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Aw. That was sweet. Romeo clapped a hand to his eyes, obviously embarrassed. “Me too. I mean, I’m sorry too.”
These kids. She wanted to get to know them well enough that they’d trust her with their secrets. Like Romeo had trusted Tony. “I appreciate that. And it sucks, but you know what, it got me here. And I’m glad I’m here.”
Cee perked up, smiled in a way that seemed triumphant. She rushed over and gave Gracie a quick, awkward hug. Gracie hugged her back. Two hugs in one day. She might get good at this.
Cee pulled away. “Definitely better the second time.”
Gracie had to laugh. “Okay. Let’s get to work. It’s not Muay Thai, but I’ll show you a move Tony taught me years ago. It’s saved my life twice.”
Chapter 47
Entering Gracie’s suite, Dusty saw that she’d been up and busy. Her laptop, cell, and a stack of papers were on the round table.
He called out to her, but she didn’t answer. He went to the bedroom area and couldn’t find her. She must be somewhere in this huge home. Great. He’d have to send out a search party.
He turned to go back out and then heard it. Water running?
He followed the sound through the hoity-toity closet to the back wall of mirrors. Yep. Water. Another bath? He knocked on the glass.
“Dusty, if that’s you, come in. Anyone else, go away.”
Made a man feel special. He pushed, and the glass glided open. And who should he find sitting up to her perfect pink nipples in jetted bubbles but one Ms. Gracie Parish. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“Take off your clothes and get in. This is going to make your day.”
He was pretty damn certain of that fact.
Dusty set the land-speed record for undressing, then climbed the stairs and dropped into the water. Thing was almost a pool. The heat loosened his muscles.
He drifted across the water to where Gracie sat. She had her head against the cushions and her eyes closed. He settled on the seat next to her, kissed her on the cheek, licked water off her neck, collarbone, sucked the lobe of her ear and then, “How was your morning? You okay?”
Her eyes still closed, her hand went between his legs and began to stroke. He sucked in a breath. Obviously didn’t want to talk right now. He’d already been hard, but the hand job increased the pressure and pleasure. “Nice way to change the subject.”
She laughed, opened her eyes. “How long do you think I can hold my breath?”
Before he could answer, her head dipped under the water. Her lovely ass floated up as her mouth slid around his cock. Holy hell. He grunted at the feel of her tongue working hot water against his hard-on. That felt incredible.
Her ass, damn near irresistible, bobbed in the water in front of him. Make that irresistible. He gave it a gentle spank. And beneath the water, Gracie went wild, dipping and sucking, and quickening that talented tongue.
Fuck. He fought to keep from coming, fisted his hands. She came up for air. Just in time.
* * *
The moment Gracie surfaced, out of breath, with her bottom still tingling, Dusty was on her. One of his hands squeezed her cheek, his mouth devoured her neck. He whispered, “That ass. None finer. None. All I could do to keep from reddening it properly.”
She inhaled sharply at the thought, pressed her core against his hardness. “Yes to that.”
He groaned, switched from devouring her neck to devouring her mouth. He kissed her like they had been apart a thousand years. And she was kissing him back with the same hot intensity, loving the feel of his strong, sure lips and tongue against hers, the needy way his hands ran along her body.
Her own impatient hands traveled over the heavy muscles of his arms, thick deltoids, biceps, traps, as she straddled him, and with barely a moment to reconsider, grabbed his length and slid down onto him. Her breath whooshed out in one startled rush.
“Careful there, Grace,” he whispered into her mouth.She was tired of careful.
Grabbing his shoulders for support, she began to lift and lower along his hard length. As she rose up her butt broke the surface of the water, and he gave her a solid, stinging slap. The sound echoed in the room and sent heat along her skin. She moaned in approval. “Oh. That feels good.”
“Goin’ to make me come,” he protested. But each time her butt rose above the surface of the water he delivered another. The rise and fall of her hips increased in speed, and she watched his handsome face fight for control as her breasts bounced in front of him. “Grace. Please.”
The pressure built and built. She moaned against his forehead, into his ear, against his cheek, into his hair. And he held back his release, held back while her voice rose into sharp, desperate cries. Her body tensed, tightened, coiled, and exploded in a rush.
She came with a cry, muted by his shoulder as she bit down, but she still heard his quiet proclamation, “Watching you come…breathtaking.”
Her head slumped forward onto his shoulder, her body paralyzed for a moment by how incredibly good that had felt.
He kissed her cheek, rubbed her backside. “You okay, darlin’?”
“Mmm,” she managed, and he lifted her up, turned her, so she could kneel on the seat, facing the window. She braced her arms on the cushion. Head resting on her forearms, she looked at him, positioned to enter her.
Not a hint of playfulness, he told her, rough and sure, “That apple on your tattoo, I’d bite it a thousand times without a moment of regret. You’re worth damnation.”Her heart filled with warmth.
Brushing away wet strands of hair, he bent over her, kissed the back of her neck, moved a strong hand around her hip, down her stomach, down. His confident fingers teased her clit, dipped inside her softness. She instantly arched back, pumped her hips. Felt so good.
And because he was Dusty, and probably could talk a stone to dust, he told her about how hard he was, how deep he was going to enter her, how fast, until she gyrated her hips in rhythm with his hand and begged, “Yes. Please. Do that.”
He chuckled. “Happy to oblige.”
Removing skilled fingers, he grasped her waist, pushed deep inside. Her body responded instantly. Heat burst along her core. Tingles danced inside. Her need became urgent. She pushed back to meet every forceful stroke.
The slap, slap of their bodies, the splash of water, the whir of the jetted bubbles couldn’t compete with her cries of pleasure.
She called out to him as the fever built inside and broke across her in tremors that wracked her with mindless rapture. Panting, she tried to catch her breath.
He bent forward, snaked a hand under her stomach, lifted her hips and thrust hungrily. She could feel every inch of him, sense his skin start to tighten, feel the electric explosion that rocked his body through the heat that spread through her core.
He came with a fierce growl, a sound so animalistic she was sure he’d gone back in time, all the way back to his caveman roots.
He pumped into her for long, greedy moments. And then his hips slowed. He dropped back, settled on the seat, brought her, quaking and as malleable as putty, o
nto his lap.
He snuggled into her neck. She moved to give him access. She was pretty sure that saying “in like a lion and out like a lamb” referred to Dusty. He sure did like to cuddle after.
He kissed her forehead. “Grace,” he breathed hard. “Didn’t just make my day. Made my life.”
Hers too. She kissed his swollen lips. “Where did you go earlier?”
“Uh…” He stopped kissing. His eyes opened wide. He cleared his throat. “’Bout that…”
Dusty at a loss for words? This wasn’t going to be good.
Chapter 48
Leland and Momma’s dual office was on the ground floor of the Mantua Home. Their styles were so different, the room practically had a line drawn down the middle of it: Momma’s whimsical, bold color palette and Leland’s no-nonsense cowhide and earth tones.
Gracie and Dusty sat side-by-side on midnight-purple chairs, watching a screen that had lowered from a compartment in the ceiling. Momma and Leland sat across from them on a recently acquired designer showpiece. A multicolored couch that looked like a quilt, like it had been sewn together from dozens of bright fabrics. Kind of like their family.
Projected onto the screen was Gracie’s mother, Sheila. This wasn’t the woman Gracie remembered. The woman who’d been sick.
When this had been recorded, her mother had had a thin, girlish body and a guileless look. Thus far, the interview had concentrated on why she’d come to the United States, how she’d gotten involved in politics, and how she’d met the would-be senator.
But then an off-camera female interviewer asked her to describe the night of the “incident.”
The story came out haltingly. How candidate Rush took opportunities to speak with Sheila, make her laugh, and how he’d offered her a ride home one night. He’d insisted on walking her up to her apartment and once there had asked for a drink of water. Inside, Sheila had toasted water-filled glasses with him to a bright future.
