Chapter 17
GRACE
The moment our lips touched, everything else fell away. I wasn’t tired anymore. The professional boundaries I’d been carefully maintaining evaporated like smoke. The voice in my head screaming that this was a terrible idea dissolved into nothing.
He tasted like coffee. I felt his hand come up to cup the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. A soft moan escaped my throat before I could stop it. It was so much better than the fantasy I’d been building up.
The kiss deepened. His tongue slid against mine.
Heat pooled low in my belly. This was nothing like our rehearsal kiss.
That had been controlled, choreographed, cut short before it could become anything real.
Not this time. His mouth opened wider and it became clear he was going to devour me and I was here for it.
When we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard, his forehead rested against mine.
“Grace,” he said, my name a rough whisper. “We should probably stop.”
“Don’t.” I pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t say we should stop. Don’t say this is a mistake.”
His eyes searched mine in the darkness of the car. I could see the war raging behind them. I got it. But I had made my peace. He was deciding between duty versus desire, professionalism versus the undeniable pull between us.
“This is a mistake,” he said quietly. But even as the words left his mouth, his hand was sliding down my back, pulling me closer.
“Then let’s make it together.”
The SUV pulled through the gates of his beach house. The driver stopped in the circular driveway, and Micah finally pulled away from me, though his hand remained on my thigh like he couldn’t bear to break contact completely.
“Want to come in?” he asked in a gruff voice.
I smiled. Fuck the rules. “Yes.”
“That’ll be all for tonight,” he told the driver, his voice impressively steady considering what we’d just been doing in the back seat. “I’ll make sure Ms. Stone gets home safely.”
The driver nodded without comment. If he’d noticed anything in his rearview mirror, he was professional enough not to let on. I grabbed my bag and followed Micah out of the car, my legs shaky beneath me.
The ocean roared somewhere in the darkness beyond the house. Salt air filled my lungs as we walked up the front steps. Micah fumbled with his keys, the first sign I’d seen that he was as affected as I was.
Inside, the house was quiet and dark. He flipped on a few lights, illuminating the open-concept living space I remembered from the table read. The wall of windows reflected our images back at us like ghosts.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Please.”
He moved to the bar in the corner, pulling down two glasses. “Whiskey okay?”
“Perfect.”
I watched him pour, my heart hammering against my ribs. Now that we were here, alone in his house, the reality of what we were doing started to sink in. This could destroy everything. My career. His movie. The trust we’d built over the past weeks.
But when he turned back to me with those gorgeous eyes, I decided I didn’t care.
He handed me a glass. “There’s something I want to show you,” he said.
My eyes dropped to his crotch. “Okay. Should I finish my drink first?”
He chuckled, unbothered by my boldness. “This way.”
I followed him down a hallway. He stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and pushed it open, reaching inside to flip on the lights.
I stepped through and felt my jaw drop.
The room was a museum. Glass cases lined the walls, each one containing carefully preserved pieces of film history. Movie props, costumes, scripts, and photographs all displayed with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.
“Holy shit,” I breathed.
Micah smiled, watching my reaction. “My collection. Started when I was twelve and my mom gave me a prop from one of her films. It kind of spiraled from there.”
I moved deeper into the room, drawn to a case containing what looked like a vintage ray gun. “Is that?—”
“Space Raiders, 1957. Original prop. A ray gun. Took me three years to track it down.”
“This is incredible.”
I wandered through the room like a kid in a candy store.
“These are from your mother’s films,” I said, stopping in front of a section dedicated to her legendary career. A crimson gown from her Oscar-winning role. The shoes she’d worn in her breakthrough romantic comedy. A script with handwritten notes in the margins.
I stared at the diamond choker, remembering the scene where Tiana Blackwell had worn it. I’d seen the movie countless times.
“Can I touch it?”
Micah reached past me and opened the case. “Go ahead.”
I ran my fingers over the diamonds, feeling the cool weight of them against my skin. They caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the walls. Obviously, they weren’t real diamonds, but that didn’t matter. It was an iconic piece.
“Your family legacy is pretty incredible,” I said softly. “All of this. The films your mother made, the ones your father directed. It’s like you grew up surrounded by magic.”
“It had its downsides.” His voice was closer now. I could feel the warmth of him behind me, not quite touching but close enough that every nerve in my body was aware of his presence. “Everyone expects you to live up to something you never asked for.”
“I understand that more than you know.”
I needed his touch. I could feel him holding back. I leaned back, just a bit. Just giving him the okay. I sure as hell didn’t want to beg. He’d invited me in. That was enough.
He brushed the hair from the back of my neck. His lips brushed over the spot just below my ear. I tilted my head and gave him full access.
His breath was hot against my skin, and the second his lips pressed against that sensitive spot, a shiver raced down my spine.
I arched back into him, my body already humming with need after weeks of tension.
His hands slid around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard chest. I felt the rigid line of his cock pressing into my ass through our clothes.
“Micah,” I whispered, my voice husky. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. One hand slipped under my shirt, palm rough and warm as it cupped my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it peaked.
I moaned, reaching back to tangle my fingers in his hair.
He spun me around, his mouth crashing onto mine in a kiss that was all hunger.
Neither of us had any restraint left. Our tongues tangled. I tasted the whiskey on his breath.
I shoved at his shirt, yanking it up over his head. He helped, tossing it aside, then peeled mine off too. My bra followed, and his mouth descended, sucking one nipple deep while his fingers pinched the other. Pleasure spiked straight to my core. I was already soaked, thighs pressing together.
He backed me up until my ass hit the edge of the desk. Without breaking the kiss, he swept an arm across it—props clattering to the floor, scripts and photos scattering. The sound barely registered. I hopped up onto the cleared surface, legs wrapping around his hips as he stepped between them.
“Fuck, Grace,” he growled, voice rough. His fingers worked my jeans open. I lifted my ass from the desk while he jerked the jeans and my panties down my legs. I kicked them off while reaching for the button on his pants. I was clumsy, especially with his tongue halfway down my throat.
I reached around and grabbed his ass and pulled him back between my legs. His hand slid between my thighs and pushed them wider. I felt his knuckles against me and moaned again. One finger brushed over me before pushing inside. I dropped my head back as delicious sensations rippled through my body.
A second finger pushed inside, curling deep, pumping fast. His mouth was on my neck and breasts and then back to my mouth.
It was too much. I couldn’t think straight.
My hands roamed his broad back, squeezed his biceps and down to his toned ass.
My orgasm built quick and sharp. I came hard, thighs clamping around his hand, moaning his name as waves crashed through me.
I reached for his thick length. I’d just had an amazing orgasm, but I wanted another. I needed all of him. I stroked him once, twice, loving the way he hissed.
“Dammit, I want to fuck you,” he groaned.
“So do it.”
He stepped back and pointed a finger at me. “Stay put.”
He walked out of the room. My breathing was still coming fast. I refused to think about the fact I was naked on his desk in his memorabilia room. He strolled back in, tearing a condom wrapper and then he was sliding it down that gorgeous cock of his.
He grabbed my hips, yanking me to the very edge of the desk. His chest was eye level. And damn, it was perfect.
“You want this?” he asked, his mouth brushing against mine.
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
He thrust inside me in one smooth stroke. We both groaned. He filled me perfectly. The stretch stung in the best way. I dug my nails into his shoulders. He fucked me hard and fast from the start. We were both desperate. Two weeks of foreplay will do that to you.
It felt like he’d been holding back for too long. The desk rocked with every snap of his hips. My tits bounced. I tried to open my legs wider. He reached down and hooked his arm under my knee and lifted my leg.
“Oh shit,” I gasped.
“Fuck!” He roared and jerked his hips, getting impossibly deep.
“Harder,” I begged. “Fuck me harder, Micah.”
He did, pounding into me, one hand gripping my hip, the other holding my leg up and opening me to him. Pleasure coiled again, tighter. I leaned back on my elbows, watching him fuck me. The sight alone nearly undid me.
He dropped my leg, pulled out, and jerked me off the desk. I felt like a ragdoll, completely at his mercy. He spun me around and pushed at my back.
“Bend over,” he ordered.
I did as he asked. He slapped my ass. I groaned and dropped my lower half to the desk.
My cheek pressed to the cool wood. He entered me from behind, going deeper than before.
He hit that perfect spot inside. One hand fisted in my hair, the other smacked my ass lightly before gripping it.
Skin slapped skin. His balls slapped against me. I pushed back, meeting every thrust.
“God, you feel so good,” he panted. “So tight. So fucking wet for me.”
I clenched around him, close again. I couldn’t stop my body’s reaction. The man was a skilled lover. I fell over the edge and cried out, slapping at the desk. He followed seconds later, burying deep with a guttural groan.
“Holy shit,” he murmured before he slowly pulled out. I pushed myself up and turned to face him. His chest heaved. We both grinned at each other.
“My bedroom,” he said.
I was so relieved he wasn’t loading me up into a cab and sending me on my way.
He led me to his bedroom. I glanced around, taking in the massive bed, dark furnishings, and what I was pretty sure was a Monet on the wall.
He walked into the adjoining bathroom and returned with a box of condoms. I laughed as he held it up and waved.
Thank God, because I was already aching for round two.