CHAPTER TWENTY
FINALLY
Elise
We managed to calm Teddy down by lying through our teeth.
“It’s not what you think,” I’d said, which was technically true because what he was thinking was probably tamer than reality.
Grant had gone cold and corporate, explaining it was a “misunderstanding” and that Teddy was “reading too much into casual roommate dynamics.” Jordie deployed the charm offensive. Wyatt just stood there looking intimidating enough that Teddy seemed to decide pushing further wasn’t worth it.
It took two hours, but eventually Teddy left with a warning about “being careful” and “not letting anything distract from medical school” and approximately fifteen pointed looks at Grant that could’ve melted steel.
The second his car pulls out of the driveway, I collapse onto the couch.
“That was—”
“A disaster,” Grant finishes. He’s still standing, wound tight, that muscle in his jaw jumping.
“I was going to say ‘close,’” I mutter.
“He knows.” Wyatt’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Maybe not the specifics, but he knows something’s going on.”
“He’ll get over it.” Jordie drops onto the couch beside me, his thigh pressing against mine. “Or he won’t. Either way, not really his business.”
Grant’s eyes track the point of contact—Jordie’s leg against mine—and something dark flickers across his face.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine, Elise.” But his voice is tight, controlled, and I can see his hands flexing at his sides.
“Grant—”
He moves before I can finish the sentence. Crosses the room in three strides and hauls me up off the couch by my wrist.
“Hey—” Jordie starts.
“I need to talk to her.” Grant’s voice leaves no room for argument. “Alone.”
He’s pulling me toward the stairs and I let him because the look in his eyes—possession and need and something almost desperate—makes my stomach flip.
We make it halfway up before he stops, turns, and kisses me.
It’s not soft. Not tentative. It’s two and a half years of wanting compressed into the press of his mouth against mine, his hand fisting in my hair, his body crowding me back against the wall.
I kiss him back just as hard, my hands finding the hard planes of his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath my palms.
When we break apart we’re both breathing hard.
“I can’t—” His voice is wrecked. “I can’t watch them touch you anymore without—”
“Then touch me.”
His eyes go dark. “Elise.”
“I mean it. Touch me. Stop holding back. Stop punishing yourself.” I grab his shirt, pull him closer. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for two years. So stop acting like you don’t get to have this.”
“I don’t deserve—”
“I don’t care what you think you deserve.” My voice comes out fiercer than I intend. “I care what I want. And I want you.”
Footsteps on the stairs. Jordie and Wyatt, because of course they followed.
“Everything okay?” Jordie asks, but his eyes are tracking the way Grant’s got me pinned to the wall, the way my hands are twisted in his shirt.
“No,” Grant says without looking at them. “Everything’s not okay. Because I’ve been watching you two touch her for weeks and I—” He stops. Takes a breath. “I want her. I need her. And I’m done pretending I can handle sharing.”
The hallway goes quiet.
Then Wyatt speaks, his voice calm. “So don’t share. Not tonight.”
Grant finally looks at him. “What?”
“You heard me.” Wyatt’s expression is unreadable. “You need her? Take her. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“I’m not—” Grant’s jaw clenches. “I can’t ask you to—”
“You’re not asking.” Jordie’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, watching us with dark eyes. “We’re offering.”
Grant looks at me. Searching for something. Permission maybe. Or reassurance that this is real.
I reach up, cup his face with both hands. “I want this. I want you. All of you. But right now?” I let my thumb trace his bottom lip. “Right now I want Grant.”
Something breaks in his expression. Relief and desire and that possessive edge I’ve seen glimpses of but never fully unleashed.
“Thank fuck,” he says roughly.
We end up back on the couch, because its closer. Grant pulls me into his lap and kisses me again, slower this time but no less intense. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my hips, sliding under my shirt to find bare skin.
I arch into him and he makes this sound—half groan, half growl—that goes straight between my legs.
Jordie and Wyatt settle on either side of us. Not touching, just watching. The heat of their attention makes everything more intense.
Grant pulls back just enough to look at me. “Tell me what you want.”
“You. This. Everything.”
His hands find the hem of my shirt—Wyatt’s hoodie actually—and he pauses. “Can I?”
“Yes.”
He pulls it off in one smooth motion and for a second he just looks at me. Like he’s memorizing this. Then his mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, the curve of my breast through my bra.
I’m making sounds I should probably be embarrassed about but I don’t care. Not with the way he’s touching me like I’m something precious and filthy all at once.
My hands find his shirt, start working the buttons. He helps me, shrugging it off, and I get my first real look at him shirtless.
Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that look carved. That scar on his collarbone from the accident, and another on his ribs I hadn’t noticed before.
“You’re staring,” he says, but there’s satisfaction in his voice.
“You’re beautiful.”
Something flickers in his eyes—vulnerability, quickly masked—and then he’s kissing me again.
Clothes come off in a blur. My leggings. His jeans. Until I’m in just my underwear and he’s in boxer briefs that do absolutely nothing to hide how much he wants me.
I’ve seen Wyatt and Jordie naked. Touched them. Tasted them.
But Grant—
When he hooks his thumbs in his waistband and pulls down, I actually stop breathing.
He’s huge. Thick and long and already hard, and I can feel heat flooding my face because all I can think about is how that’s going to feel inside me.
“Elise.” His voice is rough. “Eyes up here.”
“Can’t help it.” I reach out, wrap my hand around him, and he hisses through his teeth. “You’re—this is—”
“Overwhelming?” Jordie supplies helpfully. “Yeah, Captain’s got a pornstar package. We’ve all seen the locker room situation.”
“Shut up, Dickson,” Grant grits out, but his hips are moving into my hand.
I stroke him slowly, learning the weight and feel of him, watching his face contort with pleasure.
Then I lean forward and take him in my mouth.
“Holy—Elise—” His hand finds its way into my hair, not pushing, just holding on.
I work him with my tongue and my hand, taking him as deep as I can, which isn’t all the way because he’s too big. But the sounds he’s making—low and desperate—tell me I’m doing something right.
My other hand finds Jordie beside me. He’s hard against his jeans and when I palm him through the denim he makes this needy sound.
I undo his button, slide my hand inside, and start stroking him while I work Grant with my mouth.
“That’s—” Jordie’s voice is wrecked. “God that’s hot.”
But Grant’s hand tightens in my hair and he pulls me off him.
“What—” I start.
“I can’t—” His breathing is ragged. “I can’t handle you touching him while you’re—I need—”
“Possessive much?” Jordie sounds amused but he’s shifting away, giving Grant space.
Grant doesn’t apologize. Just looks at me with those ice-blue eyes gone dark. “I want all your attention. Just for now. Is that—can I have that?”
The vulnerability in the question undoes me. “Yes.”
“Good.” He stands, pulls me up with him. “Because I’m about to be really selfish.”
“How selfish?” But I’m grinning because the look on his face is pure want.
“I need you.” He says it to the room.
Wyatt’s already moving, grabbing a condom from somewhere and tossing it to Grant. “Have at it.”
Grant catches it one-handed, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he’s lifting me, carrying me to his room while Jordie and Wyatt follow because apparently we’re doing this as a unit even if I’m only focused on one of them right now.
Grant’s room is neat in that military way—bed made with hospital corners, nothing out of place. He lays me down on his sheets and just looks at me for a long moment.
“You’re sure?”
“Grant. If you don’t get inside me in the next thirty seconds I’m going to lose my mind.”
That gets a smile out of him. Almost. Then he’s rolling on the condom and positioning himself between my thighs and—
“Wait.” I catch his hand. “Slow. I need—you’re big and I need—”
“I’ve got you.” His voice is gentle now, that possessive edge banked. “I’ll go slow. Promise.”
He does. He sweeps his thumb over my clit, tracing it and teasing while I squirm. He lets a string of salvia fall from his mouth to my bare pussy and uses it to slick his thumb along my clit. The sound is filthy—slippery and hot.
Jordie groans from across the room. “Fuck.”
“Shut up, Dickson,” Grant growls, lining his cock up with my now very wet opening.
He pushes in inch by careful inch, watching my face the whole time, and the stretch is intense but not painful. Just—full. So full.
When he’s all the way in we both stop breathing.
“Okay?” he asks.
“Better than okay.” I roll my hips experimentally and we both groan. “Move. Please move.”
He does. Slow at first, letting me adjust, then deeper. Harder. Until he’s driving into me with purpose and I’m meeting him thrust for thrust.
He keeps tracing my clit with his thumb, and I’m lost to the pleasure of it.
“That’s it,” Jordie says from somewhere nearby. “Look at you taking all of him. You’re so good, Elise. So perfect.”
“Shut up, Jordie,” Grant and I say in unison, but there’s no heat in it.
Grant’s rhythm is relentless now, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise, and I can feel the tension building low in my spine.
“Touch yourself,” he orders. “I want to feel you come around me.”
I obey, my hand sliding between us, and the added stimulation plus his thickness hitting that spot inside me—
“Grant—I’m—”
“Come for me.” His voice is rough, commanding. “Let me feel it.”
I do. The orgasm crashes through me and I’m crying out his name and he’s still moving, drawing it out, until I’m boneless beneath him.
Then his rhythm falters. Once. Twice. And he’s coming too, his face buried in my neck, saying my name like a prayer.
We stay like that for a moment. Breathing hard. Connected.
“Dibs,” Jordie announces cheerfully from the doorway. “I call dibs on next.”
Grant laughs—actually laughs—and the sound is so unexpected and beautiful that I start laughing too.
Yeah. We’re going to figure this out.