18. #4
My eyebrows pulled together.
"Then how—"
"She spoke to Sean," Grant continued. "She like told Sean that Rodney doesn't trust Alexander and that at during those times for security to be more discreet when personnel is following you. They didn't want you to be knowledgeable of being followed."
My chest tightened.
I wrapped my arms around myself instinctively.
"Then wouldn't someone have said something to Rodney by now?"
Grant shook his head.
"Rodney doesn't really monitor your movements like that," he said. "If he had questions about your schedule, he'd go through Sean."
He took another sip of water before continuing.
"Sean and Alexander both know me and my practice. They know the kind of discretion the people who come to see me usually need."
Grant's eyes met mine.
"Then when the location stopped being the office and started being my house... they didn't say anything."
I stared down at the counter.
"I don't understand why Reese would lie about that."
Grant shrugged lightly.
"I can't answer that."
"What about now? Do we just pray Rodney never digs too deep?"
Grant continues, "He said from now on personnel won't follow you. If I give him a heads up whenever we'll be together he can make sure of it."
Silence settled between us for a moment.
I nodded in response and eventually I looked back toward the stove.
"I should probably throw this out."
Grant glanced at the pots.
"You don't want to at least try it?"
I shook my head immediately.
"I don't hate myself that much."
Grant laughed again.
I ended up throwing the food away.
I slid the pot off the stove and dumping the contents into the trash while I pretended to not feel slightly embarrassed about it.
Grant took the pots from me and moved towards the sink turning the water on.
"Next time," he said, rinsing the pot under the water, "we'll start with something easier."
"Like what?"
"Toast."
I rolled my eyes, but the corner of my mouth lifted.
By the time the kitchen was clean again, Grant had already disappeared toward his gym area upstairs. The faint rhythm of music drifted through the house while I wandered back into the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with a book I found on the coffee table.
Something about being here made the hours move differently than they usually did in my life.
The house smelled faintly of the Chinese takeout we'd demolished earlier.
Empty cartons sat forgotten on the coffee table while Pretty Woman played quietly on the TV.
Grant had insisted we watch it after I told him it was my favorite comfort movie, even though it was somehow his first time seeing it.
My head rested against his torso, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thumping softly beneath my ear. His palm moved absent-mindedly up and down the side of my leg, warm and slow.
On the screen Julia Roberts was laughing at something Richard Gere had said.
I should've been paying attention.
Instead, every nerve in my body seemed hyperaware of Grant beside me.
The way his hand moved along my thigh. The way his chest rose and fell under my cheek.
The way heat kept pooling low in my stomach.
I shifted slightly, trying to readjust without drawing attention to myself, but his hand continued its lazy path along my leg like he hadn't noticed.
Sex should've been the last thing on my mind.
My torso was still covered in a blooming bruise—dark purples and fading blues that spread along my ribs. Smaller bruises dotted my arms and legs. Ligature marks still wrapped faintly around both my wrists and ankles.
My body still looked like a map of something ugly.
I pushed the thought away.
When the movie finally ended, the credits rolling quietly across the screen, I turned so the back of my head rested on Grant's lap instead. My knees bent, feet tucked against the couch cushion.
His arm draped loosely across my shoulders now, his hand resting at the center of my waist.
"I've heard about that movie for years," Grant said after a moment. "Never actually watched it. It's pretty good."
I tilted my head back slightly to look up at him.
"I think I saw it for the first time when I was like... eight," I said. "Which was probably too young, but whatever. I love it."
Grant hummed.
His fingers started tracing small circles against the center of my waist without him even seeming to realize he was doing it.
Each slow movement of his hand shifted his arm just enough for the fabric of his shirt to drag lightly over my nipple, sending a quiet spark through me.
My breath caught.
The contact was subtle, almost accidental, but my body reacted instantly.
I bit my lip hard to stop the sound threatening to escape me.
After a moment I sat up quickly, gently moving his arm away so I could tuck my legs beneath me.
Grant's eyebrows pulled together.
"You okay?"
I nodded.
"You sure?"
I nodded again.
His gaze softened.
"You look cute when you're flustered," he murmured.
Before I could respond, he reached for me, his hand sliding lightly along my jaw as he pulled me into a kiss.
It started slow—careful, almost hesitant—like he was giving me space to pull away if I needed to.
I didn't.
The second our lips touched, something in my chest loosened, like a knot I hadn't realized I'd been holding finally slipping free.
I leaned into him, closing the space between us, my hand pressing lightly against his shoulder as the kiss deepened. I shifted without thinking, my leg sliding over his lap until I was halfway across him, the position settling before I even realized what I'd done.
I needed more.
My tongue grazed his bottom lip, and he reacted instantly, pulling me closer as the kiss deepened.
The change was immediate—slower, heavier, like we'd crossed into something we couldn't undo.
I followed his pace without thinking, my hand tightening against him as I leaned in, chasing the warmth of it.
But even that didn't feel like enough.
Grant's hands found my hips immediately, steady and warm, like he needed something to ground himself.
His mouth moving more deliberately against mine, his breath mixing with mine, the quiet sound of it filling the space between us.
His fingers tightened slightly at my hips as he guided the movement, slow and controlled, rocking me back and forth against him in a way that made my breath catch mid-kiss.
I didn't pull away.
Didn't want to.
A soft sound escaped me before I could stop it.
Grant pulled back just enough to look at me, his voice low.
"That feel good?"
I nodded quickly, breath uneven.
The kiss resumed, heavier now, messier, like neither of us wanted to pull away but we both knew we probably should.
Eventually Grant forced himself back, his forehead resting against mine.
The look in his eyes had changed.
Darker now.
Charged.
My body reacted before I could think about it.
Another soft sound slipped out of me—quiet, unsteady—like it had been pulled from somewhere deeper than I meant to let him hear.
My fingers tightened instinctively against his shoulders, holding on without really meaning to, like I needed something solid to ground me.
His hands didn't stop.
If anything, they slowed—just enough to make me more aware of every small movement, every shift in pressure, every second of it.
My breath caught again, sharper this time.
"Grant—" I started, but whatever I meant to say got lost somewhere between the way my body felt and the way he was looking at me.
Because he was watching me.
Focused.
Like every reaction I gave him mattered.
Like he was paying attention.
That alone sent another wave through me, my grip tightening as my head tipped forward slightly, my forehead brushing his.
I wasn't used to this.
Not like this.
Not feeling this seen.
Another quiet sound slipped out of me before I could stop it, my body shifting against his without permission, chasing something I couldn't quite name yet.
His fingers slid down toward the waistband of my sweatpants.
"Can I take these off?" he asked quietly.
I nodded, lifting my hips slightly to help him.
But then I hesitated and sat back down again.
"Wait."
Grant's eyes immediately found mine.
"What's wrong?"
My fingers twisted nervously in the fabric of his shirt.
"I still have bruises," I said softly. "I know my body probably doesn't look very—"
He cut me off with a kiss.
A firm one.
"Don't do that," he murmured against my lips.
His hands moved again, gently pulling the sweatpants down this time.
I let him.
When the fabric slid away completely, cool air brushed across my skin.
I hadn't been wearing underwear.
For a moment I just sat there, suddenly very aware of myself.
Grant's eyes lifted to mine.
Something in his expression softened.
"Hey," he said quietly.
I swallowed.
Heat crept up my neck under his gaze, sudden and overwhelming, like there was nowhere to hide.
I almost looked away.
But I didn't.
Because there was nothing in his expression that made me feel exposed in a bad way—
Just soft.
Like he was taking me in exactly as I was.
"I'm okay," I whispered.
He pulled me down into another kiss before shifting our positions, guiding me carefully onto my back against the couch cushions. He pulls away from the kiss to pull the shirt off of me tossing it behind the couch.
His eyes take in my body as his palms run over my waist. His fingers grazed over my exposed chest.
He leaned back down, his mouth finding my neck, and a shaky moan slipped out before I could stop it.
My fingers slipped beneath his shirt, pressing against the warmth of his hard skin as his lips moved slowly against my neck. His hand followed, returning to my chest, his touch firmer this time as his fingers worked over a nipple, pulling another unsteady breath from me.
His hands leave my chest moving slowly down to my inner thighs, like he was giving me time to stop him if I wanted to.
I didn't.
My breath grew uneven instead, my body tensing for a second before slowly melting into the feeling.