Chapter 17 #2
His hands slid under her sweater, warm against her skin, and Riley gasped. He took advantage of her open mouth, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against hers in a way that made her knees weak.
Riley's fingers found the buttons of his shirt—under the sweater because apparently she was determined to make this complicated—and started working them open. She needed to feel his skin, needed to touch him the way he was touching her.
Grant's hands moved higher, finding the edge of her bra, and then—
"Oh god," Riley breathed out as his thumb brushed over her nipple through the fabric.
"You like that?"
"You know I do."
Grant kissed down her neck, his teeth grazing her collarbone while his hands worked magic under her sweater. He pushed her bra up, his palms warm against her bare skin, and Riley had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound that would definitely carry.
Then his fingers found her nipple, giving it a gentle pinch, and Riley forgot all about being quiet.
"Grant—"
"Shh." But he was smiling against her neck, clearly pleased with himself.
Riley retaliated by pressing her palm against the front of his jeans, feeling him hard and ready, and Grant's breath stuttered.
"Two can play that game," she murmured.
"Riley—"
But she was already working at his belt, desperate and clumsy with need. She got the button undone, started on the zipper, and Grant groaned low in his throat.
"We can't—" he started, but his hips pressed forward into her hand, betraying him.
"We're not," Riley said, rubbing him through his jeans. "Just—this is just—"
She didn't finish the sentence because Grant's thigh was between her legs now, pressing up, and Riley's brain short-circuited. She rolled her hips against him, chasing the friction, and Grant's hands tightened on her waist.
"God, you're so hot," he muttered. "Can't get enough of you."
Riley kissed him hard, her hand still working him through his jeans, and Grant's other hand found her breast again, pinching her nipple in a way that made her gasp into his mouth.
She was riding his thigh now, shameless and desperate, the rough denim of his jeans providing just enough friction to make her crazy. Grant's breathing was ragged, his hips rocking into her hand, and Riley was so close, just a little more—
"Riley? Riley?"
They both froze.
Hannah's voice was getting closer. "Riley, where did you go? Your mom's looking for you!"
"Shit," Riley hissed, scrambling to pull her sweater down, to fix her bra, to look like she hadn't just been—
Grant was already buttoning his jeans, his face flushed, his hair a mess from her hands. They stared at each other for a second, both breathing hard, and both clearly frustrated.
"Riley!"
"Coming!" Riley called, trying to make her voice sound normal and not like she'd been thirty seconds away from an orgasm in a storage closet.
She pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks, trying to calm down, while Grant straightened his sweater and attempted to look presentable.
"How do I look?" Riley whispered.
"Like you've been making out in a storage room."
"Grant."
"Beautiful. You look beautiful." He kissed her quickly, sweetly, then cracked open the door. "Coast is clear. Go. I'll need a minute."
Riley slipped out into the hallway, nearly colliding with Hannah.
"There you are!" Hannah looked her up and down, taking in Riley's flushed face and slightly askew sweater. "Were you just—"
"Bathroom," Riley said quickly.
"Uh huh." Hannah's grin was knowing. "Your mom and dad are heading out. They wanted to say goodbye."
"Right. Of course. Heading out."
Riley smoothed down her sweater—which was still blinking cheerfully, oblivious to the fact it had been halfway off two minutes ago—and followed Hannah back to the main room.
Her parents were indeed putting on their coats, her dad chatting with Thomas about something involving crop rotation.
"There she is," Carol said, pulling Riley into a hug. "We're going to head home. I've got a million things to do before tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night?"
"Christmas Eve dinner. You didn't forget, did you?"
"No, of course not."
Carol gave her a look that said she knew Riley absolutely had. "Grant and Thomas are coming, right?"
Riley's brain was still foggy from the storage room. "I—yes? I think so?"
"We are," Grant said, appearing at her elbow looking perfectly composed except for the slight flush still visible on his neck. "Wouldn't miss it, Mrs. Monroe."
"Please, call me Carol." Her mother beamed at him. "Six o'clock. Don't be late."
"Yes ma'am."
Riley watched her mother look between her and Grant, taking in their proximity, the way his hand had found her lower back again, the way they were both still a little flushed. Carol's smile turned absolutely delighted.
"You two have fun tonight," she said, and there was definitely subtext there. "Not too much fun."
"Mom," Riley groaned.
But her parents were already leaving, her dad clapping Thomas on the shoulder and wishing him a merry Christmas.
Riley turned to Grant once they were gone. "She knows."
"Of course she knows. We look like we just—"
"Don't finish that sentence."
Grant grinned. "Was going to say 'made out in a storage room.'"
"Still not finishing it where people can hear you."
The party continued around them—cookies being exchanged, donations being made, ugly sweaters being admired and mocked in equal measure.
Riley and Grant stayed for another hour, mingling and helping clean up, acting like responsible adults who definitely hadn't been feeling each other up in a closet.
By the time they left, Riley's cheeks hurt from smiling and her sweater had finally stopped blinking, the battery dead.
Grant drove her home through streets lined with Christmas lights, his hand warm in hers over the center console.
"That was fun," Riley said.
"Which part? The fundraiser or the storage room?"
"Both." She squeezed his hand. "Mostly the storage room."
"We could finish what we started," Grant offered, his voice low and promising.
Riley's entire body voted yes, but she shook her head reluctantly. "I should probably get home. And you should too. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."
"Practical."
"One of us has to be."
Grant pulled into her parents' driveway and walked her to the door, something he’d started doing recently. The porch light was on but the interior lights all seemed to be out.
Riley started to say goodnight, then noticed the mistletoe hanging above the door.
"That wasn't there this morning," she said.
"Your mom?"
"Definitely my mom."
Grant smiled, stepping closer. "Well. Can't ignore mistletoe. That's bad luck."
"Is it?"
"Extremely bad luck." His hands found her waist, pulling her close. "Basically guarantees a terrible Christmas."
"We wouldn't want that."
"No," Grant agreed, and then he was kissing her.
It was different from the storage room—slower, sweeter, but no less intense. Riley melted into him, her arms winding around his neck, and Grant held her like she was precious.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Riley rested her forehead against his.
"We really need to finish what we started," she whispered.
"We do. We’ll figure it out. And I’ll see you tomorrow night."
"That's like eighteen hours from now."
Grant laughed softly. "Think you can wait that long?"
"Barely." Riley kissed him again, quick and hard. "But yes."
"I should go."
"You should."
Neither of them moved.
Finally, Grant stepped back, his hands sliding from her waist reluctantly. "Goodnight, Riley."
"Goodnight, Grant."
"See you tomorrow. Six o'clock. I'll be the one staring at you all night."
"I can't wait."
Riley let herself into the house, and from the window watched him walk back to his truck and waved at him before he drove away.
She headed upstairs to her childhood bedroom, her lips still tingling from Grant's kiss, her body still wound tight from what they'd started in that storage room.
Eighteen hours.
She could wait eighteen hours.
Probably.
Riley flopped onto her bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, and let herself smile.
Tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Grant and Thomas were coming to dinner. Her whole family would be there, chaos and noise and her mother's knowing looks.
And after dinner, once everyone went home, she and Grant would finally finish what they'd started.
Riley's phone buzzed with a text.
Grant: Still thinking about that storage room.
Riley: Me too.
Grant: Tomorrow can't come fast enough.
Riley: Agreed. Though we should probably try to behave at dinner.
Grant: I make no promises.
Riley: Grant. LOL
Grant: Fine. I'll behave. Mostly.
Grant: Get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.
Riley: Can't wait. Goodnight.
Grant: Goodnight, Riley. Sweet dreams.
Riley set her phone on the nightstand and pulled the covers up, still smiling.
She was in so much trouble.
The best kind of trouble.