Chapter 16 #2
“I, uh…” She sighs, her body sagging. “I can’t usually come more than once… unless I do it myself. So as much as I appreciate your”—she lifts her head and grins—“enthusiasm. We’ll be here for a very long time if you try to do that again.”
I nip at her ink-covered thigh and slide my hand between her legs, working her clit with my thumb. “You’ll come, because I’m fucking telling you to come.”
“I don’t think it works that way.” She arches again, hips tilting towards me, her body begging for my mouth despite her protests.
“Does with me,” I say. “I am very good at getting women where they need to go.”
She snorts. “You know, men have a bad habit of thinking very highly of themselves. And us women have a bad habit of letting them.”
I quirk a brow. “Meaning?”
“ Meaning. You sure they didn’t just let you think that?”
I bark out a laugh. God, this woman and her fucking mouth. “I’m sure.”
Grabbing her by the waist, I flip her over, pulling a yelp from her as she hits the cushions. I yank up her hips and position her the way I want—perfect ass front and centre, inches from my face, knees on the cushions.
“Tell you what. I’m gonna work your pretty little cunt until your legs shake. When I’m done, you can let me know if you faked it. Hands on the back of the couch. And arch this ass up for me.”
I don’t catch what she mutters in response, but she does as I ask.
Spine bowing, pushing her ass up, giving me the perfect view of what I’m about to eat.
A gasp falls from her mouth as I spread her wider, opening her ass cheeks, stretching her open.
I spit on her pussy and then glide my tongue from her clit to her asshole.
And with a groan, I bury my face deep between her legs.
Her body trembles, a beautiful, shaky moan slipping from her mouth.
“Told you this ass would be mine,” I say, voice muffled as I chuckle against her skin.
“Stop talking,” she huffs. “I was promised leg shaking. And they’re not shaking yet.”
Tightening my grip on her hips, I dig my fingers into her soft flesh. I want to bruise her. Leave her with a reminder that I was here. Touching her, feasting on her sweet pussy, fucking her with my tongue.
I keep pace, and she bears back, moving to my tempo, faster and faster until she’s close again, right there. But then she slows, hesitates. Her muscles tense.
“Problem, Gracie?”
Sighing, she slumps against the back of the couch, hiding her face in the cushion. “It’s… not gonna happen. I told you. I’m not built for that, much as I want to be. I’m… I’m taking too long. You have to be at work soon and I can’t?—”
Hauling myself up on my knees, I wrap my hand around her throat and pull her back into my chest, squeezing, trapping her words.
Her body comes alive instantly. She’s so goddamn responsive.
The moment I put on that pressure, clamp my fingers down the way she likes, her need takes over, and a sudden wetness drenches my fingers.
“Stop thinking,” I say as I settle behind her. “Focus on me, on what I’m doing to you. How tight I’m squeezing your throat.”
I press a little harder, and when her muscles settle, her body relaxing against mine, I start circling. Slow at first, easing her in, and then, as she moves her hips, keeping rhythm, faster. Like that first night, she fucks my hand, taking what she wants.
“That’s right, Gracie. Make a mess on my fingers, let me feel how fucking wet you get when I touch you like this.”
I tug her closer and add more pressure to her throat. She grips my wrist, digging her nails into my skin.
God, she’s hot. Completely naked, grinding on my hand, her ass rubbing against my cock, edging me closer right along with her.
If she doesn’t fucking slow down, I’m gonna blow, but I can’t stop her now, not when she’s this close.
So I focus on her while tamping down on the well of pleasure pulling at my stomach, tightening my balls, begging for release.
“I’m close,” she moans, voice strained from the pressure at her throat.
Fuck. Me too.
Her movements quicken. Her moans get louder.
She dips her head back against my shoulder, grabbing my hair, pulling me closer, her body fucking shaking.
And her ass. That perfect, beautiful ass slides up and down my pants, stroking me.
I roll my hips, my resolve cracking, and give in.
Gracie Donovan is gonna make me fucking come. And she’s barely even touching me.
The moan she releases when she finally topples over that ledge is what does it for me. It’s like a goddam war cry. I groan, burying my face in the crook of her neck, holding her tight to my body as my balls pull up and I let go, soaking my briefs as wave after wave of cum spills from my cock.
“Fuck” I grunt, steadying myself on the back of the couch as she collapses.
We’re silent a minute, and then she shakily pushes up and releases a husky laugh. “Did I just make you come in your pants, Decker?”
Grinning, I tug her into my chest, hand on her throat, thumb at her battering pulse as I kiss her. It’s addictive, this mouth of hers.
“Don’t be so proud of yourself, Gracie,” I say as I release her. “So? Did I make your legs shake? Or were you faking that?”
Pushing me back, she hops off the couch. As she tugs on my T-shirt, she keeps her eyes trained on my still-hard dick pressing against my pants. “I’m not in the business of making men feel good about themselves when they don’t deliver.”
A loud vibration sounds from my kitchen table. Not my work phone or my personal phone. It’s the one Axe makes me carry. A device that belongs to god knows who. I sigh, irritation rolling through me, as I tread out of the living room and read the text.
Shit.
Teeth gritted, I glance at Grace, who’s pulling on those lacy purple panties. “I gotta get to work. Get dressed. I’ll drive you to Jack’s.”
“I can figure out my own ride. Can I use your shower?”
“The last time you had free rein in my house, you destroyed everything you could get your hands on. So no. You can shower somewhere else.”
Her expression hardens. “Back to asshole, then?”
Shrugging, I thumb out a reply, not bothering to fight the anger swelling in my chest. Another cryptic demand with very little context. A time and a place. An order. A reminder of what I am, of who I’ve become.
God, I fucking hate this guy. And myself. I fucking hate him too.
Attention fixed on my phone, I say, “I’m an asshole all the time, Grace. The difference is that you seem to care a lot less when I got your legs spread. Get dressed and get in the fucking truck. I won’t ask again.”
She grasps my chin, jerking my face up, forcing my attention to the angry scowl she’s suddenly slipped on.
“No, Decker,” she seethes, pinning me with a glare that makes me feel like I’m looking up at her despite being at least a foot taller.
“The only time you’re bearable, is when you’ve got my legs spread.
After, you turn into this. Something sets you off, you have a temper tantrum, and then you activate fuck-boy mode and expect me to lie down and take it. ”
She roughly releases my face and steps back, her neck flushed red, her breathing ragged, like maybe she’s about to lose her temper and punch me in the face again. “Talk to me with respect, like I’m a fucking person, or don’t talk to me at all.”
I clear my throat. Okayyy. “Grace?—”
“Unless the next words coming out of your mouth are I’m sorry for being a pompous asshole, then why are you even talking?”
My breathing stutters. Yeah, all right. I’m a dick. But she did this. She came for me. Held a gun to my head and tried to push me into a corner. The same shit the other Donovan’s been pulling on me for a decade.
I didn’t start this. She did.
I won’t apologize for shit.
Quickly, I find my tongue. “You’re forgetting that?—”
“Guess it’s not a surprise you were being so nice, given how badly you wanted to fuck me.” Smirking, she eyes my crotch. “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast, because that’s the last taste you’ll be getting. Dick.”
She turns on her heel and heads for my front door. She’s clutching her skirt, sneakers, and cellphone as she steps outside. In nothing but my T-shirt and her fucking underwear.
Shit.
I rush after her. “Grace. Wait a second,” I yell from the doorway. “Can you just?—”
She’s halfway down the lawn. Without looking back at me, she raises her middle finger and yells, “Get fucked, Decker.”
It’s only then that I notice the cruiser parked in front of my house. Miller leaning against it, arms crossed, eyebrows hitting his hairline.
“Morning, Gracie,” he says as she passes.
“Jake,” she bites out without slowing.
He keeps his focus on her as she storms down the street, and when she’s well out of earshot, he pushes off the car and saunters up my driveway, letting out a low whistle. “You weren’t answering your texts. Figured I’d pick you up. You’re, uh…. you’re screwing Gracie Donovan?”
“Yes. Or, no. Not really.” I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t know.”
He hums. “Allen won’t like that. Neither will the chief.”
Red crowds my vision at the thought. “Yeah? Good thing you’ll keep your fucking mouth shut, then, huh?”
He shakes his head, smile curling up his face. “Small town, Linc. And that girl just walked out of your house half naked and yelling. Doubt that’ll stay quiet for long. What the hell did you do to her?”
“Nothing.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “Was just… being myself.”
“That’ll do it. You ready to go? Allen’s got a briefing.”
I sigh, remembering that I need to change my fucking underwear.
Because of her. The woman whose brother has got my balls in a vise.
The woman whose pussy I can still smell on my face.
On my fingers. Who I can’t stop picturing in my bed.
Waking up beside me, spreading her legs for me.
Maybe smiling at me instead of scowling.
Looking at me like she did when she woke this morning, when we were in my truck last night, that first time at the station.
Those moments where, for a second, she smiles, and I forget all the shit her family has put me through, that my life is utterly fucked because of the corner her brother backed me into.
But she won’t look at me like that again. Not after this last time. Like always, I did that thing I do—playing asshole. Not playing. I am an asshole. I just don’t know how to stop.
It’s a problem. And much like her brother, Grace Donovan’s got me by the balls.
I don’t know how to stop that either.