by Kathy Altman
“Thanks for picking up.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I basically told you to leave me alone.”
“You were upset.” A beat of silence filled the air. “Charity?”
“You said to call if I needed anything.”
“Name it.”
“I need to see you.”
He didn’t hesitate. “I can’t be gone long. I don’t want Matt to wake up and find me missing.”
“You’re a good dad.”
“I try.” A rustling sounded in the background. He must be getting dressed.
A warm tingling erupted at the base of Charity’s spine. Did he still sleep naked? On his belly, with one arm under his pillow and the other hanging off the side of the bed?
On the rare occasion they’d spent the night in the same bed, she’d slept tucked up against him on her back, which had made it oh so convenient for him to slide her beneath him whenever he’d jerked awake in the middle of the night with a hard-on neither would dream of letting go to waste.
“I’ll see you in fifteen,” Grady said.
It was all she could do to attach meaning to his words. “Wait.” She pushed away from the wall and rubbed her forehead. “I’m not at home.”
“Still at Dix’s? Text me the address—”
“I’m here. Outside your window.”
Charity heard a sharp inhale, then nothing. It took a second to realize he’d disconnected. Here we go. Panic and anticipation poked at her skin with hot, tingling jabs. She slid her phone into her sweater pocket, hugged herself and stared up at the window, watching it so intently she started to see spots.
More nothing. No shirring sound to signal the sash sliding upward, no movement behind the glass. She blinked, and sank her teeth into her lower lip. Had he changed his mind? Had he decided he didn’t want to deal with a psycho ex who couldn’t decide whether or not she wanted to have sex?
Movement at the back corner of the house had her jerking her chin to her left. Grady came out of the shadows, his hard physique backlit by the muted glow from the lights that lined the path to the pool. He wore sweatpants, and a not-quite-tight-enough tee, feet bare, hair crazy.
Charity sagged against the wall and barely registered a distant thump as her flashlight struck the ground.
Want.
No, not want. Need. A raw, militant, mindless need that hit her like the business end of a blackjack. Her bones shook from the force of it.
He moved toward her, footsteps whispering over the damp, neatly trimmed grass. She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell from his posture what he was feeling, so she stood there, rigid and trembling, weighed down with equal parts doubt and desire.
He stopped a few feet away, looked from her to the second story window and back again. “I feel like I just stepped through a time warp, finding you here.” He motioned with his head at his bedroom window. “Good thing you didn’t throw any rocks. That’s Drew’s room now.”
Oh. Oh! Thank God she hadn’t let herself in. Though being inside would be so much smarter than staying out in the open. She was certain she hadn’t been followed, but there was no sense in taking chances.
She gestured for Grady to follow her into a copse of trees and waited for him to ask why she’d gotten him out of bed in the middle of the night. Instead he muttered something sympathetic and folded her against him. He inhaled, slowly raised his hands, and stroked his fingers through her hair. She closed her eyes and relaxed against his hard, sleep-warmed length, breathing in the faint bleachy scent of his T-shirt and melting into the pleasure of being soothed.
She bit down on a whimper as a heavy tension settled between her hips.
“I’m sorry.” Grady rested his chin on her head and skimmed his hands down her back. “For what I said earlier.”
“And I’m sorry for being defensive.”
“You realize I’m jealous.”
Charity turned her face into his neck and tasted him. He shivered, but not in a sexy way.
She looked down at his feet. “I can’t believe you forgot shoes.”
“I was in a hurry. I thought you might leave.”
Dear Lord. What was she waiting for?
She tangled her hands in his tee and yanked. He let loose a startled chuckle as his mouth bumped hers. Bumped, then settled. The kiss was fierce, searing, and heady as hell. Her knees went soft, and she sagged against him.
He moaned, a sound that echoed in her chest and shimmered down her spine. His lips coaxed then commanded, caressed then consumed, sending her fingers scrabbling for the hem of his shirt. As his tongue flirted with hers, she found bare skin and the hard, ridged plane of his belly and let her grateful hands roam.
So warm. So hard.
So hers, if only for the night.
She reached around his waist and slid her hands up his back to clutch at his shoulder blades. Overwhelmed by the raw, reckless need she felt only with him, only for him, she broke off the kiss and buried her face in his neck.
“I never did thank you for the picnic,” she whispered raggedly.
“Is that what this is? An expression of gratitude? I’m okay with it, I just wondered.”
She smiled against his skin. “Why do you smell like oranges?”
“The soap in the guestroom.”
She sucked at his neck. “You don’t taste like oranges.”
“What do I taste like?”
“More. You taste like more.”
He groaned again and slid his hands down to her ass. She whimpered when he began to knead, and he hissed in a breath.
“We can’t do this out here,” he said tightly. Reluctantly he moved back, then held out a hand. “We’ll need to keep the noise down.”
“I suppose that’s aimed at me.” Charity’s snort came out sounding more like a hiccup as she ignored his outstretched hand. “What about Matt?”
“He’s asleep. I’ll double-check when we go in. My door does lock.”
“Can’t we use the pool house?”
Grady breathed a quiet, tortured laugh. “As much as I’d enjoy reliving some of our adventures there, we don’t have that option. It’s closed for repair.”
This time he helped himself to her hand, and she shivered at the contact.
“Come with me.” He turned toward the house. “And I mean that in every possible sense of the phrase.”
Her brain popped and sputtered like the failing light bulb in her fridge as he led her to the back of the house. The laundry room, maybe twice the size of her kitchen, smelled like warm starch. Without letting go of her hand, he shut and locked the back door, backed her up against the wall, and dove in. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his greedy mouth roved her lips, her cheeks, her neck. When he started nibbling, she couldn’t restrain a delighted squeal that bounced off the appliances and danced in the shadows. They froze, staring at each other as they gobbled air and waited for someone to come running.
Long seconds passed with no sound but the rasp of their breathing and the tick of the clock above their heads. Charity relaxed against Grady, resting her forehead on his chest.
“What was that all about?” she whispered.
He pulled her away from the wall. “Building anticipation.”
“Twelve years isn’t enough anticipation for you?”
“Keep it up and you’ll give me performance anxiety.”
“You’re the one who has to keep it up.”
“Aaand now I have it.”
Charity rolled her eyes and nudged him toward the door that led to the kitchen. He held up a finger and started opening cabinets.
Oh, dear Lord, they were so going to get caught. “What are you looking for?”
“Something to use as a gag.”
“Hilarious,” she muttered, and stripped off her cardigan.
Grady went still. She smiled and drew in a long, deliberate breath.
“Touché,” he choked, and fumbled for her elbow.
Charity draped her sweate
r over her shoulder and trotted alongside him, free hand clapped to her mouth to stifle the giggles. She was almost dizzy with the sense of déjà vu. Somewhere overhead a door shut, and that was the end of the urge to laugh. Grady tugged her behind him and locked every muscle. She hovered at his back, eyes squeezed shut, hands on his shoulders. Please don’t let anyone catch us.
It wasn’t the embarrassment she dreaded, it was the interruption. She wanted sex. Serious sex. Hot, sweaty, how-many-times-can-we-make-each-other-come sex. With grown-up Grady.
Her belly tingled, even as she held her breath and listened. No running feet. No strident voices. No sinister shuck of a pump action.
A toilet flushed. A door again. Then silence.
Grady reached around and squeezed her hip. Charity pressed her face into his back and bit down. His muscles gathered. He twisted around and reclaimed her hand, the gleam in his eyes promising retribution.
Bring it on.
He led her to the stairs off the kitchen and up to the second floor. She hadn’t seen the inside for over a decade but remembered it all—the high ceilings that dripped ornate chandeliers, the gleaming marble floors bordering plush carpet, the dust-free cherry furniture crowned with exotic flower arrangements, the glass-front zoos of figurines and sculptures and fine china—and it all still intimidated her.
Bare feet sinking into the carpet, Grady steered her down the hallway to the right. The closer they got to the end of the corridor, the faster he moved. He jerked to a halt, pointed to a door behind them and put a finger to his lips. Matt’s room.
He pulled Charity through the set of double doors at the end of the hall, shut and locked the doors behind them with one hand and tugged her back against him with the other, trapping the heat of their need between them. It was ridiculously tough to entertain second thoughts with Grady’s ragged breathing in her ear, not to mention his erection plastered against her ass. Yet she couldn’t completely tune out the voice in her head that had picked up the chant you don’t belong here.
He must have heard that voice, too, because Charity barely had a chance to register the white-blond furniture and king-sized bed before he turned her around to face him and dipped his head. She leaned away and tossed her sweater toward the nearest flat surface. A muffled thud sounded as her phone landed on a chest of drawers. She slid her hands up his arms and around his neck, her gaze snagging on the erotic promise of his mouth.
“What are the chances Matt will come knocking?”
Grady reached back without looking and hit the switch. “A lot lower if the light’s off.”
She blinked in the sudden dimness. “Grady.”
“Don’t worry. The kid’s a sound sleeper.”
“Glad to hear it.”
He lowered his head again. His lips, tongue, and teeth seduced her until every muscle in her body trembled with mindless want. He swung her around, walked her backward, and sandwiched her lower body between his hips and the wall. The heated press of his thick arousal against her belly had Charity moaning into his mouth.
Grady’s tongue tangled with hers as his hands skimmed up over her ribcage and trailed inward to cup her breasts. The sensation robbed her of air, and her nipples went tight with need. He rubbed her with his palms, and she bucked against his hips. She must have made too much noise because he shushed her.
“Oh, no you didn’t,” Charity whispered fiercely and pushed him away.
He grinned and stripped off his tee. Through the gaps in the heavy striped curtains, the moon scattered beams across hard, heaving muscle.
“Touché back atcha,” she said thickly. Her thighs started to shake, and every nerve ending below her waist coiled tight. With a moan, she reached out and yanked him back. “I missed you.”
His sudden intake of air signaled he knew she was referring to more than the past ten seconds. “I missed you, too.” He nipped her chin, and stroked a fingertip down her nose. He gathered her close again, the stubble on his jaw a delicious scrape against her temple. “I worry about you.”
“I like the way you show it.” Charity shoved him away again, but with her hands gripping his waistband, he could only go so far. She kept her eyes locked on his as she dropped slowly to her knees, pulling his sweatpants out and down as she sank to the floor.
His cock, long and thick and quivering, leapt at her face, and she whimpered as she remembered the feel of its rigid, relentless stroke. She pressed her thighs together, deliberately let her head fall back, and licked her lips.
Grady exhaled a slow, trembling breath. “You’re determined to make me embarrass myself,” he said gruffly, even as his hands cradled her skull.
“Trying to tell me you’re only good for one go?” Charity gave him a lick, making his hips jerk. “My, how times have changed.”
“Was I the only one listening when we talked about performance issues?”
“Tell me again.” She gripped him with one hand and touched her tongue to the damp tip of his shaft.
Grady didn’t answer except for a tortured moan when she scraped her teeth across the head of his cock. The sound of his pleasure shimmered through her, and she got busy, licking and laving and nipping. When she finally sucked him into her mouth, noises rather than words erupted from his throat. His head went back, his fingers tightened, and his hips began to thrust as she worked him with her palm and with her lips, the fingers of her left hand alternately stroking and gripping Jake and Elwood, his “boys.”
It wasn’t long before Grady’s thighs went rock-hard and his hands pushed at her head. She knew he didn’t want to finish, knew he wanted to see to her first, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t wait to watch him lose the control he’d always prided himself on. She gripped his hips and took him deeper, reveling in his frenzied thrusts.
“Charity,” he begged, and exploded in her mouth.
She sucked him dry, holding him through the aftershocks, and couldn’t help a grin as he collapsed to his knees in front of her. She licked his shoulder, loving that she’d made him sweat.
“Jesus,” he panted, and pulled her into a hug. “Guess I won’t be wearing that Olympic silver condom after all.”
Charity laughed. “You’ll make it up to me.”
“So confident.”
“So determined.” She winked. “I’ll be right back.” She pushed to her feet, kicked off her boots, and let the moonlight guide her to the connecting bathroom.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time Charity came out of the bathroom, Grady had managed to haul his ass off the floor but only barely because his legs had misplaced their bones. His cock, too, until he registered that she’d taken off the rest of her clothes. She walked—Christ, make that bounced—toward him, a glass of water in one hand, her other hand full of luscious, ivory-colored hip. His junk snapped so straight it was a wonder he didn’t pull a muscle.
He gulped half of the water, his gaze never leaving the moonlit wonder of her body. Slowly she reached for the half-empty glass he held, mouth a teasing curve, generous breasts jiggling, hips slowly flexing toward his. He dodged her hand and tipped the water over her tits.
With a gasp, she crossed her arms over her chest. Grady let the glass thud to the carpet. He leaned forward and kissed her hard. He tugged her arms away from her body, guided her backward to the bed, gave her a push, and followed her down onto the satiny comforter. With a siren’s smile, she slid her arms over her head, arching her back and offering up the rosy, rigid tips of her breasts.
An offer he had no intention of refusing.
He worked her tits like she’d worked his cock, sucking and tugging, using his tongue and teeth and fingers until she was sobbing his name.
“That feel good?”
“Good. Great. Perfect. Grady,” she begged in a strangled whisper. “Please.” She squirmed beneath him, entreating him with the wide spread of her thighs, the rhythmic surge of her hips.
“Shh.” He abandoned her breasts to kiss his way down her belly to her sweet-smelling c
enter.
The tally was already zero-one, advantage home, and Grady had every intention of evening the score. But his lips had barely grazed hers before she was yanking at his hair, gritting his name and bumping him with her hips in a frantic attempt to scoot him upwards.
“For God’s sake, Grady, fuck me already!”
His cock swelled painfully, and he lunged for the bedside drawer.
Twenty seconds later he was sheathed in latex and stretched above her, thumbs stroking her jaw line as he gasped into her mouth. Charity’s fingers dug into his hipbones, spurring him to prod at the entrance to her core. She was slick with want but tight, so damned tight. She made him work for it. He eased in, eased out, eased in again, further this time, sweat coating his chest and plastering her gorgeous tits to his skin. When he was finally balls deep, he nearly blew from the pulsing squeeze of her muscles and the mewling sounds she made as she writhed beneath him.
Slowly he pulled all the way out and thrust back in. She let loose a growling sob, reared up, and clamped her teeth on his shoulder.
Greed. It blanked out all thought, governed every instant of their ferocious coupling. He thrust, faster and faster. He couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t slow the pace if his life depended on it. She smelled like honeysuckle, tasted like sugar cookies and coffee and sex. Her sighs echoed in his ears and sparked his hips into a grinding frenzy.
It was too fast, he knew it was too fast, but Christ it felt amazing, and she wouldn’t let him slow but urged him on with both hands clamped tight on his ass. He lifted his mouth away from their kiss and sucked air. Stared down at the bliss on her face. How the hell would he live without her?
He tried to hold back, wanted her to come first, knew fast didn’t have to mean selfish. Then the quivering began, and he thrust faster, the explosion seconds away. He should slow down. He should wait…dammit! He’d make sure she came, he’d use his tongue—
The thought pushed him over the edge. He bucked against her, shuddered into her, the blast breaking all records when Charity cried out his name and joined him, her hips melded to his, her inner muscles squeezing him in ecstasy.