“What’s that?” I question, brow furrowed.
“That you lied to me.”
“Oh yeah?” I cross my arms, but don’t commit to saying I’ve never lied to her, because that’s just not the case. I’m more interested in which lie she’s discovered.
“When we were at that café downstairs, the night we met, the waitress said you lived close.” She shrugs, her lips wrinkling slightly. “Turns out you live just right upstairs.”
“That’s a white lie.” I step away from the counter. “So, it doesn’t count.”
She nods, looks around nervously.
“Would you like a tour of the place?” I question, arms stretched out gesturing for her to step into the kitchen. “As you can see, this is the living room and kitchen.” I slap my hand on the marble counter and offer her a grin. “Everything’s updated, and I mean everything.” I step to a door right off the kitchen. “This is where you’ll find the bathroom, and the door next to it is my office.” I turn to shoot her a glance. “That room is off limits for obvious reasons. Can’t have my students rustling around through copies of the exams, you know?”
“Right.” She nods, continues to follow me as I give her the grand tour of the place. “Wild guess, but I assume that’s your bedroom?”
“You’re a perceptive girl.”
“Now,” I say, shift to the counter and lean against it, “there’s one part of our arrangement I didn’t mention.”
She swallows harshly, stares me down.
“For the duration of our agreement, I’d like for you to stay in my apartment.”
She shakes her head, an instant denial. Opens her mouth to speak, but doesn’t. Not at first, anyway. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why’s that, Grace?”
“B-Because the school could find out. You could get fired or worse.”
I round the corner of the counter. “I won’t be at the school next year regardless,” I say, trying to persuade her. It’s a half-truth. I have no plans to leave my position at the university unless something goes awry. Then again, it’s not as if I’ve just lobbed a huge lie at her, considering my position is just a front and if it bit the dust, I’d just find another.
“If that’s your only objection…” I reach out to her. “What would you like to do on our first full night together, Grace? Name it, and it’s yours.” My hand grazes hers, so soft and so damn feminine.
She breaks away from my light grasp and fumbles for a reply.
Finally she blurts, “Do you know how to play gin rummy?”
My throat tenses as I try to not burst into a fit of laughter because I’m once again reminded how inexperienced she is. But it also reminds me how funny she is.
Fuck it, I like hanging out and talking to her, so I guess I’m breaking out the playing cards and some beers. “University holiday and we have no class tomorrow,” I say. “Why not? Let’s let our hair down and have some fun.”
She chuckles, covers her eyes with one hand.
She looks a little more comfortable a few minutes later, seated on the floor on the opposite side of an antique coffee table. But she’s still clearly a fish out of the water. I take a swig of beer and ruminate that she hasn’t even touched hers yet as I deal out five cards each.
“I hope you know how to play poker.” I take another swig and then place the rest of the deck in the space by my elbow.
“I thought we agreed on rummy?”
“No,” I point out. “You suggested it, and I compromised. Trust me, this is not what I had in mind for tonight, so give me some credit here.”
Her cheeks flame and she nods as she scoops her five cards into her hands and looks over them.
A mischievous grin hitches across my lips. “Now, I was thinking we could add some more stakes to the game. For each hand, the loser has to take a punishment.”
She glances at me, intrigued but also unsure. “Like what?”
“Winner’s choice.”
“No way,” she chuckles and shakes her head defiantly. “I’m not going to agree to that without knowing what the stakes are.”
“Really?” I lean across the table and make her look me right in the eyes. “Are you a chicken shit, Grace?” I continue to watch her as she doesn’t respond before leaning back and shrugging. “Come on, it will be a piece of cake. We’ll each get one pass and either of us can end the game at any time.”
“Fine,” she huffs, “I grudgingly accept those terms, but only because I can’t stand to back down from a challenge.”
She pushes three cards onto the table and draws three more from the deck. She then reaches for her drink and takes a long gulp.
I fucking envy that beer bottle, pressed tight against her lips.
That should be my cock.
I clear my throat as I exchange two cards and then watch her. She’s so damned cute. So damned sexy, too. It’s like she’s studying her hand, and I can see the mathematic equations she’s writing in her head. She takes another sip and eyes me carefully…
We chat and joke easily until the time has come for us to show our hands. The winner walks away with the satisfaction of the first round along with a prize I could almost taste. The loser walks away with the humiliation of whatever punishment the winner sees fits.
Some might say I’m an overly confident son of a bitch, and most times they’d be right. Like right now. There’s no way I’m going to lose with a full house. How’d I get so damn lucky, anyway? It must be that the fates are smiling on me.
She eyes me carefully, her eyes just barely peeking over the cards she has fanned out before her face. She scrunches her nose as she spreads her cards out on the table, offering a trio of Jacks.
“Good hand,” I say and then drop mine onto the table to reveal my full house.
She throws her head back, defeated, and sighs, her eyes going wide with nerves. “Fine. You win. So…what’s my punishment, Jack?”
“I don’t know yet,” I tease as I lean backwards, supporting myself with my palms pressed tight against the hard floors. A sudden wash of tenderness runs over me and I just want her to feel comfortable for some reason. “How about a shot of tequila?”
She cocks a brow my direction, looking relieved and disappointed all at once. “It’s pretty foul but is that really a punishment?”
“I could come up with something else.”
“That’s quite all right.” She climbs to her feet and steps to the bar, searching for the tequila in a long line of bottles with her finger. Once she locates it, she pours herself a quick shot and then turns to me, modeling the liquor in one hand with a wide grin painted on her face.
The way she holds the shot glass combined with the way she’s dressed… It reminds me of a cowgirl from Texas. And I like it.
She throws the shot back in one go, slamming the glass on the counter when she’s finished. Her wet lips glisten under the soft overhead lights as she exhales through parted lips. “Round two?”
“Round two,” I nod. “But you should bring that bottle with you.”
She agrees, grabs the bottle, her shot glass and another from the overhead cabinet. She sets the bottle onto the table and passes me a shot glass.
Poor, innocent Grace. If she hopes to drink me under the table, she’s shit out of luck.
The hand plays out, and surprise, she loses again. This time she has three sevens, and I’ve got three eights. It’s just enough to give her the satisfaction that she almost won.
She groans as she locks her eyes with mine. “What’s my punishment this time?”
I grin wickedly. “I bought you some clothes. Some of them are everyday wear, some of them are evening wear, and some of them you’re not to wear anywhere outside this apartment.” I send her a heated glance, drawing out the suspense for as long as I can. “There’s a maid costume on my bed. For your punishment, you have to wear it for the rest of the night.”
“Seriously?” she squeaks, but soon enough realizes that I’m not joking. S
he shrugs as if it’s nothing before rising to her feet and racing off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
My hand drops to my crotch, massaging my erection through my jeans. I fully expect her to come out wearing the same pair of jeans and the tank top, deciding that wearing a sexy costume is a step too far on night one, but when she opens the door, my mouth swings wide on its hinges. She sashays through the kitchen and into the living room and stops just short of the table.
I’ve made a huge miscalculation, it would seem. She’s too damn hot in that costume, has far too much control over me. I really shouldn’t have suggested this for her punishment this soon into the night.
She leans over to pour herself another shot, the moonlight painting her breasts in shadows of my own hunger. She tosses back the shot as if it’s nothing, barely grimacing when she’s finished.
“Weird. They go down way easer after the first one. Time for game three,” she quips as she drops back down onto the floor, casting the duster to the side. She takes the cards into her own hands and shuffles the deck, and I realize that I’m going to have to keep winning or I’m screwed.
I take a peek at my cards and then steal a quick glance at her as we discard the ones we don’t want and pull new. She’s different now. She’s changed. It’s like she’s become someone else since she stepped into the maid costume, and again, I’m having buyer’s remorse. Never should have bought that damn thing.
She takes a swig of beer before exposing her hand, two pair, jacks and fives.
I look back at my own hand and grimace. “It looks like you’ve finally won a hand, Grace.”
“Show me,” she demands, peeping my way.
I drop my pair of deuces onto the table. “Like I said, you win.” My eyes shift to hers. “So now tell me, what exactly is going to be my punishment?”
She purses her lips, contemplating. Meanwhile, over here in the shadowy corner, all I can contemplate is my finger on her lips and then my cock, pushing into her warm mouth, her lips pouting over my length…
“Take off your shirt,” she commands, her breath going shorter even as she says it.
“Seriously?” I cock a brow before rising to my feet and ripping my white tee over my head. “That wasn’t quite a punishment, but winner’s choice, right?”
She doesn’t respond with words, only looks, as her eyes search my body. She stares at me, wetting her lips. It’s like she’s hungry.
I get it because I’m hungry too. And my gut is tight, almost like nerves, and that’s not me. But there’s just something about the way she’s looking at me that makes me want to bend her over something and fuck her senseless while also protecting myself at the same time.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Grace,” I grind out. “A very dangerous game.”
“No.” She shakes her head defiantly before dropping her palms to her knees to assist as she rises from the floor. “I’m not playing games anymore.”
She makes her way to me, seemingly slipping into a new role for herself.
She’s the hunter and I’m the prey.
And as she reaches me, she does the most unexpected thing. She pushes her hand roughly against my bare chest, knocking me backwards into an oversized leather chair.
My eyes shoot upwards as she towers over me, just before she drops herself into my lap, straddling a knee on either side of my hips.
And I think to myself, I’ve created a monster.
A perfect, beautiful fucking monster.
17
Grace
What the hell am I doing?
I could jump from his lap and flee like I always do—probably, I should—but I’m in too deep now. No more running.
My eyes tangle with his as I swallow nervously. He seems to do the same, as if I’ve thrown him for a loop by taking power into my own hands. I sit there unsure what to do as his eyes continue to bore into mine. Even though he’s beneath me, it’s like his stare is pulling me inside out and making play-doh of my insides.
I can feel his erection through his jeans, pressing hard against the denim, so I shift against him, reveling in the friction against my own body and the way it makes me feel.
His hands—two strong hands—clutch at my sides, holding my upper body in place while I continue to rock gently against his body. My eyes, for a split second only, wander to the city outside. The curtains are drawn open and maybe people can see inside, but I also don’t care. All I care about is the heat building inside me.
I turn back to him, watching him carefully from above as his fingers dig deeper into the fabric of my costume. He’s not used to this, I’d imagine. Not used to girls taking control, especially a girl like me.
When he’s had enough, his hands drop to my ass. He gets a good grip on me before rising to his feet, my own legs straddled around his back as he carries me into his bedroom and launches me backwards onto the bed.
He darts forth, clears the pile of clothes from the bed in one quick motion. And as the clothes collect in a pile on the floor, he crawls on top of me. His breath hot and heavy, panting against my lips before a quick kiss. A simple peck before he’s dropping lower. His mouth pressing to my exposed cleavage, nipping lightly at my skin and leaving a trail of wetness until he’s caressing my breasts with both hands. His fingers rise to where the fabric meets my skin. And then he fucking rips the costume in half, exposing my breasts.
I’m vulnerable and a sizzle of nerves ripple through me at his show of strength, but I can’t back out now. I don’t want to back out now. Not anymore.
His tongue laps against the valley between my breasts before he’s focusing on just one, moving his hot mouth over one nipple and then sucking gently. My breasts heave as my toes curl at the base of the bed.
He shoots me a glance, full of knowledge and promise. He knows he’s got me right where he wants me, and I think to myself, just how in the hell did I end up back at his mercy? It doesn’t much matter. So long as I can feel his touch.
He rips my costume further, down the center, tearing the fabric from my body until I’m left in nothing but my panties. A quick glance down below reveals that’s also inaccurate as I’m also not wearing panties… Not anymore.
He twirls the black lace thong in his hands before tossing it onto the pile of clothes on the floor. He wastes no time in crawling back up the length of my body and positioning himself above me. His erection, still clad in denim, grinding against my inner thigh as he begins to hump me, all the while stealing quick, hard kisses.
I lower one hand to his back, and then another, feeling every groove of every muscle. One hand slips lower as another holds him by the upper back, lower and lower until I’m bunching denim around his taut ass.
For all intents and purposes, he doesn’t seem to care. It’s like he’s not in a rush. Not even close. He’s content to take his good ole time with me, turning me inside out before he’s even really touched me.
He nibbles against the lobe of my ear, forcing me to turn my head against his. It’s all too much, too much pleasure racing through my body. And that’s before he lowers his hand to my pussy, caresses me gently at first and then a little rougher.
My knees rise, knocked against his hard body on either side as one hand grabs him by the ass. I’m basically begging for him to get naked and screw me, but he’s on his own time.
I feel a finger pushing inside me, slow and steady. It’s just a finger. One solitary little finger, but I can feel him stretching me wide, preparing me for another wild ride. His strokes are rhythmic in nature, designed to make my toes curl into the sheets beneath us.
The weight of his body has me pinned down beneath him. I’m helpless and something tells me he likes it that way. Something also tells me I like it that way too. The stifled moans making their way from my throat could be the damning evidence that points to that conclusion.
He breaks away from me without notice, rolling sideways and pushing himself off the bed to land on his feet. My eyes travel to follow hi
m, to watch him as he finally undresses, pushing his jeans and underwear down strong legs until he’s stepping out of them.
But he doesn’t climb back on top of me. Instead, he steps to the edge of the bed, his impossibly hard erection pointing right at me. He bows his head, his eyes boring into my soul as his mouth drops slightly open.
“I want your hands on me, Grace,” he says, his voice dark and raspy, needy too. He reaches for my hand and guides me to his cock.
I swallow nervously before wrapping my fingers around his thick length. At first, I’m too focused on his shaft, making sure I’m stroking it just right. Slow and steady wins the race, that’s what I’ve been told. But I also read that in a children’s picture book, so my information might be a little outdated.
His body seems to react in just the right way. He shudders and his toned abs contract with each pump of my fist over his glistening cock. When I look up, I find him hunched slightly over, his eyes drawn into slits as he watches my every move, breath sawing in and out of his lungs. It makes me hot, knowing he’s watching and I pump him faster and harder, making sure to caress the massive length of his shaft and rounding around the head of his cock just as Willow had instructed me in one of my lessons.
His breathing grows harsher, his knees almost buckle under the weight of his steel hard body. He reaches for my wrist and grips me roughly, looks at me the same way he did before; the first time I was alone with him in his office.
It definitely wasn’t a cramp. Not then and not now, but god, if he feels like I do, it’s a need so sharp it might as well be pain. I lean in, suddenly desperate to feel him in my mouth but he lets out a grunt.
“No fucking way. I’ll explode, Gracie.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s climbing back on top of me and back between my legs. It’s like he’s Superman; his strength, his speed, his fortitude. He grabs both of my legs and slouches them over each of his shoulders, and then pulls me towards his body.
Saving Grace: A bad-boy virgin romance Page 12