34. Grant
Grant
Annabelle sits across from me in the golden light of the restaurant, and I’m struck, once again, by how beautiful she is.
She’s always been gorgeous. Even when she’s stumbling out of bed in ratty sweatpants, she could make models question their career choices.
But tonight feels different in a way that makes my chest ache with the simple fact of her existence.
Is it the job offer that’s lighting her up? I hope not, because if her glow is coming from a bunch of corporate goons finally realizing she’s brilliant, I’m going to have to fight someone with a corner office.
But that can’t be it. Annabelle has never needed permission to be herself.
She’s the kind of person who will laugh at her own joke before she finishes telling it, or have a solo dance party in Super Savers because she likes the song on the loudspeaker.
But her joy isn’t random. It’s a choice.
Now that I know how hard she fought for her happiness, I want to go back in time and punch my previous self for every time I tried to dull her shine.
Her eyes meet mine, and I’m painfully aware that my own emotional range starts at sarcastic and ends at hungry. But Annabelle gazes at me across the table like she knows all the corners of my mind, beyond the bad jokes and panic.
I’ve told her things I haven’t told anyone else, because it felt safe to do so.
It still feels safe to do so. I don’t feel exposed or vulnerable under her gaze.
I feel newly alive. I’m ice cracking under spring sun.
I’m new growth, ready to spring up from the earth. All I want to do is bask in her light.
Our connection lasts through dinner, which I’m sure I eat but I’m not sure I taste because I’m so tuned in to Annabelle. She’s all I see. All I know. The very air I breathe.
The feeling lasts all the way home, where the conversation flows like wine, pungent on the tongue and going down easy.
It lasts when I carry her through the parking lot because the snow is melting into dirty puddles and she doesn’t want to ruin her shoes.
It lasts up twenty-three stairs, where we’re continuing the jokes we made in the car.
We pause on the landing. “We could say good night here,” I tell her.
“We could,” she agrees, her voice a teasing lilt that seems to have a throughline to my cock. “End the evening on a high note.”
“I don’t want it to end,” I say.
A pause stretches between us. The restaurant, the drive, the easy laughter, the slow slide of evening into night, all come to this singular moment.
I unlock my door. She takes my hand. I bring her inside and pull her toward me.
Annabelle fits against my chest. The top of her head settles under my chin. Her arms are on my back. My breath matches hers as if we’ve rehearsed this. Time continues its existence, but the moment feels suspended outside it.
She shifts and murmurs half-formed words into my jacket. My name, maybe. Or maybe nothing at all. My body tenses and my cock springs to attention.
She strains upward to kiss me. All I can think about is how her hands feel against my neck and where I want her to put them next. I’m thinking about how much I want her on my lips and on my tongue.
The moment our mouths meet, an inferno rises in me. I need her desperately. My fingers twine in her hair, the silky strands slipping through my fingers. I press her closer while we devour each other’s mouths. My whole body pulses with need. It’s as if I’ve never been touched before.
When we part, her lashes flutter open. Her eyes are like Lake Michigan on a clear day.
I want to fall into them. I want to fall into her.
Not just her body, although her body is doing incredible things to mine.
But I want to fall into all of Annabelle, whatever that means, and wherever tonight takes us.
I reach under her shirt. My hand glides up her back, floating over soft skin until I reach her bra. Then I move to the waistband of her skirt, find the zipper, and lower it. The skirt puddles at her feet, around the high heels she’s still wearing.
More kissing. More hands roaming over skin. Every part of her is lovely. I tell her so. I find my way into her panties, where she’s soft and wet. I tell her that too.
“For you, I am,” she breathes. “Couldn’t you sense it? All through dinner? The ride home?”
I blink. I can’t separate our deep connection from our deep lust. Why should I? It’s all one wonderful experience.
I’ve got her shirt off now. She removes her shoes. My jacket’s gone. I’ve lost my tie. I’m backing toward the couch, but Annabelle shakes her head. “There’s a bed right over there.”
“That’s too far.”
“Grant.” Her voice is low and husky and full of need.
I swoop her into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. When I lay her on the bed, she points to the space heater in the corner. I turn it on full blast, and then get down to the serious business of getting her naked.
Every part of her I touch is my new favorite part. Her shoulder. Her breasts. That exquisite spot where her ass meets the top of her legs. She smells like fruit and sun-warmed skin, with a salty undertone that charges through me, making my blood race.
I run my tongue over one nipple, then the other.
I trail my mouth over the skin of her belly and kiss my way down her legs.
I shouldn’t want her this much. I shouldn’t want anything this much.
It’s beyond comprehension. But when she undresses me, I’m nothing but desire.
My skin hungers for hers. My mouth yearns to taste her.
I have a fierce need that only Annabelle can satisfy.
She strips off my boxers and takes me in her hands. Her touch sets me on fire. Then she’s moving down and down. She teases me with her lips and tongue, nibbling and tasting. I’m gone. I don’t exist anymore. I’m just a cock begging for relief.
I can’t take it. If she doesn’t stop, I’ll explode right here.
I gently back away from her, then slide off the edge of the bed and kneel there.
I put her legs over my shoulders and explore the glistening warmth between.
I move my mouth over her mound, savoring the taste of her.
I take my time, giving her slow, careful attention, loving the way ripples of excitement pass through her.
She thrusts her hips forward. Her hands are in my hair. She’s making throaty hums of pleasure. I need to hear more. I need to do more of whatever it is that makes her sound like that.
“Now,” she says. “Please, Grant. I want you.”
She’s hot. She’s soft and wet. Lust is burning through her and it’s me she needs. She needs my hands, my tongue, my cock. “Right here, babe,” I say. “I’ve got you.”
I join her on the bed, kissing her shoulder, her neck, her jaw, her lips. She’s frantic now, her hands roaming over me. She lunges for my stash of condoms but I’m already there. It only takes a moment to get it into place.
I sit on the edge of the bed and help her straddle me. We pause there for a breathless moment. Then we move. I’m in her with thrust after thrust. But that’s not enough for Annabelle. She pulls me tighter. It’s the deepest, most intense feeling I can imagine.
She rides me up and down. Yes. Yes. Yes. I kiss her neck, imagining a trail of fire down her neck. Annabelle rocks above me, matching my thrusts, making sure I’m hitting it just right. We push into each other and give each other what we both need.
I want to do this forever.
A sound escapes me. It’s soft and low and needy.
“God, that turns me on,” Annabelle says. “Do that again.”
So I do. I’m completely under her spell. I want to give her the world. The universe. I want to make her mine.
“I want, I want, I want…” she says. “I want to come.”
“Yes, baby. Give it to me.”
“I want you to come,” she says. “I want to see you lose control. I want it all.”
My whole self is in her. I’m giving her everything I have. I thrust into her again and again while she convulses around me. It’s the most beautiful sensation I’ve ever experienced.
My orgasm builds to its peak, the sensations radiating outward from my cock to my entire body. Joy bursts through me like color and noise as I lose myself in Annabelle. I feel alive in a way that I’ve never felt before. I’m desired. I’m whole. I’m completely, utterly wrecked.
This is more than sex. This is more than two bodies coming together. The words making love enter into my head. They sound ridiculous. That isn’t what we do. But tonight, I think maybe we got close.
Annabelle rolls off me and lands on the bed. She lets out a happy sigh. “Now this is ending the evening on a high note.”
“Who says it has to end?” I ask.
“Mmm,” her eyes are filled with mischief. She focuses on my cock. “Do you have more?”
“I’ll give you anything you want.” I hold up one finger to pause, go take care of the condom, and come right back. I lean on the door frame. “I think you should stay.”
“Stay?” Her eyes flare.
“Stay the night,” I say. “I’ve never slept with a woman before. The sleeping part, I mean. I’d like to try it. With you.”
“I don’t. I mean— I’m just across the hall. All my stuff is there.”
“I know. But if you go there, you won’t come back.”
She cuts her eyes to the door. I realize I’m blocking it, so I quickly move to her side. “Your five-step skincare routine can rest for one night. It’s just one night. I promise I don’t snore.”
“If you do, I’m sticking a sock in your mouth,” she says.
My heart does a touchdown victory dance. She’s staying the night. I fix her up with a brand-new toothbrush. She finds a makeup wipe in her purse to clean her face. I offer her the pick of my t-shirts to sleep in. She chooses my lucky euchre shirt.
It’s all so easy. It feels normal, as if we always have sleepovers.
I turn off the space heater and pull the comforter over us.
I’m on my back. She’s got her head on my shoulder, one arm wrapped around me, a leg between mine.
It’s natural and relaxed in a way I’ve never felt before.
We talk and murmur endearments and drift in cozy togetherness.
I shift a little. She shifts in turn. I ask if she’s comfortable.
“Yes,” she says, half asleep.
The sound lands somewhere behind my ribs. It reminds me of something. Coffee cooling on a counter while sunlight moves across a floor. A half-read book interrupted in scattered kisses. The particular peace of knowing exactly where someone is without needing to look.
Don’t, I tell myself. That isn’t something I’m supposed to want.
But I do.