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I haven’t had sex since before my torture. I had no desire to even look at a woman, let alone touch one or fuck one. With Grace… dammit, I want her so much. But I’ll fucking embarrass myself if I try.
My fingers curl and uncurl as I clench my jaw. Grace sighs and moves to pull away from me, and a frustrated growl pours from my throat.
She stops. “Do you not want me to go?”
I shake my head, because as fucked up as I am, I know I don’t want that. I can’t stand the thought of losing Grace.
“Do you want me to stay?”
I turn my head a fraction of an inch to meet her gaze. Then I nod, another tiny movement.
She watches me for a moment, her gaze serious. Then she stands up, leaving me sitting on the edge of the bed. My heart seems to slow, acid pumping through my veins. Of course she doesn’t want to stay. She’s been reaching out to me ever since we got to Chicago, being kind and sweet even though we were holding her prisoner. I’ve tried to let her in, tried to break down the part of myself that keeps me walled off.
But every step forward I take sends me two steps back.
I’ll never be fucking normal, and she knows it.
I clench my jaw, waiting for her to tell me to leave.
The words don’t come though. Instead, she moves to stand in front of me, so close that our legs are almost touching. Her soft blonde hair cascades around her face as she drops her head a little, looking down at me.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ciro. Not today. Not tomorrow.”
Her voice is warm. I know the idea that she can never leave still hurts her, but right now, I don’t hear any of that pain. Her words don’t sound like a curse or plea. They sound like a promise.
I don’t know what to say, so I just stare up at her. And when she drops to her knees in front of me, my gaze tracks every inch of her movement. Now I’m the one looking down at her, and the sight of her kneeling before me, her hazel eyes soft and sweet, makes my blood stir.
My cock twitches in my boxers, a pathetic attempt to wake up. It’s been so fucking long that just the feel of my balls tightening makes my whole body stiffen. My breath hitches, and Grace’s pink tongue darts out to lick her lips before she rests her hands on my thighs.
The heat of her palms sears me through the fabric of my pants, and my muscles go rigid beneath her touch. I clench my jaw, doing my best to stay still as she looks up at me through her lashes.
“Is this okay?”
I nod. I can’t fucking speak.
A small smile curves her lips, making her look like a fucking angel. There’s something else in her eyes too though. Something a lot less sweet and a lot less innocent. It calls to a part of me I’ve almost forgotten exists, making me want to pull her onto my lap and kiss her until her sweet arousal soaks through both her pants and mine.
But I don’t move. I just watch her as she rakes her fingernails gently down my legs. The feel of it sends electric shocks through my body, and my cock twitches again, pressing against my fly as it starts to get hard.
Fuck. Oh, fuck.
I can’t get my breath under control, and my nostrils flare as I try to keep from panting. My jaw is clenched so tight it fucking hurts as sensations overwhelm me.
“You’re so handsome, Ciro.” Grace’s gaze moves up my torso and chest before finding my face. She’s breathing a little harder too, her perfect chest rising and falling as her nails trace mind-blowing patterns on my legs. “Has anyone ever told you that?”
I shrug. I can barely remember my own name right now, let alone what someone else has said to me. Back before my capture, I hooked up with girls from time to time. None of them seemed to think I was unattractive, but none of them looked at me the way Grace is looking at me right now either.
A flicker of sadness moves through her eyes at my response, and she puts her hands on my knees, pressing my legs open so she can move closer to me. “Well, you are. You’re one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. Your tattoos. Your gorgeous jawline. Your lips. But more than that, it’s your eyes. It’s what I see inside them. It’s you.”
She’s settled between my legs now, her fingers moving higher up my thighs. She l
eans forward and presses a kiss to my stomach through my shirt, and a low noise pours from my throat before I can stop it.
Grace looks up again, biting her lip. “Is this okay?”
I nod, swallowing hard.
With my permission, she does it again, holding on to my thighs as she peppers kisses over my stomach. I’m wearing what I usually do—a t-shirt and jeans—and I suddenly hate the thin fabric that keeps her lips from pressing against my skin. It feels like electricity is shooting through my body, and even as it burns, I want more. I crave more.
