desolate (Grace Trilogy, Book One)

by Autumn Grey

  “We can’t leave your car here.” He looks at my car, uncertainty on his face. “I’m gonna drive my truck, and you follow me closely, okay?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Somewhere we can talk.” He plants a kiss on my forehead. “Get in your car.”

  I do as I’m told. He watches me until I’m buckled in my seat, then shuts the door and jogs to his truck. Within seconds, we’re on the road. My stomach is like a roller coaster. I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now.

  “Want some water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  These are the first words we’ve spoken since he picked me up. I’m starting to think coming here wasn’t such a great idea. There’s just too much space and no people to act as buffers.

  He heads to the refrigerator and returns with a bottle of water. My throat is dry, and not because I’m thirsty. We’re so close yet feel so far away. The need to reach out and touch him is breaking me apart, robbing me of my breath.

  I gulp the water down greedily as he watches my every move intensely. When our eyes meet, he swallows hard and points toward the couch in the living room.

  “It’s a beautiful house,” I say, totally sucking at this small chat thing. “This is where you lived with your parents before . . . Wait, won’t someone at the dorms notice you’re missing? Your roommate maybe?”

  He just grunts, then says, “Turns out, we don’t have roommates. Each of us has our own room in the resident halls. Right now, my fellow brothers are either in the common room playing video games or playing pool or foosball. No one will notice. And curfew is in two hours.”

  He sits down on the couch across from me, propping his elbows on his thighs, and continues to watch me with those eyes. It’s so hard to read him right now. Other than the concerned way he looked at me when he showed up thirty minutes ago, he looks almost unaffected. Maybe he’s already moved on with his life. I mean, he always had a clear goal in mind of which direction he wanted his life to go, even before I entered it.

  I blink back tears and pretend to study every inch of the room. I feel lost more than ever now that I’m here in front of Sol, but he’s a million miles away from me.

  I set the bottle of water on the table and stand, heading to the fireplace mantle. There are three pictures inside silver frames. Two of the photos show a woman who is the spitting image of Luke, and the second frame has an older version of Sol. His mom and dad. In one of the photos, a younger Sol with his usual tousled dark hair and electric blue eyes grins widely at the camera. I reach forward and touch his face on the photo, my lips twitching into a smile.

  “Why are you in Boston, Grace?” It’s the raw need in his voice that makes me turn around to face him. Pure torment is etched across his features.

  Inhaling deeply, I turn around to look at him, anxiety churning in my stomach.

  “Aren’t you happy to see me?” I hate how small I feel, how needy I sound. I’m beginning to realize love and heartbreak have no shame. I’d drop to my knees in front of him and beg him to just love me.

  Hold me.

  Just one more night. I’d do anything to feel his arms around me.

  Sol shoves his fingers into his hair and tugs at the wavy mass. “It’s taking all my power to hold myself back right now.” He takes deep breaths and exhales slowly, his large frame shuddering with restraint. “Good God, Gracie.” He whispers the latter in a vicious growl, and I don’t know if he’s pissed or happy I’m standing in front of him.

  Nevertheless, I close my eyes and let that sound wash over me.

  When I open them again, he’s standing in front of me, so close. I don’t move, though. Being this close to him is the cure I need for the venom annihilating every semblance of who I am.

  “I’m sorry.” I bite my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

  He sighs and pulls me in for a hug. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left the way I did.”

  At his words, my throat grows tight, so I bury my face into his chest and inhale his scent.

  “But you did,” I mutter into his chest. “You hurt me, Sol, and I fell to my knees. I can’t stand back up, and I’m so fucking tired. Every time I think my legs are strong enough to hold me up, I see you everywhere I look. I feel you in here”—I press my hand to my heart—“and I trip and fall again.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was a coward. I couldn’t stick around and say goodbye. I knew if I did, I wouldn’t have left.”

  I lift my head to look up at him. “Would staying be so bad?”

  “Yes. No . . . I don’t know.” He shakes his head, frustration coloring his features. “I have to follow this path. I just have to.”

  I understand he has to follow his dreams and see what God has in store for him. Sol’s path in life had already been chosen for him. I mean, who can compete with The Guy up there? Sol might have been mine in summer—a gift I desperately needed—but not mine forever.

  I lift my hand and smooth the lines marring his forehead. “It’s okay. I get it. I understand now.”

  He looks at me, eyes swimming in tears. “You do?”

  I nod, pulling him down and pressing his forehead against mine. My chest feels hollow as though my heart has been ripped from it, leaving a gaping hole. This is what closure feels like, I guess.

  I fall back on the balls of my feet and step away from him. “What time is it? I promised Mom I’d be home by midnight.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “It’s almost ten. There’s no way you’re driving back—”

  “Sol.”

  He looks at me.

  “I’ll be fine. I promise. It’s only a two-hour drive.”

  He scowls, his jaw set in a stubborn line.

  “It’s not my first rodeo.” I chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood.

  He stalks past me, brushing my shoulder with his arm, and I fucking shiver.

  Oh, God.

  He snatches his keys from the basket on the table and heads for the front door, grabbing the doorknob. He looks over his shoulder at me. “You coming?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Portland.”

  “Please don’t do this,” I beg. “You’ll miss your curfew, and someone will notice you’re gone—”

  “You’re not driving in the middle of the night alone.” His jaw clenches, his chin jutting out stubbornly. He stares down at his black shoes. I can’t see what’s going on in his eyes, but the second he lifts his head, I know I won’t be able to deny him this. “Please, let me do this. If anything happens to you, God, I don’t know w—”

  “Okay,” I say quickly, hoping to banish the look on his face. “Thank you.”

  His lips tip at the corners in a relieved smile. He opens the door and moves aside to let me pass. But before I can step out the door, Sol’s strong fingers grip my bicep and yank me back. Then his nose is in my hair, inhaling deeply. He groans, whispering my name twice, then wraps his arm across my chest and hugs me from behind.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper, closing my eyes as his nose brushes my neck, warm breath sending goosebumps over my skin.

  His arm tightens, his body shudders. Pistons engage inside my body, ready to fire.

  “Sol?”

  “Just let me hold you for a little while.” After a beat, he adds in a hoarse whisper, “Turn around.”

  I try, but he’s holding me so tight I can’t move. “Then let go of me.”

  “I can’t.”

  I laugh. All of a sudden, our bodies are moving back, and the door’s being kicked shut. He spins me around and cups my cheeks with one hand, while securing my wrists above my head with the other.

  “What’s—”

  “Shh. No talking. No questions.”

  “Are you su—”

  “Shut up, Gracie.

  “But—”

  He slams his mouth savagely over mine, silencing me with a searing kiss. It’s hungry and needy and hot, and my back arche
s from the door, and my legs attempt to climb his large frame. He kisses me until my reservations melt away. Until all I see and feel and want is him.

  A groan rumbles in his throat. His body presses mine into the door. And suddenly, as if he can’t get enough, his hands slide down to cup my ass, and he hoists me up. Then he’s spinning us around and heading past the living room and down a dimly lit hallway.

  I toss her on the large bed, then stand back and stare at her small frame, still tight like I remember. I frown as my gaze travels from the darkish circles around her eyes, to her sunken cheeks, and down to her hips barely hugging her jeans. Guilt and regret twist painfully in my stomach.

  “You’ve lost weight,” I mutter.

  She shrugs as if it’s nothing, but to me, it’s something. It’s everything I miss about her. I loved her full body. I loved touching every part of it.

  “What happened?”

  “I’ve been trying out this new diet, and it’s am—”

  “Cut it out, Grace.” I glare down at her. “What’s going on?”

  Her eyes move to focus on the space above my shoulder, and she’s biting down her bottom lip. My heart starts racing inside my chest.

  Is she sick? My uncle would have told me if she was, right?

  Right?

  No.

  My uncle wouldn’t have told me anything. Not when I clearly told him how I felt about Grace and that I’d appreciate if he didn’t mention her in our conversations.

  Grace is my undoing. Hearing her name makes me feel like I’m coming down with a fever only her touch can cure.

  I could easily have chosen her over God. But I need to walk down this path and find out what God has in store for me. He fills this need in me that nothing else can. It’s like a craving for more . . . I can’t even explain it. All I know is that when I’m on my knees praying to Him, I feel the kind of peace I’ve never felt before, especially after spending the past three weeks with guys who have the same goals as me.

  Grace deserves better, someone who’ll dedicate their entire being to worshiping her like the queen she is. Not someone like me, someone whose heart is at war.

  No. I don’t want to destroy her life like that.

  Yet here I am, three seconds away from doing something I shouldn’t be doing.

  “I don’t . . . I can’t eat or sleep, Sol,” she admits. “I-I miss you so freaking much,” she whispers, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

  My hands clench with the need to scoop her up in my arms and comfort her. I inhale deeply to counter the pain in my chest and close my eyes as I remember how much of a wreck I was the first two weeks after arriving in Boston. I’d finally made peace with the decision I made, although the weight of missing her had settled heavily on my shoulders.

  And now, now she’s lying on my bed.

  Eyes full of naked need and . . . love.

  Body primed and ready for me.

  I want to touch her so badly. I want to be inside her.

  Before my brain can process my actions, I’m crawling up the bed and straddling her thighs.

  I glance down at her T-shirt and smirk as I read the words, Billy Ocean was my first love. “Sorry, Billy,” I murmur, bunching the ratty T-shirt in my hands and ripping it clear down the middle. “I was her first.”

  She squeals, then snorts. “You’ve ruined it. Mom’s going to kill me.”

  “Just tell her the eighties called, and they wanted Billy back,” I grumble.

  She laughs, and the sound shoots straight to my dick.

  “I missed that sound so much,” I tell her as I scoot down and pull her Converse from her feet and throw them over my shoulder. I curl my fingers around the belt loop of her jeans and pull her forward. She gasps, her eyes wide with excitement and anticipation as I tug the zipper down, then yank the material down her legs. My gaze moves between her legs where she’s covered by delicate white cotton, and I groan.

  I’m panting and shaking with the need to put my mouth there and taste her.

  “Look at me,” she orders hoarsely.

  My head jolts up to hers, and I swallow, my throat dry.

  “I want to touch you.”

  “Then touch me,” I breathe, spreading my arms wide.

  She sits up and tugs the edge of my T-shirt up and over my head. I wait, my pulse thudding in my ears as I watch her take in my chest until her eyes pause on the spot just above my heart. Her gaze darts up to meet mine, then back to my chest as her fingers start tracing the words there.

  “Grace, first & last. My beginning and my end,” she whispers the words quietly. To others, the quote might not make sense.

  She looks at me again, pressing her fingers to her mouth. “When did you get this?”

  “A few days after I left,” I say nervously. “I was a mess. I needed something that reminded me of you.”

  Plus, I was drunk on pain and guilt when I walked into the tattoo shop. I remember the feel of the needle as the tattoo artist imprinted that quote on my skin. Remember the ache and pleasure, knowing I’d have a piece of her imbedded in me forever, even if it was only her name.

  She leans forward and presses her mouth to the center of my chest, then on the words etched into my skin. Her fingers skim my spine, and I feel as though I’m coming out of my skin as they slide to the front and pull down the zipper of my jeans. I brace my hands on the bed and lift my hips. She pushes the jeans down, pausing to wrap her small hands around my ass and squeezing it before pushing them the rest of the way.

  Suddenly desperation claws in my chest. The air around us sizzles with want for each other. Then we’re moving, pouncing on each other. Anticipation and need collide as soon as our bodies slam together. We’re hands and lips and heat. Grace is the match, and I’m TNT. I’m two seconds from detonating. And then her tongue brushes mine, and I explode. Lights burst behind my eyelids. Passion sizzles in my blood.

  My hand cups her nape, moving up and sinking my fingers into her hair, holding her in place. Weeks of need, weeks of missing her, pour into that kiss. She pulls back a little and mumbles please, please, please, before she smashes her mouth against mine, and this time, I’m the one begging her.

  We break apart, coming up for air. My eyes slowly open, and I stare into her beautiful face. How can a body as small as hers hold so much passion? So much heat?

  I’m about to mesh my lips with hers to continue kissing her when her eyes open. She dazzles me with a wide smile before pressing her fingers to her lips. My body shivers with the weight of that smile.

  I want more. I want everything. Now.

  “Enough playing around.” I grab her hips and flip her to her stomach. I kiss her lower back along the spine, kissing the two small indents there before wrapping my body around hers. We both groan when I grind my hard length between her ass cheeks.

  I gasp at the sensation, sparks shooting down to my toes. My grip around her tightens involuntarily, but the moan she lets out tells me she likes it. I thrust a few more times, our harsh pants filling the room like a carnal melody. I feel myself shake with restraint.

  “Jesus, Sol,” Grace cries out, wiggling beneath me, trying to get even closer.

  This feeling, this indescribable feeling of being skin on skin with her, touching her, her scent so intoxicating and real loosens my body. My shoulders relax as the tension I’ve been carrying since I left Portland, left her without even saying goodbye, melts away. My hips pin hers down at the memory of how miserable I’ve been without her.

  How far would I go to experience this feeling over and over again?

  The answer nearly knocks me off the bed, and it worries me. She shouldn’t be here in the first place. My body shouldn’t be wrapped around hers like this. If my spiritual director ever got wind of this, I’d be thrown out of school before I could even blink.

  Yet here I am, risking it all for a few minutes in heaven.

  I love his weight on my body, holding me down but not crushing me. Feeling his heated skin on mine
is everything I’ve missed and needed.

  I sink my face into the pillow and bite hard as Sol presses a hot kiss on the back of my neck. His warm breath feathers the hair there, causing goosebumps to spread all over my arms. His hands leave my hips and slide between my legs, nudging them apart.

  “Spread your legs for me, Gracie.”

  I do, almost crying in relief when a finger brushes my sex before sinking into the heat easily. I’m so wet with need, and knowing he’ll be inside me soon makes my back arch. He slides his other hand flat on my stomach and presses gently, forcing my behind up. He growls, seeming satisfied with the position. He continues working his fingers inside me at the same time the hand on my stomach falls away. His body disappears behind me, but before I can complain, I feel the head of his hard length prodding my entrance. He seems to hesitate, and once again, the warmth of his body disappears.

  I lift my head and glance over my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

  He licks his lips, suddenly looking unsure. “I’ve only done this with you . . . what I mean to say is—”

  “Me too,” I say quickly. “I’m still on birth control.”

  “Wider, Gracie,” he pants huskily while nudging my legs, and I open, my thighs shaking with want.

  He pushes inside me, pausing to ask me if I’m okay before proceeding inch by inch, making it last. Making it hurt so good. And when he’s finally fully seated inside me, my legs give way from under me, unable to hold my body up. I slump forward, and his body follows mine.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, kissing my shoulder.

  I can only nod because what I’m feeling right now cannot be put into words. I don’t even think there’s a way to describe it.

  He shifts his body slightly to the side to ease some of his weight off me. His fingers find mine above my head and lace together to form a loose fist. Then he throws a strong leg over my thighs. With his large body draped all over mine, I feel small yet powerful. He begins to move, his mouth kissing my neck as he plunges in and out of me. I push back to match his thrusts as the storm that has been brewing inside us both since he picked me up gains momentum, the violence of it taking me by surprise.