Page 86 of Never Your Valentine

Grant

Annabelle sits across from me in the golden light of the restaurant, and I’m struck, once again, by how beautiful she is. She’s always been gorgeous. Even when she’s stumbling out of bed in ratty sweatpants, she could make models question their career choices. But tonight feels different in a way that makes my chest ache with the simple fact of her existence.

Is it the job offer that’s lighting her up? I hope not, because if her glow is coming from a bunch of corporate goons finally realizing she’s brilliant, I’m going to have to fight someone with a corner office.

But that can’t be it. Annabelle has never needed permission to be herself. She’s the kind of person who will laugh at her own joke before she finishes telling it, or have a solo dance party in Super Savers because she likes the song on the loudspeaker. But her joy isn’t random. It’s a choice. Now that I know how hard she fought for her happiness, I want to go back in time and punch my previous self for every time I tried to dull her shine.

Her eyes meet mine, and I’m painfully aware that my own emotional range starts at sarcastic and ends at hungry. But Annabelle gazes at me across the table like she knows all the corners of my mind, beyond the bad jokes and panic.

I’ve told her things I haven’t told anyone else, because it felt safe to do so. It still feels safe to do so. I don’t feel exposed or vulnerable under her gaze. I feel newly alive. I’m ice cracking under spring sun. I’m new growth, ready to spring up from the earth. All I want to do is bask in her light.

Our connection lasts through dinner, which I’m sure I eat but I’m not sure I taste because I’m so tuned in to Annabelle. She’s all I see. All I know. The very air I breathe.

The feeling lasts all the way home, where the conversation flows like wine, pungent on the tongue and going down easy. It lasts when I carry her through the parking lot because the snow is melting into dirty puddles and she doesn’t want to ruin her shoes. It lasts up twenty-three stairs, where we’re continuing the jokes we made in the car.

We pause on the landing. “We could say good night here,” I tell her.

“We could,” she agrees, her voice a teasing lilt that seems to have a throughline to my cock. “End the evening on a high note.”

“I don’t want it to end,” I say.

A pause stretches between us. The restaurant, the drive, the easy laughter, the slow slide of evening into night, all come to this singular moment.

I unlock my door. She takes my hand. I bring her inside and pull her toward me.

Annabelle fits against my chest. The top of her head settles under my chin. Her arms are on my back. My breath matches hers as if we’ve rehearsed this. Time continues its existence, but the moment feels suspended outside it.

She shifts and murmurs half-formed words into my jacket. My name, maybe. Or maybe nothing at all. My body tenses and my cock springs to attention.

She strains upward to kiss me. All I can think about is how her hands feel against my neck and where I want her to put them next. I’m thinking about how much I want her on my lips and on my tongue.

The moment our mouths meet, an inferno rises in me. I need her desperately. My fingers twine in her hair, the silky strands slipping through my fingers. I press her closer while we devour each other’s mouths. My whole body pulses with need. It’s as if I’ve never been touched before.

When we part, her lashes flutter open. Her eyes are like Lake Michigan on a clear day. I want to fall into them. I want to fall into her. Not just her body, although her body is doing incredible things to mine. But I want to fall into all of Annabelle, whatever that means, and wherever tonight takes us.

I reach under her shirt. My hand glides up her back, floating over soft skin until I reach her bra. Then I move to the waistband of her skirt, find the zipper, and lower it. The skirt puddles at her feet, around the high heels she’s still wearing.

More kissing. More hands roaming over skin. Every part of her is lovely. I tell her so. I find my way into her panties, where she’s soft and wet. I tell her that too.

“For you, I am,” she breathes. “Couldn’t you sense it? All through dinner? The ride home?”

I blink. I can’t separate our deep connection from our deep lust. Why should I? It’s all one wonderful experience.

I’ve got her shirt off now. She removes her shoes. My jacket’s gone. I’ve lost my tie. I’m backing toward the couch, but Annabelle shakes her head. “There’s a bed right over there.”

“That’s too far.”

“Grant.” Her voice is low and husky and full of need.

I swoop her into my arms and carry her to the bedroom. When I lay her on the bed, she points to the space heater in the corner. I turn it on full blast, and then get down to the serious business of getting her naked.

Every part of her I touch is my new favorite part. Her shoulder. Her breasts. That exquisite spot where her ass meets the top of her legs. She smells like fruit and sun-warmed skin, with a salty undertone that charges through me, making my blood race.

I run my tongue over one nipple, then the other. I trail my mouth over the skin of her belly and kiss my way down her legs. I shouldn’t want her this much. I shouldn’t want anything this much. It’s beyond comprehension. But when she undresses me, I’m nothing but desire. My skin hungers for hers. My mouth yearns to taste her. I have a fierce need that only Annabelle can satisfy.

She strips off my boxers and takes me in her hands. Her touch sets me on fire. Then she’s moving down and down. She teases me with her lips and tongue, nibbling and tasting. I’m gone. I don’t exist anymore. I’m just a cock begging for relief.

I can’t take it. If she doesn’t stop, I’ll explode right here.