* * *
“Oh my God,” I moan.
We're sitting on the tiled floor of his penthouse shower, facing one another, our legs wrapped around each other, with my arms resting on his shoulders.
No denying the truth here—my white flag of surrender is flapping high in the sky. I’m totally and fully Grant’s, with no chance of me changing that anytime soon. And the past? What even is that right now? It doesn’t remain. Frankly, it didn’t stand a chance. The moment my body tangled up with his, it melted away.
There’s zero occurrence of it reawakening tonight while we hold each other, either. This position is nice, but the sex we had in the entryway that left us collapsed on the floor was better.
However, now I'm moaning for a different reason. The ceiling of this divine enclosure is a rainforest shower with several heads, ensuring every square inch receives water from above. I tilt my head back and smile as steaming water trails down my body.
“I don't know which is more mind-blowing,” I say. “Sex with you or your shower.”
He full-out laughs. The tone is dark and husky. It's the first I've heard it, and I make a note to do whatever it takes to hear it again. “Thanks. Nice to know I can always get you back here with the enticement of a shower.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I look at him and can't stop my fingers from repositioning sopped strands of thick inky hair. Water streams down his face, off his shoulders, and I relish the view as wetness clings to his carved body. “But I'll only come if I can shower alone.”
“No chance.” A ghost of a smile presses up his sinful mouth. He applies one tender kiss to my collarbone and then rests the back of his head on the tiled wall. Long fingers stroke the lowest part of my spine, and his eyes soften as he looks at me. “You either shower with me or not at all.”
“Then, I guess not at all.” I clamp down on my lower lip and smile.
“You would say that.” His deep voice darkens. “My restive tease.” He tugs at my lower lip with his thumb, and once he's freed it from my teeth, he soothes over the area.
“Tease, my ass.” I playfully narrow my eyes. “You only got me here because you put me under a spell of some kind.”
“I disagree,” he counters. “I’ve caught you as much as you’ve caught me.” He sits up higher, his hand securing me at my back while he repositions. “You'll come back—shower or no shower.”
I drag my hands down his arms, enjoying the feel of every small ripple and bulge against my fingertips. “I dare you to prove that.” I bare my nails into the V of his hips, and he grunts, his body tightening.
“A mistake,” he warns. There’s a gleam in his eyes right before two fingers slide down my torso.
Wet, naked, and vulnerable, he finds my clit. I moan with the pressure his large fingers naturally supply, and when he presses down, the rift of pleasure it brings sends my head backward. Water pellets on my face, spilling into my mouth as my lips part in a gasp. When he makes his first small circle, I shudder and hiss—an ego builder for Grant.
“Feels good, doesn’t it,” he murmurs, the sound low in my ears. “Fair warning, don’t dangle the apple of challenges in front of me. I’ll always take a bite.”
Firm up and down shifts unleash a volley of pleasure to the tender nerves. My nails dig into his back, his name rolling off my tongue like it was always meant to be there. “Grant—I … God, yes.”
“My name like that… Fuck, you drive me crazy.” The small circles passing over me, combined with his confessions have me writhing, and he doesn’t stop. “You look so beautiful falling apart for me, naked and on my lap. Do you want to come?”
A whimper creates my desperate reply.
He purrs at the sound. “That’s a yes, but I want you to wait. I’ve waited for you so long. So fucking long, you have no idea.” Warm lips—ones I barely register—trail up my neck until he reaches my ear. “Endure the build-up a few moments longer.”
Grant’s pace increases, his verbiage of praise, and repeating my name never slowing down or faltering. He mercilessly pushes me past my usual limits, extending my release until I’m trembling.
“Come for me.” The raspy voice is laced with authority.
A broken cry echoes off the walls, his name on my tongue as I fall into a beautiful darkness. All I hear is his low voice coaxing me on.
“That’s it. Amazing, Olivia.” He hums as I sink lax against him, weak and limp, entirely spent yet wanting more.
A gloriously lethal combination and dangerous addiction.
With my head resting against his body and every inch of me slumped into his build, I sigh. The light kisses he’s planting on my shoulders, neck, and jaw make me fall deeper into him.
“You ready to get out of here?” he rumbles the words in my ear. “And go to bed?”
A burst of hesitation clouds the elated haze of my brain. Stiffness works through my fingers, creeping up my arms at the idea. “You want me to stay here? That seems a little fast.”
“Does it…?” Gently, he strokes through my wet hair. “After all the back and forth we’ve had, and how wonderful this has been, you think tonight is fast?” His light breathing tickles my skin. “You staying here after, let’s say, the gala … that would have been fast. But not this. This is well-earned, Olivia. Allow yourself to enjoy the high which follows the chase.”
I can’t say no to that. Saying no to any of his logic and explanations is difficult. And why not sleep here? I’ve come this far in tossing out every reservation that’s battled against me. This is simply another hurdle I’m leaping over.
I lift my head, nodding. “You’re right. Like always. I’ll stay.”
I’m greeted with a beautiful low chuckle and barely-there smirk. “We'll dry off, and I'll get you a shirt to sleep in.”
“Okay.”
A few moments later, I'm dressing in a black undershirt, climbing into bed limp-legged and drowsy.
He lies next to me, and Grant’s droopy eyes tell me he's equally exhausted.
A peaceful blackness wraps around my body. Tonight, for the first time in ages, I’m not thinking about the amount of blood that had to be found at the scene of my home five years ago. I don’t think about the phone call I got shortly before abandoning life as I knew it. I’m not replaying the words “Little doll. Little doll.” There’s nothing.
Only Grant.
I welcome the blankness circling through my brain.
“Olivia?”
“Hmm.” My lids barely open to the rich tone of Grant, but I do turn my head toward him.
More of his warmth molds to me as he nestles his shoulder against my body, embracing me against him.
“What happened that made you want to forget?”
The sudden sadness in his voice awakens me fully. Locking eyes with him, my pulse stutters out of sync. The haze in his eyes is dark, lost, and forlorn, arising a hurt in my veins—a pain that needles through my blood with each pump.
Instinctively, I touch his chest, right before pressing my lips to his heart. Even against my mouth, it beats differently than before. More jaded perhaps, I’m not sure.
All that registers in my ears is the response that’s forming on its own as I mutter it against his skin.
“The uncaring and cruel edge of life. That’s what happened, and that’s what I want to forget.”
“Same.” His admittance is almost hollow. “Same.” But it’s all he says, and after a soft peck on the forehead, his eyes close, and the patterns of his breath give way to heaviness.
The sound is an automatic call to slumber, but just before I sink into the deepest sleep of the last five years, I’m left with the sorrowful knowledge that I’m not the only person trying to forget the fuckery of life.
Grant is too.
And, man. Whatever that response was about? It runs deep as the blood in his veins.