“Fuck,” he ground out. No bra was bad enough, but she was clearly hell-bent on killing him. She’d skipped the underwear, too. Who would’ve thought his shy little Gracie would’ve been hiding such a freaky side? He’d only hoped, but he heartily approved.
He was two seconds from coming in his jeans like a fifteen-year-old for the second time this week, and she was clueless to his pain. Her murmur of approval drove him on, and he shifted higher.
“No,” he said softly when she turned her head to look his way. “Eyes on the screen.”
She faced front again, and he patted her leg in approval.
“I like the way you listen, Gracie.”
She froze, and he wanted to kick himself. Catman called her Ms. Love, Grace and some other endearments while they were naked, but never Gracie. Trick called her Gracie. He didn’t correct himself, instead opting to wait and see if she would say anything about it.
“My friend calls me that, too.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
She paused and then shrugged. “No, I guess it’s okay.”
Her hesitance made him smile. No matter what she tried to tell herself, there was a little piece of her that belonged to him. The real him, Trick. And while she was willing to let old Catman call her that, she wasn’t thrilled about it. What a twisted f**ker he’d become over the past two days. Jealous of himself. Like Sybil, only more screwed up.
“But are you sure the people can’t hear us?”
“They haven’t looked back so far, and the surround sound is pretty loud. If you want me to stop, all you have to do is say so.”
Her body was still rigid, but after a few seconds she relaxed, leaning back into her seat. “Okay.”
“Can you spread your legs wider for me?”
When she let her thighs fall apart, making room for him, he said a silent prayer for patience. The first touch of his fingertips on the smooth skin of her center made him shudder. Slick already with her need, the plump lips were ripe for his touch.
“So hot,” he breathed.
Her legs were shaking now, and her body was bowed tight, relaxation out of the question as she strained toward him, wordlessly begging for more.
“Do you remember the other night? I was right,” he slid one long finger in deep, and her tight channel gripped him, “here. So good.”
She tossed her head against the seat, the little sounds she made against the back of her throat getting a little louder with every passing second.
He retracted his finger and plunged deep again, grinding the heel of his palm against the swollen little nub pressing insistently against his hand. She jerked as if she’d been electrocuted, but she covered her mouth with her hand to muffle her words.
“No talking, Gracie. You have to be very quiet, or those people will know that I’m touching you here.”
Her breath came faster as he f**ked her with his finger. She liked the talk. Good, so did he.
“They’ll know that you’re about to come on my fingers. We don’t want that, do we, love?”
She shook her head furiously.
He was about to ramp it up a notch, to put her out of her misery, when a small, questing hand closed unerringly over his hard cock.
“Shit,” he groaned, slowing. “That feels good.”
He tried to pull her away, which proved about as hard as his dick because damned if he didn’t want her to keep going. The hand he’d commissioned to make her stop betrayed him and instead cupped hers in place, tightening her grip on him. He could come like this. Right now, with a few well-timed strokes, he could explode in hot spurts right into his jeans with Grace’s hand on his c**k and his sliding along her slick folds. It took an act of iron will, but he managed to pull her away.
“If it’s about me,” she said, her voice breaking in a way that sent his heart knocking against his ribs. “Then let me touch you. It makes me feel…sexy. I like it.”
And with that softly spoken admission, his good intentions dove out the window. He released her wrist, and she didn’t waste a second. Her busy fingers got straight to work on his zipper and yanked downward. It was no easy task since the man behind the bars was wide awake and itching for release, but after a short struggle, she managed. Then all hell broke loose. She drew the aching length of him from his jeans and gripped him like a joystick.
“Oh, that’s very nice,” she murmured, stroking downward, to the base and then back up to swirl her thumb over the tip.
She paused then, and when she pulled her hand away, it took everything he had not to shout in protest. Then she dipped her finger into her mouth and sucked her finger. To taste him.
He closed his eyes and counted to ten while trying to block out her murmur of approval. She liked it. The need to have her face in his lap, to feel that mouth drawing and pulling on him until he exploded against the back of her throat, was so strong that if he was standing, his knees would’ve given out. But he didn’t have to suffer long.
She shoved the arm rest between them up, pushed his hand from between her thighs, and went straight for it. No warning, no preamble, just an open-mouthed dive onto the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” he ground out, stars exploding behind his lids at the feel of her molten tongue swirling over him. He slipped a hand into her hair and cupped her head, all the while reminding himself to let her control the pace, reminding himself not to scare her with the force of his want.
She pulled away, an inch between her mouth and his cock, and breathed, “Show me. Show me exactly what you like.” The sultry wash of breath was like the gates of heaven, and he let his eyes slip closed again.
He let himself go and for once didn’t think about anything except what he was feeling. He pushed her head down, slowly, relishing the drag of her plump lips against the sensitive underside of his shaft. Feeling the tender flesh on the inside of her cheeks closing over his length. Loving the bump at the very back of her throat when she took him as deeply as she could. He held her there for a selfish moment and then came into himself again and released her. Surely that couldn’t be comfortable for h—
“Mmm mmm,” she murmured, then pressed forward of her own accord, swallowing him whole, a small choke, a catch in her breath, a gasp, and then deeper still until the column of her throat clasped him so tight, he very nearly shot off right there. She slid up again and released him with a pop. “Did that hurt?”
“Jesus, no.” He knew it sounded more like a prayer than an answer, but right now she was his whole world. “Did it hurt you?”
She shook her head, sending that mass of curls dancing over his balls and making him grasp her tighter. “No. It’s…uncomfortably full, but at the same time delicious and…I can’t explain it. I want to try again.”
Every word sent her steamy breath washing over him, and he ached for more contact. He didn’t have to wait long, because she lunged forward and sucked him deep again. No slow build, no soft kisses or tentative laps. No dicking around. She was all tongue and suction, and within thirty seconds, he was arching into her, racing toward the finish line, all thoughts of stopping in the rear view mirror.
“Mmm,” she hummed against him, urging him on.
It was only a tiny sound but it rang in his head like the bell at the end of a boxing round. Ding ding ding. Get back in your corner and cut the shit, asshole.
He hadn’t come here to get his dick sucked, no matter how enthusiastically she’d taken to the task. He came here for one last opportunity to show Grace how good it could be between them before he told her the truth.
He wrapped his fist in her thick hair and tugged gently, calling on the last remnants of his self-discipline. “Grace,” he growled, bending lower so she could hear him. “You have to stop now.”
When she lifted her head, he turned away to make sure his face was still concealed by his hood.
“Why? Why do I have to stop?” she whispered, shimmying close to press her br**sts against his shoulder.
Why indeed? His damp, indignant c**k bleated, still shuddering from the close call. It was going to be a painful ride home since he could probably give Papa Smurf a run for his money in the blue balls category.
Not trusting himself to answer with words, he took control of the situation. He pressed her back into her seat and dove in fast, slanting his mouth over hers. He shoved the skirt roughly aside and plunged two fingers into her waiting heat. She let out a muffled cry, but he took the kiss deeper, silencing her. A man with a mission.
He pulled out to massage her clit with singular determination until she tossed herself against the seat, and then slid into her tight channel again, grinding the heel of his hand against the bundle of nerves that begged for his touch. Her whole body went rigid, and she flexed over his hand, raining hot moisture over his fingers as she came. His c**k bucked and jerked in response, and he couldn’t stop the drops of cum leaking from him like bitter tears. He sucked in a breath through his nose, riding it out with her until she finally relaxed.
He kissed her one last time and moved his hand from between her legs. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered, hoping he sounded less tortured to her than he did to himself. Didn’t matter, though. He had to get the f**k out of there before he told her everything.
Gracie, I’d spend the rest of my life making you come if you’d let me.
Gracie, did I already say that I love you? Because I do.
Gracie, please…for God’s sake, when this is all over, please forgive me.
Chapter Eight
“And, I also love Civil War re-enactments,” the round-faced man on the screen admitted ruefully. Serena had suggested they cut that portion of Bob Beasley’s introduction video, but Grace found herself grinning. Bob was a little nerdy, but he had such a funny, self-deprecating wit about him, she almost felt like he’d be better served if they left that part in. The right woman for him would respond to it exactly as she had. With a smile.
She mulled it over for another minute, then hit save. Her instincts had gotten her this far, and she wasn’t going to start questioning them now. At least, not for her clients.
Her thoughts went to Catman for the dozenth time that day. She squirmed in her leather desk chair as memories of the night before played on an endless loop in her mind. There was no question they had great chemistry, and while she’d thought that was enough for her right now, it was becoming more and more evident that she wasn’t the kind of girl to have a purely sexual relationship. After only two “dates,” she craved more than that.
Funny, she’d told Serena a hundred times she’d given up on that dream. The fantasy of having it all. That if she found someone she could laugh with and who treated her well, she could be happy without the fireworks. But now she wasn’t so sure. After what she’d learned in the past two days, she didn’t think she could ever go back, just as certainly as she couldn’t only be with a guy for the sex. Which, as hot as it was, was all she had with Catman.
Now the key was finding someone who made her tingle above the neck and below the waist. Even if it meant risking heartbreak again. The thought scared the crap out of her, but she hadn’t realized until now that the thought of anything less was far more terrifying.
Trick.
His smiling face barged its way into her brain, taking center stage and muscling everything—and everyone—else out of the way. That had been happening more and more the past few days. Why, she couldn’t say. Not for sure, anyway. He was treating her the same as always. No different than he had in the past year-and-a-half she’d known him.
But you’ve changed.
She had. Over the course of one whirlwind, wild fling, she’d become someone different. Or maybe she’d just found her old self again. The Grace she could have been before Victor had broken her. To be fair, she should have left sooner, but every time he told her it would be different, it would get better, she’d believed him. She was different now. Still trusting, still an optimist, but stronger somehow. Like she knew what she wanted and what she deserved finally. Whatever was happening, she liked it. In fact, she loved it. So what to do about the two men in her life who made her tingle? Maybe it was time to take a chance. To see if one of them could be the whole package…her forever kind of guy.