17. Rosay #2
“Yeah.” I pop my lips, and my stomach burns thinking about the wire that cut into my skin years ago. “I didn’t know until I was being booked for felony gang violence that the brick had hit someone, and that the house they’d thrown the bricks into belonged to a senator.”
“Fuck, me.”
“Thankf ully, footage of the incident proved I hadn’t been involved in the throwing, and I had a good judge who modified my charge to criminal mischief and gave me probation, community service, and court-mandated therapy.”
His eyebrows nearly touch his forehead, but there’s no disgust on his face.
“You didn’t read my file?” I ask.
“I’ve read your file more times than I care to admit, and there’s no mention of a felony.”
My brain stores away that little tidbit of information, delighting in the fact that he was curious about me.
“I guess that makes sense since Thompson is an investment company, but it unfortunately isn’t the same when it comes to the background check for people who want to work in the school system.”
“So, that’s why you tutor instead of teach?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Dad wasn’t sure what to do with me, so he sent me to live with my abuela in Spain after I got off probation. Well, I overheard him and Wendy talking and she mentioned it. He agreed, and off I went.”
He opens his mouth, most likely to offer an apology, but I wave him off.
“As an adult, I can see it was what I needed at the time. I needed to work through my grief away from my dad working through his.”
“But you still feel like you aren’t a part of the family?” he asks. "You seem pretty close with your dad."
I pick at my cuticle, unable to meet his questioning gaze. “I’m the outsider to their family. Sure, they’ve never said it, but they came as a package deal. They already had their inside jokes and their own routines, and when I came back from Spain, I didn’t seem to fit anywhere.”
He nudges my chin up to him with a firm grasp. “You were born to stand out.” My mouth dries at the compliment, and he adds, “Hell, you were burned into my mind long before I ever stepped foot inside Thompson’s offices.”
“I don’t remember ever meeting you before Thompson,” I say.
“I should be offended that my fiancée doesn’t remember meeting me, but in all fairness, it was a chaotic night, and you were constantly being approached. Maybe had I come up to you that night and not been moping around the bar…”
He trails off, but he doesn’t need to complete the sentence for me to know what he means. This thing between us would have had the chance to be something real instead of what it is. I open my mouth to respond, but his phone rings. He reaches for it, and his shoulders drop.
“I’ve gotta take this.”
“That’s fine. No worries.”
With a sheepish nod, he slides from the bed and heads outside.
I toss myself dramatically back onto my pillow, frustrated for more reasons than I want to examine.
This night, well, this whole day, has been a whirlwind.
From our kisses and playful banter to the bathroom fiasco that put me more on edge than expected, to this conversation where everything I thought I knew about him was blown to smithereens.
I try to wait up, but as sleep weighs my eyelids, one thought circles around my mind.
I have real feelings for my fake fiancé.
***
One thing I didn’t miss about waking up near the vineyards is the seasonal field crew chatting as they head home from a night of harvesting, laughing so loudly they could wake the dead.
I blink away the morning haze, trying to adjust to the still dark room.
Heat encompasses my back, and when I g o to move, I find myself stuck.
Awareness prickles every inch of my skin, bringing goosebumps along my exposed forearm as Graham’s arm tightens around my waist.
Warm breath coasts along my shoulder, and now that I’m fully awake, I can feel the even tempo of his heart thumping against my back.
I relish being held by him, memorizing how every inch of him is glued to me, molded in such a way that if the house was on fire, it would take a hot minute to untangle ourselves.
I lay there, drifting in and out of sleep as our breaths sync and he pulls me closer.
A solid mass awakens behind me, and I realize Graham’s morning wood is nestled right against my butt cheeks.
My brain unhelpfully recalls the piercing I discovered last night, and my body flushes from head to toe.
I’m all too aware of how my nipples perk up and how my core clenches the longer I think about it.
I need to get out of this bed.
I test whether or not I can get out from under Graham without waking him up by wiggling my legs forward. His muscular forearm banded around my torso presents a problem, so I move back to the space I was and try to hoist myself up high enough to move his hand out from under me.
“Are you purposefully trying to rile me up by thrusting your ass onto my cock?” he grumbles with a sleep-coated rasp. “That’s not very nice.”
I freeze and glance over my shoulder to look at him. His dark hair is mussed in the sexiest way, and his deep brown eyes are wide open beneath an arched brow.
“I’m not the one who was worried about blurring imaginary lines,” I lie, but it’s easier to say that than to believe it was just that he didn’t want more with me. “Also, might I add that it was not me who crossed the pillow mountain and woke up cuddling you.”
“Just k now that those imaginary lines are the only reason I haven’t fucked you into this mattress.” He chuckles into my hair and pulls me tighter to him. “And you crossed the pillow boundary the minute I slipped into bed. Even threw your leg over me and attached yourself like a koala.”
My mind empties every single thought as his words settle on me, and my core quivers.
Damn that imaginary line. I’m sure my face is beet red, but I’m thankful it’s still pretty dark in the room.
Finally, my brain catches up to the rest of his statement about me crossing the pillow mountain, and I say, “You lie. I did not cross the pillow boundary.”
He rolls away from me, and I immediately miss the heat from his firm body. The room illuminates when he switches on his phone, and I wait as he types in his passcode, opens the gallery, and shows me a picture of me nestled on his shoulder. Gah, he even smirked at the camera when he took it.
“First off, you’re not supposed to take pictures of people while they’re sleeping. That’s creepy. And second, that proves nothing. You could have staged it.”
He doesn’t answer but swipes to the next screen where a video begins to play. My blonde hair is fanned out over his muscular chest, and my arm is wrapped around him.
“So cuddly…and warm. I could…I could sleep next…to you…forever,” I say in a sleep-induced haze.
“Graham,” I yell, trying to get the phone from his hand. “That doesn’t count. I was sleep talking, and it was probably just the wine I had up at the house.”
“Sure, it was,” he jests, moving it further from my reach. “Though, I have to admit that I slept better than I have in months, so I can’t complain.”
I growl and basically climb him to steal the phone and delete the picture.
He grips my waist with one hand as I settle on top of him, grabbing his wrist and pulling the phone from it.
I nearly pitch to the side, but he steadies me.
While I should be focused on finding the picture and deleting it, my gaze falls to where Graham is insanely hard beneath me.
Our eyes meet, flooded with lust, and there’s no denying any longer that this is happening.
“Rosay.” It’s a plea on his lips a moment before he drags me down to him and seals our mouths.
Like he’s a locksmith, I open for him, welcoming the glide of his tongue against mine as I drop the phone to the bed. My hips rock along his length, and heat licks down my spine as he slides his hands from my waist to grab my ass.
“You’re going to make me come again,” he groans, kneading my flesh.
Again? I’d like to latch onto that statement and ask him what he means by that, but as I nip at his lip, he slides his hands under my thighs and hoists me up his torso.
“What are yo—”
“If you don’t sit on my fucking face right now, I might die in this bed.”
I cackle at his desperation and latch onto the bed frame, a slow smile building on my face.
Should I be this happy that he’s finally broken?
Finally caved to the sexual tension ready to burst within us?
Probably not, but my legs weaken and my body hums with adrenaline as he scoots beneath me, lining up his face with my plaid shorts.
“I can take the shorts off,” I say, all too aware of the thumping in my chest and between my legs.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
All inhibitions fly out the window when Graham pushes his face into my crotch, zeroing in on my clit.
How he found it so easily when it’s covered by my shorts and underwear is beyond me, but he works me into a frenzy with nips and perfect pressure.
I release a low moan when his thumb presses into my clit, drawing slow circles.
“More,” I groan. “I need more.”
“I got you, babygirl.”
I nearly wail when his mouth detaches from me, and I stare down at him as he takes my hips in his hands and moves me around in a circular motion.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
His dimple appears when he grins. “I was told I needed to swirl the glass before I taste fine wine.”
My grumble about him being a dumbass is cut off—along with my breath—as Graham pulls my shorts and panties to the side and slides his tongue through me.
Shivers wrack my body as he sucks my clit into his mouth, twisting his tongue around the bud.
The wrought iron squeaks beneath my hands as I hold onto it for dear life, riding his face without inhibition.
“God, that feels so good,” I say, thigh muscles screaming as I move in time with him.
I don’t even have to tell him I need more; he instinctively knows and adds his fingers to the mix.
My head falls back as I undulate my hips, drowning him in my arousal as my inner walls flutter.
Graham curls his fingers and caresses inside me, stroking in time with his tongue as I chase the high of an orgasm.
He slows his pace, unlatching himself from my core, and I look down at him in confusion. A smirk and a lifted eyebrow show me he’s edging me, and that’s not going to fly with me.
“You fucker,” I groan.
He chuckles and I clench at the feel of his breath on my sensitive core. “Just trying to make this last,” he says.
Graham mi ght think he’s in control of this situation, but as intuitive as he is, so am I.
With a delicate hand, I slide my fingers into his hair and grip his scalp hard, pushing him back to my core.
His nails dig into the skin at my waist, causing goosebumps to pebble my thighs, but it does exactly what I expected.
Feral would be the perfect word to describe how Graham devours my pussy like he’s starving, but as sparks shoot off in my core, I can’t find any words except, “Fuck, yes, Graham.”