One Hot Secret: A Second Chance Romance (Love on Fire)

by Sarah J. Brooks

  “I thought you might need this,” Grace says, holding out a light blue towel.

  “Thanks. Do you want to join me?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” she says with laughter in her voice. She steps in.

  She has a perfect hourglass figure, womanly but firm. My cock lurches as she steps into the shower, and my gaze zeroes in on her dark triangle of pubic hair.

  I grab her washcloth and squeeze shower gel into it. “I’ll do the washing.” I step up to her and gently rub the washcloth around her neck and shoulders. I rub circles around her breasts, and with each circle, I get closer to her nipples. I take my time, and by the time I get to her nipples, they are hard bullets against her chest.

  “You’re exquisite, Grace; you know that?”

  “You make me feel exquisite,” she says.

  I drag my hands away from her breasts to her belly and then to her pussy. I stroke her gently with the washcloth. Her moans fill the small room, and when I leave her pussy and move to her thighs, she lets out a noise of protests.

  I chuckle. I love how responsive her body is to my touch. “All in good time.”

  I turn her around and wash her back and ass, by which time I have a raging hard-on. I push her gently under the shower to rinse off, and then I take her into my arms and kiss her as if I haven’t had a taste of her all evening. I run my hands over her perfect body, letting my fingers slide between her legs to stroke her folds. She’s hot for me already, and I push one finger in and then another.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” I growl into her ear.

  “Then take me,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with need.

  I turn her around, and she immediately understands what I need. She places her palms flat on the tiled wall and angles her body so that I can take her from behind.

  I part her legs and push every inch of my dick into her tight pussy. I grip her hips as I pump into her hard. There’s no holding back this time. I want her, and I want her badly, and I unleash all my desire on her. Our groans bounce around the bathroom walls. My balls tighten against her body, and I will myself to keep going. I need Grace to come first. I pump harder and faster, and she lets out a deep-throated cry as her pussy clenches around me. I ram into her harder and pull out just as hot cum jets out from my dick.

  I help Grace up, and we look at my cum as it’s washed down the drain. I already know the mistake I’ve made, and I wait for Grace’s reaction.

  “Wait!” she says, looking at me with stricken eyes. “We didn’t use a condom.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry.” I’ve never done that before. I feel like a complete asshole. “I’m safe, I promise. I haven’t had sex in almost six months.” Now I sound like a total loser. After the accident that changed my face, I stayed cooped up in hospitals for three months. Then I stayed with him for another two months recuperating.

  Grace’s eyes widen. “Really?”

  I nod. “Really.”

  She smiles. “That makes me feel a whole lot better. I’m safe too.”

  The tension dissipates, and we dry off and go back to her room.

  “Do you want to stay the night?” she asks shyly.

  “I do.”

  “Great,” Grace says, and we slip into the covers like two people who have been sleeping in the same bed for years.

  I can’t remember feeling at peace as I do at this moment. There’s absolutely no chance that I’ll wake up to a pounding on the door and when I open it, flashes of a dozen cameras will go off in my face. Absolutely none. There’s no feeling like that.

  ***

  I’m confused at first when I wake up, but then I see Grace smiling at me from her side of the bed.

  “You looked terrified,” she says and reaches out to caress my cheek.

  “I forgot where I was.” I feel out of sorts. I’ve never woken up in a woman’s house, and I don’t know the accepted code of behavior.

  Grace giggles. “Do you always shower immediately after sex?”

  I don’t know how to answer that, so I lean forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. I catch sight of my pants, reach for them, pull out my phone, and when I turn it on, it beeps with notifications of missed calls and messages. Most of them are from Sebastian and Ethan. I check the time. Nine. Shit. I’ve overslept. I’d planned to be out of Grace’s house by seven. I shoot a quick message to Sebastian and another to Ethan, sending him a pin of where I am.

  “I have to go,” I tell Grace, and a hurt look comes over her features.

  “Oh, I hoped you’d stay a little while,” she says.

  “I’ll call you.” I hop out of bed and wear my clothes in record speed. When I’m done dressing, I kiss her again on the forehead. “That was an awesome evening and night. Thanks!” I don’t know what else to say. All I know is that I really need to get out of here.

  “I could make some coffee for you before you go,” Grace says.

  Guilt tugs at my heart. I make a snap decision. Ethan will probably be a while, and it won’t take long to have coffee with Grace. Plus, I have to see her at work, so I can’t dismiss her as I would a strange woman I’d just hooked up with.

  “Sure, why not?”

  A larger dose of guilt comes over me as her face lights up. I’m used to being an asshole, and the women I hooked up with in my earlier life were worse. All they cared about was my fame and my money, and they showed it.

  Grace jumps out of bed and pulls on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. My body heats up as I watch her. She really has a hot body. If I had time, I wouldn’t mind enjoying it one last time before I go.

  We move to the kitchen, and I perch on the kitchen stool as she gets the coffee machine going. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I reach for it and see that it’s a message from Ethan saying that he’s waiting for me outside.

  Not good. I write him a message to move further down the street. It won’t do for Grace to see me entering a Range Rover sports. It doesn’t make sense for someone out of work currently to have such a car.

  “Here you go,” Grace says as she places my black coffee in front of me.

  “Thanks.” I take a sip and make appreciative noises.

  “Hey, I wanted to say something,” Grace says, shifting on her stool. “I’ve never done this before.”

  “Done what?”

  She blushes. Fuck. I can’t remember the last time I saw a woman blushing. She looks so gorgeous with her cheeks all pinked up.

  “Taking a strange man home with me after a first date,” she says sweetly. She tucks her hair behind her ears and licks her lower lip.

  It makes me want to toss her over my shoulder and take her back to bed.

  I adopt a hurt look. “Strange man? And here I was thinking that we had become fast friends.”

  “You know what I mean,” she says.

  “Relax,” I tell her. “I know you don’t. It makes me feel pretty special, actually. Thank you.”

  She shakes her head. “I’m not looking for gratitude. I just don’t want you to think that I’m that type of woman.”

  I grin. Grace is such a fucking lady. Outside of bed. In between the sheets, she’s a tiger. “You mean slut?”

  She grins back. “Well, yes.”

  “I don’t think that at all. I think you’re the most interesting woman I’ve met in a long time.”

  Chapter 5

  Grace

  I look out the living room window that faces the street. A few minutes after Jack leaves my apartment, I see him stride out of the building. He has his hands deep in his pockets as he looks up and down the street. To my surprise, he turns to the right and walks down the street. I watch him until he disappears from view. I’d assumed he was taking an Uber home. Maybe he asked a friend to pick him up.

  In the kitchen, I rinse our coffee cups while I muse over an unexpectedly erotic night. The words Jack whispered to me in the night replay in my mind, and I blush. I may look worldly, but I’m not, and my adopted parents fairly sheltered me.

  I re
ad widely, and I’m aware of what lovers say to each other in bed, but the theory is one thing and the practical application of it, another. A sense of insecurity rears its ugly head. I feel like a boat that has been cast adrift at sea. Directionless.

  I know the reason for it. Everything was fine with Jack until this morning. He looked ill at ease and in a crazy rush as if he couldn’t wait to leave. I feel as if I know no more about him than I did yesterday. He’s outgoing and fun to be with, but he keeps a lot to himself now that I think about it. I don’t know what he did before he came to the station, neither do I know where he lives. I don’t even know what he thinks about the night we spent together. I have a feeling that he won’t call, and I’m bracing myself for that disappointment, but it’s comforting to know that I’ll see him tomorrow at work.

  The thought of facing him at work tomorrow morning makes goosebumps break out on my skin. Will he pretend that nothing happened between us and ignore me completely? Nausea rises up my throat. Thinking about what will happen now, it doesn’t seem as if it was a good idea to have sex with Jack. I need a distraction desperately. I go to my bedroom, make the bed, and take a quick shower.

  Memories of Jack are everywhere. I had so many firsts with him. First time to have a one-night stand, which I hope will culminate in another one and another one. I’ve never showered with anyone before either. At the memory, my body heats up, and a sudden ache comes over me. I try to ignore it, but it grows exponentially by the second. My body demands to be touched. I palm my nipples and imagine that it’s Jack’s massive hands on me. I let out a sigh as my imagination takes over, and as far as I’m concerned, Jack is right there in the shower with me.

  He drops to his knees. “Spread your legs for me,” he says.

  I spread my legs, and he circles my clit with his fingers. I let out a cry when he swipes his tongue along my slit. Then he pushes a finger in and pumps it in and out in a steady rhythm, each time pressing the heel of his hand on my clit.

  “Faster,” I murmur, and he adds a second finger and increases the speed of his thrusts.

  Moments later, I come with a loud cry, Jack’s name falling easily from my lips. Only when it’s over do I appreciate and curse the power of my imagination. In my mind’s eye, he was in the shower with me. I’m mildly disappointed but also relieved that the terrible ache between my legs is gone. I put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt and over them, the overalls I use when I’m painting. I head to what was once a guest bedroom but is now my art studio.

  The light is perfect in the curtain-less room, and I ignore my work in progress and put up a fresh canvas. My subject comes easily, and so does the outline of his face as I sketch it onto the canvas, with light charcoal and a pencil. I find myself smiling as I remember the details of Jack’s face.

  As it often happens when I’m painting, I lose all sense of time and place. I have no idea how many hours passed when I hear a jarring sound. I look up in confusion until reality dawns on my brain. I’m in my art studio, and the noise I just heard is the doorbell.

  I frown as I leave the studio and make my way to the door. As I walk past the living room, I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s two in the afternoon. Time just flew by. It’s probably Isla who tried calling me, and when she couldn’t get hold of me, decided to come over. It’s not the first time she’s done that.

  I fling the door open with a smile that freezes on my mouth when I see Jack standing there. The first thing I do is glance down at my attire in dismay. Paint is splashed over the front of my overalls, and I’m sure my face is the same.

  “Thought you might be hungry. I tried calling, but your phone went to voice mail,” he says in that deep drawly voice that makes me want to melt into his arms.

  I notice the brown bag he's holding and the delicious smells it’s emitting. My stomach growls loudly.

  “Sorry, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” I can’t stop thinking about how I look. “I’m a mess. Come in.” I step to one side to give him space to pass.

  He towers over me and stops to peer down at my face. “You look adorable. Is that paint on your nose?”

  He flicks it with his finger, leaving my skin burning where he touched it. It reminds me that I masturbated to him that morning. My face heats up with embarrassment even though he can’t read my thoughts.

  “Were you painting?”

  I nod. “It’s a hobby.”

  “Great, can I see what you were working on?” Jack says enthusiastically.

  “Sure.”

  He places the bags on the living room coffee table and then follows me down the hallway. I remember too late that he was my subject that morning. The nearly finished painting sits on the easel, Jack’s penetrating blue eyes staring straight at us.

  Jack steps into the room and goes directly to the painting propped up on the easel. He doesn’t say a word as he stares into it. “Did you paint this?”

  I nod before realizing that he can’t see me. “Yes,” I squeak and follow it up by clearing my throat to cover up my nervousness. The only person who has seen my paintings is Isla, and even then, it was a long time ago.

  “You are so gifted.” He can’t fake the awe in his voice. He steps closer to the painting. “Look at the detail in the eyes.” His voice is almost a whisper as he studies it for what seems like forever and then walks around the room looking at the other paintings propped up on the walls. They are landscapes and portraits. My skin is dripping sweat, and it’s not from the heat. When he reaches the end, Jack turns to face me with his hands on his hips. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Are your paintings sold in a gallery somewhere?”

  “No, not yet. I’m not ready for that. I have a lot to learn still.” That’s my standard response when anyone suggests I show my work.

  He turns around to look at his painting again. Pride envelops me. It could be my best work. It came out of me with seemingly no effort on my part. Not that it’s without faults. I see Jack’s eyes look a bit off, but it adds a mysterious quality to him.

  “Bullshit. I’ve bought works of art over the years, and I can tell you that yours are up there with the best of them. As a matter of fact, I’d like to purchase that one.” He walks around and points at two others. Both landscapes. “And these.”

  My heart pounds crazily in my chest. I’ve never sold a painting.

  “How much are they?” Jack says.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve never sold one.”

  “I’ll take them.” He drops a price that stops my breath.

  I’m horrified. “You can’t buy them for that amount. It’s too expensive.”

  “They are worth a lot more than that, I assure you,” Jack says. “It’s a bargain, and years from now, I won’t be able to afford your work. I’ll have the honor of saying that I bought your first works.”

  I swallow down the next question, which is whether he can afford that amount of money. A nervous laugh escapes my mouth. Then feelings of exhilaration come over me.

  I just sold my first paintings!

  “Let’s go and eat before the food goes cold,” Jack says and leads the way out of the studio.

  I excuse myself to wash my face and hands, and then I join him in the kitchen. I take out plates while Jack unpacks the food.

  “I got both Chinese and Mexican food and figured you had to like at least one of them,” he says.

  I stare at the amount of food on the table. It’s too much for two people. It can feed a whole family. It’s extravagant of Jack to spend so much on food that we won’t come close to finishing.

  “That’s a lot of food.”

  “You can pack the leftovers for tomorrow,” he says.

  I don’t bother pointing out that we’ll both be at work the following day. We settle down at the kitchen table to eat. I pile both types of food onto my plate and start to eat, making appreciative noises.

  Jack grins. “A woman after my own heart. I love to see a woman who can eat.”

  “I’
m a firefighter. I have to eat to keep up with the physical demands on my body,” I tell him. “Plus, I love food.”

  He laughs.

  “When did you start painting?” he asks, peering at me as though seeing me for the first time.

  I think about his question for a few moments before answering. “I’ve never not painted,” I say to him. “But I guess I became more serious when I was about ten years old.”

  When I moved in with my adopted parents, they took me to see a therapist who was big on having her patients use art to express their feelings. I don’t tell Jack this part as it will bring up a host of other questions that I can’t answer. I vowed to bury my past, and I’ve managed to do just that. Apart from my adopted parents, no one else knows my real parents. Isla knows that I’m adopted, but that’s about all.

  “No wonder you’re so good,” he says. “Why is your work not displayed in a gallery and being sold for crazy expensive prices?”

  I laugh at that. “I’m flattered that you think my paintings are worthy of being displayed in a gallery.”

  “One of my closest friends owns a gallery. If you like, I can hook you up with him.”

  My pulse races, and I look at Jack as if he’s lost his mind. “No! Please no.” Panic grips my throat.

  “Hey, relax,” Jack says quickly. “It was just a suggestion.”

  Relief floods me, and it dawns on me that my reaction might have been a bit on the extreme side. I plaster a smile on my face. “I’m grateful for the offer, but I’m not ready for that.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever you say is fine with me.”

  Chapter 6

  Jack

  I drop the topic of her painting, but I’m still stunned. I can’t believe that Grace can’t see how gifted she is. I’ll leave it alone for now, but it’s definitely not the end of this. I’ll have to get Greg to look at them and see what he thinks. I’m a bit of a collector, and I like to think that I’ve developed a discerning eye for unique pieces over the years. It won’t be the first time that I’ve called Greg’s attention to a new talent and he loved the work. I can’t stop thinking about the one she did of me and in the space of only a few hours.