Red Dresses & Reckonings
Chapter forty-four
Grant
The gala is a blur behind me—the applause, the cheers, the weight of twenty-five thousand dollars for a date I don’t give a damn about. None of it matters. Not with Eslin disappearing the way she did. Not with the look on her face when Malina’s bid won.
I find her in the dim silence of an unused ballroom where the chairs are stacked and silver trays wait for tomorrow’s event. The lights are low, shadows stretching long across the floor, but I can hear her before I see her. Quiet, ragged cries that rip me open.
“Go away, Grant.”
Her voice cracks, but it still slices straight through me.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I can always tell it’s you,” she whispers, not turning. “I can always feel you.”
Then why do you keep running from me? The words stay stuck in my throat, pounding at my ribs, demanding to be free.
Instead, I move closer, my steps quiet across the carpet until I’m behind her. She’s braced against a table, shoulders trembling, her back to me like she can’t bear to face me.
“You saw the look in Marlow’s eyes,” she finally says, voice breaking. “She wants you happy. She wants you with Malina.”
I reach out, unable to stop myself, and let my hand rest on her shoulder. Just that little bit of contact, grounding us both. Connecting us.
“And I want you,” I say, my voice rough with everything I’ve held back for too damn long. “Fuck, Eslin. How many times do we have to do this dance?”
She turns, slow, like the weight of it might crush her. Her eyes are wet, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know,” she breathes. “And I have no right to say this. No right to demand this, but Grant—”
A single tear slips free, sliding down her face. “Not her.”
My chest caves at the sound of it. “What are you asking me, Es? What are you saying?”
She shakes her head, fiercely this time, like she’s already bracing for the war she just started. “She can’t have you. If you got to make that demand of me with Jones, then I get to make this demand of you when it comes to her. Not Malina.”
I reach for her mask, peel it away, and then do the same with mine until there’s nothing left between us. No disguises. No barriers. Just her and me, bare in every way that matters right now.
“Say it, Eslin,” I growl, my hands tight at her jaw. “Say it to me now so we can stop playing these fucking games.”
Her breath trembles against my mouth then I hear a faint whisper escape her when she says, “Fuck it. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for Marlow to get on her feet and then we can tell her. Everything.”
I kiss her, soft but claiming, a brand she can’t shake. “Say it again.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll wait for you.”
I tug her lower lip between my teeth, just enough to make her gasp. “One more time. Tell me. Promise me.”
Her eyes lock on mine, fierce through her tears. “I’ll wait for you, Grant.”
That’s all it takes. The words imprint themselves into me. A vow. A tether. The only thing I’ve been needing, starving for, since the moment she crashed into my life.
I cup her face in both palms, my thumbs brushing dampness away. I kiss her tear first, tasting the salt of her hurt.
Then her mouth. Soft, like she might break if I’m not careful.
Her arms slide beneath my coat, curling tight around me. I feel her nails drag down my back through my shirt, sharp and possessive. It’s not pain—it’s a claim.
And something in me breaks wide open.
I lift her, her gasp hot against my throat, and carry her deeper into the shadows where no one will dare interrupt. Where I can finally—finally—take what I’ve been starving for.
“Grant—what if—”
“Months, Eslin. Months I’ve been waiting for permission to taste you like this.” My voice is rough, cracking with restraint I’ve lost all hold of. “I’m not waiting another second.”
Each step I take, I hike her dress higher, until her thighs bare themselves to me and she hooks her legs around my waist.
And then I feel it. The slip of lace. A damn thong.
My groan shakes the walls.
“Does anyone touch you like this?” My hand slides between us, finding her already wet, slick and desperate.
“Never. No one but you,” she whispers, voice breaking just as my fingers part her heat.
I reach a stack of chairs shoved against the wall and set her on top, her body aligning with me at the perfect height. I drag her closer until she has no choice but to open for me.
“Spread your legs, Eslin.” It’s a growl, a command. This beautiful woman obeys.
“Such a pretty pussy,” I rasp, drinking in the sight of her glistening for me.
She lets out a shaky laugh. “Are you going to stare at it all night?”
“I’d love to,” I murmur, lowering myself, hunger sharp in every word. “But I’m a starving man, Eslin Saunders. And I was always taught never to play with my food.”
“Especially while it’s still warm,” she teases, breathless.
I don’t give her a chance to say another word.
I grip her thighs, drag her to the edge, and bury my mouth in her soaked center.
Her cry shatters the silence. She locks her legs around my neck, threading her fingers through my hair, rocking against me like I exist only for this—only for her.
And I do.
Her legs clamp around me tighter, her hips rocking into my mouth like she’s desperate to fuse herself to me. I let her lead, let her grind, let her ride my tongue as if she’s in control—until I decide she’s not.
I pin her hips down, flatten my tongue against her, and lap up every drop, every cry, every tremor that runs through her body. She’s gasping, half-pleading, half-cursing my name, and it only fuels me more.
“Grant—oh fuck—” Her voice cracks, her thighs trembling.
I slide two fingers inside her as I suck her clit hard, curling into that spot I know will undo her. She bows forward, grabbing the back of the chair for balance, and then it happens—her body arches, her cry tears through the dark, and she shatters against my mouth.
I don’t let up until she slumps, panting, her legs falling open, spent.
But I’m not done. Not even close.
I rise, capturing her mouth in a deep kiss, letting her taste everything that’s been building between us.
Without breaking away, I lift her off the stack of chairs and turn her toward the table piled high with catering trays.
She steadies herself against the edge, still breathless, her dress hitched up around her hips.
“Grant—” she starts, breathless, but I’m already behind her, already dragging my zipper down.
“Bend over,” I growl, untamed, dripping with everything I’ve held back from this woman.
She obeys without a flicker of hesitation, folding forward over the table, her back arching in a way that almost undoes me on the spot. The sight of her offering herself to me like that burns itself into me.
I lean down, teeth grazing her shoulder before biting, then soothing the mark with my tongue. My hands find her breasts, molding them, her peaked nipples telling me she’s nowhere near finished with me, either.
My grip slides down to her hips, holding her steady as I push into her with one deep, unrelenting thrust. The air shatters with the sound of my curse—raw, jagged—because nothing has ever felt like this. Nothing but her.
She gasps, her fingers clawing at the table as I slam into her again—harder, deeper.
“Fuck, Eslin,” I grit out, leaning over her, pressing her down as I move inside her with relentless need.
My breath is hot against her ear. “I want to be gentle. I swear I’ll make love to you later—slow, soft, like you’re lying on a bed of roses.
I’ll give you that. But right now?” My thrusts grow sharper, rougher.
“Right now this is mine. This is for every month I couldn’t touch you.
Every night I spent awake, knowing you were with that fucking wanker. Knowing you belong to me.”
“Shit! Grant!” she cries out, her body shaking beneath me.
“I want to be gentle, baby.” I drag my teeth along her neck, groaning as her body tightens around me. “But you feel too good. Too fucking good.”
She pushes back against me, meeting every thrust, her whimpers mixing with my groans, the sound of us filling the empty ballroom.
“You’re mine,” I growl into her ear, pounding into her, sweat beading at my temple. “Say it.”
Her voice cracks on a moan, broken but certain all at once. “Yours, Grant. I’m yours.”
The words gut me and I swear they lodge somewhere deeper than bone. For the first time in months, the war inside me goes quiet. No questions. No doubts. Just her.
And hearing that—here, now, in this dark room that smells like wine and wax and everything we shouldn’t be—I believe her.
I still, burying myself deep as I can go, and let go. Emptying everything I’ve held back, pouring every ounce of rage, longing, and love I’ve carried into her. Giving all of me to this beautifully forbidden woman who undoes me without even trying.
I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know how this will end, or what storms are waiting for us on the other side of this night. But I do know one thing with a clarity that cuts through every doubt—I love this woman.
As she straightens, her arm curling around my neck, pulling me close like she’s afraid to let go, I make a silent vow. To protect her. To protect this. To guard whatever fragile, furious, beautiful thing we’ve built with everything I have left to give.
She’s mine now.
She’s home.