Chapter 47
Our car ride to his home is silent. We're holding hands, half of my body angled so that I can course my free hand up and down his roped forearm. He occasionally squeezes our interwoven fingers at random times, like he's checking to make sure I'm still here and real. Eventually my eyes close, but I never fall asleep. I simply soak in the fact that Grant and I are both alive, well, and together, while Lonnie is no more.
We only separate for a moment as we reach the house, him to talk on the phone to our security detail, me to search long enough to find any source of alcohol.
I do find one.
Just one.
It's almost empty, and judging by the brand, it's one Mr. Hall left. I doubt he'll miss it, and I use it as added therapy for my hellish evening.
No.
Screw that.
For the last five years.
After draining the one drink, I allow it to seep in and try to admire the house. Not all that difficult to do with its happy situation kissing up against Lake Washington. The setting sun flits through the numerous arched windows and glass doors. An orange glow casts on the all-white marble floors, dressing it in fiery embers, and my shoulders loosen.
This place is complete peace, a lush still. Opulent serenity that’s needed after our confinement in the penthouse.
I'm staring out one set of the larger-than-life living room windows. My eyes fixed on the three-tiered pool with the lake as its backdrop, trying hard to decompress.
Comfort and control sweep in from behind when Grant returns and places his hands on my shoulders. “Do you want to shower with me, or go to bed?”
I turn into his hold and fling my arms around him. “A shower, then bed, please.” The grimy touch of Lonnie still clings to me, and all I desire is for Grant to wash it away. For him to sud me up, then rove over every inch of me with his adoring hands. Only then will the ghost of Lonnie’s grasp die forever.
He interweaves our fingers and tugs on my hand, gently. The corners of his mouth pull up. “Let's go.”
Our trudge up the grand marble staircase is slow, gentle, almost sorrowful. No words are being spoken. Not a sigh or groan to break up the quiet. I like it, because weaving through it is a promise I can feel.
This shower is a new beginning for us. The start to the fresh, the cleansing of the old, and my heart is blooming at all the ideas of what this future will look like.
We reach the bathroom. A room with gleaming black marble and silver fixtures— wide open, dark, comforting, familiar—all the things I need it to be.
“Olivia.” Grant’s deep voice reverberates off the walls.
I spin around to find him half stripped, down to his pants with the shower running. He looks so perfect with black strands falling into his eyes, a half-smile on his face. My mouth lifts, a breathless chuckle escaping me.
He crosses the room, and as he takes his liberties to lift my shirt over my head, I feel like he already knows what I’m thinking, feeling.
You’re everything. My everything. Start. End. Salvation.Everything.
All of that is right on the tip of my tongue. “Grant—” A sharp breath sucks in when his fingers coast down my torso.
“Shh, my love.” His thumb hooks under the waistband of my sweatpants. A firm tug has them around my knees.
A whimper trails out of me, and my fingers find his hair.
“No confessions tonight,” he murmurs against my neck. The feel of him heats my blood. “Just a good cleansing of what was.”
“Yes, that’s all I want.” My head rolls backward with his gentle kiss. After Grant’s taken my bra and panties off, and he’s lost the remainder of his clothes, he slides his hand into mine, leading me into the open shower.
Hot water scorches my skin as it pounds down on my neck before running off on my shoulders.
Any other time, it’d be too hot. This isn’t any other time, though, and it feels perfect. My eyes flicker to a close, and I moan.
“Where did he touch you?” Grant’s question is right in my ear, his strong chest pressing into my back, the water already making us slick against each other.
I sink against him, a chill shooting up my spine despite the fiery water. “Here,” I say, dropping my hand, touching the left side of my butt.
It’s a spot that remains tainted with a feeling of filth.
“Stand here,” Grant orders. He turns my body, pushing my breasts against the marble wall. I hear the pump of body wash as I press my forehead against the wall, the air in my lungs thick with expectancy.
I turn my head, flattening my cheek along the wall when Grant’s large hand comes in contact with my ass cheek. The angle of his hand is up, which tells me, this man is on his knees. A whimper slips out with the circular motion he makes, and I’m fully aware of the soap bubbles on my flesh.
“I’ll take care of it, Olivia,” he whispers.
If Grant hasn’t done enough already, he’s cleaning me of the past, of the tormentor who tried to rob me of everything.
My dark angel is beautiful.
Groans and whimpers leave my lips the more Grant rubs. When his other hand grips onto my hip, I spread my legs, exposing myself to him.
“What about here?” he asks, gliding his hand down the length of my leg.
I don’t remember if Lonnie touched me there or not; all I do know is that Grant’s touch is sealing away the past forever, and I want more.
“Yes,” I half groan, desperate anticipation pounding in my blood. My nails are scraping along the smooth marble, the only thing holding me up.
Supple lips kiss up and down along my leg. The water marries perfectly to Grant’s actions, allowing him to slide along my skin with ease. Another pump from the plastic container occurs, followed with more soap for the area he’s just kissed.
My knees tremble, heart thrumming hard under my rib cage when Grant’s tongue trails the skin on my ass cheek. He’s cleaning, erasing, and replacing, ensuring I forget Lonnie’s grope forever.
“Mine,” he mumbles. The claim fuses straight into my soul. “Fucking mine. Always mine, and I’ll be damned if anyone steals you away from me.”
“Always yours,” I echo, my voice hoarse, growing raspier as pleas spill out of me. “Please, Grant. Please. Make me feel it. Make me feel like I’m yours.”
A frenzy of soap, kisses, and hands ensues. Frantically, he turns me around to clean the front of my legs. Sprawled open for him, all I can think about is his mouth on an area where Lonnie only fantasized about touching me—I want that idea erased too.
Like he can hear what I’m thinking, Grant meets my gaze, and with a feathery touch, presses his thumb to my clit.
“Here?” he gravels out. “Do you want me here?”
He makes me want to cry. I nod, the word please working on my tongue yet never leaving my throat.
It doesn’t matter. He hears me all the same. His mouth closes over my clit, and he sucks, licks, and groans. Electric pleasure dances up and down my limbs. His name spills off my lips as I wring my fingers in his hair. My knees start to weaken, and Grant stops, pulling away, rubbing his hands up and down my legs in sweet strokes.
“Don’t come now, Olivia.” His voice is raspy. “This isn’t about sex, my sweet. This is about letting you forget. Let’s not make it about the physical. Let’s make it a death to mental barriers and a promise of what will be from here on out. Understand?”
I nod in full agreement, loving his consideration to me, and how he thinks of me. I can only hope that as he continues to cleanse, lick, and kiss my arms, stomach, breasts, and thighs … that he knows—
Knows that my heart is knitted into the webbing of his soul, and that for as long as we live, it’s us. Only us.
Grant carries on the cleansing of my whole body, continuing until the dispenser of body wash is depleted, and the only things I can sense and smell are leather and the hands of Grant.
He dresses me in a shirt, carries me to bed, and I fall asleep in his arms, whispering words that are inadequate but will have to suffice.
That I love him. That I’ll love him until I meet everlasting slumber and then some.