Chapter 61
PHISH FOOD AND CHILL
GREY
Scout walks delicately across my rumpled bed, her eyes on one the pint of ice cream in Molly's hand.
Aptly enough, it's Ben & Jerry's Phish Food, sprinkled with little chocolate fish.
I watch Molly watch Scout, the two of us leaning against the headboard. The second we ordered the ice cream, we changed into sweats and tees. She's wearing little shorts and one of my UT shirts, and the way it makes me lose my mind is maybe one of my favorite tricks of hers.
Scout lifts her head. Looks inside. Licks her lips, or whatever cats have.
Molly laughs, tipping it. Scouts ears fold back, and she slips her head inside.
"Gross," I say on a laugh before sticking another spoon of Chunky Monkey in my mouth.
"It's almost gone," she assures me. "I was done with it. Let the kitty have her fun."
It's quiet now, calm, the color back in her cheeks and a smile on her lips. The normalcy of the moment is like a balm. She nudges the cat out of the pint and puts the lid on, reaching for the chocolate fudge brownie, which I already ate half of. She sits back with a sigh. Scout meows at her.
"I've created a monster," she says, licking her spoon clean before digging in, her feet sliding toward mine to shift and tangle in each other like they have been. She looks around. "Twelve pints."
"I regret nothing." I take another bite.
"We can't eat twelve pints."
"Not with that attitude."
She laughs--god, that sound. My heart sings for more. "You sound like me."
"Guess you're rubbing off on me."
She nudges my foot with hers. "I'm gonna turn you into a big softie."
"Hate to tell you this, but I already am where you're concerned, peaches."
Another laugh, this one sounding funny as she tries to keep the ice cream in her mouth. Her toes are cold. I love it. I sandwich one of her feet between mine.
"Your feet are freezing."
"Why are yours so hot?"
I shrug. "All the better to keep yours warm with, my dear."
Her spoon hovers over her pint, her face amused. "Did you just big bad wolf me?"
"Maybe," I say with my mouth full. "Why, you want me to? I'll big bad wolf the fuck outta you, girl."
"Ooh, wolf daddy come to play?" she says like I'm kidding.
I still, pinning her with a look that makes her flush. One of my brows arches.
"Touché," she says, takes a bite, saying, "Hey!
" when I take her pint and set both of them on my nightstand.
And then I scoot closer, settle in next to her, head propped on my hand, the other arm hooked around her waist. She's still sitting--I down up at her as she runs her fingers through my hair. "Hey."
"Hey," I echo.
"Thank you."
"For what? Today? I already told you I'm here for it."
"Not just that." She pauses, watching her fingers slide through my hair, then again, her voice soft.
"You changed everything, Grey. My whole life used to fit in this tiny little box my parents built.
I was so small, following all the rules, being good and safe and quiet.
Twenty-four, and I'd never really lived.
And I didn't even question it. But you…you showed me I could be bigger than that.
You taught me to be big and brave, to take what I want, to break the rules when they don't fit anymore.
And now I can't imagine going back to who I was before. I don't want to. Because of you."
For a moment, I can't speak. I just look at her, drink her in. Pull her closer.
"Molly, I don't deserve any credit for what you already are--you are the biggest, brightest, bravest thing in every room you walk into.
So open, so good. Me? Before you, I was just going through the motions.
Keeping my head down. But you made me look up, and when I did, there you were.
You looked at me like I was someone worth knowing.
Worth loving. And you made me believe it.
You made me want to be better. To fight for something.
To build something that matters. You think you were small?
Molly, you are the biggest thing that's ever happened to me.
You didn't just change my life. You gave me one worth living. "
A tear spills from the corner of one eye, and I brush it away.
"Don't cry," I whisper.
"I can't help it. I love you."
I can't speak. So I kiss her instead, shift her body with a gentle pull until she's laying half under me. Her lips are sweet and perfect--I taste them until I find my voice. I pull back, look at her. Smile. She smiles back.
"I love you too."
She laughs softly as I pepper kisses on her nose, her cheeks, her lips again.
"You taste like chocolate," I note.
"You taste like banana, which is an abomination."
"You take that back," I warn, tickling her.
"Never."
I reach for my pint. "I'm gonna make you eat those words, peaches."
She squeals, giggling as I pin her, holding the spoon over her mouth with a mock threatening look on my face.
"Take it back."
She squirms and laughs. "You can't make me!"
"Wanna bet?" I dab the spoon on her nose, and she shrieks, trying to wriggle free.
Scout abandons ship, jumping off the bed.
"Scout, help me!" Molly laughs. "Traitor!"
Smirking, I lower the spoon, dragging it down her neck.
She gasps from the cold, still laughing…all the way up to the moment that I drag my tongue up the length of it, licking her clean. The breathy sound she makes goes straight to my dick.
"You taste good," I murmur.
"Okay, maybe it's not so bad," she murmurs back. "Do it again. Maybe I'll come around."
The collar of her shirt is low, exposing the hollow under her throat.
I drizzle what's left in the spoon in the dip.
"Oh, you'll come, peaches. Around…on…in…
" I extend my tongue, dragging it into the hollow, sucking and laving so I don't miss a drop.
She shivers, squirming beneath me, half laughing, half moaning. That sound. I want it on repeat.
"No, you're right," she breathes as I lick her collarbone. "I like it."
My face is buried in her neck, my free hand cupping the back of her head as the other blindly puts the spoon on her nightstand, but it falls right off and hits the ground with a clack.
She shifts, but I pin her harder. "The spoon…"
"Fuck the spoon," I say between kisses up her jaw until I find her lips.
The kiss is soft, sweet, tender.
Until it's not.
It shifts without warning--one second I'm savoring her, the next I'm claiming her mouth like I've got every right to it.
Like I'll die if I don't taste every inch of her.
She opens for me immediately, tongue meeting mine in a slick slide that makes my whole body tighten.
She tastes like chocolate and sweetness and her and I can't get enough.
My hand slides from the back of her head to cup her jaw, angling it so I can take her deeper, take more.
She moans into my mouth and the sound vibrates through my chest and down my spine. .
Her hands are in my hair, nails scraping my scalp, pulling me closer like she doesn't want an inch of space between us.
I shift, pressing my weight into her and her legs fall open, an invitation I'm helpless to refuse.
When I settle between her thighs, she gasps, hips rolling up to meet mine.
The friction is maddening. I'm hard where she's soft, every little move sending sparks shooting up my spine.
I break the kiss to catch my breath, but she chases my mouth, pulling me back down.
"Don't stop," she breathes against my lips. "Don't you dare stop."
So I don't.
I kiss her like I'm trying to memorize the shape of her mouth, the taste of her tongue, the way she whimpers when I bite her bottom lip.
My hand slides down her side, feeling every curve, every bit of her I can reach, and she arches into my touch, restless, needy, making these little sounds in the back of her throat that are going to kill me.
When I finally pull back, we're both panting, her lips swollen and flushed, eyes dark with want.
"Grey," she whispers, my name a plea.
"I know, baby," I rasp, my voice wrecked. "I know."
I take her hand on my chest to kiss her palm, but my fingers brush the bandages there. I freeze. Everything goes cold, then hot, fury and tenderness clashing in my chest. I take it carefully, press my lips to the gauze.
Someone tied her. Hurt her. Took her from me.
My throat's too tight.
"Never again," I promise her, kissing her palm like I intended, placing it on my jaw.
And then I kiss her again, softer this time, like I could erase every bad thing that's happened to her with my lips that loves her so.
My hand skims down her ribs to her hips, back up to cup her breast, then squeeze it, then knead it greedily. But I want her skin.
I grip the hem of her shirt--my shirt--and pull, breaking the kiss when she rises and pulls it off herself, then takes off her glasses.
She's beautiful, flushed and waiting, and mine.
Bruises are forming on her ribs, her shoulders.
My jaw clenches. I lean down, press my lips to each one, gentle, worshipful.
Her breasts are bare and perfect, nipples tight, and I palm one, feel the weight and the softness.
My thumb circles her nipple, watching it tighten under my touch.
She was made for my hands.
I lean down, take her nipple in my mouth, and the sound she makes is worth dying for. I suck slow, swirl my tongue around the peak, feeling it tighten against my lips. Her hands fly to my hair, gripping hard, holding me to her like she's afraid I'll stop.
I won't. I couldn't.
I let go wetly, noisily, her nipple glistening. I move to the other. This one I bite, gently at first. Testing. But she arches into it, crying out. The damp heat of her soaks through her shorts, and I groan against her skin, the scent of her arousal flooding my senses.