Chapter 7
SEVEN
Grant
Rowan keeps smoothing her hands over her white dress like she thinks someone’s going to look at her wrong. No chance of that. Not when every man we pass keeps glancing at her, and every muscle in my body tightens until she slips her hand into mine.
Then I don’t care who looks.
“You didn’t have to take me somewhere this fancy!” Rowan hisses as we step inside the restaurant. “It’s too expensive.”
“I don’t think so.”
She sighs, and I squeeze her hand as I approach the hostess stand to check in for our reservation.
“Right this way,” the hostess says.
Taking Rowan’s hand, I tug her after me to the table.
I pull out her chair, and she blushes as she takes her seat.
We take our menus, and I watch my wife as she looks it over.
She keeps her eyes on the menu but glances up at me every few seconds, cheeks pink, lips tugging into a shy smile that kills me.
“You okay?” she asks, voice soft.
I lean back, not bothering to hide the way I watch her. “Yeah. Just looking at my wife.”
Her whole face turns red. She ducks her head, then laughs nervously as she pushes her hair behind her ear.
I reach across the table and let my thumb graze her knuckles.
She shivers.
Good. I like that she reacts to me. I like knowing I can do that to her.
Dinner is perfect—slow, warm, and filled with little laughs every time our feet brush under the table. I didn’t know I could feel this… satisfied. This full. Like something inside me that’s been hollow for years is slowly filling up.
When we finish dessert, I catch the way she keeps glancing toward the Strip, toward the bright lights outside the window.
“What do you want to do now?” I ask her. “I’ll take you anywhere.”
Her cheeks flush again. “Um… could we maybe see the Bellagio fountains? I’ve always wanted to.”
Her voice is quiet, hopeful.
I don’t even let her finish the last syllable before I’m standing, taking her hand, and lifting her out of her chair. “Yes, Ro. Anything you want.”
We head outside, and I keep her close as we navigate the sidewalk. Vegas at night is loud and chaotic, but all I notice is her, her tiny hand wrapped in mine, her dress brushing her knees, her eyes wide as she looks up at everything.
“This is amazing,” she breathes as we approach the fountain.
I watch her instead of the water. I’ve seen fountains before. I’ve never seen Rowan’s eyes glow like this.
The show starts—lights, music, and water spraying into the sky.
Rowan gasps, leaning closer to me without even realizing it.
I curl my arm around her waist and pull her tight against my side. She fits there. Perfectly.
Standing here, with her pressed against me, the neon lights reflecting in her eyes, something inside me tightens. A need. A hunger. A certainty.
She’s mine.
When the show ends, she starts to walk away, then winces. It’s barely a flinch, but I see it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
“My feet,” she admits. “These shoes weren’t meant for walking all over Vegas.”
Before she can protest, I bend, scoop her into my arms, and lift her against my chest.
“Grant!” she squeaks, gripping my shoulders.
“Not letting you hurt yourself,” I say simply. “Tell me if you think I’m ever putting you down.”
She tucks her face against my throat. I feel her smile against my skin, and it damn near breaks me.
I carry her all the way back to the hotel, up the steps, through the lobby, and down the hall.
My muscles burn, and heat rises in my blood with every second she clings to me.
Her dress slides up her thighs, brushing my forearms. I can feel her soft curves against me, every exhale of her breath brushing my neck.
By the time I reach the room, I’m on the edge of losing my mind.
I swipe the key, kick the door open, and carry her inside.
She feels perfect in my arms. Too perfect. My muscles tighten in warning, but I don’t put her down.
Not yet.
I carry her further into the room and only stop when she whispers against my neck.
“Grant… you’re really carrying me over the threshold again?”
“Yeah,” I growl. “And I’m going to do it every time I get the chance.”
I set her down slowly, letting every inch of her body slide against mine on her way to the floor.
Her hands skim my chest. Her breasts brush my chest through her dress. Her breath fans across my throat.
By the time her feet hit the carpet, I’m hard—painfully hard.
She tilts her head, lips parted, wanting… something.
I step closer. She presses her palms against my stomach like she’s trying to steady herself, but her fingers curl slightly, gripping the fabric of my shirt.
“One taste wasn’t enough,” I say, my voice low, barely human.
Her chest rises on a sharp inhale.
I frame her face gently, firm enough that she can feel how much I need her, and kiss her.
The second our mouths meet, everything snaps.
Her lips are soft and warm, and she opens them for me immediately. I slide my tongue against hers, slow but deep, claiming her mouth, swallowing her little gasp. She clutches my shirt, dragging me closer, pressing her body against mine like she’s starving for me.
I back her against the wall, kissing her harder.
She makes this quiet, pleading sound in her throat, and I feel it down my spine, into my blood, straight to my cock.
“Grant,” she whispers breathlessly.
“Say it again,” I growl against her mouth, lifting her thigh with one hand so she’s pressed against my hip.
“Grant—”
I kiss her again before she can finish, my hands roaming over her hips, her waist, down the curve of her ass. I grip her there, slide my hand under her dress, and groan when my fingers meet bare skin.
No tights. No shorts.
Just lace.
“Jesus,” I breathe. “You’re trying to kill me.”
She blushes. I can feel her trembling.
I hook a finger under her panties and tug gently. “These are coming off.”
She nods, eyes huge and dark with heat.
I drop to my knees, right there in the middle of the room.
Her breath hitches as I push her dress up around her hips.
She grabs the straps, holding the dress bunched at her waist. Her thighs shake slightly as I nudge them apart.
I hook my thumbs into her panties and drag them down slowly.
She steps out of them, and I swear I nearly lose control.
“Rowan,” I murmur, looking up at her from my knees. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
She swallows hard. “Grant…”
I wrap one arm around her thigh and pull her closer, lowering my mouth to her pussy before she can protest.
She gasps, loud and sharp, the second my tongue touches her.
I lick her slowly at first, savoring her taste, sliding my tongue through her folds, circling her clit until her knees nearly buckle. She braces her hands against the wall and moans softly, hips rocking toward my mouth.
I grip her thighs tighter and devour her.
Long strokes. Slow circles. Soft suction that makes her hips jump. I flick my tongue over her clit again and again, then slide lower and push my tongue inside her, groaning at how wet she already is.
“Grant—oh, my god—” she gasps, hands shaking against the wall.
I grip her ass and pull her closer, teasing her clit with the tip of my tongue until she’s panting. Her thighs squeeze around my head, trembling harder by the second.
She’s close. I can feel it. Her breath catches. Her hips jerk, fingers digging into the wall.
“Grant—I’m—”
“Come for me,” I growl against her, sucking her clit into my mouth.
She falls apart.
Her whole body tightens. Her thighs clamp around my head. Her back arches off the wall. She comes with a choked cry, shaking so hard that I have to hold her up.
I keep licking her through it, softer now, slow circles to ease her down gently. By the time I stand, she’s boneless in my arms.
“Bed,” I rasp, lifting her again. “Now.”
She wraps her arms around my neck as I carry her to the mattress. I lay her down gently, then strip off my shirt with one hard pull.
Her breath catches when she sees me. The scars. The muscle. The hunger I’m not bothering to hide.
“Grant…” she whispers, reaching toward me.
I climb over her slowly, settling between her thighs.
“You taste like heaven,” I murmur. “And I’m not done with you.”
Her breath trembles as I kiss her again—deep, slow, letting her taste herself on my tongue.
She moans into my mouth, hips lifting toward me. Her hands slide down my stomach, then lower, brushing against the front of my pants.
I hiss as her fingers stroke my hardness through the fabric.
“Take them off,” she whispers.
I nearly come undone hearing her ask for me like that.
I stand long enough to shove my pants and briefs down, my cock springing free, heavy and aching.
Her eyes widen. Her lips part.
Fuck.
I grip myself, stroking slowly to take the edge off, and crawl back over her.
“You okay?” I murmur, brushing her hair back.
She nods quickly, too quickly. “Yes. I want you.”
I line myself up, sliding the head of my cock through her wetness. We both groan. Her hips lift off the bed, needy and desperate.
“Fucking hell, Ro,” I growl. “You’re so wet.”
“Grant… please.”
I push into her slowly.
She gasps, clutching my shoulders. I stop halfway, kissing her, letting her adjust.
Her eyes squeeze shut. She breathes shakily.
“Tell me if you need me to stop,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “No. I-I want all of you.”
I slide the rest of the way in, burying myself to the hilt.
Her breath breaks in a sharp cry. I groan into her neck, shaking with the effort of not slamming into her right away.
She’s tight. Hot. Perfect.
I wait until her thighs relax around my hips, until her fingers loosen on my shoulders, until her breath steadies.
Then she kisses me, softly at first, then deeper, her hips rocking up to meet mine.
That’s all it takes.
I pull out slowly, then thrust back in, deeper this time. She moans into my mouth. I do it again, faster, her body meeting mine perfectly. Her nails drag down my back. Her legs wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.
“Grant,” she gasps, voice breaking.
“Look at me,” I rasp.
She opens her eyes.
I thrust harder.
Her breath shatters.
“Jesus, Rowan… you feel so good,” I groan, my pace quickening.
I brace one hand beside her head and slide the other under her thigh, lifting it higher, opening her up. She cries out as the new angle lets me thrust deeper, harder.
Her pussy clenches around me—tight, rhythmic.
She’s close again.
“Come for me,” I growl, voice rough. “Come on my cock.”
She breaks.
Her back arches off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as she comes. Her walls clamp around me so hard I groan through my teeth, fighting to hold back, but she’s still coming, shaking, gasping, squeezing me with every wave of pleasure.
I can’t hold out.
I thrust hard twice more and explode inside her, burying myself deep, groaning her name against her neck. My whole body tightens, my release ripping through me with a force I haven’t felt in years.
When I finally collapse on top of her—careful not to crush her—she’s panting, flushed, trembling softly beneath me.
I brush a kiss against her cheek, her jaw, her lips.
She looks up at me with hazy eyes.
“Grant,” she whispers, touching my cheek.
I cradle her face, kiss her softly, sweetly, reverently.
“My wife,” I murmur against her lips.
Her breath catches.
And I know, without any doubt, I’m never letting her go.