24. Yes, This, More, Please #2
My body answers before my brain does. I clamber up his supine form to straddle him.
My dress is bunched around my hips, the top almost fully peeled down to bare my tits.
I reach for the straps anyway, ready to take it off, but his hands shoot up, catching my wrists in a grip that’s gentle but unequivocal.
“No. The dress stays on, angel.” He gives me a look that could detonate a city block. “You keep this on for me.”
A rush of heat floods me, wild and delighted. “Oh, this old thing?”
He grins up at me, hungry, eyes feral black in the low light. “I think I might need to frame it.”
I give a low laugh, bracing my palms on his chest. “You want a shrine to my questionable taste in dresses?”
“I want a shrine to you.”
He lifts me, not rough but with that endlessly sexy, easy strength, guiding me up until I’m hovering right over his face, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his head.
I feel huge and tiny at the same time, dress bunched, tits spilling out the top, Grant’s hands gentle but greedy as they bracket my thighs and haul me down.
The first sweep of his tongue is pure electricity. I gasp, the sound punching out of me like he’s ripped a red-hot wire straight through my chest. He laughs against me, the vibration ruinous.
Grant licks me open, tongue flat and relentless, lapping at my swollen clit until my thighs start to shake. His beard is rough against the inside of my legs, the soft scrape making me grind down harder, wet and shameless, until the abraded skin goes hot and tingling.
I brace one hand on the back of the couch, hips rocking, and Grant just groans, hands sliding up to squeeze my ass, guiding my hips as he buries his face deeper.
“God, Grant, you’re— Oh, fuck—” I whimper, but his only answer is a growl and a firmer lick, the tip of his tongue circling, then flicking, until my vision goes static.
He eats me like this is what he’s been thinking about all night, all week, maybe since we met. I arch my back, chasing the pressure, and he moans into my pussy, hands flexing as he pulls me down harder.
I grip his hair, rocking on his face, and he just groans again, the vibrations making me shake.
He flattens his tongue and drags it up over my clit, slow at first, then zeroed in and relentless, and I break.
My body shudders, pussy clenching on nothing, hips jerking as I come.
He holds me there, savoring it, greedy, licking me through every aftershock until I’m a trembling mess.
When I can finally breathe, he gentles his grip, coaxes me down, and I collapse onto his chest, body humming. Grant folds me into his arms, his hand making a slow pass up my spine, palm warm and steady, like he’s mapping every ridge and dip.
I’m boneless, melting into his chest, too wrung out to move, too happy to try. My pulse hammers, every cell in my body humming “yes, this, more, please.”
Neither of us talks right away. The only sound is our breathing.
Grant’s beard brushes my temple as he noses in, and he inhales, slow and deep. His hands never stop moving, soothing over my back, then down along my hips, pausing at every place that might hurt or sting. That’s when I realize he’s checking for soreness. The thought makes my throat tight.
“Are you all right?” His voice vibrates through my cheekbone. The words are soft, but the intent behind them is serious. “Need anything? Water, snack, foot rub?”
I snort a laugh because it’s absurd, but also because it’s perfect. “Did you just offer me aftercare snacks?”
“I just want you to be okay, angel. Let me… Just let me take care of you?”
I tip my head back to look at him. “I’m so okay,” I whisper, leaning in to press a kiss to the edge of his jaw. “You make me feel amazing. Even better than any snacks would.”
He huffs, a sound that’s part laugh, part relief. Then he cups my cheek, thumb painting delicate lines under my eye, like he’s still not convinced I’m really here.
“Come here,” he murmurs, like I’m not already draped over him like a blanket.
I let him pull me closer anyway, head tucked under his chin.
We stay like that for longer than I can track as my eyelids flutter.
My brain is syrupy, warm, and slow, but I don’t care.
I’m safe. I’m wanted. The air between us is soft, all the edges worn away.
Eventually, he shifts, his voice a husky rasp at my temple. “Let’s go to bed. Come on, angel.”
“Yeah?” I murmur sleepily. “You gonna tuck me in?”
Grant doesn’t answer; he just lifts me, his hands steady on the backs of my thighs. I squeal, delighted, and he stands, cradling me like I weigh nothing. My dress is a wreck, and he’s fully naked. I bury my face in his neck, greedy for the scent of him.
He shoves his bedroom door open with his shoulder. The space is simple, but I like it—big bed, heavy comforter, soft light from a single lamp, and a huge bookshelf stuffed with paperbacks. No clutter, just intent.
He lays me out in the center of the mattress, then looms over me, eyes dark, jaw set, but his hands are so gentle it’s a little bit devastating.
He lifts my dress, peeling it off carefully.
He kisses every inch he bares. The reverence in him is unreal.
I’ve never been worshipped like this; I’ve never been unwrapped like a gift.
He takes his time, trailing his mouth over my belly, my hips, my thighs. He nuzzles between my legs, licking me slowly, again, just because he wants to taste me. I let him do whatever he wants, because his hands on me feel like home.