Chapter 34 Big Time
BIG TIME
MOLLY
The sun has barely risen, but here I am in heaven, my second orgasm of the day tearing through me like wildfire.
I'm a writhing, gasping, clutching thing, my hands scrabbling in the sheets, and Grey draws my pleasure out, keeps it going with his wicked mouth latched to me and his hands clamped at the very tops of my thighs, holding me still. Or trying to, at least.
Only when I'm boneless and breathless does he finally let me go, kissing up my body with smirking lips, collapsing next to me.
He pulls me into his arms, and then we're just a panting tangle of limbs, sleepy and sated.
He woke me with roaming hands, and after my first orgasm, I tried my new trick again and went down on him.
I found I very much enjoyed his dick in my face, I guess as much as he enjoyed my pussy in his, because as soon as he came, he dove in, tongue first.
"Morning," I say, half laughing.
He chuckles, kisses my temple. "Couldn't help myself."
"I'm not mad about it."
"Good, because I plan on waking you up like that every morning."
My heart flutters. Every morning. That means every night. I want that. I want it so bad.
I nestle into his chest. Sunlight is beginning to stream through the windows, birds singing outside, calm and serene, a hard contrast to the chaos of the storm last night.
It was intense. The storm, his confession, reconnecting. We fell together with a heavy sense of rightness, spending all night touching each other. But it was more than sex, deeper than that. Just…more. Everything was amplified.
After a week without him, I can barely believe I'm here in his bed, never mind feeling like I do now that the pretense of casual is gone. He feels it too, I hear it in every kiss, every touch.
He sighs heavily, whispers so soft I can barely hear him, lips in my hair, "God, I missed you."
A hot, happy tingle dances down my spine. "I missed you too."
"I'm not going through that again. We're not doing that again."
"Good."
He pulls back so he can look down at me, his face serious and intense as he cups my face. "I mean it. Tonight, everybody's going to the Horseshoe, and so are we. Together. No more hiding."
My heart trips into my sternum. "No more hiding?" I echo.
"I want you. I want to be with you."
"Really?" I breathe.
"More than I've wanted anything. Let me handle the shit talkers and haters. Somebody says something to you, you tell me. I'll take care of it. I told you I needed time to think, and I did. And I decided I don't fucking care. Nothing else matters if I can't have you."
I'm so overwhelmed that I don't know what to say as he thumbs my chin. So I whisper, "Kiss me," melting into him when he does. My heart shoots confetti cannons with every heartbeat. And I pour my yeses into that kiss, all my hopes and dreams and joy.
Here in his arms, I know everything will be okay. Never will I be so safe as I am when I'm with him. And now, I get to have him, for real. All the time.
Mine, mine, mine, mine, my greedy heart murmurs.
When he breaks the kiss, I full-on pout like a brat. Chuckling, he thumbs my protruding bottom lip.
"Greedy."
"Your fault," I note.
"We need to go look at the house," he says, but he's staring at my lips. His hand moves to my breast and squeezes.
I make a needy noise when he rolls my nipple, my hips bucking into him. "Then you better cut that out."
"Fine. But later, I'm gonna fuck you up, peaches."
I know he means it too. A shiver works through me.
He kisses me hard but brief, then rolls away from me and climbs out of bed. "I'll make something to eat. Take anything you want for clothes--most everything's in the dresser."
I haven't moved, too busy watching him pull on fresh joggers, no underwear.
They're kinda tight, outlining his half-hard cock, and I hope he goes commando all day.
His hands freeze on the drawstring when he sees me watching him.
The sheets are pooled around my waist, my chest bare, hand resting on my stomach.
I must look like I'm starving, I'm sure, and not for breakfast. I mean, not unless breakfast is kielbasa a'la Greyson Mchotbooty.
Serve it with a side of fertilized eggs and my buttered up, toasted heart.
He shakes his head at me. "Put something on before I have to fuck you again."
"Well, now I'm definitely not gonna mind you."
He laughs--I note that his cock is now fully erect and trying to fight its way out of his joggers.
"You're gonna kill me, peaches." He leans down to kiss me sweetly on his way out, giving one of my breasts a parting fondle for good measure.
I sigh when he's gone--I really thought I might've had him.
I don't want to leave bed or deal with the house or life or anything.
What finally motivates me is the thought of picking out something of his to wear.
My heart flippy flops as I put on my glasses and climb out of bed, then pad to his dresser, opening drawers.
One is just socks. Seriously, there are like a hundred pairs of socks, all of them paired up in balls like a psycho.
Another small one is just underwear. They're folded. Maybe he's a serial killer.
I shrug. Honestly, if he fucks me for real first, I'll die happy. If he ever says he loves me, I'll have done it all. Peaked right then and there. I'd probably die anyway. He can chop me into bits and bury me under the house after that.
I grab a pair of his black boxer briefs and step into them, flipping the band a couple of times, moving on to the next drawer, which is filled with T-shirts.
When I say filled, I don't mean like there are a lot.
I mean not only are they folded, but they're stacked vertically so they can be flipped through like a filing cabinet.
There have to be fifty tees in here. I open the drawer next to it to find another fifty.
Flabbergasted, I start to go through them and quickly realize something that makes my heart ache.
He must have saved every tee that meant anything to him since he was a teenager.
Or at least in college, since they're all extra-larges.
Or he was a huge teen. God, I bet he was so hot.
Every girl in town must have wanted to get with him.
I wonder if he had a serious girlfriend?
I wonder what he wanted, back then? What he thought his life would be?
I wonder how what he has measures up?
There are shirts from University of Tennessee, from Roseville high.
Shirts dating back to the late nineties, championship baseball, town events.
My hand pauses over a red one, and I pull it out, opening it up.
The fabric is thick and soft, and at the neck are two little buttons like a Henley.
The front says Renegades in a swoopy baseball font, and the back says COACH across the shoulders with the number seven real big beneath it.
As I pull it on, I draw a long breath, inhaling that latent scent of him until I'm dizzy.
Then, I catch the smell of coffee and float in the direction of the kitchen.
He's standing at the stove, shirtless, with that ass in those joggers, hair all mussed and jaw all chiseled, looking like a dream. I'm on my way to wrap my arms around his waist, just a few feet away.
"Coffee's about ready if you--" When he sees me, he stops dead, the pan in front of him sizzling.
I freeze. Watch him look down my body with an unreadable expression. I look down. Maybe I wasn't supposed to wear this one--
He grabs me around the waist and kisses me, and so hard, so suddenly, I suck in a breath in surprise. My arms wind around his neck, then slide down so I can hold his face, his bearded jaw in my palms. When he breaks the kiss, the light shines in sideways, hitting his pale irises, illuminating them.
"Is it okay that I picked this one?" I asked, still not totally sure.
"It's perfect. Keep it," he rasps, nipping my lips, kissing me hard once more before letting me go.
I'm flushed and smiling as I pour us coffee, his black, mine with a little sugar. I set it next to him on the counter and lean my back against it so I can watch him.
"Frying eggs shirtless?" I note. "This might be the most reckless thing I've ever seen you do."
He laughs. "You're the most reckless thing I've ever done."
I beam into my coffee cup as I take a sip. "Technically," I start, "you haven't done me."
His eyes snap to mine. "Don't worry, peaches--the second you're ready, I'll rectify that."
My eyes narrow as I play like I'm sizing him up. "The second I'm ready? What if I said I was ready right now?"
Grey's fist tightens around the spatula in his hand, and he points it at me. "The urge to pop your ass with this right now is so strong right now."
"Mhmm. That's what I thought. You'd try and stop me. Talk me out of it."
At that, he shifts, folding his arms and leaning his hip on the counter close enough that I have to tip my chin to see him. The spatula is still in his fist, pointed at the ceiling.
"I'm gonna tell you this one more time, Molly--the second you're ready, I won't fight you.
I won't argue. You know what you want. You know what's at stake.
You don't need me or anybody to tell you what to do.
I trust you. Just promise me you'll always talk to me, tell me.
Stop me or stop yourself. Rain check. Whatever. "
"I promise."
"Good. Then I'll fuck you whenever you want."
He says it so casually, turning back to the eggs like he didn't just say he was gonna dick me down whenever I ask.
The words are on my tongue, partly just to see what he'll do. Partly because I just splooshed his Jockeys. Partly because the idea doesn't scare me.
Am I terrified of what happens when he tries to put all of that in me? Obviously. But I'm ready to get past the scary part and into the part where we just get to fuck. And knowing he's not going to stop me? That he's through fighting this?
All I have to do is say the word, and he will rail me into next week.
It feels like a grenade in my hand. A hot, glittery, sexy, baby oiled pussy grenade. I want to pull the pin so bad I can barely see straight.
He stirs the eggs with one hand, picking up his coffee with the other. I watch his muscles shift, his smooth skin, the dusting of hair on his muscular forearms.
"So today," he starts like we weren't just talking about what we were just talking about, "I figure we need to get over there and see what we're dealing with.
Probably have you change into pants, at least. I mean, not that I give a fuck if you walk through town in my underwear and shirt with no bra on, but I don't want to have to send somebody to the hospital for looking. "
I chuckle at the thought. He keeps talking.
"We've gotta get some supplies though. I'm at least going to need some plywood so we can board up the windows.
I'll bring my chainsaw, wheelbarrow. We can make a burn pile for whatever we can't split for firewood.
I think I already have measurements for the windows, but I want to double check them.
We should be able to order them from Hal.
Oh, I should bring my big ladder too so I can check the roof.
There's definitely damage to the front of the house, the soffits for sure… "
He's still talking, but my worry has risen to such a volume that I can't hear him anymore. The list is long. Very long. And mostly urgent. Which means immediate expenses. Requiring funds I don't have.
"Hey," he says gently, plating our eggs, reaching for our toast. "You okay?"
"How long do you think repairs will take?"
"Depends on the damage. Could be a couple days, could be a couple weeks."
I hesitate.
Grey steps into me, brushes my hair from my face. "What's the matter?"
"I'm just worried about how much it's going to cost."
"Stop," he says softly. "We'll figure it out."
"But I can't afford--"
"Insurance should cover at least some of it.”
“But my deductible—”
“Don't worry about that."
"What do you mean, don't worry about it--"
"Let me help you. Please."
My brow is still furrowed, my worry heavy.
"Let me take care of you, Molly. I just want to take care of you."
He says it with such care, almost a plea.
"It's just…" I sigh, feeling small. "When I came here, it was because I wanted to make my own decision, be independent, take care of things on my own.
And I know--" I continue when he opens his mouth to argue--"that this is how you show you care, by helping.
I have reaped many, many benefits from your giving spirit," I tease.
"But I hate needing help. I wish I could do it on my own.
Sometimes I don't want to be taken care of, even though I love when you take care of me.
I don't know, it doesn't make any sense. "
"It makes sense," he says quietly.
"It's different though, when you help me. When my parents help, they treat me like a child. You just make me feel taken care of, not taken over."
He wraps an arm around me, peering down into my face, stroking my cheek.
"I don't want you to feel like I'm taking something away from you.
It's just that I don't see it that way." He holds my gaze, serious.
"You came here to do things on your own.
I get that. But you're not on your own anymore.
When I look at that house, I don't see your problem.
I see ours. They're not just yours to carry, not when I'm standing right here. "
I soften. "Oh."
He shakes his head. "But I understand. If you want, we could maybe come up with some sort of…payment plan or something--" I can immediately tell he hates the idea, so I interrupt.
"Grey, that is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, and you told me I had a pretty pussy just this morning."
A surprised laugh shoots out of him. "Jesus, peaches." He presses a brief kiss to my lips and grabs our plates.
I follow him to the table, feeling lighter already. "So, you gonna teach me how to use the chainsaw?"
And he laughs. "Only if you want to give me a heart attack."
"Fine. But will you chop wood? With an axe? Shirtless?"
He winks at me over his shoulder. "Anything you want, baby."
I know he means that.
I only hope it's not me who ends up taking advantage of him this time.