14. Heather #2
The elevator opens. We make it to my door. I fumble with the keys, my hands clumsy with anticipation, and then we’re inside and the door is closed and he’s pressing me against it.
“This apartment,” he says against my throat. “You picked it to start over.” He braces a hand on the door beside my head.
“Yes.” I tip my head back to give him room.
“To be alone.” He drags his mouth along my jaw.
“Yes.” My fingers curl into his collar.
“Are you sure you want me here?” He goes still against me.
I pull back to look at him. His eyes are dark, his breath uneven, but he’s holding himself in check, waiting for permission, waiting for me to be certain.
“I’m sure.” I flatten my palm over his heart. “I’m sure I want you here. I’m sure I want you in my bed. I’m sure I want to wake up tomorrow and find you still there.”
Something shifts in his expression. Something raw and vulnerable and aching.
“Heather-” His hand comes up to cradle my face.
“I’m sure,” I repeat, pressing into his palm, “that I’m done being afraid of needing someone.”
He kisses me like I’ve given him something precious.
We don’t make it to the bedroom.
Not at first. He lifts me against the door, my legs wrapping around his waist, and we stay there for long minutes, kissing, touching, learning each other’s rhythms in this new space. His hands slide beneath my dress, finding skin, and I arch into him with a sound I don’t recognize.
“Bed.” I drag my mouth from his. “The bedroom is-”
“I know where your bedroom is.” He tightens his grip under my thighs.
“How do you-” I pull back to look at him.
“I’ve been here before. When you were packing. When you needed help moving that bookshelf.” He bites gently at my earlobe, and I lose my train of thought entirely. “I’ve been imagining you in that bed for weeks.”
The confession makes something spark in my chest.
“And what did you imagine?” I tighten my legs around him.
“Everything.” He pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes. “I imagined everything.”
“Show me.” I press my forehead to his.
He carries me down the hallway.
My bedroom is exactly as I left it this morning, bed made with the gray linens I picked because Kirk always wanted white, curtains open to let in the city light, the stack of books on my nightstand that I’ve been meaning to read.
A space that was supposed to be mine alone.
Grayson sets me down at the foot of the bed, and for a moment we just stand there, looking at each other. The urgency from the door has settled into something else, something slower, heavier, more deliberate.
“I’m nervous.” I wrap my arms around myself.
“Why?” He catches one of my hands and uncurls it.
“Because this is different.” I gesture at the room, at the bed, at everything around us.
“The hotel was - it was neutral territory. Temporary. This is my home. This is where I sleep, where I wake up, where I’ve been building a life without Kirk.
” I swallow. “Letting you in here feels more real than anything else we’ve done. ”
“We can wait.” He brushes his knuckles down my arm.
“I don’t want to wait.” I step back into him.
“Then what do you want?” He goes still, his hands settling at my waist.
I reach for his shirt, working the buttons slowly, deliberately, the same way I did in that hotel room, but different. More intentional. Less desperate.
“I want you to stay.” I push the shirt open over his shoulders. “Not just tonight. I want you to stay.”
His hands cover mine, stilling them.
“Heather. Look at me.” He ducks his head to catch my eyes.
I do.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is steady, certain.
“Do you understand? I’m not Kirk. I’m not going to take what I want and leave when it gets inconvenient.
I’m here. I’m staying. And if you need me to prove that every single day for the rest of our lives, I will. ” He tightens his grip on my hands.
My eyes sting. I blink hard, refusing to cry - I’ve done enough crying over men who didn’t deserve it.
“Okay.” I turn my hands over to hold his.
“Okay?” He searches my face.
“Okay. Stay.” I lift his hand and press it to my cheek.
He smiles - really smiles, the kind of smile he never showed anyone before me - and finishes unbuttoning his own shirt.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
This time is different.
The hotel had been frantic, a collision of desperation and weeks of denial. This is different. This is slower. Quieter. A conversation written in touches instead of words.
Grayson undresses me like he has all the time in the world, his movements deliberate and reverent. He peels away my layers with a steady patience, pressing lingering kisses to every inch of skin he reveals.
He traces the line of my collarbone with his lips, moves to the curve of my shoulder, and then descends to the soft swell of my breast.
He lingers there, his tongue swirling around my nipple, sucking the peak into his mouth until I gasp, my back arching off the sheets.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs against my stomach, his warm breath sending shivers through me. “You know that, right?”
“You’ve mentioned it,” I breathe, my voice trembling.
“I’m going to keep mentioning it.” His mouth moves lower, and my hips lift instinctively, seeking him. “Every day. Until you believe it.”
“I believe-” The words dissolve into a sharp moan as his tongue finds my clit.
“Shh.” His hands clamp onto my hips, pinning me firmly to the mattress. “Let me.”
He doesn’t rush. He starts with slow, broad licks that coat my folds in saliva, tasting me deeply before narrowing his focus.
His tongue becomes a precise instrument, flicking and swirling over my swollen nub with an agonizingly perfect rhythm.
As I begin to writhe, he slides two fingers deep inside me. I gasp at the sudden fullness, the way he stretches my tight walls, his fingers curling upward to hook against my spot while his tongue continues to torture my clit.
I can feel him watching me, his eyes locked on my face as I fall apart. The tension coils tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe, and then I snap.
My first orgasm crashes over me in a violent wave, my pussy clamping tight around his fingers as I scream his name.
He doesn’t stop. As the aftershocks are still rippling through me, he shifts his technique, using his thumb to apply steady pressure to my clit while his fingers pump faster and deeper inside me, mimicking the motion of a cock.
The stimulation is relentless. I’m already sensitive, almost overstimulated, which only makes the second peak hit harder.
I sob, my hips bucking wildly against his hand until I come again, a long, shuddering release that leaves me shaking and completely undone.
By the time he finally moves up my body, I’m a mess of desire and trembling limbs.
“Please,” I manage, my voice a broken whisper. “I need-”
“I know what you need.”
He settles between my thighs, the head of his thick, pulsing cock brushing against my soaking wet entrance. He pauses there for a heartbeat, letting me feel the sheer size of him before he pushes forward.
He slides into me slowly, an inch at a time, forcing me to feel every ridge and the immense stretch as he fills me completely.