Chapter 17
Emma
As soon as I enter the penthouse, Grant rushes to me.
“What happened? I was worried about you.”
I rush into his arms, dropping my purse on the floor, feeling the tears I've been holding back finally spill over. Grant's embrace is solid and warm—exactly what I need right now.
"My parents," I manage, barely able to get the words out. "I went to Sunday dinner and it was... it was awful, Grant."
He leads me to the couch, keeping one arm around my shoulders as we sit down. "Why didn’t you tell me you were going? Okay… tell me what happened."
"My dad—" I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
"He kept asking questions about why I've been avoiding them.
And then he started talking about you, wondering why you haven't been available for golf.
" I look up at Grant, seeing the concern in his eyes.
"And then he... he noticed something was different about me.
He made me stand up, and he touched my stomach. "
Grant's body goes rigid beside me. "He knows?"
"I don't think so. Not for sure. He just made some comment about me gaining weight, which was a total asshole thing to say." The memory makes my throat tighten. "But the way he was looking at me... I think he suspects something."
"Shit," Grant mutters, running a hand through his hair.
"The whole evening was just so tense. My mom trying to keep the peace while my dad interrogated me about Essence, about my life.
It was like being a teenager again, having to account for every decision.
" I wipe at my tears with the back of my hand.
"I couldn't breathe in that house, Grant. I’m not sure I can go back.”
“If he touched your stomach, he probably knows, Emma. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe… but if he knew, don’t you think he would’ve said something? It’s not like my father to hold back.”
Grant's expression turns serious. "Yeah—your father isn't known for subtlety. If he knew with absolute certainty, he probably would have exploded right there at the dinner table."
"That's what I keep thinking," I say, leaning back against the couch. "But what if he's just gathering evidence? Building his case before he confronts me?"
Grant reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "That sounds more like him. David's always been strategic. He doesn't make accusations until he's sure he can win the argument."
I nod, feeling a chill despite the warmth of Grant's body against mine. "And when he dropped your name into conversation… and asked why you've been unavailable for golf… It wasn't casual, Grant. He was watching for my reaction."
"And how did you react?"
"I panicked. Said something about you being busy with an acquisition. Which was stupid because then he immediately asked how I would know that." I press my face into my hands. "God, I'm terrible at lying."
"You're not terrible at it. You're just not practiced at it." Grant pulls me closer. "And that's actually a good thing."
We sit in silence for a moment, both lost in thought. The city lights twinkle through the floor-to-ceiling windows, beautiful and distant.
"Maybe we should just tell him," I finally say. "Get it over with. I'm tired of hiding, of worrying about what’s going to happen when we actually tell him.”
"If he knows, or even strongly suspects, we need to tell him before he figures it out completely," Grant says. "We can't let him discover this on his own. It’ll be so much worse."
I shake my head, panic rising in my body. “But then I feel like I’m not ready. You saw what happened with Samantha and then Victoria. I can't handle another confrontation right now, especially not with my father."
"I know, baby." Grant pulls me back into his arms. “Let me rub your back for you. I want to help you relax. It’s not good for you or the babies to get so upset.”
I give him a small smile. “You know I’m never going to turn down a back rub from you, right?”
“Good. I was hoping you’d say yes.”
I move between his legs on the couch, facing out toward the windows and he begins to knead my shoulders. His hands are magic, finding every knot in my shoulders. I let out a small groan as his thumbs press into a particularly tight spot near my shoulder blade.
"God, that feels amazing," I murmur, letting my head fall forward.
"You're so tense," Grant says, his thumbs pressing firmly along my spine.
“I’m not surprised. That whole situation was rough.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes before he starts laughing about something.
“What? What’s funny?” I ask.
"Nothing. I've just been dealing with this ridiculous client this week. And I was thinking about the whole thing."
"Tell me," I say, closing my eyes as his hands move to my lower back.
"His name is Horatio Beauchamp," Grant says, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. "And yes, that's his real name. He inherited a bunch of money from his grandfather and now fancies himself a real estate mogul."
"Horatio?" I can't help but smile. "Seriously?"
"It gets better. He insists everyone call him 'H.B.' and he only wears purple suits. Not just purple ties or purple shirts—entire suits in various shades of purple."
I laugh. "You're totally making this up."
"I wish I was." Grant's fingers find another knot, and I wince as he begins working it out.
"Yesterday he showed up to our meeting in a lavender three-piece suit with purple crocodile shoes, and he made a big deal about the fact that they were real crocodile.
And he brought his emotional support hairless cat. "
"His what?" I twist around to look at Grant, convinced he has to be messing around with me.
“He’s got a hairless cat named Clem. The two of them are quite the pair.”
“So, wait a minute, does he have a purse for him or is he on a leash, or what?” I ask, still wondering if he’s just toying with me.
“Clem rides in style in a really fancy Italian leather bag,” I respond.
We’re completely cracking up now while he tells me all about their meeting. Between the back rub and the laugh, I’m feeling so much better. I take in a deep cleansing breath.
"Thank you," I say as his hands finally release my back. "You have no idea how much I needed that."
I turn around on the couch, facing him now. Without overthinking it, I move to straddle his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. His hands automatically find my hips, steadying me.
"Emma," he breathes, but I don't let him finish. I lean in and press my lips against his, softly at first, then with increasing urgency. He responds immediately, one hand sliding up my back while the other cups my face. The kiss deepens, and I feel that familiar heat spreading through my body.
"I love you," I whisper against his mouth. "So much."
His hands tangle in my hair as he pulls me closer. "I love you too," he murmurs between kisses. "More than I can say."
I can feel him hardening beneath me, and I shift my hips deliberately, making him groan.
The worries about my father, about what he might know or suspect—they're still there, hovering at the edges of my consciousness, but right now all I can focus on is Grant's mouth on mine, and his hands exploring my body like he can barely wait to be inside me.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asks, concern in his eyes.
“I don’t want to think about it anymore tonight. I just want you.”
“You’ve got me,” he says as I push into his erection harder.
With surprising strength, he stands up, lifting me with him. I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, my arms looping around his neck as he holds me against him.
"Bedroom," he murmurs, gently lowering my feet to the floor.
He takes my hand and together we walk to the bedroom, the anticipation building with each step. His fingers are intertwined with mine, strong and reassuring, guiding me through the dimly lit penthouse.
When we cross the threshold into his bedroom, the city lights glimmer through the windows, casting everything in a soft glow.
Grant turns to me, his eyes dark with desire, and slowly unzips my dress.
It falls to the floor in a whisper of fabric, and I'm standing before him in just my underwear, my baby bump visible in the half-light.
"You're so incredible," he whispers, his hands tracing the curve of my stomach. "Every inch of you."
I reach for his shirt buttons, undoing them one by one. "I need you," I tell him, pushing the shirt off his shoulders. "I need to feel you against me."
His skin is warm under my palms as I run my hands across his broad chest. I unbutton his pants and push them down.
My hands find the waistband of his boxers, slipping beneath the fabric to feel the hot, smooth skin of his erection.
I wrap my fingers around him, delighting in his sharp intake of breath as I stroke him slowly.
“You’re so hard for me,” I say.
"God, Emma," he groans, his eyes half-closed with pleasure. “You make me crazy.”
We move to the bed together, and as soon as my back hits the mattress, Grant’s hands are everywhere at once—possessive and hungry—like he wants to devour me inch by inch.
His mouth crashes against mine, stealing my breath as his fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just hard enough to make me whimper. His tongue flicks over my collarbone, his teeth scraping just enough to make me squirm. I arch against him, my nipples hard and begging for his mouth.
But he’s not in a hurry. He absolutely loves to torture me by taking his time.
His hands slide down my sides, fingers digging into the flesh of my hips before he grips my ass, holding me against him so I can feel exactly how hard he is. His thick cock presses against me, and I roll my hips just to hear him groan again.
“You’re dripping,” he growls against my throat, his fingers sliding under the elastic of my panties, tracing the soaked fabric. As his fingers brush over my clit, I feel like I might come right then and there.
He gets on his knees and drags my panties down my legs before spreading my thighs wide.
His breath is hot against me, his tongue flicking out just once—teasing—before he buries his face between my legs.
His tongue is relentless, pushing into me with slow, deep strokes before swirling around my clit.
I tangle my hands in his hair, grinding against his mouth, my thighs shaking as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside me.
“Fuck—Grant—please—” I gasp, as he continues sliding his fingers inside me curling just right, stretching me as his thumb presses down on my clit.
I cry out as the tension breaks, pleasure exploding through me as his skilled tongue and fingers work in perfect harmony.
My thighs clamp around his head as wave after wave crashes over me.
Grant doesn't relent, drawing out my orgasm until I'm trembling and incoherent, my fingers clutching desperately at the sheets.
"Grant, oh my god," I gasp, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. My entire body feels electric and tingling.
He kisses his way up my body, his mouth glistening with evidence of my pleasure, his eyes dark with hunger. When he reaches my face, he kisses me deeply.
"Turn over," he commands, his voice low and gravelly with desire.
I comply without hesitation, rolling onto my stomach. Grant's hands immediately find my hips, lifting them slightly. I feel the solid warmth of his body positioning behind me, his erection pressing insistently against me.
He enters me slowly, filling me inch by delicious inch until I'm gasping. The angle is incredible, allowing him to hit spots that make me moan. His hands grip my hips firmly as he begins to move, setting a rhythm that has me pushing back into him with each stroke.
His thrusts become deeper, more insistent as his hand slides around my hip.
His fingers find my clit, still sensitive from my first orgasm, and begin circling with deliberate pressure.
The dual sensation—him filling me completely from behind while his fingers work their magic—is almost too much to bear.
"Oh god, right there," I gasp, pressing back against him as his fingers move faster.
Grant's breath is hot against my neck as he leans over me, his chest against my back. "I want to feel you come around me," he whispers, his voice strained.
The pressure builds rapidly, impossibly intense as his fingers maintain their rhythm.
My entire body tightens, trembling on the edge until I can't hold back anymore.
I shatter completely, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me.
My inner walls clench around him in pulsing contractions.
"Emma—fuck—" Grant groans, his rhythm faltering. His fingers dig into my hip as he thrusts once, twice more before burying himself deep inside me with a guttural moan. I feel him pulsing, his body shuddering against mine as my own orgasm continues to ripple through me.
For a long moment, we stay frozen like this, connected and breathless. Then Grant carefully lowers us both to the mattress, keeping me in his arms as he turns us onto our sides, still inside me. His hand wraps around my stomach, and he nuzzles his face into my hair.
“I’m going to protect you, baby. All three of you,” he says. “Whatever happens, we’re going to get through this together.”
"I know," I whisper, leaning back against his chest.
But even as I say it, my mind keeps drifting back to my father's face at dinner—the suspicion in his eyes when he touched my stomach, the calculated way he brought up Grant's name, watching for my reaction.
The memory of his dismissive tone when he talked about Essence makes my chest tighten all over again.
I try to push these thoughts away, to focus on the warmth of Grant's body against mine, the security of his arms wrapped around me. This is what matters right now—this connection, this safety. Not my father's judgment or the confrontation that's inevitably coming.
"What are you thinking about?" Grant asks softly, his breath warm against my ear.
"Nothing," I lie, not wanting to drag us back into the anxiety of earlier. I nestle deeper into his embrace, deliberately relaxing my shoulders.
Grant's hand traces gentle circles on my stomach. "It's okay to still be upset about tonight."
I sigh, caught in my attempt to pretend everything's fine. "I just keep replaying it all in my head.”
"We'll figure it out," Grant says, his voice steady and reassuring. "Whether we tell him tomorrow or next week, we'll face it together."