Then Came You

by Kate Meader

  The snow starts about a hundred miles outside Cleveland, great big wet clumps that slow everything down. Cars fishtail ahead of us, and we pass a fair number of fender benders and spinouts. It’s only two in the afternoon, but the skies are ominous.

  I should have taken the train, sneaked Cat Damon on somehow, because this is dangerous. But whenever I slide a glance to Grant, I find his usual rock-solid self. Midnight blue eyes on the road, that strong brow set to focus. He used to be clean-shaven, but not anymore. Facial hair has never appealed to me, but on Grant, hell yeah. I always thought smooth was his attempt to fit in with the clean-cut boys in law school, and later those men he’d encounter in the courtroom. The stubble suits him better.

  Nothing has ever fazed him, and God knows I tried to knock him off his stilts. Resisting Grant has been my greatest challenge, though when we started dating, it was him resisting me.

  Just two weeks into our first year in law school, Grant had taken me out to dinner three times, playing the perfect southern gent through every date. It was, shall we say, frustrating as heck. I was the first to admit that I could come off as aloof. Was I doing that with Grant? I didn’t know. Around him, I felt hot and excited. Shaky and strange.

  Getting to know him had been a joy because he was ostensibly reserved, yet effusive about things he cared about. Close to his mom, he worried like hell about her. She had a new boyfriend, and Grant wasn’t sure he liked him—yet.

  “You’re protective of your mom,” I observed. “That’s cute.”

  He blushed, and damn, that was cute.

  It was Saturday—date night around the world—and Grant was scheduled to pick me up at my place. He hadn’t seen my apartment, wouldn’t even come up after taking me out. We had yet to kiss beyond a quick peck to my cheek.

  Good thing I had a plan.

  I smoothed my dress down my thighs and did a quick turn to check out my legs and heels—red Louboutins that made me look ten feet tall. Still not enough to reach Grant’s lips, so he was going to have to compromise and come down to my filthy nympho level.

  The intercom buzzed. “Hello?”

  “It’s Grant.”

  “Come on up.”

  My heart jumped into my throat, and an eternity ticked by before he pushed back the ajar door. But Grant’s face wasn’t the first I saw. That honor went to the ugliest creature in existence, a cat—maybe?—with an expression of undeniable grumpiness and a life hard-bitten.

  “Who’s this?”

  “I found him outside.”

  My heart melted at the sight of this helpless creature cradled in Grant’s big protective arms. I was also a wee bit jealous because that kitty was seeing more action than me. “We should feed it. She’s probably starving.”

  “It’s a he.” Grant followed me into the kitchen, and my seduction plans fell by the wayside, or so I thought. When I turned, however, I found him watching my legs.

  He raised his gaze to my face. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Bean.”

  I swallowed, bowled over by the compliment, even though I knew I looked good. Had I not planned it after all? Grant had a way of looking at me that was thorough and all-encompassing, yet he had never touched me. Didn’t he want me as much as I wanted him?

  “Milk?”

  “Say ’gain?”

  I nodded at his precious bundle. “For our guest.”

  “Good start.”

  I filled a soup bowl with milk and laid it on the floor. Grant placed the cat in front of the bowl. Two sniffs, and he was in.

  “Do you think he has an owner?”

  “Probably not. This is a street cat.”

  Right now he was a hungry cat. I watched the furry ball, then caught Grant’s eye, firmly and unabashedly locked on me.

  “What?”

  “You make it very hard to be a gentleman around you.”

  “Who says you have to be a gentleman?”

  He leaned against the counter, his hands behind his back. “I do. A woman like you deserves to be treated like a queen.”

  My heart fluttered madly, though I was torn about the “woman like you” comment. I loved being on this pedestal built by Grant but would happily tumble off it into his strong arms. “Sometimes queens need to be treated a little less royally.”

  A muscle went bananas in his jaw, and a flush of heat flagged his cheekbones. Biceps bulged indecently against the fabric of his striped blue Oxford, as if he were flexing or…oh! He was gripping the counter behind him.

  “Are you trying not to touch me?”

  “If I touch you,” he gritted out, more animal than I’d ever heard from a human, “you’ll be out of that dress in ten seconds.”

  A savage kick of lust almost paralyzed me.

  “Not even time for a kiss?” I approached, carefully, as one would a caged beast, and placed my hands on his unyielding chest. His heart beat hard and vibrantly under my fingertips.

  “Aubrey, I’m trying—”

  “To not jump me?”

  “To not ravage you. You’re so tiny, and I’m so…not.”

  But I loved that. I adored his burly size compared to my slight frame. I wanted him to pick me up and wrap me up and fuck me up. I wanted him to act on that ravaging instinct.

  On tiptoes, I kissed him and took what was coming to me. What I’d been waiting on for weeks. Maybe years. He kissed me back with such ferocity my skin sizzled all the way down to my toes. Our tongues twined, setting fire to the kindling we’d been building for weeks. Three more seconds, and his hands were on my butt, lifting me onto the kitchen island, which created the perfect height and fit for us to come together at last.

  “We’re past ten seconds, and I’m still wearing this dress, Georgia. Guess I’m not as tempting as you claimed.”

  He drew back, panting hard, his eyes raking me thoroughly. “It looks expensive.”

  “It is. I bought it with plans to seduce you. And it looks like it’s working.”

  He sucked my lower lip into his mouth, held it, then traced soothing kisses along the seam. “I find that maybe I have it in me to torture you for a while.”

  “You’ve only been doing it since the day we met. I’ve been dying for you to touch me. Anything!” This desperation was so unlike me. I kind of liked it.

  Our guest meowed just then, a plaintive sound that drew our attention.

  “Do you think he’ll be okay for a while?” I asked Grant.

  “What’s a while?”

  “As long as it takes you to make me come. Twice.”

  His nostrils flared, and for a moment I worried I was too forward. Maybe he preferred polite southern belles and didn’t enjoy uppity women who stated their needs so brashly. If my mother could’ve heard me, she’d have turned over in the coffin she slept in at night.

  Strong fingers dug into my butt and dragged me close. “Twice, huh?” He picked me up, hitched my legs over his firm hips, and started walking, his gaze eating me alive with every step. Somehow, despite this being his first visit, he knew the floor plan of my apartment without the need to look over my shoulder. He placed me gently on the sofa.

  I pointed to my right. “Bedroom’s through there.”

  “Not a good idea.” Two king-sized hands separated my thighs and pushed up my dress.

  “But—”

  “If we go into the bedroom, it’ll be too fast. Too desperate.”

  Sounded fine to me.

  “And I need to savor you.”

  I liked that word on his lips. Savor. I liked his next move as well—the one where he hooked a finger into my black silk thong and inched it down. I especially liked how his hand shook, possibly from the effort not to rip it off.

  My hem was up around my hips, and there was no place to hide. Wit
h palms spreading me wide, he focused on my slick nakedness, so intently and for so long that I started to breathe in shallow spurts.

  “Grant, please touch me.”

  Kneading my thighs, he slid his thumbs toward my center. A lick of his lips told me he liked what he saw, how I felt beneath his hands, the reaction he was producing. My hips swiveled in invitation, a desire to create some friction.

  “What do you need, Bean?”

  I’d once assumed he called me that because I came from Boston, but he’d assured me that he had another reason. “Wh—what’s that mean? Bean?”

  He snatched a breath. “Because you’re petite, as cute as a bean, all this potential that’s not quite fully realized, but you’re going to bloom into something wonderful. With the right care and feeding.” He slicked a thumb on the outer folds of my pussy, separating as he mapped each liquid-filled well of flesh. The touch was soft, yet methodical, and when he glanced over my clit, I bucked off the sofa. “This little nub of flesh is like a bean that’s hiding all your power, Aubrey.”

  Weird as hell, yet I loved every word.

  He stroked my clit again, his gaze on me as he assessed my response. I knew what I liked, but I’d never told anyone in detail. Had never even let a guy go down on me.

  I was going to let Grant. I was probably going to beg him.

  “Pussy power,” I whispered, buying into the fantasy he presented as fact.

  “That’s it, Bean. Claim it. Tell me what you need.”

  Still he stroked my pulsing clit (I refused to call it bean!) but in a way that was too gentle to get me to that peak.

  “Any good with your tongue, Georgia?”

  The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Guess you haven’t been listening in class.”

  Oh, but I had. Grant was the smartest, sharpest guy I’d ever met. When he spoke during lectures, I was mesmerized at all that slow treacle dripping over incisive commentary.

  “You’re going to have to spell it out, Aubrey. Specificity is key when it comes to the law.” He slipped a finger inside me, stretching my walls, previewing coming attractions.

  “More, I need more.”

  “More what?”

  “Fingers, tongue.” Your cock, your words, your shelter.

  I had brothers who didn’t do their job, parents who barely noticed me. Independence was instilled in me from a young age, an innate survivalist streak, but right now I needed to be seen. Grant’s calm reacted to forces raging within me, forces I’d spent my life suppressing.

  Another finger inside, his head bent to where I needed him most. Both fingers thrust in delicious rhythm, and finally, finally, he licked me. My body ignited at that touch, and the hunger between us exploded. I came in a frankly embarrassing instant.

  His heavy-lidded eyes met mine.

  “Damn, I love when you let go, Bean. Gonna need more of that.”

  He placed the heel of his hand over me and spread my liquid desire around, sparking the perfect build to a second orgasm. I wasn’t the speed queen this go-around, and somehow that made it better. Or more likely, it was Grant’s laser-eyed focus on me the entire time. On the descent, I grabbed his tie to pull him in for a kiss and felt his moan all the way to my heart.

  “Let me touch you,” I said. “Fuck me properly.”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  “But, you.”

  I cupped his erection through his pants, all that pulsing power that seemed to swell in my hand. “You need this, too, Grant.”

  White hot desire ravaged his features, and briefly he closed his eyes, my touch clearly too much. Owning him like this, the glory of it, thrilled through me.

  “Say it, Grant. Say you need it.”

  He nodded, then a strangled “yes” emerged with the opening of his dark blue eyes.

  Pushing him back, I straddled him, pulling my dress over my head at the same time. My La Perla bra did a decent job of hiking up my small breasts, but I guess inadequacy was in the eye of the possessor—Grant’s gaze went wide and wanting.

  He glanced a thumb over the hard peak thorough the silk. “You’re so perfect.”

  I knew I wasn’t, that every day I strove for some fucked-up version of perfection in answer to my parents’ siren call, the one that insisted I wasn’t good enough to bear the Gates name. I must have revealed something in my expression because Grant cupped my face and melded my gaze with his.

  “It doesn’t matter what happens outside of us. There’ll always be obstacles, but you tell me what you need, what you want, and what you desire, and inside this, inside us, I will make it happen. I will make it perfect. Do you understand, Aubrey?”

  I didn’t, but I wanted to. I craved the assurance that oozed from his pores.

  “Right now I want you inside me.” I was used to doing things quickly, efficiently, getting to the point. Dwelling was not the Yankee way.

  Tell that to my man from the South.

  “I’ll go slow, baby. Give you time to take me in.”

  Sure thing, Mr. Braggart, I thought as I unzipped and unpacked—whoa, that’s some mighty fine equipment you have there! I had no doubt we’d fit, but Grant was already there, teasing with his fingers between my thighs, ensuring I’d be slick enough to take him deep. He handed me the condom, and boy, I had a job of it, but then, then, then, it was happening.

  Torturously.

  Oh, God, please. Inch by beautiful inch, Grant stole his way into my body and into my heart. The feel of him stretching me, challenging me to work with him, was exquisite.

  It would be the story of us.

  “Jesus, feels so fucking good.”

  It was the first time I’d heard him swear. He was a different man when stoked this way.

  I moved up, and with each downward stroke accepted more of him. So hot, so deep, so perfect. His hands on my ass controlled the rhythm, the sweet friction sent waves of pleasure rolling through me. I sank down deep and held still for one precious golden moment of connection.

  “Is—is this what it’ll always be like?” I panted, almost ashamed at my show of vulnerability but desperately needing to know. Promise me it will always be perfect. That we’re a team. That we’re forever.

  “I’m thinking three.”

  “Three what?”

  Stilling my sensual rock, he lifted my hand from his shoulder and placed a kiss on my wrist, another on my palm, and a final one on the tip of my index finger. It was unbearably erotic, even more so than the fact he was balls-deep inside me.

  “Two girls and a boy, don’t mind the order.”

  I gasped. He smiled.

  “You can’t just say that.”

  “Can and did.”

  And in that moment, I reached that peak and saw it. Our entire lives spread out before us, shining and beautiful. Three bundles of joy with sparkling blue eyes and Grant’s shy smile. I wanted it so much that I forgave him the lie. Like me, he was caught up in the power of it.

  Because no one, not even a man as sure as Grant Roosevelt Lincoln, can truly promise forever.

  Chapter 7

  Aubrey

  Once in Cleveland, we check into our separate rooms. I informed Grant I wanted a night in and I’d see him for breakfast in the morning, but it’s not long before I get antsy, needing to be among people, even if it’s only at the hotel bar, anonymous in an anonymous city. (Sorry, Cleveland, I’m sure you’re lovely beneath all that snow.)

  My second dirty martini appears before I’ve finished my first. I turn to find him at the end of the bar, and my breath catches just as it did that first day I saw him in the lecture hall. How does he do it? More to the point, how dare he do it?

  He raises his beer bottle—Budweiser, Grant doesn’t care for anything crafty—and gives me that slow,
shy smile, the one guaranteed to heat me from the inside out and make my panties slip an inch or two. These days it takes more than that for the full-scale underwear drop. I’ve become more circumspect in my old age.

  I raise my glass back and shift my thigh so my skirt rides up a little. It’s deliberate, an invitation. In a few seconds, the seat beside me is host to the most excellent ass I’ve ever had the pleasure of fondling. To think those gorgeous buns were all mine for the exploring and gripping and biting—

  Hold up there, Gates.

  There will be no butt-grabbing or ass-nibbling shenanigans with your ex-husband!

  But said ex-husband has always had a way with words. “Want to screw ourselves stupid in my hotel room?”

  I almost choke on an olive. A resounding clap on the back coughs it up from my throat, whereupon I deposit it on a napkin. First off, I give it an accusing glare, as if that spherical blob is to blame for the less-than-sophisticated response to what I just heard.

  “Ever heard of foreplay?”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Seven hours in the car with your whining cat. All the foreplay I need.”

  I laugh my head off. The muscles in my belly constrict, questioning this burst of energy, and I realize it’s been a long time since I let loose like this.

  “All right, all right, let’s try again,” he drawls. “Waiting for someone?”

  “Yeah, my date. He’s stuck in traffic.”

  “Not a boyfriend, then?”

  I give him a look, then a sharper one at his Budweiser bottle, playing like he’s beneath me.

  “He’ll be here any moment. Weather, y’know.”

  “Probably a good idea not to have him pick you up at your place.”

  “Oh?”

  “He would’ve had to take you, there and then, just inside the door. Lift that skirt and slip in deep and true.”

  Just like one of our dates back in ancient times. I abstain from picking up my martini because my hand will shake all that precious alcohol onto the bar.

  “I already told you there’d be no funny business, Grant. It’s just too complicated.”

  “But you’re not denying that it’s crossed your mind.”