Chapter 12
TWELVE
Grant
Grant had been awake since five.
He'd tried to sleep. Lasted maybe three hours before giving up and heading out to the barn with a thermos of coffee and his tools, trying to work off the restless energy thrumming through him.
Riley was coming at eight. For coffee. That's what they'd agreed on last night after the power outage had interrupted everything.
Now it was seven-fifty, and Grant had accomplished exactly nothing. He'd stared at the same piece of lumber for twenty minutes, replayed last night in the loft on an endless loop, and checked his phone approximately forty times.
She pulled into the driveway at seven fifty-eight.
Grant climbed down from the loft, brushing sawdust off his jeans, and met her at the barn door.
Riley looked windblown and beautiful—jeans, oversized sweater, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She was holding two travel mugs.
"Hey," she said. "I brought coffee. I know you said you'd have some, but I thought—" She stopped, her eyes dropping to the thermos sitting on his workbench. "Oh. You already made some."
"I did."
"So now we have four cups of coffee between us."
"Looks like it."
They stood there in the cold morning air, neither quite sure what to say. The barn was warmer—the space heater already running, morning light filtering through the high windows.
"Come inside," Grant said finally. "It's freezing."
Riley stepped past him into the barn, and Grant closed the door behind them, suddenly aware of how alone they were. Thomas had left for a supply run an hour ago. Wouldn't be back until afternoon.
"So," Riley said, setting her coffee mugs on the workbench. "About last night—"
Grant took the mug from her hands and set it down next to the others.
"Grant, what are you—"
He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
Not gentle. Not tentative. A claiming, desperate, I'm done pretending to be patient kiss that made his point crystal clear.
Riley froze for half a second, then made a small sound against his mouth and kissed him back with the same desperate want. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer.
All that careful restraint from last night? Gone.
All the interruptions, all the almost-moments, all the built-up tension—it exploded between them like a lit match to kindling.
Grant backed her against the workbench, his hands sliding into her hair, and Riley's fingers found the hem of his shirt, sliding under, finding skin.
"Upstairs," she gasped between kisses.
"Yeah."
They made it up the ladder in record time, hands everywhere, both grinning like idiots despite the desperation thrumming between them.
He followed, his heart pounding, and found her already on the couch, pulling him down toward her.
"Come here," she said, breathless and wanting.
Grant went.
Clothes disappeared in a blur—Riley's sweater yanked over her head, his shirt hitting the floor, jeans shoved down and kicked aside with zero patience or finesse. This wasn't careful. This wasn't tender. This was two people who'd been denied too many times finally getting what they needed.
Riley pulled him down onto the couch, and Grant's hands were everywhere—her hips, her thighs, sliding up her sides. She arched into his touch, making sounds that went straight to his head.
"God, I want you," she breathed.
"You have me."
Riley's nails dragged down his back, hard enough to sting. "Then stop talking."
Grant captured her mouth in a kiss that was all teeth and tongue and desperation. Riley bit his bottom lip, and he groaned, his hips pressing against hers.
"Are you sure?" he managed, even though it nearly killed him to ask.
"Yes." Her hands slid down his stomach. "You?"
"God, yes."
"Then stop asking questions and—"
Riley's words cut off as Grant's mouth found her neck, biting down gently on the sensitive spot below her ear. She gasped, her back arching off the couch.
"There?" Grant murmured against her skin.
"Yes—don't stop—"
He didn't. His mouth traced down her throat, her collarbone, finding every spot that made her breath hitch and her fingers tighten in his hair. Riley was writhing beneath him now, all that careful control from before completely gone.
"Grant—please—"
"Please what?"
"You know what."
"Say it."
Riley's eyes blazed. "I need you. Now."
Grant reached for his wallet. Riley helped, her fingers impatient as they got the condom open and on, and then she was guiding him, pulling him closer.
"Don't be gentle," she said, her voice rough.
"Riley—"
"I mean it. I don't want gentle right now."
Grant's control snapped.
He surged into her in one hard thrust, and Riley cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. They both went still for a heartbeat, adjusting, and then Riley's hips rolled and Grant lost whatever restraint he'd been clinging to.
This wasn't slow. This wasn't sweet. This was raw and desperate and years of want compressed into burning need.
Grant's hands gripped her hips, pulling her against him with each thrust. Riley's legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back, using the leverage to meet him stroke for stroke.
"Harder," she demanded.
Grant obliged, changing his angle, and Riley's head fell back against the cushions, a moan ripping from her throat.
"Fuck—right there—"
"Here?" Grant repeated the motion, and Riley's whole body went taut.
"Don't stop don't stop don't stop—"
He didn't. He couldn't. Riley was making sounds he'd never heard before—desperate, needy, completely undone—and it was the hottest thing he'd ever experienced.
Her nails dragged down his back again, probably leaving marks, and Grant didn't care. He'd wear those marks proudly.
"Touch yourself," Grant said roughly.
Riley's eyes widened. "What?"
"You heard me. Touch yourself. I want to watch."
Riley's hand slid between them, and the moment her fingers found what she needed, her whole body shuddered. Grant nearly lost it right there.
"Look at me," he demanded.
Riley's eyes opened, hazy and dark and completely wrecked.
"Don't look away."
"I won't—Grant, I'm so close—"
"Good. Let me see it. I want to watch you come undone. Say my name."
Riley's movements became frantic, her hips rolling faster, chasing her release. Grant angled deeper, hitting that spot that made her gasp, and Riley came apart with a cry that echoed through the barn.
“Oh my god, Grant! Yes!” she shouted.
“Yes, baby.” Grant could barely contain himself now, watching her, hearing her call out his name. It was heaven.
The sight of her—back arched, mouth open, completely lost in pleasure—shattered Grant's last thread of control. He followed her over with a groan, burying his face in her neck, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
They stayed like that for a long moment, both panting, both trembling, slowly coming back to earth.
"Holy shit," Riley breathed finally.
"Yeah."
"That was—"
"Intense."
"Very intense." Riley's laugh was shaky. "Where did that come from?"
Grant lifted his head to look at her, still trying to catch his breath. "You said don't be gentle."
"I did, didn't I?"
"No complaints?"
Riley's smile was slow and satisfied. "Zero complaints."
They stayed like that for a long moment, both shaking, both breathing hard, slowly coming back to earth.
"Okay," Riley said finally. "That was—"
"Yeah."
"We just—"
"Yeah."
Grant carefully shifted, and they both reached for clothes, reality settling back in like cold water.
They'd just had sex. In his barn. After swearing they'd keep this fake.
"So," Riley said, pulling on her sweater, not quite meeting his eyes. "That happened."
"That definitely happened." Grant found his jeans, trying to sound casual even though his heart was still racing.
"We probably shouldn't have—"
"No. Definitely not."
Riley located her jeans. "This doesn't change anything. Right?"
The question hit harder than it should have. Because it changed everything for Grant. But Riley was looking at him with those wide eyes, clearly needing him to agree, to keep this simple.
"Right," he heard himself say. "Nothing changed."
"We're still fake dating."
"Still fake dating."
"This was just—" Riley gestured vaguely. "Physical. Getting it out of our systems. All that pretending…"
"Makes sense." The words tasted like lies.
"We both needed to—" She stopped, her cheeks going pink. "I mean, there was a lot of built-up tension."
"There was." There still is.
"So now it's out of our systems, and we can go back to normal."
Grant pulled on his shirt, trying to ignore the way his chest was constricting. "Sure. Normal."
They were both fully dressed now, standing in the loft looking anywhere but at each other. The morning light filtering through the window made everything look too real, too bright.
"It won't happen again," Riley said, and Grant couldn't tell if she was trying to convince him or herself.
"Probably not."
"We're both adults. We can control ourselves."
"Absolutely."
Riley finally met his eyes, and something passed between them—something that said they were both lying through their teeth and they both knew it.
"I should go," she said quietly.
“You don’t have to,” Grant said. He didn’t want her to believe it was just sex.
"You have to work though, right?”
Grant groaned slightly. He loved his job, his family legacy. But he wanted to spend time with her. “Yeah, I have to get the lot opened. Soon."
"I'll see you tonight? At the tree lighting?"
"Yeah. I'll pick you up. Six-thirty?"
"Perfect." Riley headed for the ladder, then stopped. "Grant?"
"Yeah?"
"We're okay, right? This doesn't—it doesn't make things weird?"
Everything is weird now.
"We're good," he said instead. He managed a smile. “Promise.”
"Good." She climbed down the ladder, and Grant heard her car start a few minutes later.
Grant stood alone in the loft, surrounded by sawdust and the smell of sex and Riley's perfume still clinging to the blanket.
His phone buzzed.
Riley: Just so we're clear…that was a one-time thing.