forward, placing a soft kiss on her upper thigh, moving inward to kiss just above where she needs me, and she whimpers as her leg threatens to give out on her.
“Grayson,” she whines, trying to arch, to get my mouth exactly where she needs me. “Please.”
“Please what, sweetheart?” I press a soft kiss to her pussy, bringing my hands up to spread her lips. With my thumb, I press down on her clit, massaging slow, firm circles, and she groans, her hips already following my touch, begging for me.
“You know what I want,” she says, half laughing, half drunk on my touch.
“Yeah, but I’d like to hear you say it. Otherwise, I might pull your panties up and let your dress fall, and you can spend the next three hours trying to focus, pretending that your pussy isn’t craving me.
” A small part of me would love to see her sitting in a room full of people, legs crossed, begging for that friction that only I can give her.
But the bigger part of me, the one that would do anything to please this girl, is begging to see her stand in a room full of rich fucks, knowing that my mouth was just on her, and that her panties are wet because I made her come.
“Lick me, baby. Lick my cunt. Make me come so hard I forget my own name.”
I practically growl at her words, and I don’t need any more encouragement. I move in, my tongue darting out to sweep a firm line up her pussy to her clit. She groans and widens her stance, digging the point of her heel into my back as her leg flexes.
This isn’t my gentle, usual way with her, this version of me is just as turned on as she is. I’m feral, needy, desperate to make her come, hoping that it’ll relieve some of her anxiety about tonight along with my own.
Holly rakes one of her hands through my hair, pulling me to her, and grinds her pussy against my face.
“That’s right, baby,” I grunt, encouraging her. “Ride my face, soak me. I want to be able to taste you all night long.”
She pants, her chest rising and falling in heavy breaths as she pushes harder, rocking her hips up and down my face.
We’re sloppy, a mess of limbs and hands and it’s the hottest thing I have ever experienced.
I slide a hand up her thigh, and when I part her to shove two fingers in, she’s already crying out, screaming through her orgasm, and she clenches around me, doing her best to fuck my face.
I don’t stop, won’t stop, until her body goes limp, until her leg slides off my shoulder and she pulls my hands out of her.
But I still stay on my knees, taking my time to clean up my mess, and when I lean back, swiping a thumb out to clean my face, I look up to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Her chest is still rising in heavy breaths, her face now flushed a beautiful pink, shoulders slumped and relaxed.
One strap of her silky dress is sliding off her shoulder.
When I rise to stand, she flings her arms around my neck and crashes our mouths together.
Her tongue slides into my mouth, and I know she can taste herself on me.
I know she likes to taste herself on me, and something about that nearly kills me.
It’s like we’re an extension of one another.
I take it from her and she gives it back.
She pulls back, and I rest my forehead against hers for a moment, before I lean down and help her back into her underwear.
I smooth out her dress down her hips, making sure it’s not wrinkled or stained, and I slip my finger under the loose strap, bringing it back up to rest on her shoulder.
I grab her by the hand, and with silent adoration, she watches as I spin her around, soaking her in from every angle.
During her final spin, I notice a pink box on the counter behind her. She catches my gaze, and she steps to the side, a playful smile crossing her face. “Open it,” she says, gesturing to the box.
I take a step forward, reaching a hand out to grasp the container.
I slide a finger under the cardboard flap, breaking the sticker seal, and when I flip the lid open to find a series of bite-sized cheesecakes, Bananas Foster bite-sized cheesecakes, to be specific, I find myself getting a little choked up.
“There’s this bakery down the street I’ve noticed for years.
The other day they put a sign out front advertising custom desserts.
After you told me about your high school obsession with Bananas Foster cheesecake, I had to stop in and ask.
” She reaches into the box, pulling one from the wax paper and holding it out to me with one of her delicate hands cradling underneath.
“It’s incredible.” She offers it to me, and I open my mouth, taking half of the cheesecake with one bite.
The flavors are just as good as I remember, and I moan, my tongue darting out to lick the corner of my mouth.
She takes a small bite from the side before offering the rest to me. I eat it from her outstretched hand, and with my grip on her wrist, I kiss her palm, her wrist, her forearm, before pulling her to me and kissing her lips.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” My voice isn’t as steady as I’d like it to be.
It’s a simple gesture, some would say. It’s just cheesecake.
But that comment, that conversation was so casual in nature, I never expected her to remember it.
She's been so stressed out lately, anxiety at an all-time high with work, so the fact that she would want to do something kind for me on a night that is supposed to be about her has my throat tingling. “I like you, you know that, right?”
She smiles up at me, eyes gleaming, and she rests a hand on my shoulder, pressing forward for another kiss. “I like you, too.”
We don’t say anything as we leave her apartment, and I don’t let go of her hand.
Not while we take the elevator to the lobby, not while we stroll across the parking lot and I open the door to my truck.
She holds onto my hand as she hops in, and even when I go to shut the door, she keeps her grip on me.
I look over at her, and I swear I see the same thoughts rolling through my head reflected on her face.
I almost say the words, almost say that telling her I like her is foolish when I've fallen so far in love with her that I can’t remember where I end and she begins.
It’s like she was always in my life or a part of my life.
She has me believing in fate, and that maybe the terrible experiences she went through were all meant to happen, because it brought her to me.
“What’s that look for?” she finally asks, slight hesitation lacing her words.
I kiss the back of the hand that I’ve been holding before gently placing it in her lap.
Making sure the hem of her dress isn’t going to get caught in the door, I carefully shut it and walk around the back of the truck toward the driver’s side.
She watches as I climb in, as I start the engine and adjust my mirror. When I reach for my seatbelt, I pause, looking over at her, the evening sun shining through her silky hair, much like the fluorescent lights did the first moment I ever laid eyes on her.
I close the distance between us, placing a firm kiss on her lips. “Just thinking about how much I like you.”