CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT #2
“You’ve gotta trust me, Lina,” he says strongly, his lips ghosting the shell of my ear. “That’s the only way this works. Trust me when I tell you that you will. Because when someone actually listens to your body instead of using it, it changes things.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Sounds nice.”
He dips down to press a kiss to my jaw, then my throat, my collarbone, and all the way down my torso until his lips land on my navel.
As he promises, his pace is heated but measured, and it feels as though he’s holding every nerve in my body in his grasp.
This. This is what I’ve been waiting for.
“Grant,” I whisper, my mouth moving before my brain can fully give it permission. “Touch me. Please.”
Like a moth to a flame, his hands pull my leggings down my thighs, and I pull my ankles up, slipping them off. He throws them somewhere behind him and repositions himself so he’s sitting on the bed before he pulls me to sit on his lap.
Then his hand descends down my stomach while he leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that didn’t feel like begging or bragging. It simply blooms quietly in my chest, ruining me all at once.
I suck in a sharp breath when he pushes a finger inside me, pulsing them with perfect dexterity while the palm of his hand presses on my clit.
“How’s that feel, pretty girl?” he asks after a minute, pushing deeper, curling them, and creating a sensation I’ve never felt before. “Good?”
A gasp-like sound escapes my mouth right when he presses in further. “Um?—”
“Is that a yes? Or no?”
He shifts his hand, almost like he’s going to pull away, but my hand comes down on his, grasping his wrist to keep him there. “Yes, yes. Don’t stop. Please .”
Never once have I ever imagined myself begging Grant Vandenberg for anything. And now that I have, it only makes every memory I have of him come rushing back tenfold.
Every moment where I’ve noticed the vein in his forearm every time he reaches for something, or the way his jaw muscle works when he chews gum.
All the moments where I’ve silently thanked my brain for being graced with my photographic memory, for no other reason than being able to memorize every ounce of him.
Grant quickens his movements, all while I’m trying to steady my breathing, focusing on all the feelings rushing through me.
I notice how intimate this position feels—me on his lap with my arms wrapped around his shoulders.
All while he has one hand between my legs and the other holding my hip to keep me steady.
Then, slowly, he adds a second finger.
My body tenses for a split second, but he doesn't move—just lets me adjust, his thumb still drawing steady, rhythmic circles. He presses a kiss to the space below my ear, and his voice drops, low and deliberate.
"Still with me?"
Frantically, I nod, unable to form anything coherent. It’s not just the pressure or the rhythm. It’s him—his patience, the way he watches me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world right now.
I flinch slightly backwards, though, when his fingers curl downward instead of up like they were. He slows when he notices me trying to pull back.
“I don’t like that,” I say quietly, trying to reposition myself on his lap.
All he does is nod, not looking the least bit offended. “Okay, I won’t do that again. Keep telling me what you do and don’t like, alright?”
I moan when he returns to that spot, curling just right, as if he’s reading instructions based on my cues. “ That,” I emphasize, my head falling forward so my forehead is now resting on his shoulder. “I like that.”
His breath catches, like maybe hearing me say it out loud does something to him too.
“There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the side of my neck.
Grant shifts just enough to glance down, his fingers never losing rhythm. “You’re so wet for me, Lina,” he whispers, like a secret meant only for the space between us. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”
I know he’s telling the truth because I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
Moaning softly, my fingers dig into his back, and my body trembles under the weight of his words and everything he’s doing to me.
My hips start to move against him, and I can feel how hard he is beneath me. A broken moan slips from my lips, and he rocks harder. I catch myself wondering if it would feel the same if he didn’t have pants on, or if it would be even better.
Right now it doesn’t matter, because I’m climbing toward a peak like I never have before. My legs start to shake, my breath grows more erratic, and he feels it. Of course he does.
“Close?”
My head bobs against his shoulder, too far gone for words. My teeth graze the skin of his collarbone, not even trying to be sexy but because I need something to hold onto—something to tether me here with him, now.
I feel myself pulse on his fingers as I come in a blissful turbulence. Grant’s grasp tightens around my hip momentarily before he wraps it around my waist, pulling me closer into his chest as I come down from my high.
“Holy shit,” I say through a long breath, my body going lax in his hold as he removes his hand.
Grant chuckles against my hair, but it’s not teasing—it’s more reverent, as if he can’t believe he got to do that.
His hand drifts up my back in lazy strokes, and I let him hold me like that for a long time before I shift slightly and remember how obviously hard he is beneath me.
“Do you want to?—”
He shakes his head, pulling me up with him as I stand. “That was enough for tonight.”
“Okay.”
Grant heads toward the bathroom. I can only assume what he’s going in there to do.
And he confirms when he says, “Give me a few minutes to sort this, and then you can take a shower if you want.”
I don’t say anything while he shuts the door behind him. Mostly because I’m trying not to imagine Grant jerking off while I sit naked in his bed. It’s too good of an image, and it makes me want to do things I know I shouldn’t.
Instead, I lie back against his pillow, hearing the shower begin running as my eyes drift shut. I must not fall asleep for long because I stir back awake at the sound of the faucet cutting off.
A few moments later, the door opens again. He’s wearing sweatpants now, no shirt, and damp hair falling into his eyes. He looks casual—like nothing’s changed. But I know better.
Everything has.
And yet, I don’t even care that I’m still naked and he’s not. It doesn’t feel strange or awkward because Grant makes me feel completely at ease. Even these moments of vulnerability feel safe.
“You feeling okay?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s unsure if he’s allowed to ask.
“Yeah.”
He steps into the doorframe, leaning against it and crossing his arms while he continues to examine me, watching me as though he can read between my every blink and breath. “Good, because you deserved to feel that a long time ago.”
My eyes are begging to fall closed again when I get up and pass him in the doorway.
He exits, I enter. The dance we’ve been doing for months, only now it’s choreographed with the feelings blooming in my chest when I look at him.
Ones that make me wonder if I’m ever going to be the same, or if Grant has already forced himself into a crevice of my life, carving himself a home in my chest and making himself a permanent fixture.
I quickly use the bathroom, and when I crawl back into bed next to Grant, I’m only wearing my black lace underwear.
Grant lifts the blanket without a word, and when I crawl underneath, I’m instantly drawn toward the warmth radiating from his skin. He must feel the same way because his arm rounds my rib cage, pulling me in close.
For the longest time, I thought we were building a routine and nothing more.
But now, even in silence, every moment feels like a brick being laid carefully between us: our closeness, his skin against mine, and the echoes of things we’ve never said out loud.