Page 59 of Never Your Valentine

“Wait. Wait.” Grant puts strong hands on my shoulders and backs himself out of my mouth.

My heart bottoms out. “Something wrong?”

“Something right.” He bends to kiss me. “I can’t come yet. Not like this. Not until I’m balls-deep inside you, with your eyes rolled back in your head.”

I laugh and pat his ass. “Now that’s the Grant I know.”

“The Grant who keeps his promises. You’ve only had one orgasm.”

“But I’m—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because he’s got me by the waist, tugging me upward. He sits among the pillows, his back on the headboard, and opens his legs. He positions me between them, my back to his front, and pulls me close.

“I’ll come when you come,” he whispers insistently. “And not a moment before.”

Holy shit. This is nice. It’s more than nice. Grant has ridiculously long arms, and he can reach all of me. He’s got one hand on my breast and one between my legs. He kisses my neck and fondles me with just the right amount of pressure. I’ve got one arm over my head, playing with his hair. My nipples are pebbles and my core is soft and slick and very turned-on. I’m aware of his erection at my back, but it’s not urgent. He’s taking his time. It’s getting me so worked up that all I want to do is straddle him.

I’m breathing heavily, panting now, and I can barely choke out, “Where’s the condoms?”

“In the other room.”

“How fast can you bring me one?”

“How fast do you want one?”

I sit up and crawl off him. He races to the living room and back, tearing the wrapper open as he walks. “You know, there’s nothing sexier than a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Especially when what I want is your cock?”

“So sexy,” he murmurs as he joins me in bed.

I feel sexy. I feel powerful and beautiful and all the things I denied myself when I was with Magnus.

Nope, I tell myself. I’m not thinking about him. I’m not thinking about the events that brought me to Grant’s door tonight. And you know what? I’m glad it happened, because this is exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I want to be doing, and this is the man I want to do it with.

Grant’s not what I need, but he’s what I want. No strings, no expectations, no hope of something more. Just glorious, fulfilling sex with a man who’s skilled in bed.

Grant sinks his fingertips into my hips and pulls me onto him. I was worried about this part, with me being short and him being tall, but it’s better than I could ask for. He lets me ride him, with my legs spread so wide that everything is hitting just right. He’s holding my breasts, his large hands covering them completely, which is extremely hot.

Then he rolls us over and he’s on top of me, filling me, grinding into me in a way that makes me squeal. There’s no thought, only the sensation of his thick cock sliding through my wet heat. This is what I want. I want him. I shift slightly, taking him deeper, and tell him that I’m coming. That’s when he loses it, letting go in a breathy moan that shoots right through me.

We move together, our rhythm slowing until we catch shaky breaths. His head drops to my shoulder and we sigh together.

After a long moment, he lifts his head to look at me, and it’s like he’s seeing me for the first time. Who knows? Maybe he is. This is new territory for both of us.

But before I can unpack that, Grant leaves to take care of the condom. He returns and flops down next to me on the bed, hauling me onto his chest. His hands wander up and down my back and all I can do is breathe.

Chapter 24

Grant

I turn out the lights on my way back to bed. The soft glow from the street lights seeps through the window, washing over Annabelle’s radiant skin. I hold her and let myself drift.

I don’t want to move. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to consider the problem we’ve made for ourselves. This wasn’t ever supposed to happen.

I trace lazy circles over Annabelle’s back. Her muscles are relaxed and her breathing is steady. The things that upset her earlier haven’t come roaring back yet, and she’s fully here with me.

This pleases me more than it should. I don’t let myself think about that, either. Instead, I focus on her bra. It’s a pink piece of gauzy nothingness that has somehow become tangled in the sheets with us, and is now draped over Annabelle’s thigh. When she pulled off her bulky hoodie and the shirt underneath to stand before me wearing that little lace confection, I nearly choked on my own tongue.

I’ve had fantasies—a lot of them—since that day in the laundry room. Annabelle’s underwear was plenty enticing on its own, but seeing it on her body was ten times better. And the body itself? Delicious. She’s soft and petite, with tiny, perfect breasts and a delicate curve to her ass that makes me want to grab handfuls and never let go. The way she moves her body is untamed and wild and exciting beyond belief.