Chapter 23
“Ah, fuck, Gracie,” I grunt out as I pull her tighter against me.
Her tits are pressed to my chest, fingers in my hair, bed bouncing with every slow rock of her hips as she rides me. Very slow. It’s fucking excruciating.
I palm her ass, desperate to make her go faster, to take control of this situation.
She only chuckles, breathing into my neck as she stops altogether and pulls back, giving me the perfect view of her chest. Fuck, she’s gorgeous.
Face damp with sweat, dark hair sticking to her temples, cheeks flushed.
Like she’s been fucking me forever. And she kind of has been.
I’m not one to complain, but the woman’s been edging me to the point of torment for what feels like a fucking hour.
If she doesn’t wrap this up, I think I might actually die.
One side of her mouth quirks up. “Need something from me, Decker?”
I release a long breath and bury my head in her chest, my resolve fraying. It’s this thing we do. This game where we fight for dominance. Push each other, tease and torture.
First one to beg loses, and for the last week, she’s been on a hell of a streak. I guess this is her way of evening the score.
“Grace,” I growl as I jerk my hips up, slamming deeper inside her.
She lets out a gasp, so I do it again, and then again as I move my hand up to her throat and squeeze, hoping that will entice her to pick up the pace, to let me finish like I’ve been wanting to do since she got naked and straddled my lap.
She drops her head back as I fuck into her.
Then, finally, she bounces a little faster, those sinful hips of hers grinding to this perfect tempo, once again pulling me towards that ledge.
I clamp my hand down harder around her throat and move her sweat-soaked body the way I want it to move. Harder, faster, skin on my skin.
I’m almost there. She is too, if her moans are any indication. Her pupils blown wide, breath ragged, her pulse battering wildly against my thumb. But that little smirk is back. The one that tells me she’s not about to put me out of my misery.
A low warning rumbles in my throat, but she stills anyway, laughing.
“I asked if you needed something from me,” she says, nipping at my ear. She pushes up onto her knees, the walls of her pussy squeezing down on my dick as she almost completely unsheathes me. Hovering there. Waiting for me to concede while the tip of my cock sits inside her.
I’m going to fucking die.
Grace Donovan is going to kill me.
I let out another one of those long breaths. “You think I can’t tell how close you are? How bad you fucking need it? You’re punishing yourself, Grace. Do us both a favour and end this.”
“You can end this whenever you want. All you have to do is say it. One word”—she starts her slow, torturous descent back down—“and you’ll be dripping out of me. Don’t you want that?”
God. More than anything. But do I want to lose?
Another slow up and down, more of that squeezing, of that little smirk I can’t wipe off her face tonight.
Yeah. I’m okay with losing. Arms wrapped around her, relishing every quake of her body as she comes on my cock, filling her up. Those beautiful fucking sounds she makes when she’s saying my name.
Wrapped up in Gracie.
It’s a good way to lose.
“You win,” I say finally.
“I won an hour ago, Decker. You and I both know it. So say it. Tell me what I want to hear.”
She starts again. Hips undulating to another slow, steady, agonizing beat. Eyes on mine as she waits.
I groan, gripping her ass tighter.
“Say it,” she says again.
“Please,” I say, voice cracking. I don’t know how much more I can take. “For the love of God, please.”
Her laugh is low and husky, imbued with the same desire that’s thrashing through my veins, making my skin tingle, my muscles tense, my dick throb with the need for release.
A release I don’t get until I say it. Please. This is what I’ve become. Someone who fucking begs. And honestly, I can’t think of a single man in this world who’d fault me for it. Having a girl like Gracie naked and on top of me? Yeah, there’s not much I wouldn’t beg for.
Satisfied with her win, she pulls me closer, and this time when I grip her ass, moving her the way I want, there’s no stopping, no little smirk warning me she’s about to slow, no more teasing. Based on her urgency, the change in rhythm, I’d say Grace needs to come just as badly as I do.
I move my hips with her, rocking them forward, meeting her thrusts, steady strokes pounding into her as I finally take what I’ve been craving since she crawled into my bed shortly after midnight.
“God, Linc,” she moans.
Her eyes close and her mouth opens as her climax crests, the muscles of her perfect wet pussy squeezing my dick. It’s a hell of a fucking thing. The way her face contorts, her body shakes. I could do this every fucking day.
I wrap my arm around her waist, slamming her down harder. Finally, that shake rips through my body. My balls pull up, and a steady thrum of pleasure builds in my stomach. Then I’m erupting inside her.
“Fuck,” I grunt out as her body goes limp. I grab her ass cheeks, bouncing her up and down as I finish, filling her up with every last fucking drop of me.
I collapse back, pulling her with me, and take her in a deep kiss. This is my favourite part. I love fucking her, yeah. This last week has been full of dirty, hot, mind-blowing sex. The kind that leaves me absolutely fucking wrecked.
Grace can wreck me any day of the week. As long as I get this after. Her mouth. Weaving my fingers in her hair, exploring her with my tongue, taking her lips between my teeth. Another thing I could do every damn day.
She breaks away and rolls off me, then snags my T-shirt from the floor and slips it on. She gives me a second to tug on my boxers before settling into the crook of my chest.
“You really love torturing yourself, don’t you?” she says, her voice laced with humor.
I pull her in tighter. “I don’t like losing.”
“Me neither.”
“You sure? I think I’ve had you losing every night this week.”
She pinches my side playfully, then settles deeper into my arms.
I savour it, this closeness. This moment with her, while she’s sprawled on top of me. As her breathing starts to slow, her muscles unwinding, I count down to the part that I’ve started to hate a little—the part where she leaves.
Just sex. We agreed. It’s nothing, she said.
And yeah, it sounded like a good deal at the time.
I get Gracie without all the strings. Without the complications.
I get a naked girl in my bed without the expectation that I have to do more.
And Grace? Not really sure what she’s getting out of this.
She seems to like the way I fuck her, so maybe that’s enough.
But that’s the problem. It doesn’t feel like enough.
I’m not good at the more part. And since Emily, I’ve opted out of it all.
I don’t do relationships. I don’t do sleepovers.
I don’t want to meet the parents or the friend group or go to the work Christmas party.
No strings. It’s my thing. So Grace rolling out of bed and leaving after we’ve gone a few rounds should be second nature to me. Barely even a thought.
But it’s a thought. A small one nagging at the back of my mind every time she walks away.
Just sex.
We agreed.
Every night, we fuck, and then she gets dressed and walks out. I don’t ask her to stay, regardless of how much I want her to.
Her fingers wander over my skin, idly mapping a path over my stomach and lower to the edge of my boxers.
My dick twitches at the proximity. “Gracie.” I sigh. “If you want another round, I’m game, but I’m gonna need a short nap. And maybe a couple bottles of Gatorade.”
With a snort, she says, “I’m just taking a little time to enjoy all these pretty muscles. You know they’re my favourite part of you.”
“Hmm. Not my sparkling personality?”
Another laugh. “No. But maybe you’re growing on me a little.”
She continues her exploring, moving higher, tracing over the scar that rips down most of my chest. From the accident. I used to shudder when a woman would touch it, pull away, but now it’s just another part of me. A part that broke. That had to be stitched back together.
I was only conscious for a few minutes after the crash.
I don’t remember much. Just a heaviness on my chest, like I couldn’t breathe.
And then a lot of pain. Like an electric current slicing into my lungs and zapping out towards my limbs.
And Emily, of course. Head resting on what was left of the dash, the blood pouring from her nose and mouth, and those dead, lifeless eyes. Looking straight at me.
I think I screamed.
“I didn’t take you for a tattoo guy,” Grace says. She skims her fingers over my left rib, where Emily’s name is inked into my skin. “Did you… get this after she died?”
I smile, pushing out the image of hollow, empty eyes that still haunt my nightmares and replacing them with a better memory. “No. That was a bet I lost.”
The fingers tracing over the black lines still. “A bet?”
“Yeah, she uh, was really good at cards. Like really good. Wiped the floor with all of us when we were in high school . She’s the reason poker was banned at South Bay Sec our senior year.
” A small laugh escapes me. “We were down in Niagara at one of the casinos, and I bet her I could take home more cash than she could. We were twenty, maybe. Obviously she won.”
Grace presses her hand to the tattoo. Almost like she’s holding it.
I take a breath, watch as she rises and falls with my chest. “She told me this was the price of my arrogance . A permanent reminder of who beat me, of how wrong I can be sometimes.”
Grace laughs. “Cold-blooded. I love it.”
“Yeah, she was pretty proud of herself.”