Pawn (Ironclad Bodyguards 1)

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Pawn (Ironclad Bodyguards 1) Page 10

by Molly Joseph


  “Look at me.”

  That was his stern voice. Grace swallowed and opened her eyes as he dragged one of his fingers right along her cleft. “Did you ask me a question?” she whispered.

  “Are you absolutely sure this is how you want to lose your virginity?” he asked, pushing her thighs wider. “In Helsinki, in a raging blizzard, with your bodyguard?”

  His lips parted as he studied her. She wanted to bite those lips. She wanted him to touch her forever.

  “That’s exactly how I want to lose my virginity,” she said. Her voice sounded a little panicked. Maybe she was a little panicked. “Please don’t change your mind.”

  “I won’t change my mind. But you can change your mind if you want to.”

  She reached for his waistband. “No. Please. I want this. I want you to be the one.”

  He took her hand before she could rip open his pants. “Hold up, you little wanton. If I’m going to do this for you, you have to let me do it right.”

  She watched in a kind of trance as he drew her arms up over her head and held them there. The hair on his chest rubbed against her nipples as his fingers closed around hers. He was so warm, so there, his cock against her panties and his legs entwined with hers.

  “Wow,” she whispered against his lips. His kiss deepened, went beyond the kisses they’d shared before, or maybe it was only that he moved against her. Or no, maybe she was moving against him. He spread her wider, pressing her open with his knees and sliding his thick cock up and down her pussy’s cleft.

  Oh Jesus. This was nothing like playing with herself. This was freaking intense. One of his hands trailed over her body, squeezing her shoulder, her waist, her breasts. He brushed his thumb across her nipple and her hips arched off the bed.

  She wanted more. She wanted to know how it would feel to have him inside her.

  “Now,” she begged. “Please, now.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  Not yet? She was way past not yet, but he took his time, kissed her and soothed her, and forced her hands back over her head when she grew agitated and clawed at the front of his waistband.

  “No, we’re doing this right,” he said.

  She writhed beneath him and whimpered. Apparently “doing it right” meant “doing it slow.” He caressed her until her whole body shook with needful anticipation, and then finally, finally he began to ease her panties down over her hips.

  She was so deep under his spell by then, he could control her with the slightest touch. “Up,” he said, and she lifted her hips so he could draw her panties down and off. He stood to take off his pants and boxers, so all his big, crazy manhood sprang out, thick and hard and glistening at the tip.

  Wow. Just wow.

  His abs rippled and his leg muscles clenched as he moved toward her. His cock bobbed from his thatch of dark hair. He watched her study him by the faint light of the bedside lamp. “You’re still sure?” he asked.

  All she could do was nod. There wasn’t a chance he’d fit inside her, but she wanted him to try more than anything in the world. He’d keyed her up so bad, she knew she would come even if it hurt. And she was kinda scared it was going to hurt.

  He picked up one of the condoms, bit off the top of the wrapper and smoothed the latex down his impressive length. She wished there didn’t have to be a barrier between them, but she knew he was wearing it to protect her. A pregnancy right now would be a really, really bad thing.

  Oh, but his kisses were really, really good. He crawled back over her, clasping her hands in his and pressing them down on the bed.

  “I want you,” he said. “I fucking want you.”

  “I want you too.”

  She lost herself in his kisses and insistent caresses, and the spicy-musky scent of his cologne. He parted her legs and nestled his cock against her center.

  “Are you going to…do it…now?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t know why she asked. Just trying to control something that seemed really out of her control, in a magnificent kind of way.

  “Sam?”

  “What?” His voice sounded rough, almost ragged as he gazed down at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to say your name.” I just want to remember this moment, and how close I feel to you. “I think you’re doing a really good job, for this being my first time. I feel really...really...” Shut up, Grace. Just shut up. She was grateful when he kissed her, so she couldn’t say any more stupid stuff. Her pussy was buzzing. Could pussies buzz? He reached between them for a moment to position himself, and started to push inside.

  “Wow,” she sighed. “Oh, God.”

  He paused. “Is that a good Oh, God?”

  “Oh, God,” she burst out. “Don’t stop.”

  He was watching her, holding himself in check, making sure he didn’t hurt her. It did hurt a little, but it was the most delicious hurt she’d ever felt, a warm, sliding, stretching pressure. He stared down at her as he eased forward. She closed her eyes so she could remember this sensation of being filled by him.

  “Okay?” he whispered.

  “Yes. It’s very okay. I feel very...full…at the moment.” She opened her eyes to find him gritting his teeth above her. “Does it feel good to you?”

  “I’m about to lose my mind.”

  “Oh.”

  He grimaced and gasped, and moved into her again. It felt even better the second time. She squeezed her inner muscles around his length.

  “Oh, God.” He sounded like he was choking.

  “Is that a good Oh, God?”

  “I’m dying a little. But that’s all right.”

  Dying. It did feel a bit like dying, like leaving reality and going to some other place where you were joined to another person. How often did that happen in life? Only during sex. This was so special, so amazing, and it felt so pleasurable and good. He kissed her and thrust inside her again, and it felt better than okay. It felt perfect.

  “This is perfect,” she said, arching to meet him. “It feels so perfect. Thank you.”

  He made another growl of a noise. She’d always remember that noise, and the feel of him surging inside her. Her whole center felt alive with pleasure. Each time he thrust in her, he pressed her clit and set off fireworks through her entire body. The fireworks flared and tingled and built until she keened in her throat with the need to come. He stroked her shoulders and kissed her neck, and pinched her nipples. She touched him too, tracing his spine and palming his ass as his muscles worked. He was amazing. His body was amazing, and the way he made her feel…

  Every time he touched her it was some new revelation, some new sensation she’d never felt, and it was all building to this magnificent whole, to a climax, a shuddering connection they could only reach together.

  “I never imagined this,” she sighed. “It’s so strange and complicated.” He gave her a look. “In a good way,” she amended. “It’s like chess.”

  “It’s not like chess.” He kissed her bottom lip, then tugged at it with his teeth. “I can do this, but I can’t do chess.”

  “What I mean is that it’s...it’s so big.”

  She wasn’t commenting on his size, although he had nothing to apologize for there. She meant that a whole complex new world had opened up to her, a world where another person could be inside her, and arch against her, and do things to her that made her feel completely amplified.

  After Russia, her body had felt violated. Damaged. Dead. For the first time in a long time, she was at ease in her body, feeling energized and alive. Every time he moved inside her, she shivered from the delicious pressure, the rippling, arching sensation.

  “My God,” she said. “It feels so good. How are you making me feel this way?”

  “You don’t have to talk so much, baby.” He held her close, right against him, driving deep inside her. “Just feel me. Let yourself go.”

  “I’m not supposed to talk?”

  He licked the side of her neck, a
nd nibbled beneath her ear lobe. “You can talk if you want,” he said. “Do whatever feels good.”

  “You feel good.” It came out like a sob. Everything about him transported her: his scent, the heat of his breath, the hardness of his muscles, the way he filled her until there was no space for anything else.

  “Oh, there,” she said as his fingertips played over her clit. “There, there. Please. Oh God.”

  She heard him chuckle as he indulged her, and had a sudden panic that she was being awkward, and doing everything wrong.

  “What?” she asked, clutching his shoulders. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because you’re wonderful.” He teased her mouth open, pressing his tongue against hers until she forgot about doing things wrong. She was so grateful for this. It felt so right, so generous, so magical that she wanted to cry.

  Later. She’d cry later, because she was so close to orgasm. She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched against him. She knew she could come if he kept moving in her that way. If she wasn’t thinking so much, if she wasn’t so distracted by the craziness that was intercourse, she would have come already.

  “Oh God, this is so much better than masturbation.”

  Okay, she’d said that out loud. She didn’t care. He was laughing again, and she didn’t care about that either. She clung to his neck, digging her fingers into his shoulders. She wanted to be in his arms when she came, when she burst into a thousand pieces with him inside her. She wanted to be closer to him than she’d ever been to anyone in the world.

  Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God. She didn’t know if she whispered the words or screamed them. She only knew that she was coming, and that her pussy quaked and spasmed from the intensity of the release. He said words she was too overwrought to hear, then pushed deep, so deep, and shuddered on top of her with a rough, feral sound. It was scary, but not scary, just like it was pain, but not really pain. One last pump, digging his knees into the bed, and then he let his breath out in a long sigh.

  She didn’t want to move, and she didn’t want him to move either. For a couple of minutes, there was nothing in the world but the rasping sound of his breath. “Gracie,” he said at last. “Are you okay?”

  She touched his cheek and nodded.

  He took a deep breath and reached between them. “I have to— The condom—” He was gone but then he was back again, gathering her in his arms and pulling the blankets up around them. A blizzard howled outside, but she felt wonderfully warm and content. She pressed her face into his neck.

  “Are you okay?” she finally thought to ask.

  He was quiet a moment. “No,” he said. “Because once won’t be enough. We’ll have to do that hundreds of times now.” He smiled, just barely, as he traced a finger along her cheek. “Grace...”

  He didn’t say anything else, but she could hear the questions in his voice. They were the same questions she was thinking. What happens now? What have we done?

  What if I’m falling in love with you?

  Too many questions. There were still three condoms sitting on the nightstand.

  By the next morning, there were none.

  Chapter Eight: The Party

  “There’s no record of a Peter Palmfripp in any sanctioned chess match of recent times. Who is this mysterious second, and is it true, as a Helsinki bridal consultant claims, that the two of them are planning a Marie-Antoinette themed wedding this spring in Dubai?” —The Sydney Tattler

  “Happy Birthday, Gracie dear.”

  “Thanks, Zeke. I miss you.”

  “Agh.” He cleared his throat. She wanted to hug him from across the ocean. “How old are you now? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

  “Twenty-four,” she said with a giggle.

  “I hope you’re taking a break from your work today. I hope you’re doing something fun.”

  Grace rubbed the back of her neck and looked down at her chess board. She felt tired and wrung out, and wonderful. For a week now, Sam had come to her bed and made her life in Helsinki very, very fun. He was an avid, creative lover, encouraging her out of her shell and into all kinds of sexual hijinks. She’d slumber afterward, physically exhausted, and dream about him, and wake up with him inside her in the middle of the night, whispering in her ear. It was the most fun she’d ever had in her life.

  She’d never experienced anything like this, never known the feeling of someone else touching her and knowing her so deeply. She’d never felt so alive. She knew a lot of people were into sex, that it was a big and powerful motivator, but now she understood why, and how. Her hunger consumed her. His closeness became as essential to her Helsinki existence as her down blankets and warm woolen socks.

  “I’m sure we’ll do something fun,” said Grace. “Renzo is making a cake. I can smell it.”

  “I wish I could smell it. You’d better eat a big piece for me.”

  “I definitely will. I’ll eat three or four pieces for you.”

  “Oh, no. I’ll go into diabetic shock. One will do.”

  “I miss you,” she said again. She missed his old man jokes and his rough, phlegmatic voice. “Are you doing okay? Do you still like Mrs. Ferlander?”

  “I told you, I love Mrs. Ferlander. She might stay on after you come home. Would that bother you? You shouldn’t have to take care of me.”

  “I don’t mind taking care of you.”

  “No, you’ll have other things to think about. After Dubai, you’ll be busy making appearances and playing matches all over the world. You’ll have very important work to do.”

  After Dubai. She and Sam were going to figure things out after Dubai. That was still their plan. But Zeke was right, the work wouldn’t stop because the match was over. There would still be so much to do.

  But she would make time for Zeke, and time for Sam and their intimate explorations.

  All through the dreary days of working and planning, her body was tuned to her lover’s. She noticed every movement Sam made, and caught every glance. The match was coming up, yes, but she’d never thought more clearly. She was ultra-productive. Sam had opened some floodgate inside her and made her feel all-powerful. The world had snapped into perfect focus, with or without her glasses, and she realized she could do this. She could win against Al Raji. She could do anything she wanted to do, and no one could stop her. There was going to be a woman chess champion, the first ever woman chess champion, and it would be her.

  She hadn’t told Zeke that she was sleeping with Sam, that Sam had taken her virginity. Not because she was ashamed, or because she thought they were doing something wrong. She just didn’t know how to explain the depth of this new connection. It felt too personal and private, even for Zeke. They didn’t tell anyone in the house either, although Grace wondered if they knew anyway. Renzo was quieter than usual when they were around, and Krishna gave her probing looks. Fredrik brooded. He said he was tired of snow. Well, he was Swedish. He ought to be used to snow.

  “I feel really good, Zeke,” she said, cradling the phone against her ear. “I feel really ready. I think I might win.”

  “I know you’ll win. I’m so proud of you, Gracie. Every day, I think, ‘I’m so proud of that Gracie. She’s worked so hard.’”

  Grace pushed up her glasses and scrunched her eyes shut. She wasn’t going to cry, because Zeke would know, even over the phone. “It’s because of you,” she said. “If you hadn’t helped me, and been there for me...” So much for not crying. “Well, thank you. I can never thank you enough.”

  “You’ve already thanked me enough, just by being you. Now, you have a happy birthday, milachka. I wish you a year filled with love and joy, and success, and peace, and all the most magnificent things your heart desires.”

  “Oh, Zeke.”

  “And tell Sam I said hello. Sam is well?”

  “Yes, everything’s good here.” Really, really good. Amazingly good. “I love you, Zeke. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  She put down the phone and puttered around with her chess piec
es. She’d been studying the “Immortal Game,” a famous 19th century match between Anderssen and Kieseritzky. They didn’t play like that anymore, offering up pieces, aggressively attacking, playing a faster development while leaving ultimate victory to chance. Chess today was so cautious, so analytical and careful. In the Immortal Game, Andersson had given up two rooks, a bishop, even his queen, and then checkmated his opponent with a couple lowly knights.

  More madness than genius, people had said, but Grace thought it was marvelous. They called her a chess genius but she aspired to Anderssen’s brand of madness. Risk, creativity, immortal chutzpah...

  “Grace?”

  She looked up at Sam’s voice. He leaned against the door, gazing in at her. The Immortal Game fled her mind.

  “Come downstairs. You can’t work all day on your birthday. Come get something to eat.”

  She liked when he used his bodyguard voice on her, strident and slightly bossy. Her stomach growled with perfect timing. Delicious smells had been wafting up from the kitchen since noon. Sam stopped her at the door and kissed her, a firm, possessive kiss that made her nipples draw up tight. She tried to pull him into the room but he shook his head. “No, food first. Cake and presents. It’s your birthday.”

  “I should get whatever I want on my birthday.”

  “You will get whatever you want on your birthday,” he said, arching a brow. “Later.” With one last rapacious kiss, he propelled her out of the room and down the stairs.

  “Happy Birthday!”

  Grace halted on the first floor landing, taken aback by all the unaccustomed color. Fredrik, Krishna, and Renzo grinned at her from the haphazardly decorated living room. Colorful streamers arched from corner to corner and wrapped around various pieces of furniture, while a hand-lettered banner proclaimed “Happy Birthday Grace Ann.” The streamers continued on to the kitchen and hung down over the dining table, which was laden with tons of food and a cake decorated to look like a chess board, with actual pieces anchored in the frosting. She stood gawking, struck speechless by the pure joy of a surprise party.

  “Wow,” she finally managed to say. “Wow.”

 

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