I pull back, spinning her around and hefting her up onto the desk. She wraps her legs around me as I thrust myself back into her wet pussy. She keeps her arms around my neck and I support her ass with both my hands.
I thrust hard into her. I love the way her breasts shake, her moans get deeper, her lips tremble. I love her skin and her taste and every little motion she makes.
I love her hips, her ass. I love her tongue.
I love the way she moves her back and slides along my hard cock.
I love the way she feels when she comes on my big dick.
I thrust faster, faster. I use one hand to work her clit. I rest her back down onto the desk, her arms still around my neck, one hand in her hair and the other between us, rubbing her clit in circles.
I thrust faster, rubbing, fucking. She’s moaning, eyes rolled back. I know she’s close. I know I can’t wait any longer.
She starts to come. Her pussy tightens as she does it, her hips start to shake. It sets me off, drives me wild. I try to keep working her clit but I lose myself in an explosive orgasm, filling her tight pussy.
We both groan, coming together, sweating together. I’m her Daddy and she’s my fucking gem. Everything else is wiped away in this moment, and everything is perfect.
We finish and I hold her in my arms, pulling her close. She breathes against my chest as I stand there. We support each other like that for what feels like a long time. My cock slowly goes soft inside of her, slips out on its own.
I kiss her neck. I kiss her lips. We get dressed in silence, almost like nothing just happened.
I hold her hand as we leave my office together.15Ruby“Well, did the two of you make up?”
I smile at Grandmom and lean back in my chair. The day before flashes through my mind, his hands on my skin, his lips against mine.
“I think so,” I say, which is an understatement.
We definitely made up. Two more times after that first one.
I’m still sore from him fucking me deep and rough, but it’s the kind of sore that satisfies.
Every time I shift my position I can still feel him buried between my legs.
Grandmom smiles at me. “That’s good, honey.”
“I think so.”
“Now we just need to see what we can do about getting me out of here.”
I laugh a little. “I’ll see what I can do but I doubt he’ll listen to me.”
“No, I doubt that man listens to anyone.”
“Not about this, at least.”
She nods. “It’s a rare man that’ll stand up for what he thinks is right, no matter what.”
“Some people just call that ‘being stubborn,’ you know.”
“True.” She grins. “But when it’s a brilliant, handsome doctor, it’s not so bad.”
I laugh at that. The feeling in the room is surprisingly light, considering recently I thought she was about to freaking die.
That seizure aside, ever since Aiden took over this case, she’s been getting steadily better. Today she’s even more lucid, even stronger than I thought she’d ever be again.
I’d be lying if I said that I thought I’d ever see my grandmother the way she used to be again. I was the one that found her the first day, the one that brought her into the hospital.
I was visiting her like I do at least once a week. I knocked, but didn’t get an answer, which is weird. Normally she yells at me to come in.
Nothing that afternoon. Just silence. Fortunately she never locks her door, so I opened it and went inside.
I found her sitting in her normal chair, passed out, her lips blue.
I freaked, called an ambulance. I thought she was dead.
Of course, she wasn’t. I guess I saved her life, or at least I got the lifesaving process started.
Now she’s the total opposite of that person slumped in her favorite chair, looking about as dead as a person can look without actually being dead.
She’s smiling. She’s laughing. There’s a light behind her eyes that wasn’t there when we first got here.
It’s strange, how quickly she’s improving, but I’m not going to question it.
Aiden knows what he’s doing.
“Well, I don’t know what I’m going to do with that handsome doctor, so,” I say, shrugging. “I mean, he’s twice my age.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she says dismissively.
“It does to a lot of people. You’re weirdly progressive for your age, you know.”
“Or regressive. Lots of people in my generation married older men that they didn’t love just to have someone to take care of them.”
I wince a little. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“I know that,” she says softly. “I’m just saying, I’m really not so progressive.”
I roll my eyes at her and we laugh together. We fall back into normal chatting, talking about mostly nothing, the hospital, the food, normal stuff.