Chapter 14 #4
“I think I do,” Grace exhales, scraping the recesses of her brain for logic and sense. “But it isn’t just one thing.” She swallows hard. “It’s attraction…but also curiosity, and maybe some terror. All swirling together.”
Crew’s hips barely, almost imperceptibly rock into her. Grace’s eyelids flutter as he grunts with the movement, the newfound friction. “You want to know what it is for me?”
Grace nods. She can’t think of anything she wants more at this moment.
He rocks into her again, but this time, he’s less delicate about it. Any trepidation he felt about pressing his hard length into the crevice of her bottom is long gone. Grace arches into him as he says, “It’s want.” He exhales hot and thick onto her skin. “It’s need.”
A distant, muffled alarm bell sounds in her head when his fingertips graze just beneath the elastic waistband of her underwear, and some ancient instinct arises, telling her that if they keep going like this, Crew is going to make her come.
He’s going to give her the first orgasm of her life, and she’ll never come back from that.
The thought of being wrecked to oblivion has her next words stuttering out of her mouth like a protective reflex.
“Is this—is this a bad idea?”
The cadence of his hips slows and she immediately wants it back—the pressure of his body moving into hers. His fingers stop their downward trajectory into her underwear. She hates herself for making him stop.
“You tell me,” he says breathily, and his grip on her hip softens, becoming less urgent and more soothing. Grace knows in her bones that if she asked him to let her go, to walk away from this and never speak of it again, he would. Without hesitation. He would respect any boundary she constructed.
And it’s that reassurance that makes her brave. Makes her want him all the more.
“It doesn’t feel like a bad idea,” she says honestly, and then, because she thinks she may actually die if he doesn’t keep touching her, she presses her hand against his and guides them both into her underwear. He cups her gently, his fingers barely sinking into the folds of her, and groans.
He begins to explore, grazing her clit with intention and precision.
When a thick fingertip presses lightly into her, he grunts, a whispered fuck falling from his lips and onto her cheek.
His mouth is open, hot breath spilling out in huffs against her skin.
“You’re so wet,” he says, a hint of wonder in his tone.
Grace moans. “I am,” she affirms, her hand sliding up his forearm and leaving him to his own devices. “It feels so good—you touching me.”
“I—” Crew attempts, but swallows his words roughly. He plays with her clit with his thumb while he dips just the tip of his finger in and out of her, slowly and purposefully.
Grace’s breathing picks up as she clenches around it, as though her body is trying to pull him within, to bring him even closer.
“I want to make you come,” he says after a particularly hard squeeze. “Can I do that for you?”
“Please,” she cries. A pleading, desperate imitation of a word. “Please, Crew.”
He sinks his finger all the way into her, and the tight, invasive, full feeling that follows makes her eyes roll back. “Shit,” Crew grunts. “You’re so fucking tight.”
As he begins to fuck her with his finger in earnest now, Grace surrenders entirely to his control, letting him keep her body upright like a needy, overheated rag doll. She is right up against it now—that cliff’s edge of euphoria.
“Let go, Grace,” Crew tells her, somehow knowing she’s toeing the precipice, hesitating before she jumps. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”
She obeys. She couldn’t stop herself even if she tried, and what follows is a flurry of sensation so intense her knees buckle under the weight of it.
Grace cries out, and Crew clamps a hand over her mouth at the growing volume, the unhindered vocalization of a bliss so pure and relentless that it may actually kill her.
Her heart pounds against her ribs as pleasure rushes through her entire body, syrupy thick and heavier than anything she’s ever known.
A pinpoint is placed in her life, in her soul, at the moment it crests—a marker that indicates who she was before this, and the person she will be after.
“Good,” Crew sighs as he holds her up, as he fucks her through the wave with his thick, deft finger and plays with her clit all the while, sending aftershocks of crippling ecstasy through her.
She trembles in his grasp, a vibrating mess. An exposed, raw nerve.
“Fuck,” he shudders. “You’re perfect.”
It takes minutes—hours—years to come down from the high, and he holds her through all of it.
When he extracts himself from within, she feels the loss acutely, missing it and instantly wanting it back.
He crosses his arms over her body, and she can feel him still hard against her—rigid and hot and insistent.
She rubs her ass over the tent in his briefs, and he groans, tightening the cage of his arms around her.
“I want to bury myself in you,” Crew says, and he moves a hand to her hip to pull her backward into him.
Grace wants that, too—desperately—but she can’t speak.
All that falls out of her mouth in reply is an incoherent moan.
Crew moves his other hand to her jaw, gripping her gently and turning her face to his.
His eyes are wild and blown black with desire, his lips parted and pink and begging to be kissed.
She cranes her neck to do just that, and their lips brush together lightly—the beginning of something neither of them will be able to come back from—when a sound shatters the haze of their shared Eden.
A whistle.
A jaunty tune falling from Forty’s lips as he breaks through the trees surrounding the pond with a towel around his waist, completely oblivious to what he’s just walked in on.
When he spots them tangled together and panting, the whistle abruptly stops. He freezes, takes about five seconds to realize what he’s interrupted, and then turns right back around and walks away.
Crew and Grace are suspended, both silent and unmoving as they watch his hasty retreat. Once he’s out of sight, they look at each other, grimacing.
“Great,” Grace says.
“Yeah,” Crew sighs. “We’re never going to hear the end of that.”