by J. S. Scott
“You like it?” he asked cautiously, grimacing as he moved. “You said you wanted one.”
“You’re hurting. Do you want some pain medicine?” she asked him anxiously.
“No. Do you like the tree?”
“It’s beautiful. I’ll decorate it later. Right now I just want to get you to bed.” She wrapped her arm around his waist, careful not to put pressure on his wound.
“Sweetheart, those are words I’ve wanted to hear from you since the moment I met you. And I’m not going to bed unless you come with me,” he replied obstinately, raising a teasing brow at her as he added, “Seriously? Do you really think you’re going to hold me up if I swoon?”
“Yes. I’m stronger than I look,” she told him defensively. Okay…maybe she couldn’t hold him up, but she could make his trip to the ground less painful.
“Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Feel free to get as close as you want to get,” he told her playfully as he moved slowly toward the stairs.
Emily walked him up the staircase, staying close to him because she needed to be there. She followed him to his bedroom, ready to put him into the enormous bed that looked incredibly inviting.
“Bed,” she insisted.
“Shower,” he said gruffly. “Are you planning to come with me? I could fall and hit my head. Or I might get dizzy.”
She had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. She had no doubt Grady was in pain, but he was playing this for all it was worth. “I’ll wait outside the door.”
“But what if I need you?” he argued with a weak but wicked grin.
“I’ll be close,” she said sternly, her hands lifting to start unbuttoning his shirt, knowing the motion to do it himself would be painful for him.
“Not close enough,” he said hoarsely. “It’s going to take me awhile to get the image of that asshole pointing a gun at your head to go away.”
Unfastening the last button, she opened his shirt and had to force herself not to gape at the mouthwatering sight of his bare chest and ripped abdomen; his smooth, warm skin stretched over sculpted muscle had her struggling not to salivate.
I need to be clinical. I have to help him. Grady needs me.
She slipped the shirt over his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. “Um…can you handle it from here?” She gulped, looking at the jeans sitting low on his hips, and the fine trail of hair that ran down into the waistband of his jeans. The man had a body that would tempt a saint, and she certainly wasn’t that angelic.
“Nope. Movement hurts. You’ll have to do it,” he said, deadpan.
Her eyes shot to his face. His expression was stoic, but his eyes were pure wicked heat. Her nipples hardened, and fire slithered from her belly and came to rest between her thighs. Even injured, Grady Sinclair was all masculine temptation for her, an alluring mix of demanding male and boyish mischief who had her wondering if she should laugh or be completely mortified.
“Grady,” she warned, licking her parched lips as she looked up at him.
“I need your help, Emily. Please.”
She couldn’t deny him, and to be honest, she couldn’t resist the opportunity to touch him. Her hands were trembling as she reached for the button of his jeans, grateful that there was only one button with a zipper. Honestly, she knew this task would hurt him, the movement required to shower probably excruciating. The arm movements required would pull at his sutures, and the last thing she wanted was for him to reinjure himself. He might be challenging her, but she was knee-deep in this task because she couldn’t stand to cause him another moment of pain.
Her decision made, she pushed him toward the master bath that she had seen as they entered the bedroom. His face flashed a moment of surprise and great deal of longing as he moved obediently.
Once in the bathroom, she lowered the zipper down on his jeans, unable to keep from noticing that she had to work around a very large and hard appendage as she started pulling them down and off his hips, taking a pair of silky boxers along with the pants. “You’re going to let me do all the work. You stand there and let me help you,” she demanded as she motioned for him to step out of his pants now that they were down to his knees.
Before she could think about it and change her mind, she whipped her sweatshirt over her head and let it fall to the floor. Her jeans followed, leaving her feeling completely exposed in only a skimpy bra and panties. After seeing his body, she tried not to fidget with discomfort as she felt his gaze on her. She was body conscious, and wasn’t particularly fond of parading around almost nude. But right now, her insecurities weren’t as important as Grady.
The shower was fancy, and she had to fiddle with the various controls to get the settings correct, but she managed. Holding open the door of the enclosure, she motioned to a naked Grady. “Get in.” His wound was already covered in a protective waterproof bandage, but she’d have to be careful.
He didn’t move, his eyes roaming over her body, and filled with desire. “God, you’re so beautiful it hurts to look at you.”
Emily reached up, pulled the clip from her hair, and let the locks fall haphazardly to her shoulders.
She heard Grady groan, and she knew it wasn’t from pain. He really did find her nearly irresistible and attractive. Feminine power surged through her body, her insecurities falling away as she looked at his fierce eyes caressing her body like she was the only woman alive. And God, it was intoxicating.
“Get in the shower, Grady,” she told him forcefully, knowing she needed a moment to get her thoughts together. “I have to take out my contacts.”
It was the break she needed. She dashed down the staircase in her underwear and grabbed her suitcase, bringing it back upstairs with her so she could get her lens case. Her hands shook as she removed her lenses and placed them in the plastic container, taking deep breaths and trying to remind herself that she was taking care of Grady. He needed her right now.
Stepping back into a bathroom that was now foggy with steam, she heard a groan from the shower and yanked the door open. “I told you not to move,” she scolded, completely forgetting anything else except her need to keep Grady from hurting himself. She snatched the soapy sponge from his hand and dropped it to the shower floor. Reaching for his masculine-smelling soap, she lathered her hands and started stroking his body with long, languid strokes, starting with his back, massaging the tense muscles as she worked.
Every inch of Grady’s body was solid muscle, and as she moved down to his ass, she could feel the incredibly toned glutes that she’d only admired from afar and covered by denim. They were so much hotter and so very real beneath her fingertips, flexing as she smoothed the soap over them.
Get him clean and into bed.
Finishing the back of his body, she washed his hair, pushing his head forward to rinse. “Turn,” she asked him quietly.
He turned compliantly, and she started on his front, nearly moaning as she stroked over the sculpted muscles of his chest.
“Strip,” Grady said huskily. “I want you naked right now. If I can’t fuck you, I at least want to see you.”
“I’m washing you. I don’t need to finish undressing—”
“Take it all off or I’ll do it,” he warned dangerously.
Emily knew he’d do it, and he’d hurt himself. Really, did it matter? She was nearly naked anyway.
She set the soap on the ledge and unhooked the front catch of her bra, pulling the soaked garment off her body. Her panties went down her legs easily, her hands still slick with soap. “I’ll smell like you,” she told him jokingly, feeling suddenly vulnerable before him. Wringing out the lingerie, he hung them over the door and picked the soap up again.
“Good. I want my scent all over you.” He reached out and pulled her against his body, stroking his hand over her back and down, his strong fingers cupping her ass and bringing her aching core against his engorged cock.
He moved forward and pinned her body between the tile wall of the enclosure and his overwhelmingly masculine form. “I want you underneath me, moaning my name while I bury myself inside you. I want to watch you come,” he said harshly, his breath coming hard and fast.
“Don’t,” Emily cried, the sound half worry and half longing. “You’ll hurt yourself.” She pushed lightly on his chest, trying to get him to release her.
“Then I suggest you don’t move,” he answered in a hoarse, tortured whisper. “Because I have to touch you. I need to touch you. The pain of not touching you is killing me.”
Emily released a tremulous breath, staying still as he backed up slightly, their eyes meeting and holding. His were filled with a fierce, covetous need that made her entire body quiver and burn like an inferno. Desire clawed at her, some unknown force locking and fusing them together, making her crave him, wanting him to take her in the most carnal ways possible.
His hands moved over her body, while his gaze stayed locked with hers. He cupped her breasts and his thumbs circled and stroked her nipples into hard, sensitive peaks. It was as if the caress of his fingers fired every nerve ending in her body, making her rock her hips, moaning softly as her whole body trembled. She bit her lip, trying to hold back her pleasure, but it wouldn’t be contained.
Grady took his time, exploring the valley between her breasts as one of his hands moved lower, his fingers moving in erotic circles on her sensitized flesh.
“I want to be fucking you right now, but I’ll settle for this.” His hand moved between her thighs, his fingers delving slowly between her wet folds. “I’ll watch you come.”
Emily’s hands slapped against the tile, her knees weakening as Grady explored leisurely, his fingers stroking from her anus to her clit, over and over again. Each time, his finger barely brushed the tiny bundle of nerves, the bud engorged and needy. Her moan escaped her lips completely, and she whimpered, “Please.”
His eyes were blazing with liquid heat as he finally moved his thumb over her clit, but the pressure wasn’t enough. Emily’s eyes fluttered closed, and she thrust her hips forward, begging for relief from the erotic torture. He rotated from breast to breast with his other hand, pinching her nipple hard enough to send a jolt of electric pulsation through her body, followed by a smooth caress.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he demanded, his heated breath caressing her neck, his mouth close to her ear. “Tell me.”
“You,” she moaned, her chest heaving as Grady finally moved his fingers over her clit with more pressure, more urgency.
His mouth covered hers, stealing her breath as his tongue invaded, taking away any will of her own. She was consumed by Grady, and he was stoking her body to a fevered state that left her helpless to his marauding tongue and his demanding fingers.
Over and over, his fingers rubbed over her clit, every brush taking her higher. His tongue was mimicking what he’d like to do with his cock, thrusting in and out of her mouth like a man possessed.
Finally, Emily couldn’t take it anymore. She moved her hand down to cover his, desperate for a rough, vigorous touch that would send her over the edge.
He was panting as his mouth came away from hers. “Open your eyes. Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want,” she gasped, entwining her fingers with his and pushing his fingers against her clit harder, faster.
“Open your eyes. I want to watch you come,” he rasped. “Tell me that’s what you want.”
“Make me come. Please,” she pleaded, opening her eyes to meet his feral expression.
He looked satisfied with her answer, and finally gave her what she needed so desperately. Grasping her hand with his, he moved their entwined fingers with bold strokes that had her panting and gasping. “Come for me, Angel. Now.”
Emily couldn’t have held back if she tried. It was as if he knew exactly what would send her over the edge, and she felt her impending climax clawing at her belly as the pulsation began. Letting out a long moan, she tilted her head back, her eyes never breaking contact with Grady’s fierce, possessive, and determined stare.
“Oh, God,” she choked out as the climax thrummed through her body, her entire being shaken by an orgasm so intense that she had to reach for the handle on the door of the cubicle to keep herself on her feet.
Grady held her, keeping her steady as he kissed her tenderly, as though he were tasting the last drop of her pleasure, absorbing the last of her ecstasy.
Emily floated down slowly, Grady pulling her close and rocking her body against his as she recovered. She shivered, and he turned her so the hot water was at her back, and that small protective gesture just put her under his spell a little deeper.
“Are you okay?” she asked, worried that he’d strained something. She’d tried to be still, but it was still more movement than he should be doing at the moment.
“I just lived a fantasy. I’m better than okay,” he answered, amusement in his voice.
It wasn’t most men’s fantasy to watch a woman orgasm without having one of their own, but this was Grady, and he was the most unselfish man she’d ever known. His actions and his thoughts made her want to cry for some strange reason. Maybe because he was the first man who ever really gave a shit about making her happy? Her hand slid down his sculpted abdomen and curled around his rigid cock. He was rock-hard, and Emily could almost feel the blood throbbing through the shaft.
Grady groaned, and moved his hand down to take her fingers away from him. “I can’t take much more, Angel.”
“Let me. Please,” she begged, needing to make him feel as good as he had made her feel. “But you have to stay very still,” she teased. “No hurting yourself.”
“Baby, I already hurt, but not from the damn sutures. I want to be deep inside you right now. I want to be buried in you, in your heat, until I burn.”
Stepping back, she ran her hand down his chest, savoring the flex of muscle beneath her fingers. “You’ll have to settle for this,” she told him in a sultry voice as she followed her hand and dropped to her knees on the tile.
“Emily. No,” he said in a husky, tortured groan.
Her hand continued to stroke up and down the shaft as her tongue flicked out to lick the velvety head. “No?” she questioned.
“Oh fuck, yeah,” he panted harshly.
Smiling, she took him into her mouth, and did one long suck, bringing a strangled groan from Grady as she repeated it again. She moved her tongue down his long length, and then took as much of him as she could manage. Her hands moved, needing to touch his body, finally settling her palms on his ass and gripping it hard as she devoured him.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” he groaned. “That feels so damn good. I won’t last.”
His hips thrust, and one of his hands came down to thread through her soaking wet hair, guiding her head as she opened her jaw as wide as she could, trying to take as much of his cock as she could manage. Her throat squeezed tight with every entry, massaging the front of his shaft, bringing a strangled groan from Grady with every thrust. Her fingernails dug into his tight ass, pulling him to her with every stroke.
“Sweetheart…Fuck…I can’t…I’ll come in your mouth,” he growled incoherently.
That was exactly what she wanted. She wanted to taste him, and her hunger for him was ferocious. Sucking harder and faster, she felt him shudder before his hot release flooded the back of her throat, flowing warmly into her as he gasped, threw his head back, and released a satisfying groan of ecstasy.
He tasted tangy, slightly salty, and so completely like Grady.
She protested when he hauled her up before she could get to her feet, not wanting him to lift anything. He brushed off her concern and kissed her passionately, and then pulled her against his chest. He rocked her again, just like he’d done when she’d climaxed.
Emily didn’t know how long they st
ayed wrapped together, their bodies humming and their souls singing. All she knew was a feeling of total happiness, and the sense that in Grady’s embrace, she was exactly where she needed to be. She thought she had come home to Amesport, but with Grady, Emily felt like she had finally found her real home.
“Do you want to tell me what happened to you at the party?” Emily asked quietly in the dark, her body spooned with Grady in his huge bed.
“I got shot,” he answered gravely, his baritone vibrating against her ear.
She knew that he was hedging. He knew exactly what she was talking about. “Before that. Your panic attack,” she said patiently.
“I don’t like parties,” he said hesitantly, stroking his hand along her hip absently.
“It’s more than that. But if you don’t want to share it with me, it’s okay,” she told him softly.
She might have ended up going to business school for her MBA, but she’d done her undergrad work in psychology. She recognized social anxiety when she saw it.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to share everything with you. I’m just not really sure how to explain it,” he admitted reluctantly, letting out a long, masculine sigh. “When I was young, I stuttered pretty badly.”
“Lots of kids do. And you obviously outgrew it.” But she knew it probably hadn’t been easy. “Kids can be brutal sometimes. They teased you?”
“Yeah. But it wasn’t so much the teasing at school. It was at home.”
“Your siblings?” she asked, confused.
“My father,” Grady said, his voice rough. “I was a Sinclair, and no Sinclair is supposed to have any defect. I could never get my words out, and my father thought I was stupid. He never let a day go by without reminding me that I wasn’t the son he wanted. I was supposed to be social, one of the Sinclair elite. I wasn’t. I was a computer geek. I didn’t really like business. And I had no desire to play the socialite games. None of it was real.”