Pines & Promises
Chapter fifty-four
Grant
Iwanted this weekend to mean something. To show her that even if the world outside is clawing at us with its secrets, with its damn scandals, here—at the lake house—she is safe. So I came up early, made sure everything was ready, and sent the car to get her once she finished with Marlow.
The lake house isn't a simple cabin—it’s three wings of luxury sprawled along the edge of Lake Oconee, built like a fortress dressed up in wood and stone.
One wing belongs to Will, one to Xavier, and the other—mine.
Floor-to-ceiling windows that stare out over the glassy water.
A great room with vaulted ceilings and a stone fireplace tall enough to climb.
Every detail is meant to feel both wild and indulgent, like the three of us wanted to stake our claim on the world and carve out a retreat no one could touch.
And even though it cost us an obscene amount of money to build this place, there’s a peace here that money can’t buy—a quiet that settles into your bones, that makes the world outside feel a thousand miles away.
But right now, even with the fire crackling and the candles I set out flickering low across the room, I can’t stop pacing. Can’t stop checking my phone, waiting for Marlow’s name, or hers. Something. Anything. But the screen stays dark.
When the car finally pulls up, I nearly bolt for the door. And when Eslin walks in, frantic energy buzzing off her like static, the first thing she does is grab the glass out of my hand and down it in one gulp.
“Jesus, Es,” I say, watching her chest rise and fall as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Did you tell her?”
Her eyes are wild, too bright. “It didn’t come up,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Not tonight.”
“Then I’ll call her—”
“No!” Her voice cuts sharp, desperate, and she catches my hand before I can reach for my phone.
“Please, Grant. Don’t. The secrets are already killing me, and tonight she told me something—something I can’t tell you, and if I told her about us right now, it would only make everything worse.
I just need… I just need the weekend. I’ll tell her after this weekend. ”
Her words hang heavy between us, the silence broken only by the snap of wood in the fire. Finally, she stops, her frantic movements slowing as her eyes sweep the room. The candles. The roses scattered across the table, the mantle, the window ledge.
She blinks, then looks back at me, her lips parting. “You did all this?”
I shrug, feeling foolish, then grin like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Saw it in a movie once. Thought I’d try it out.”
She’s speechless and I beam with pride. She likes it.
“It’s amazing, Grant. No one has ever done anything like this for me.”
“And to think,” I say, drawing from a memory from our time in Vegas. “The night is just beginning.”
She smiles, really smiles, then buries her head into my chest. “I can’t wait to see what else you’ve got up your sleeve, Mister.”
“Well, then I’m afraid you’re going to be a little disappointed.”
She looks up at me, frowning. “Why?”
“Because what comes next doesn’t require sleeves. Or clothes, for that matter.”
Her smile goes big. “Oh yeah?”
I lead her into the bathroom, my hand wrapped around hers, steadying her even though I’m the one who feels unsteady. It feels like it’s taken so long to get her, so long for her to accept what’s between us, that it doesn’t feel real. But it is. She is.
And she’s mine.
The candles throw soft shadows across the marble, the tub steaming, petals drifting on the surface like they’ve been waiting just for her. For a second she just stands there, staring, and I watch her eyes widen, her lips part like she’s trying to take it all in at once.
“You’re stressed, baby. Let me take care of you tonight.”
She nods but no words come out and I can tell she’s a bit overwhelmed. In the best way.
I go to remove her blouse, and I go slow. Each button undone feels like a vow I’m making, one after the other. My knuckles graze her skin, her pulse flickers under my touch, but I take my time. Because she isn’t something to rush through, she isn’t someone to consume and discard. She’s everything.
The fabric slides from her shoulders, pooling at her feet, and I trace her with my eyes like I’ve never seen her before. Like I haven’t memorized every line, every curve. I want her to know, in this moment, there is nothing missing in her. Nothing broken. She is whole. Perfect. Mine.
When her blouse falls fully open, lace framing her like some masterpiece meant only for me, I dip my head between her breasts.
My tongue drags over her skin, slow and reverent, before I kiss each soft mound through the thin white lace.
Her breath catches, her body pressing closer as though she can’t help it.
Her hands are already tugging at me, pulling the sweater over my head, her fingers brushing my chest as I shake free of it.
The moment I’m bare, I reach for her pants, slipping each button loose, savoring the way her body arches into my touch.
I kneel as she steadies herself on my shoulders, her fingers buried in my hair as I guide her out of her pants, and then her panties—lace, matching, already damp.
I don’t move. Not yet. I just stare. Jesus, she’s glistening for me, every inch of her begging me closer. My throat goes dry. My dick aches. And still, I stay there, kneeling at the altar of her body, completely undone by the beauty of her.
One slow slip of my finger through her slick heat and I’m lost. I bring it to my mouth, eyes locked on hers as I lick her taste off, groaning like it’s the first meal I’ve had in days. Her moan answers mine, soft and wrecked, and it lights me up inside.
“You taste fucking magnificent, baby. So damn good,” I murmur, already starving for more.
She tries to protest, voice breathy. “The water’s going to get cold, Grant.”
I shake my head, grinning against her skin. “It won’t. It’s programmed to stay warm.”
Her laugh falters into a moan. “Good to know.”
“Now hold on to the wall for me, baby,” I rasp, my hands gripping her thighs, spreading her open. “I need to taste you some more.”
She obeys, pressing one palm to the wall while the other grabs my shoulder. She’s offering herself up without hesitation. I loop my arms beneath her legs, locking her in place, her body mine to hold, mine to devour. Then I bury my face in her, tongue first, lapping into her like a man starved.
“Shit!” she cries out, the sound echoing off the tile, raw and unrestrained.
“Yeah, scream for me, Es,” I growl, my mouth wet with her, my tongue driving deeper, circling, fucking her until she’s trembling against me. “It’s just you and me.”
And she does—screams, moans, her body grinding against my face, her hands slamming against the wall as I take everything she gives. My tongue relentless, my fingers sliding inside her, curling just right until she breaks apart with a cry, shattering in my mouth, coating me in her release.
“Good fucking girl,” I whisper against her, lips still pressed to the sweetest part of her. “So perfect.”
Eslin
I came here dripping with panic, my nerves frayed and my chest tight from everything I’ve been holding back. But this man—this maddening, impossible, beautiful man—has managed to calm every worry and soothe every doubt with a single touch. And maybe a few flicks of his tongue.
And now, looking around at the candles, the roses, the steaming bath he drew just for me, I can hardly breathe.
No one has ever done anything like this for me before.
No one has ever thought to make me feel…
special. Worthy. My heart clenches because the truth is, I’ve never known this kind of tenderness.
Never felt it wrapped around me, burning into me.
I’m still reeling from the orgasm he’s just given me, my legs trembling, my body loose and undone, when Grant rises.
In one swift motion, his pants hit the floor, and my lips part as my eyes drink in the sight of him.
He looks toward the tub, then steps in without hesitation.
He holds out his hand for me, and I slip into the water with him, my skin instantly warmed.
As he sits back, he gestures for me to settle with my back to his chest. But instead, I grin and shake my head, turning to straddle him instead.
“Es,” he whispers, his voice strained, “I had a whole massage planned for you.”
“Well,” I say, grinning wickedly, “you shouldn’t have started with that explosive orgasm. Because now I’m eager to return the favor.”
His laugh is soft, strained, his hands already sliding over my hips as I steady myself. And that’s when I realize—I’ve never been on top like this before. Not in this angle, not in this way. My body hesitates, unsure, but he grounds me, strong hands anchoring me.
“Relax,” he murmurs, guiding himself inside me, slow and steady, his hands keeping me in place. My body resists for a moment, but then I let go, let myself open to him, and he fills me—perfectly, completely.
I exhale, melting into the stretch, into him, and soon I’m moving, rocking against him, water sloshing around us, steam curling up to blur everything but him. My hands clutch his shoulders, my head tipped back as he groans beneath me, pulling my nipples into his mouth.
Every movement, every slide of him inside me, it’s more than just physical. It’s my body yielding to him as easily as my heart already has. And I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop.
His head tips forward, his lips brushing the swell of my breast, my throat, my ear. And then I hear it, faint but clear, breaking me wide open.
“I fucking love you, Eslin Saunders. Do you hear me? I fucking love you.”