Chapter 16 #2
I lift onto my elbows to watch him. He moves between my thighs, and when he licks me up my center, my breathy moan is one of relief and unabashed pleasure.
He’s relentless with his tongue. I move with him as he devours me, staring as he shamelessly humps my bed.
The sight of him overcome with that need to thrust might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life—he’s bare-chested, muscles glistening and hair standing at odd angles, as he moves in time with my own hips, like he’s imagining burying himself there.
When he finally plunges a finger into my body and sucks on my clit, I go off in a shower of fireworks behind my eyelids. I chant his name the whole time.
“I’m going to come,” he breathes. He moves his hips.
“Stop,” I tell him. “No you aren’t.”
“Yes I am,” he grits out. He seems like he’s on the verge of moving again, then he collapses over my legs with an agonized whine. “Fuck.” He takes a shaky breath and lets it out. “I can’t stand this.”
“Really?”
“I just need a moment.” He wipes his mouth with his forearm before he covers me again. His kiss is sloppy, wet, and full of roving tongue. I want to keep him here.
“I’m not going to make it,” he says against my lips. “But I’m also kind of into this. The whole denial thing.”
I roll my hips against his. “Yeah? Maybe you shouldn’t take care of yourself at home, either. We’ll see how long you can go.”
He pulls back from me. His mouth lifts on one side. “You’re going to drive me out of my mind.” He lets his hands drift over my waist before he rolls off me and lies next to me on the bed.
“This could be fun.” I turn my head toward him. His shirt’s still off, his lean muscles on display. I run my finger over his pec, and he trembles. He’s really wound up. “What time do you get up to go to the gym?”
“Who says I do that?”
I cock my head at him in response.
He sighs. “Usually around four.”
“Ugh, fuck off.” I smile at him. “I mean, you look good. But your schedule sounds like hell.”
He shrugs. “I make time for things I want to do.” To punctuate his point, he kisses a path along my shoulder, and I shiver in response.
We lie there for a few minutes and catch our breath. Grant’s shaky sigh tugs at my conscience, but I don’t give in to the urge to reciprocate.
“It’s amazing how much better I feel now that I’m able to exercise,” I say instead.
“Not at four in the morning. But I think it helps. I’ve got this jacked up thyroid and sometimes I feel so shitty, like I can’t put one foot in front of the other, but then I feel better after I move. It’s a weird paradox.”
“It’s okay to complain about it,” he says. “I know how terrible autoimmune stuff can make you feel.”
I shrug. “I’ve never been a big complainer. I learned a long time ago it doesn’t make a difference.”
“Well, it does to me. I want to know how you’re feeling.”
I grasp his chin and turn his face toward me. “You’re being really sweet.” I eye him. “You said you did a lot of therapy, but what honestly changed you so much in ten years? You’re at least seventy-five percent less awful.”
He links his hand behind his head and reclines back on my bed.
“I started to feel more secure in college. That’s all it was in high school—insecurity.
I was worried about my social status. I got more comfortable with failure, with not being the best, as I got older.
” He scratches his cheek. He’s not looking at me.
“I met a girl in med school who talked about her experiences being bullied when she was younger. I recognized more and more that I was that person, the one who did that to others. And you got the worst of it.” Now he turns toward me.
“I was insecure because I came from a good family, and you were still better than me at every subject.”
“My family’s not good?”
He winces. “Shit. I know how that sounds. I mean, that was my thought process at the time. I know now how wrong I was.”
“Thank you for helping my mom,” I say quietly.
It’s easier to say with only the soft glow of my bedside lamp. With the starless night sky outside my large window and the soft comforter at my back, I could pretend this whole conversation isn’t a huge deal.
“I’m surprised you didn’t kick up even more of a fuss,” he says. His accent’s a tiny bit thicker when he’s relaxed, I notice. He tries to cover it, just like I do.
“I wanted to, but then I thought about it.” I roll toward him. “My mom needs the money. And the groceries were a nice touch. She won’t take any from me or Blaine.”
“Is she still working?” He’s watching me again, studying me like he wants to get inside my head.
I nod. “She had to quit for a period of time after Blaine’s accident, and she’s had some health issues over the years. She got a better job recently, though. At the nursing home. It’s even got benefits. I still worry about her, but not as much now.”
“I’m glad, then. I hate that you guys struggled so hard.”
I turn my head away from him. My eyes trace over some of the items on and around my desk—a new laptop, a stack of books, a cushy rolling chair I spent too much on. All things I wouldn’t have owned as a kid. Thank God for public libraries, at least.
“I was hungry some, as a kid,” I say, almost whispering. I can’t believe I’m being this vulnerable with him. “I know you had lots to say about that—”
“Kendall. I’m aware of what food insecurity looks like. You don’t have to explain anything.”
“Yeah, well, it sticks with you. It’s why I will never intentionally restrict myself. I have a fridge full of food and sometimes I still find myself getting nervous.”
He winces. “I’m so sorry.” His face takes on a solemn cast. “I would do anything to go back in time. I would have asked my parents to help you guys. I would have stopped being such an unconscionable dick.”
“I know. I do believe you now. It still hurts, but I believe you.” I throw one leg over his, and he traps it between his own. “Mom grew up with even less than I did, if you can believe it. And my granny with less than her.”
“Is she still alive? Your grandmother?”
“She’s my only living grandparent,” I say. “She’s ninety. Lives at the same facility where my mom works. She was the youngest of fourteen kids. She talks about how when she was growing up, the bathwater was always dirty by the time they got to her because she had to go last.”
He grimaces. “Yikes.”
“Yeah. So sometimes I think it wasn’t so bad, how I had it. And I’m okay now.” I blow out a breath. “I think I’m done feeling exposed. Let’s talk about you.”
“What do you want to know?” Grant’s expression is a little more relaxed, like he’s not quite so tortured anymore. Pity. He has that self-assured air about him, like he knows he belongs in every space.
“Why orthopedics?”
He shrugs. “It makes the most sense to me. That’s the easiest answer. I like how you can usually draw a straight line from the problem to the solution.”
“Ah. No messy conditions for you, huh?”
“Ha.” He smiles at me. “It’s a stereotype for a reason.” He sits up, and the light from my lamp illuminates his skin, making him look like a damn Greek God. “So why nursing?”
“I meant it when I said I couldn’t afford med school. I needed a job where I could come out of school pretty quickly making decent money.”
“I understand.” He leans closer to me. He avoids looking at my naked body, and I drag a white throw over myself to put him out of his misery. “What about singing? I’ve gotta say, I knew this when we were younger, but your voice, is, ah . . .” He looks up, searching. “It’s amazing.”
“You look like you wanted a different word there,” I tell him.
“I was going to say sexy. I could listen to you sing for hours.”
My face heats. “I’m not going to serenade you, if that’s what you want.
” At his chuckle, I continue. “I did think about it. That seemed scarier than anything, though. I could have ended up making a ton of money, or I could have ended up sleeping in my car. I just wanted something dependable.” I laugh.
“I went stargazing with some former coworkers recently, though, and I convinced myself I wanted to become an astronomer. I was pretty high on that idea for a few minutes.”
“You can do whatever you want,” he says, “but you’re great at what you do. I meant that.”
I fidget a little, then I sit up so I can pull my clothes back on. He watches me hungrily despite the somber conversation. “I’m glad you came over. I don’t think we can have more than this, even though I really like it. But it’s weirdly healing for me.” A laugh escapes. “Having you want me.”
He swallows. “I do.” His eyes track over me again. “Want you, I mean. And not just because I think you’re hot, even though I do. I can’t believe I never saw how amazing you were.”
I gulp. This is inching toward uncomfortable territory for me, so I toss him his shirt. We need all our clothes on if we’re talking about feelings.
“Well, like I said, this is all we can have,” I tell him.
We’re both standing now. He glances around at my room again, his gaze snagging on some of the pink accents. I know my room is girly, and I like it that way. I almost want him to say something, just so we can do battle again. This new, nice version of our relationship confuses me.
“What now?” he asks when his attention returns to me.
“I’ll see you at work later this week,” I say.
He nods as though he expected that. When I show him to the door, my stomach riots. I’m worried about how this will go if we continue down this road, but I think I can keep my emotions separate from what we’re doing. This was too fun not to have again.
But there’s absolutely no way I can give Grant a chance to worm his way into my heart.
My phone chimes with a text the following afternoon. I’m off today so I’m lounging on my cushy sofa, watching a television show that might be actively making me dumber.
Grant
You want to keep me company before I’m on call?
I smile despite my best efforts not to.
Me
Is this a date?
Grant