Chapter 39
Heather
As I wake up, the first thing I’m aware of is Grant’s warm, solid body pressed against mine. He’s spooning me, with his arms wrapped around my waist and his breath soft and steady against the back of my neck.
It’s quickly become my favorite way to start the day. Especially on days like this, when he’s already half-hard and pressing against my ass more insistently by the second.
I move against him, loving the tiny bit of friction I can feel, even through our pajamas. It doesn’t take long for his breath to hitch and his arms to tighten around me.
“You’re awake,” he murmurs against my neck.
“Mmm. Hard not to be when someone’s poking me.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Can’t help what happens when I wake up next to you.”
I grin and look over my shoulder at him. “I’m not complaining.”
“No?” His hand slides lower down my belly until it slips underneath the elastic waistband of my pajama pants. “Good. Because I have plans for you.”
“We have maybe forty-five minutes before April’s alarm goes off.”
“Then I better work fast.” He moves quickly, easing me onto my back and crouching between my legs. “These are in the way.”
My pants are gone in a matter of seconds, and his mouth is on my inner thigh before I can catch my breath.
“Grant—”
“Shh. Let me taste you.”
His fingers slide through my folds, and I’m already wet for him. Always wet for him, it seems.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes, then replaces his fingers with his tongue.
I bite down on my lip to keep from moaning too loudly. The last thing we need is to wake April up early with the sounds of me falling apart.
He works me with his mouth and fingers until I’m trembling, one hand fisted in his hair and the other gripping the sheets. His tongue circles my clit while two fingers curl inside me, finding that spot that makes my back arch off the bed.
“Grant, I need—I want—”
“What do you want, beautiful?” He looks up at me, his lips glistening. “Use your words.”
“You. Inside me. Now.”
He crawls up my body, pressing kisses along the way—my hip, my stomach, between my breasts, my collarbone. When he reaches my mouth, I can taste myself on his lips.
“You always taste so good,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Could do that for hours.”
“We don’t have hours.”
“I know.” He shoves his pajama pants down and positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance. “But later, when April’s at school, I’m gonna take my time with you.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
“Both.” He pushes inside me slowly, stretching me, filling me inch by inch. “Fuck, you feel incredible.”
I’ll never get used to the feeling of him—so big, so perfect, the way my body has to adjust to accommodate him.
There’s still that edge of discomfort when he first enters me, that moment where I think there’s no way I can take all of him.
But then my body relaxes and opens for him, and it feels so right.
“Move,” I urge him. “Please move.”
He does, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in. Slow, deliberate strokes that make me gasp.
“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, his voice rough. “Or do you need it harder?”
“Harder. Faster. I need—”
He cuts me off with a kiss, swallowing my words as he picks up the pace. His thumb finds my clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.
“You’re close already, aren’t you? I can feel you getting tighter around me.”
“Yes—don’t stop—right there—”
“I’ve got you, Hurricane. Let go for me.”
My orgasm crashes over me, and I have to press my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound. He fucks me through it, not slowing down, not giving me a chance to recover.
“That’s one,” he says, kissing along my jaw. “But I’m not done with you yet.”
“Grant, I can’t—I need a minute—”
“No you don’t.” He pulls out and flips me onto my stomach so fast it makes me gasp. “You can take it. You’re gonna take it.”
He pulls my hips up so I’m on my hands and knees, and slides back inside me from behind. The new angle makes him feel even deeper, if that’s possible.
“Oh god—”
“Yeah, that’s it.” One hand grips my hip while the other reaches around to play with my clit. “You feel how deep I am? How full I’m making you?”
“Yes—fuck, yes—”
“You take my cock so well, beautiful. Like you were made for me.”
The dirty talk combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips is pushing me toward another edge faster than I thought possible.
“I can’t—it’s too much—”
“You can. You will.” His fingers work my clit faster. “Give me another one. Come on my cock again.”
“Grant—”
“Now, Heather. Come for me now.”
My second orgasm builds fast and hits even harder than the first. I’m shaking, gasping, barely holding myself up as waves of pleasure roll through me. I bury my face in the pillow to muffle my cries.
Grant groans behind me, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck, I’m gonna—where do you want it?”
“Pull out,” I manage to gasp.
He does, just in time, and I feel the hot splash of his release across my lower back and ass. He’s breathing hard, cursing under his breath as he strokes himself through it.
We collapse onto the bed together, both of us breathing hard. My legs are shaking and I feel boneless, completely wrung out.
“That was—” I can’t even finish the sentence.
“Yeah.” He kisses my shoulder, then my neck. “It really was.”
He gets up for a moment and comes back with a warm washcloth, gently cleaning me up. The gesture is so tender after the intensity of what we just did that it makes my throat tight.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
“Always.” He tosses the washcloth aside and pulls me against him, spooning me again. “We should probably get up soon.”
“I know.” But neither of us moves. We lie there for another moment, his arms around me, his breath evening out against my neck.
“I could get used to this,” he says quietly. “Waking up with you every morning.”
My heart does a little flip in my chest, but before I can figure out how to respond, his alarm goes off.
“Shit. What time is it?”
He glances at the clock. “Seven fifteen.”
“Shit!” I scramble out of bed, my legs still a little unsteady. “April’s alarm goes off in fifteen minutes and I still need to shower and make breakfast and—”
“Hey.” He catches my hand. “Relax. I’ll make breakfast. You shower.”
“You sure?”
“Of course. I make a mean scrambled egg.”
I kiss him quickly. “You’re the best.”
“I know.”
The shower is quick and efficient, and by the time I’m dressed and heading downstairs, I can hear April’s animated voice from the kitchen.
“—and then the puck went flying into the stands and hit someone’s nachos! Can you believe it? Their nachos went everywhere!”
“That’s tragic,” Grant says solemnly. “A waste of perfectly good nachos.”
“That’s what I said!”
I walk into the kitchen to find them both at the stove—Grant scrambling eggs while April stands on her step stool next to him, buttering toast.
“Morning, Mom!” April grins at me. “Grant’s teaching me how to make the eggs fluffy.”
“Is he now?” I pour myself coffee and lean against the counter, watching them. “And what’s the secret?”
“You gotta keep them moving,” April says seriously. “And not cook them too long or they get rubbery.”
“She’s a natural,” Grant says, shooting me a smile over April’s head.
My chest aches looking at them like this—so comfortable together, so easy. Like this is something we’ve been doing for years instead of months.
Twenty minutes later, April is ready for school, backpack on and lunch box in hand.
“Bye, Grant! Thanks for breakfast!”
“Anytime, kid. Have a good day.”
As I’m about to follow her out, Grant catches my wrist gently. “Hey.”
I turn back to him.
“This morning was really nice,” he says quietly. “All of it. Not just the sex. The breakfast. The three of us together. This is what I want.”
My throat tightens. “Grant—”
“I know you’re scared. But I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need, however much time—I’m here.”
I don’t have time to tell him how grateful I am for him or how much I appreciate his patience as I slowly tear down the walls I’ve spent most of my adult life building around my heart, so I just nod and kiss him quickly before heading out to catch up with April.
The morning at work passes smoothly enough. I have a handful of projects to wrap up, some invoices to process, and a few client emails to respond to. Nothing too demanding, which should make it easy to focus.
Except my mind keeps drifting back to this morning. To Grant’s hands on my body. His mouth between my thighs. The way he looked at me over breakfast like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
The way he said he wasn’t going anywhere.
I catch myself smiling at my computer screen like an idiot and force myself to refocus on the spreadsheet in front of me. I’m being ridiculous. I’m a grown woman with a daughter to take care of, not a teenager with her first crush.
But it’s been so long since I let myself feel this way that it’s hard not to hold on to these fleeting moments of pure happiness when they come around.
My phone buzzes on my desk, and I glance at it absently. Unknown number. Probably spam. I almost let it go to voicemail, but something makes me pick it up.
“Hello?”
There’s a pause that’s just long enough to make my stomach clench even though I’m not sure exactly why.
Then I hear the voice I’ve tried for so many years to forget.
“Heather?”
My entire body goes cold, and the whole world tilts sideways so quickly that I have to grip the edge of my desk to steady myself.
Steven.
“It’s been a long time,” he says, like we’re old acquaintances catching up. Like I didn’t run from his apartment in the middle of the night with a screaming baby and a split lip.
My throat closes up. I can’t think. I can’t even breathe.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” he continues when I don’t respond. “About April. She must be what, eight now? Nine? I was thinking maybe it’s time we—”
I hang up.