Switch

by Adriana Locke

  “I don’t think I like him.”

  “I don’t. So that’s two of us,” she sighs. “I let him manipulate me. In the moment, I didn’t realize it, but I see it now.”

  I set my silverware on the edge of my plate and look at her. “What happened with him? Do you mind me asking?”

  Her fork drops too. “When I told him I was dropping out, he went ballistic. He said I was a liability to him, a nobody that would never amount to anything. There was something in the way he said it that time—”

  “He’d said those things before?” I bite out, feeling my irritation soar.

  She shrugs, trying to play it off. “Maybe. But that time . . . he just made me feel really bad. I don’t know why it was different that time than before. It was just a really ugly argument.”

  “Explain ugly,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

  “No,” she says, reading between the lines. “Nothing happened. God, no. He’s still alive. If he would have hurt me physically, I’d be locked up.”

  “Mental abuse and physical abuse are no different.”

  “I know,” she whispers. “But I made a decision that day that I’d had enough. I was at this point where I felt so . . . put in a corner. Does that make sense? Like my whole life was being scripted by someone else. I’d never done anything I wanted to do.” I fiddle with the corner of my napkin. “And it’s not like he even promised me the world for hanging in there. He told me flat-out we had no future.”

  “He sounds like a complete tool.”

  “Apparently I’m just the dating kind, not the kind for marriage.” Her eyes flick to mine with a sadness that slays me. I reach for her hand.

  “You know what I think?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think he’s right.”

  Her gaze drops to the table, her shoulders slumping. I grin.

  “You are just the dating kind for a guy like that. He doesn’t deserve to keep you long-term.”

  The corners of her cheeks start to bend, but she doesn’t smile. I work harder for it.

  “You are young. Beautiful. Smart. You have the whole world at your feet, Mallory. Why would you stifle your potential by staying with someone that wants to keep you in a box?”

  She perks up, the smile I’m dying to see starts to slide across her cheeks. “You think so?”

  “I know so. Now you just need a plan and I happen to be an excellent planner,” I chuckle. “What do you want to do with yourself?

  “I was telling Sienna the other day that I might open a yoga studio someday.”

  “And . . .”

  She shrugs.

  “That’s it?” I ask. “You want to maybe open a yoga studio at some point in the future?”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she says defensively. “Look, Graham. I’m starting all over. I know that’s hard for you to understand, being who you are, but I’m doing the best I can to basically recreate dreams and decide who I am in the midst of my life.”

  “Hey,” I say, reaching for her hand and placing mine on top of it. “I didn’t mean anything by that. It came out as a jerk thing, and I didn’t mean it like that at all. I was wrong.”

  “I know I get protective over myself right now. I just am so afraid I’ll slip and end up in some position where I’m cut down.”

  “I’d never cut you down. The only people who cut others down are those threatened by their height. The higher you get, the more lovely I think you are.”

  Her cheeks flush. Her hand rolls over and she squeezes mine. “That’s very nice of you to say.”

  “I only speak the truth.”

  She relaxes in her chair. “Tell me about you, Graham. What are your life plans?”

  “I just want to keep doing what I’m doing until I can’t,” I say simply. “This business is my life. Growing up, I just wanted to be my dad. Not emulate him or pretend to be him—I wanted to be him. When he stepped back and made me President of the company, it was the proudest day of my life, you know? My father sort of passing the torch.”

  “That’s awesome,” she grins. “But I feel like everything you do and say has to do with the business. What about outside of that? You have this huge family. Do you want that too?”

  I bring my hand away from hers slowly. “I don’t think I’ll have a family as large as mine, no. I mean, there are six of us and I’m not getting any younger,” I chuckle.

  “But do you want kids? Is a family a part of your future?”

  Taking a sip of wine, I consider her question. More than that, I consider it in context of who she is and who I am and what this is between us. Or what it could be. And what I’m capable of letting it be. “Maybe someday,” I say, figuring that’s fair enough. “I’m not averse to having a family. Clearly, I love having a big family and I think that having children is always a blessing. But it’s not something I think I’m ready for right now, nor do I think I’ll be ready for it in the foreseeable future.”

  “I didn’t think so,” she almost whispers. Her features glow as the candle in the middle of the table dances back and forth. She tosses me a smile that she has to try too hard to look natural and takes a sip of her wine.

  “What about you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  “A family? Someday, yeah, absolutely. I hope to have a family of my own. I’m not sure what the point of life is otherwise.” She glances at me softly. “I’ll be honest—I like being in a relationship. I liked the teamwork aspect of it and making dinner and going grocery shopping. I grew up watching my parents do those things together. They enjoyed that, looked forward to it. Maybe it was all they had together, I don’t know. It just seems like a part of life that really makes life . . . life.”

  “Well, my parents certainly didn’t grocery shop together,” I say, trying to imagine my dad with a shopping cart. “But I can understand what you’re saying. For some people, relationships work.” I look her square in the eye. “They just aren’t for me.”

  My chest tightens, my steak threatening to come up as I watch the fire in her eye start to wane. A part of me wants to grab her hand and tell her I want to have her in my life in some capacity, what that is, I don’t know. But that wouldn’t be fair. To either of us.

  “I’m going to use the restroom,” she says, scooting her chair back.

  “I’ll order the cake.”

  “What?”

  “Cake, Mallory. We’re having cake,” I say, trying to win back that smile.

  “Make it vanilla with vanilla icing.”

  “Really?” I ask. “Their dessert menu is two pages long and you’re getting vanilla cake with vanilla icing?”

  “I figure vanilla has fewer calories than chocolate. This is balancing out the three sodas I had today,” she winks and takes off, leaving me chuckling behind her.

  Mallory

  I follow Graham through a short hallway and into a wide open kitchen. Dark wood floors and cabinets make the large stainless steel appliances pop. Light flows in from the bright moon outside the windows, but the room also glows from soft lights under the cabinetry.

  His house is in a subdivision bordering a golf course, which surprised me when we arrived. I expected him to live somewhere more private, maybe even out of town, but he doesn’t. Still, it’s incredibly peaceful here, almost like you leave the city and step into another place altogether. It smells of his sandalwood cologne mixed with something crisp. Clean. Intoxicating.

  Graham takes my coat and lays it over the back of one of the tall stools lining the island along with his suit jacket. “Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”

  “We just had dinner,” I remind him.

  “I know. It’s just years of manners embedded into me by my mother. Never invite someone over and not offer them food and a drink.”

  He watches me in the way he does for a long moment. I feel the ripple of uncertainty that’s been wedged between us since our talk of the yoga studio and families. Dessert was nice and our conversation flowed like normal, but
I could feel something a little heavier on our minds.

  The car ride here was quiet, soft music playing in his SUV, the only words really spoken were him asking if we could swing by here for some papers before he returns me to my car at Landry Holdings. Now, looking at him over his kitchen island, I’m not sure what to think. Maybe he doesn’t either.

  “Thank you for going with me to dinner tonight,” he says finally.

  “It was nice. Thank you for asking me.”

  He roughs his hand down his face before reaching for my hand and leading me to a set of French doors. He slides them open and we step out onto a patio.

  The air is chilly and I shiver. He immediately pulls me into his side and runs his hand up and down my arm. “We can go back in,” he offers. “I just thought you’d like it out here. Watch this.” Grinning, he goes to a large stone fireplace and flips a switch. Flames begin to dance inside.

  “That’s awesome,” I laugh, curling up on the loveseat facing the fire. The fence has a row of thick pine trees on the inside, creating a barrier from the homes on either side and the golf course behind the house. It creates a little nook of privacy that feels like a fairytale. “I could get used to this.” As he sits beside me, the flames shooting shadows over his face, I realize just how breathtakingly handsome he really is when the stress of the day is gone. “This is how you relax, isn’t it? Sitting here by the fire.”

  “Sometimes.” With a gentle hand, he takes my arm and pulls me against him. My breath catches in my throat at the contact. It’s more intimate, more connected, than I’ve been with him before, and on top of our conversation earlier, I’m not sure what I think of that.

  My head on his chest, I gaze past the patio and onto the golf course. “Do you golf?”

  “A little. It’s a good place to hammer out business deals,” he says. “Dad golfs pretty well. Barrett hates it. Linc is an asshole to golf with because he’s so fucking good and doesn’t even try.”

  “What about Ford?”

  “Ford can. I mean, he’s decent. He just doesn’t really spend his time on those things.” His hand runs up and down my arm again. If I didn’t watch it, I could pretend this was more than it is. “Ford takes serious things seriously and fun things for what they are. He really is probably the best out of us all.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “What do you not know?” he says, angling his head to look at me. His eyes shine in the low light.

  “I happen to think you’re the best out of them all.”

  He chuckles, letting his hand fall to the small of my back. “That’s nice of you to say.”

  “It’s true. Barrett is so charismatic, Ford charming, and Lincoln is so . . .”

  Graham flips me a look, almost a warning. “He’s so what, Mallory?” he goads me.

  “So Lincoln,” I try, giggling. “But you are all of those things.”

  “I don’t think I’m charming.”

  “You are so charming,” I smile, tapping his cheek until he faces me. “And kind. You think of everyone but yourself, which is why you need yoga,” I wink. “Want to know my favorite thing about you?”

  “No. This is starting to make me uncomfortable,” he cringes.

  “I don’t care,” I whisper, teasing him. “Besides seeing you naked and being on the receiving end of your smile, my favorite thing about you is how smart you are and how passionate you are about the things that matter to you.”

  He huffs, clearly embarrassed, and looks away.

  “Do you want to know what my favorite thing is about you? It might surprise you,” he says, tapping my nose. “It’s not how insanely gorgeous you are or how good you are at your job or how I can talk to you about anything and you know a little something about it.”

  My cheeks flush and I try to look away, but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he holds my gaze in place and smiles.

  “My favorite thing about you is your heart.” He says it so simply, so matter-of-factly, that it takes a second to process it. “At first when you would ask me how I am in the morning or if I needed something before you left work, I’d assume it was a part of your role. But I’ve come to learn you really are asking. You really do care if I’m okay.”

  “And if not, I’ll bring you a soda and a protein bar,” I say, nestling my head against his chest as the warmth of the fire snuggles me in.

  “I love that you care, Mallory. And it comes from such a good place. You don’t ask because you want something from me. Just like Donnie tonight. You were worried he was upset. That’s pretty incredible.”

  “That’s called having a heart.”

  “That’s called being a lady.” He wraps his other hand around me, fastening them at my hip. “This is nice.”

  “Mhmm . . .” I say, unfastening a couple of the buttons on his shirt and slipping my hand inside. His tight chest, rough and warm, sends a blast of energy right through me. “You know what?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I thought you were going to say your favorite thing about me was my punctuality.”

  He laughs and I can feel the reverberation in my hand. His heart quickens. “No, but I could’ve said something else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the feel of your pussy wrapped around my cock.”

  His words, coupled with the grit in his tone, makes me weak. As he stretches back, I see the bulge in his pants, and I know, right or wrong, ready or not, I’m going to come.

  “I know what you mean,” I say, skimming my palm down his chest and cupping him. “I love the way my body stretches as you put the tip of your—Ah!”

  Before I can finish my sentence, I’m flipped on my back. Graham hovers over me, his eyes dancing with mischief.

  Mallory

  GRAHAM’S TONGUE DARTS OUT, SKIMMING his bottom lip. He’s pinning me against the loveseat with a hand on either side of my face.

  “You drive me crazy,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “I try so hard to be on my best behavior around you and you just whittle me down. Every fucking time.”

  “Well,” I tease, wrapping my legs around his waist. “I think your ‘best behavior’ is subjective.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “And you know what I mean.”

  My heels locked at his back, I squeeze my thighs around his waist and pull him closer to me. His lips hover over mine but they don’t touch.

  “What exactly do you mean, Mallory?”

  I wind my fingers in his hair and tug gently. “I mean this is the Graham I like best. I like seeing you like this.”

  “Struggling to keep myself together?”

  “Exactly.” Lifting my head, I flick my tongue against his lips. I can feel the heat of his mouth, the taste of his desire. “Don’t try so hard,” I whisper.

  “It’s futile anyway,” he says. I barely hear the words as he pulls back. “Stand up.” He climbs off the loveseat, stripping off his shirt. “Now.”

  My stomach clenching at the intensity in his eyes, I’m on my feet before I realize I’ve moved.

  “Take your dress off. Everything. I want you completely naked.”

  The air brushes against my skin as the linen covering my body pools at my feet. As I step out, I watch Graham and almost gasp.

  He’s standing in front of me, his cock in his hand, watching my every move. “Bra. Off.”

  With a shaky hand, I unclasp the back and throw it at him. He catches it and presses it to his face.

  “Now what?” I stand before him, not a thing on my skin. My hair drapes around my shoulders, and despite the fact I’m standing completely naked outside under the watchful eye of this sexy CEO, I don’t feel a bit nervous. Just . . . admired. That feels better than any orgasm, any accomplishment, any nice words ever spoken to me.

  Graham sits again, his legs spread. He’s in complete control, managing the situation not with words or power, but with his eyes. That’s all it takes.

  He strokes his cock up and down, all the while not
breaking eye contact with me. The flames of the fire dance beside us, the heat tickling my chilled skin.

  “Come here,” he instructs.

  I take the few steps to him, but before he can say anything more, I drop to my knees.

  “Mallory . . .”

  Gripping his cock at the base, I look him dead in the eye and flick my tongue against the head. His chin lifts, the muscles in his neck flexing as I stroke his length, letting my tongue trail down his shaft.

  He clutches the armrest, his arms tensing and giving me some serious arm porn. I can feel the knot in my core igniting faster than I can attempt to control it, burning hotter with every minute.

  I pull his swollen head into my mouth, sucking it like a lollipop. He growls, lifting his hips in reaction. I take him as deep as I can, then pull him out to the tip, flicking it with my tongue.

  “Fuck, Mallory.”

  Taking his balls in my other hand, I squeeze them just enough to let him know I have them. As I pump him into my mouth, I feel him harden even more as my hand slides up and down him. He’s so thick I can barely get my entire hand around him.

  Although my body screams for attention, my clit pulses between my legs, watching him react to me is worth the torture. His eyes squeezed shut, his frame trembling under my control, is unbelievable.

  Just as I find the tempo I know will have him losing control, he reaches forward and takes my face in his hands. He guides me away, his cock making a popping sound as it releases from my mouth.

  Falling back on my heels, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “Why did you stop me?” I ask, catching my breath.

  “I’m not getting off in your mouth. Stand up.”

  As I get to my feet, he rustles in his pants behind me. I hear the tear of a package. When I turn around, I see him rolling a condom down himself. I flash him a confused look because we didn’t use one last time.

  “I always use a rubber,” he says. “You caught me off guard last time.” He tosses the wrapper on the coffee table. “Now bend over the love seat. I want your ass up in the air.”

  Climbing up, I rest my arms over the back of the loveseat. The wicker bites into my arms. Widening my knees and tilting my hips up, I feel the chill of the air on my heated pussy.