22. #2
"Your sweater," he says, thumb brushing along my jaw again, slower now. "Take it off."
There's something about the way he says it—not forceful, but not a suggestion either.
I listen.
I sat back on my heels, my legs tucked neatly beneath me. I pull it over my head, tossing it somewhere behind me without letting my gaze linger away from his for long.
When I looked back at him, he was already watching me. His hand moved slowly along himself, deliberate and unhurried, like he's not in a rush at all.
Grant leaned back against the pillows, his hand moving faster now. "When you're ready," he said, his voice a ragged whisper. "Take over."
I can't help but notice the way his focus shifts, the way he studies my reaction more than anything else. Like this isn't just about him.
His other hand slides up my side, fingers warm against my waist as they travel higher—until they reach my face.
He cups my chin, tilting it just slightly.
"You have such a pretty mouth," he murmurs, eyes on mine. "You know that?"
My breath catches a little.
I don't answer.
I don't think I can.
His thumb brushes along my bottom lip, slow, testing—like he's waiting to see what I'll do.
And when I don't pull away he presses it just slightly further. I take his thumb into my mouth sucking it deeper in. A quiet sound leaves him, low and restrained, like he didn't mean to let it slip.
I looked down at him watching him work himself. My hands reached under me pressing into my core.
"Stick your tongue out," he groaned.
I listened, obeying the action but also looking up to him. He took his bottom lip into his mouth as he swapped his thumb out my mouth and instead pushed his pointer and middle finger in deep. The action was slow but against my tongue it made me gag.
Saliva coated his fingers and dripped from my tongue onto his erection.
"Yeah," he exhales. "Just like that. One more time."
I slowly inhaled letting him repeat the action.
"You're doing so good for me."
Hearing him say that does something to me.
The way he says it. The way it sounds.
I want to hear it again and I don't know when that happened—when his voice started getting to me like this.
But I feel it now.
The way it pulls something out of me.
Makes me want to keep going.
I watch his hand work against his now glossy member. My hair falls forward slightly as I lower myself, one hand bracing against his stomach while the other moves on top of him, replacing his own hand.
My tongue circles around the tip before placing a soft kiss on it. He hissed in a breath, which made me repeat the action again. I kissed along the base, my hand wrapped around him. I run my tongue along the velvety skin before I close my lips around his length and suck, hollowing out my cheeks.
I keep taking him deeper and deeper with each go until I can feel my gag reflex kicking in. I'm teetering between wanting to please him, wanting to take him even deeper, and fighting my reflex to push him out.
I want to do it right.
Want to be good at this—good for him.
My need wins, and I bob my head faster, ignoring the tiny gags each time he hits the back of my throat.
"Keep going like that," he says, voice low, controlled. "Don't stop." he says it like it's a warning, but his words only turn me on more.
His large hands come to cradle my head, guiding me further, encouraging me on. He thrust forward slightly, intensifying the movement.
"If you don't want me to come down your throat, you need to stop now." His voice is strained like he is only holding on by a thread.
I don't want to stop. I want him to come down my throat.
Since I can't say that out loud, I give him my answer with a moan deep from my chest. The vibration sends him over the edge.
One more deep thrust, and he stills. His fingers digging into my scalp as his release coats my throat. Warmth fills me all over.
I pulled away, gasping. A quiet sound slips out of him.
"Take your pants off."
I shift slightly, my body still buzzing, still catching up, as his hands find me again—slower this time.
The room settles around us.
The tension, the edge of everything, softening into something quieter. Warmer.
I don't remember exactly when we moved.
Or when the lights dimmed.
Or when my body finally gave in to the weight of it.
Just that at some point, we ended up tangled beneath the sheets, and I stopped thinking altogether.
And sleep came easy.
"Naomi."
The sound of my name pulled me up slowly, like I was surfacing from something heavier than sleep.
I shifted instinctively, my body still warm, still wrapped around him, before my eyes opened halfway.
Grant was already awake.
Of course he was.
His hand rested at my back, moving slowly, absentminded.
"Vivian's called you twice."
That woke me up.
My eyes opened fully.
"What?"
I pushed myself up too quickly, reaching blindly for my phone on the nightstand, my heart rate jumping before I even saw the screen.
Missed calls from both her and Rodney.
Of course.
"Shit."
I slid out of bed, grabbing the first thing I could find—my sweater—pulling it over my head as I moved toward the bathroom.
Grant followed a second later, like none of this was out of the ordinary, grabbing his toothbrush and stepping in beside me.
We stood next to each other at the sink brushing our teeth.
My eyes flicked to him through the mirror.
His hand found my waist seconds later, pulling me lightly into his side.
"You sleep okay?" he asked, casual.
I nodded, mouth full.
"Yeah."
More than okay.
I rinsed, setting my toothbrush down before reaching for my phone again.
Vivian's name stared back at me.
I hesitated. "I'm not going."
The words came out before I could second guess them.
Grant's hand stilled slightly at my waist.
"Going where?"
I looked at my reflection.
At myself.
At the version of me that was supposed to get dressed, show up, smile, perform.
Then I looked at him.
"To my scheduled event today," I said. "It's just a luncheon. I'd rather not go."
There was a pause—not long, just enough for him to read me.
"Are you sure?"
This time, I didn't hesitate.
"Yeah."
And I meant it.
Not in the casual way I said it.
But in a way that settled deeper in my chest.
Because last night something shifted with me.
I had spent so much time moving around what was expected of me, adjusting myself to keep things smooth, to keep things quiet, to keep the peace.
And for what?
So I could wake up and do it again?
My grip tightened slightly around my phone.
I didn't want to do that today.
Grant studied me for a second longer, then nodded once.
"Okay."
No push.
No questions.
Then he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to my lips—soft, grounding, like it sealed the decision more than anything else.
I let out a small breath, the tension in my shoulders easing just slightly.