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“One of those mine, Whiskey?” she asks, pointing to the coffee.
“Didn’t know how you take it, but we can grab sweetener if you like.”
She takes the cup and sips it. “Black’s fine. Thank you.”
“So tell me, are we snorkeling or sitting on the beach with a book?”
Grace pauses as she stares at me, the wheels in her mind spinning. I wish I knew what she was thinking–what has her so guarded. It’s probably half the reason I’m interested in her. The chase—the challenge as she puts it. She’s a puzzle whose pieces I can’t quite figure out.
Shocking the hell out of me, she replies, “Snorkeling. We can read on the beach tomorrow.” Her eyes rise in challenge, and I accept without letting the surprise show on my face. Offering me the next two days is more than I expected and exactly what I want.
For the next twenty-four hours we snorkel while holding hands, eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together, and talk about everything and nothing. I learn she’s an only child, that she’s extremely close with her godmother and has basically no relationship with her parents. She has a best friend named Tessa who is like family, and she paints as a hobby.
The painting thing I learned after watching her face light up when she saw a caricature painter. Her eyes were alight with excitement as she watched a little girl drip ice cream down her face while her mother kept cleaning her up. The ice cream was the only thing that kept the girl still for so long. Afterwards, we grabbed ice cream and Grace shared her love of painting. The grin never left my face as I listened.
On our last day we sit side by side at the pool—her reading, me staring out toward the ocean, in companionable silence. It’s nice finding someone you’re comfortable not talking with. Sitting beside someone and not trying to think of something to say. It’s a rare gift and one I’ve never had. I’ve honestly never witnessed it or thought about it before. I turn my body to face her, and her lips lift in a small smile as she flips down the page of her book, closes it, and turns to me. “You’re doing it again,” she says.
The grin tugs at my lips. “Doing what?”
“Staring at me like you’re making plans.”
Fuck, am I making plans.
“Oh, I’ve got plans, Gracie,” I admit.
“Do they involve me naked in the shower? Because right about now that’s my plan.”
Before I can respond, she grabs her things, and with her damn lip between her teeth shoots me a look that lets me know the time for talking is over. As is the time for silence. Our bodies are in control now.
I grab her by the waist, pick her up, and start running back to my room as her laughter dances through the air. We get quite a few gawkers, but my attention is lost to Grace. To the way she screeches, the way she feels in my arms, and the pure joy that rockets through my body when she’s close.
I haven’t had much time to stress about what is going on at home because she’s occupied my every thought for the last forty-eight hours. More specifically, how she’ll taste has taken up an inordinate amount of brain power. I have a feeling I’m finally going to find out.
As we reach the lobby, I right her onto her toes and she laughs as she smacks my chest. But before she can do too much damage, I have her lips in a bruising kiss and she moans, leaning in to my embrace.
Upstairs we stumble into my room, walking backward to the shower, holding one another up as we strip until we are standing bare.
As I reach into the shower to turn it on, Grace stares down at my erection and mumbles, “Oh fuck, Cash.” My cock bobs under her gaze. “You’re so…fuck,” she mutters again.
My smirk grows as I pull her against me, the steam billowing around us. “Gracie, please let me taste you,” I beg as I run my lips down her chest but stop before reaching her nipple. Grace looks down at me and nods, and as soon as I bite down, her head falls back in a moan.
“May I?” I ask as my fingers skirt down her stomach. I refuse to move another inch without her express consent. She’s the one who says she doesn’t do this. Despite the fact that I know she wants it, I want her to be sure.
“Yes, Cash, please, I need you to touch me.”
My fingers slip in and we both groan at the same time. She’s warm and tight and the sensation of her on my fingers leaves my cock dripping with need. Grace’s fingers circle the head of my cock, and when she tightens her grip I jolt forward, my hand landing against the cold tile, right before taking her lips in mine, hungry—fuck that, starved—for more.
When I feel my balls start to tighten, I pull her away from me. “Not here. When I come I want to be inside you. Turn around.”
Grace hesitates. “Cash, I…”
“No, Angel, I’m not going in bare. I’m going to wash your hair, dry you off, then make you come on my tongue.”
Grace’s lips pull to the side in an amused smirk, and she obliges my request. Even though my cock strains against me in anger, I move slowly, taking my time to soap up every inch of Grace and her hair. She leans her head against my chest as I rinse out the conditioner and moans as my hands work her head over in a teasing massage.
Whether I’m touching her ass or her hair doesn’t matter to me; it’s the ability to touch her without her pulling away that leaves me heady and wanting more. Every moment with Grace feels like a gift. I never thought I’d appreciate a woman holding back, but the fact that she waited, that she didn’t give in the first night, makes this feel like so much more.
We move to the bed, and Grace’s shyness reappears. On her back with her elbows keeping her upright, she leaves a towel covering her as she waits for me to make my next move.
