The Price of Grace

by Diana Muñoz Stewart

  “Way to avoid the question. And yeah, I ate one.” He licked a too-pink tongue across his lips. “Thought about you as I sucked on it.”

  Whoa. The statement and the sweet Southern sex dripping from his voice stimulated every hormone in her body. She needed him and that tongue closer. “You have to have sex with me.”

  His eyebrows shot up. Whoops. Had she, his boss for all intents and purposes, just ordered him to have sex with her? Lowering her head, she squeezed her eyes closed tight. “I mean, that didn’t sound right. Of course, you have a choice.”

  She raised her head. Dusty? Where did he—

  She grabbed the sides of her barstool as it spun. Dusty stood before her, staring down at her, a little too serious, a little too close, a lot too hot. “Got a choice, do I?”

  He leaned in. “Pretty obvious to me the only person here who needs a clear choice is you, so I’m going to ask. Knowing all the things you suspect about me, about why I’m here, are you really, really sure you want to sleep with me, Ms. Gracie Parish?”

  Oh. Man. He was not messing around. His breath was warm and sweet against her face.

  Gracie, you need to say no. Tell him you don’t sleep with the enemy or something equally self-righteous.

  “I haven’t been with a man in eighteen months.”

  That wasn’t self-righteous. That was an invitation.

  He smiled, a smile full of promise. “Got me beat. It’s been six months. But at least I’m clean.”

  Six months? Why did that turn her on so much? She hooked her feet around his legs, pulled him closer. “I’m clean too. And on the pill.”

  He let out a breath that was part moan, and she caught his lips as he dipped his head toward hers. She slipped her tongue into his sultry, eager mouth and reveled in the taste of him.

  Tugging her T-shirt free from the waist of her jeans, his hand snaked under and cupped her breast. They groaned simultaneously. The sound vibrated against their tangled tongues. Now. This had to happen. Now.

  They came up for air, the smell of whiskey in her nostrils, and their labored breaths loud in her ears. She needed him inside her. But not here.

  Dusty moved his mouth up to her ear. “Upstairs?”

  She couldn’t take him upstairs where she kept the servers for her family’s operations. He’d all but admitted he was investigating them. Mood killer.

  She shook her head. His eyebrows rose. He looked around the bar, as if judging the strength of the tables or the softness of the chaises. Maybe…Um. No.

  Dusty, as perceptive as he was hot, reached behind her and grabbed his keys from the tray where he’d put them earlier. He jingled them. “My place is real close.”

  “Text me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  Chapter 33

  Driving through the deserted streets of what the locals called The Borough, Dusty answered his cell on the first ring. Gracie’s voice came through the car’s speakers as soft and sexy as the whisper of lingerie against skin. “I’ve been dreaming about having you in my mouth.”

  Holy… He grew hard enough to split denim. Least that’s the way it felt. “I like where this is going. What do I feel like in those dreams?”

  “Thick and hard.” She certainly had him headed in the right direction. She paused, and he bet she was every shade of red. He couldn’t wait to see how deep he could get that red to go.

  “I dream of taking the tip of you in, sucking, and using my hand to stroke you while I take all of you into my mouth.”

  Lord. There were way too many lights on this street. His johnson began to hurt. He shifted, pulled at his jeans. “Just inside your mouth?”

  “No. Other places too. But in my fantasies, I have a fondness for sucking you off.”

  “Good to know.” Seriously. She was killing him.

  “I have this thing about wanting to give a blowjob on my knees. That’s probably kind of submissive and not feminist at all. But I’ve actually never tried it.”

  Never? He gunned his car through the yellow. Who designed this street? A light every ten feet. “Gracie, hun, I’m all about making your wishes come true.”

  She laughed, low and pleased. “I’m so wet just thinking about it. Thinking about you sliding into my mouth, sliding between my legs, and then pumping into me fast and hard. I want to see you lose control.”

  He was getting dizzy from lack of blood flow to his brain. “Darlin’, I’m not sure my insurance will cover collision-by-boner.”

  She laughed again. “I’m here.”

  She drove like a maniac. Thank the good Lord. “That’s a good sign.”

  “It is?”

  “Yep. I intend to make sure that isn’t the last time tonight you get where you’re going before me.”

  He pulled up a minute behind her.

  * * *

  There was one major problem that Dusty could think of as he led Gracie up the wooden fire escape to his apartment’s private entrance. The ducks.

  No grown woman wanted to have sex while google-eyed ducks peered down at everything. And the things he intended to do to her required she be comfortable with vulnerability. Not happening if she got a look at that awful mural. Judgy ducks.

  Checking that the wireless alarm he’d installed hadn’t been tampered with, he unlocked and opened the door. Gracie peered inside, then at him. “It’s kind of dark.”

  He grasped her hand and pulled her in after him. “I’m sensitive about the lights.”

  Kicking the door closed with the toe of his boot, he pulled her close. They came together like fire and gasoline. His lips found hers and laid claim with kisses as long, hot, and needy as what he’d soon be pushing deep inside her.

  Her soft fingers fumbled under his shirt, ran hungry nails along his abs, back, down to the waist of his jeans.

  She startled, realizing the entire head of his johnson was poking out from the waist of his jeans. “Oh.”

  This woman out and out murdered him. “Impressed?”

  She rubbed the tip, the moisture there. Fuck. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  “Very,” she breathed. “In my office… I hadn’t…” She trailed off, unbuttoned his jeans, unzipped, put her hand around his length, stroked as if to convince herself that was all him. He thrust into her hand. She made a small whimpering sound.

  He bent and nuzzled her ear. “That makes two of us.”

  “Strip,” she said and, squeezing him tight, added, “Hurry.”

  She let him go and he sprang to action, pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it into the room, stripped off boots, and stepped from his jeans like he was hot-footing it across a black-sand beach in July. Not fast enough. She was already naked.

  Soft lights from outside filtered through the blinds, revealing the curves of a body so ripe and beautiful, he swore the nine choirs of angels themselves sang along with him. Hallelujah.

  Those breasts, hips. Thighs. The gentle V of her… Lord. She was perfect.

  He had to… He sank to his knees, wrapped his arms around her, palmed each cheek of that fine ass, and put his hot, needy mouth to her center.

  She gasped.

  He moaned against her. She was as sweet as she was soft, slick, and salty. He licked her, growing painfully hard with every flick of his tongue against her clit. She grabbed his shoulders for support and made soft moaning sounds that quickly turned into sharp, needy cries.

  Was there any sweeter sound than the desperate moans of this woman while he went down on her? Nothing. He wanted more of that. As much as he wanted to have the heat currently against his mouth around his dick.

  That knowledge made him crazed as he teased and stroked, licked and sucked. Releasing the grip he had on her fine ass, he slipped a hand between her cheeks, slid fingers forward, crooked one, two inside her. So fucking soft and wet.

  “
Oh, that…”

  He picked up the pace. She let out a low, throaty moan. The fingers on his other hand slipped back and forth against that smooth skin that led to her ass. He slipped one inside the tightness there.

  Her nails dug into his shoulders. She rocked her hot silkiness against his eager tongue, writhed against his quick, exploring fingers. “Yes. Please. Oh, please.”

  He could feel her tension building, feel as this perfect woman reached that perfect point, felt… She cried out, screamed his name as the orgasm took her.

  Warm liquid. So sweet the choir lifted their voices. He lapped her up, his johnson hard and full between his legs, so ready for her he nearly came.

  When her tremors slowed then stopped and he could tell by the way she braced hands against his head that her legs were ready to give out, he scooped her up, carried her to the bed.

  Chapter 34

  Gracie’s head still spun from the intensity of that orgasm, her body singing with how he’d touched her, played her with his tongue and fingers.

  Dusty lowered her onto his bed. She hadn’t even been aware that he’d picked her up. She was boneless and her legs naturally spread wide for him.

  He was hard, rigid, as he stood there and took a long, lingering look. “You are so beautiful. So perfect.”

  Bending over her without dropping onto the bed, his hands explored, caressed, appreciated her curves, her breasts. His touch was a hot worship. She pushed her chest up and he answered her, fondling her sensitive breasts, lightly pinching her nipples.

  She groaned and he took one pink bud in his mouth. He sucked on it, moaning as if he had just tasted the best dish in the world. And she thrilled with the sensation, writhed with joy and need as he sucked, squeezed, and teased.

  “Dusty…Dusty…now.”

  Lingering for a moment on her breast, he let the bud pop from his swollen lips with a hotly whispered “Perfect,” then crawled onto the bed. His hard body aligned over her soft one. They kissed. Hungry. Demanding. Imploring. Her lips tore at him. Her hands dragged at him. His cock throbbed against her, begged to move into her.

  Wanting him inside of her, she arched into him.

  “It’s okay?” he asked and thrust just a little.

  She meant to say yes, meant to say hurry, but she hissed, a sound of both pain and pleasure, at the size of him.

  He groaned. His breathing ragged, he gave her a minute. Sweat slicked his skin. She could see his pulse working in his neck. Hear his heart pounding. He put his lips by her ear. “Gracie, if this is too hard on you…”

  She laughed. “Pun intended?”

  “Nope. Not enough blood in my brain right now for puns.”

  She wrapped her legs around him, tightly. Tight enough that he pressed deeper into her body.

  His eyes sprang open, mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. He looked down at her, visibly battling for control. “Grace.” His voice was strained, awed. “So hot. So fuckin’ tight.”

  She was pretty sure her tightness had more to do with his size. She pressed her legs against his ass and arched into him. Given the green light, he kissed her again, the scent of her own body on their lips, and pushed all the way inside her.

  She grunted. He grunted. Her slick warmth locked around him. This time he didn’t stop. With his body shaking, he pulled out slow and thrust deep. And just like that, she began to come. She cried out. “Faster.”

  With a deep chuckle, he whispered, “Yes, ma’am,” and pushed fast and hard, sending fire shooting through her body and electric tingles bursting across her nerves.

  His large cock rubbed against the sensitive zone outside her body, hitting her just right, causing powerful shocks to explode through her. She dug nails into his back, bit wherever she could find skin, on his shoulder, bicep.

  Each of his deep strokes met the desperate encouragement of her rising voice and rising hips. She cried out, “Yes. Dusty. Yes. That!” as she came apart around him.

  She rejoiced in the power of him, the way he filled her, took her like he was making a point, like he’d found his home, like this would be the start of something that continued every day from here on out.

  He lost his rhythm. Thrusting madly, he cursed and broke inside her with a warmth she could feel pouring into her as he whispered a pleading “Grace, Grace, Grace,” into her hair.

  After a moment, he rolled from her, palming her hip, the wetness of him dripping between her legs, the feel of him spent, warm against her. Nothing could’ve prepared her for how good that had felt, how quickly she’d climaxed with him. It was just something about the way their bodies fit together. Perfect.

  It took him a moment to catch his breath, then he kissed her ear. “I have no words for you, Grace. None.” He kissed her, open-mouthed and deep, sending her blood to boil again, then pulled back. “Thank you.”

  She couldn’t help but grin up at him. She wanted to say a thousand things. Two thousand, but all she could manage was “You took my breath away.” And then, “Are those cartoon ducks on your ceiling?”

  He laughed, wiped the tear that had slipped from her eye but didn’t mention it. Not one word. “Ignore the judgy ducks.” He dropped his hand lower, traced the barely visible—thanks to the lack of lighting—tattoo on her hip, the apple, the hand holding the apple. “When’d you get it?”

  Her tattoo. It had been a long time since she’d thought about the crazy two weeks that had led to it. She and Justice had run away. “I was young. Fifteen.”

  “Fifteen?”

  She smiled as he nuzzled her neck. Dusty, it turned out, liked to cuddle after. Usually she wasn’t a cuddler, but with him it was different. She really didn’t want to think too deeply about how wonderful his attention felt right now. “I’d snuck out with Justice. We were wild. And I wanted something that symbolized how dangerous I felt, dangerous enough to change the world with one bad decision, with one wicked offer.”

  She turned to meet his eyes, which were filled with wild need and honest interest. They lay face-to-face. “And since, in fairy tales, a hand offering someone an apple always seemed to start the most trouble, that’s what I wanted for my tattoo.”

  He kissed her nose. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Grace.”

  Grace. Not Gracie. She’d noticed the change. “I like when you say Grace. It sounds…warm. But why the change?”

  He exhaled a steady stream, causing a fan of her hair to play across and tickle her cheek. She tucked the strands behind her ear. If it was possible to be completely comfortable and utterly nervous all at once, that was how she felt.

  “Because I don’t know any other way to show my gratitude for the bounty you shared with me than to say Grace.”

  Oh. Wow.

  “Except, maybe, to also give you the truth.”

  The truth? Her mind perked up and began pacing the inside of her skull. She knew what he was going to say. And she didn’t want to hear it.

  Chapter 35

  Gracie wasn’t sure how to get Dusty to shut up. Had his room gotten hotter? It felt stifling.

  “Some time ago, I received an email at the FBI,” he said. “An email I’m fairly sure you wrote.”

  She held her breath as her mind screamed for him to stop talking.

  Oblivious to her tension, or maybe because of it, he ran his hand affectionately up and down her arm. “Read that thing a thousand times. Got it memorized.”

  Oh. Her throat grew tight. She’d sent that letter in the hopes of reaching someone, sharing a pain that seemed too great for herself. And he’d gotten it. He’d gotten it and come to her.

  And that was so sweet. Except it put everything in danger. Whatever this was between them. Her relationship with Momma. Her siblings. The Mantua Home. The work the League did. The important work. All in danger.

  “I guess you can say I became a little obsessed with taking do
wn the woman who would train children to be vigilantes.”

  Her eyes widened. Her heart lurched. What? Momma wasn’t just that. The letter was unfair. Stupid and unfair.

  “I worked on the case for a few months. Set myself up with Tony, gained his trust, and tried to work my way inside.”

  He’d suggested he hadn’t, but Dusty had used Tony.

  “When Tony asked me to help him take down sex-slavers, I figured it would be the perfect cover and gain me the access I needed to get to Mukta. Didn’t work out that way.”

  Of course not, because I’d bet my last dollar Tony had known what Dusty had been after. But he’d needed someone at the compound in Mexico who wasn’t family. He’d used Dusty back.

  “Grace? Say something.”

  Gracie exhaled. Inhaled. Her heart beat an anxious rhythm in her chest. Terror. Dread. Loss of control. Was this what a panic attack felt like? “You’re after Momma.” Heavy breaths. “You’re trying to lock her up.” Panicked breaths. “Take her away from my sisters—from me—based on the email I sent?”

  “Whoa. Hold on now.” He slid his arm across her stomach. “Grace, are you okay?”

  Okay? She wasn’t okay. Her vision started to dim. Of course she’d known he was investigating her family, but that he was specifically after Momma felt like a punch to the gut. She’d been lying to herself. Thinking she could control all the horrible things that could result from that stupid email. And now she realized she couldn’t.

  She’d risked her family. Momma. And if that wasn’t bad enough, slept with the man who was after them. Would she ever learn? Forget about trusting someone else, she shouldn’t trust herself.

  She had to leave.

  She tried to slide out of bed. His arms tensed around her waist. He let out a breath, this one troubled. “Grace, don’t leave. I want to share things I’ve uncovered. About your dad. You know him, right? Rush?”

  He knew about her father? Of course he knew. He was investigating her to get at Momma. She nodded, waited to hear what he had to say.