74. Amelia
SEVENTY-FOUR
AMELIA
My favorite thing about Grant is that he’s not afraid to try something new.
We both know he’s nothing but a nice guy, but a thrill still zips up my spine as he carries me down the hall. The filthy words move down my body like a caress, not stopping until they reach between my legs.
For a man who had almost no bedroom experience before we got together, he knows all the right things to say.
“On my ass,” I answer. My cheeks burn with a mix of lust and curiosity. Another thing I haven’t tried, but have always wanted to. “If that’s something you’d like.”
“You’ve helped me learn I’m definitely an ass man.” Grant kicks the door to his bedroom open and walks across the rug. “And painting yours with my cum is a recent fantasy.”
Hell.
I love when he doesn’t bother to hold back what’s on his mind. His bluntness is sexy, and when he drops me on the mattress, I rest my hand on my stomach, desperate to touch myself.
“Is there anything you want to do before that?” I ask. I keep my eyes on him while my fingers wander. I play with the waistband of my underwear, and the whimper Grant lets out fuels my longing. “Or should we skip straight to the ass part?”
“I never want to rush when I’m with you.”
He pulls off his socks and his athletic shorts, nudging them out of the way with his foot, but leaves his shirt on like he promised. His gray briefs show off the hard work he’s put into every grueling practice so far this year, and I’m so ridiculously attracted to him.
Lean abdomen muscles are visible under the hem of his shirt. His thick thighs and defined calves round out his beautiful physique, and he’s such a man.
His skin flushes when I brush my knuckles against my clit. His cock strains against his briefs and he dips his hand in his underwear, adjusting his length so the tip is tucked into the elastic waistband.
“Do you want to watch? Do you want to touch me?” I slide my underwear off so I’m naked except for my earrings and necklace, just like he wanted. “Maybe something else?”
“I want to touch you. I always want to touch you,” Grant croaks, and he ditches his underwear too. He climbs on the bed and settles between my thighs, making sure to prop my head up with two pillows. “I’m going to get you off, then I’m going to fuck you nice and slow.”
“What happened to the guy who isn’t sweet?” I whine when he takes my nipple and twists it. The bite of pain subsides when he follows it up with his mouth, licking my nipple to soothe the sting. “Fuck.”
“He’s still here. Fucking love these earrings.” He touches my ear again, the graze of his fingers light and delicate against the diamond. “You’re so gorgeous when you dress up, Lia.”
I squirm on the sheets, the glide of his words leaving a torturous wake when he kisses my neck.
He sucks on the skin there, but it’s not enough to not leave a noticeable red spot.
Grant never marks me—not in a place people could see and ask questions—and I love that he’s just on the cusp of control.
“And I love your crop top.” My hands touch his shoulders and down his back. They slide to his stomach, and his body jolts when my fingers brush the head of his cock. “It’s sexy that you wear what you want.”
“Glad you think so,” he rasps. He moves his mouth, kissing my collarbone and the top of my chest. His lips roam over my skin, and he stops when he gets to my necklace. He runs his tongue along the silver chain, wetting the pendant at the bottom. “Can I dress you up more?”
“How?” I ask, my brain turning fuzzy when he ruts his hips and bumps his cock against the inside of my thigh. “Do you want me to put clothes back on?”
“Never.”
The hand with his tattoo—the mark that traced over my own handwriting—wraps around my throat.
It’s far from the first time he’s done this, but with half his clothes on and my breath a low gasp when he squeezes, it’s more intimate than before.
A change in the power dynamic where he’s completely in control.
His palm is big, and I love the way his callouses scrape against my windpipe. It’s a reminder of his strength, of the brute force he exhibits on the ice and how heavy he lifts in the weight room, and I wrap my legs around his waist to draw him closer.
“I like your jewelry the most,” I say, sinking into oblivion at the new pressure.
It’s not hard enough to make me stop breathing, but it’s a juxtaposition to the careful way he rocks forward so his cock presses against my entrance.
“Do you want to come?” he asks, his free hand teasing between my legs. He doesn’t push inside—not yet—and I wiggle beneath him. “Or do you want to wait?”
“I want to come. Please.”
“That’s going to be easy with your pussy full of my fingers and your throat decorated with a hand necklace, isn’t it?” There’s another hard squeeze as he slides two fingers inside me, and my back arches off the bed. “Such a needy girl.”
A moan rattles out of me. I’d normally try to stretch out the sensation for as long as I can, but I am needy. I’m goddamn feral to have him inside me, to feel the possessiveness that always comes out when he’s caught in the moment of passion, and I move my hips in an effort to help him get deeper.
“Three,” I whisper. “I can take three.”
“Nah.” Grant positions his body right over mine, his mouth back at my ear. His exhale is warm and divine at the pressure point on my neck, and I gasp for air. “My girl can take four fingers, and you’re going to say thank you after.”
Adrenaline thumps in my blood as he adds two more fingers. I groan his name, a plea when he turns his wrist and curls all four inside of me. Quick, rough. His thighs bracket mine to hold me in place as he sends me racing toward an orgasm.
I open my mouth to say something else—to beg, to plead, to worship him, I don’t know—but no sound comes out.
I’m speechless, swept up in the growing ache low in my belly and the heat coming off his body.
Grant hooks his pinky around my actual necklace, tugging it at the same time he presses his thumb to my clit.
I spasm, the shockwaves of the first ebb of ecstasy gripping me tight and refusing to let go.
Immense pleasure ripples out from my head to my toes, my body a coil that’s sprung free when he brings his hand to his mouth.
He spits in the center of his palm and strokes his length with a quick jerk before lining up, the head of his cock already pushing inside me while I still chase the high of his fingers.
“Fuck,” I sputter at the stretch.
“So fucking perfect,” he grunts, biting the curve of my shoulder where I can hide his markings.
It’s too much. I’m too full and he’s too big.
I’m too sensitive from his thumb finding the perfect spot, but that doesn’t stop him from driving into me.
Sharp thrusts rock the bed, and I squeeze my eyes closed.
I want to touch him, want to guide him, and I put a hand on his ass.
I dig my nails into his cheek, laughing softly when he careens forward with a strangled noise.
“Did you like that?” I ask, and he kisses me before answering.
“Very much,” he says. His glasses fall down his nose, and the frames are foggy. I reach to take them off, but Grant shakes his head. “I want to see you when I finish on you.”
A new rumbling of lust starts to brew with his body heavy on mine. I put a hand on the back of his head and pull his hair, urgent as I lift my hips and take every inch he gives me.
We’re coordinated, knowing each other’s preferences and the angles that feel the best. Less fumbling, less learning. He’s confident when he touches my clit again. I’m assertive when I kiss his cheek. We’re in perfect harmony, and I don’t know where I end and he begins.
“Thank you, Grant,” I say. He mumbles out a string of curses into my neck, right above where his fingers rest. “Thank you for making me feel so good.”
“Fuck. You’re so welcome, baby. Turn over. Want to fuck you from behind before I paint your ass with my cum,” he says.
I groan when he pulls out and leaves me empty and desperate. My body is slow to wake up, and I flip to my stomach with a stuttered exhale. He runs his hand down my spine, gentle until I get on all fours. When I do, he gives my backside a smack that surprises me in the best possible way.
“Please,” I say. “I need you back in me.”
“Let’s finish together, Lia.”
His cock is slick when he enters me again, and I’m so glad he decided to stop wearing a condom. I love being able to feel every glide, every vein as he pounds into me. Thick, hard. I rock back on his length, taking the reins while he holds my hips with a bruising grip.
I work him up and down, wanting him to feel as good as he makes me feel. Grant’s breaths turn ragged. His shirt brushes against my ass each time our bodies connect, and it’s the most surprisingly wonderful feeling.
“You’re heaven,” he gasps, unwavering kindness even when he’s fucking me into the mattress.
Grant brushes the hair away from my neck, his mouth a warm press to my sweat-soaked skin. I wouldn’t mind my own tattoo, one of the outline of his lips so I can remember how alive he makes me feel.
I wiggle and grind against him, and he moves with me. He wraps my hair around his wrist and pulls taut, the bend of my neck enough to make me smile.
“I like when you’re rough with me. Like you’re not afraid I’m going to break,” I say, and my eyes flutter closed. I’m on the precipice of a trance. Grant has my heart and my body, the swell of my desire for him burning from the inside out. “Makes me feel like you really know me.”
“I know you.” The hand holding my hair loosens, the pressure ceasing. The same fingers slip between my legs, and, god. The precision, the circle of his thumb. My mouth goes dry at his amused chuckle he follows up with, “I’ve known you for years. I know you better than anyone else.”
“I didn’t know it was a competition,” I say, his cock hitting the perfect spot that has me grasping the sheets tight.
“We both know I’d win if it was.”
Grant would win by a mile, and it’s not even close. I let him prove all the ways he knows me. I give in to his hands and his mouth and the hard jut of his cock that he pulls out and teases on my clit.
He slams back inside me, palms dragging over my body as if he’s exploring me for the first time. I’m a stick of dynamite waiting to explode from all the stimulation. The sounds of our tangled moans and the slap of our hips is dizzying, and I surrender to the indulgence I’m craving.
“I’m going to come,” I tell him in warning, in proclamation, in fucking exultation.
Sex has never been hedonistic and easy like this.
“I’ve been doing math in my head for five minutes, baby. I’m ready when you are.”
His choked relief throttles me when he pulls out and rests his cock on the curve of my ass. Fingers fill the space he just left, and I’m a mess of limbs and last gasps of air as his knuckles knock against my cheeks while he jerks himself to completion.
Warm, thick cum covers me at the same time my fumbling fingers stroke my clit, an explosion of color bursting in my vision as I get to the finish line.
I’m vaguely aware of the things happening around me: Grant’s chest molding into my back. The kisses he peppers to my shoulder and spine. It’s overwhelming in the best way, and when he finally climbs off me, I realize I’ve drooled on the pillows.
“I made a mess,” I say.
“I made one too, and it’s all over you. Stay there. Let me get something to clean you up,” he says.
The mattress sinks and dips under his shifting weight. His footsteps shuffle over the rug, the bathroom door opens, the faucet begins to run. I don’t lift a finger, hypnotic and blissed-out in the most delirious way.
When Grant returns, he runs a damp washcloth over my ass. He’s slow with his movements, a low hum of appreciation reverberating against my sternum when he eases me on my stomach and rests his arm over my waist.
“Hi,” I whisper, cracking open an eye. He’s next to me, his skin golden and his hair pushed back from his face with sweat and exertion. The prettiest smile sits on his mouth—soft and sated with swollen lips—and pride blooms in me. I did that. “Did you get it all?”
“I did, but I think you took my rationality with it. I don’t even know my name right now.”
“Grant Everett. Very good fuck.” It takes all my energy to say it, but it’s worth it to hear his booming laugh. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. And you are…”
“Thoroughly depleted.”
“An honor. I’ve heard so many things about you.”
“Hopefully all good.”
“The best,” he says, drawing me to him. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and kisses my throat. “All of this because of your earrings and necklace. Totally reprehensible of them to incite such vulgar behavior on my part.”
“We should be blaming your shirt.” I spin in his hold, my hand on his chest and the damp fabric sticking to his skin. I push his glasses up his nose for him, and I’m awarded another smile. “I can’t help myself around slutty little crop tops.”
“Totally slutty. They get me in all kinds of trouble.” Grant kisses my cheek. “Can I tell you my secret of the day?”
“I can’t wait to hear,” I say.
“This is my favorite part of the day,” he says. “Not the sex. Not the texting. I like those, obviously, but just existing with you in my arms is enough for me. I spent so long thinking I couldn’t have you like this, so when I get a moment like right now, I don’t want to let go.”
“It’s the best part of my day too,” I whisper. “I have to be so many things to so many people all of the time, but when I’m in here, I can just be me. It’s hard to describe what it’s like when I’m with you—I’m hopeful and earnest and good enough.”
“More than good enough.” A kiss to my nose. “You’re perfect.” A kiss to my forehead. “Exquisite.” Another kiss on my cheek. “Mine.”
It’s promising and etched with wonder. It’s deeply romantic after the things we just did on these sheets, but so right. The closest form to an I love you we’ve ever been, and if he said it to me right this very second, I wonder how I’d respond.
I don’t have to think too long, because my heart already knows.