by Lulu Pratt
The tile is cold and unyielding against my knees, but I don’t allow myself to dwell on the discomfort.
I have one goal in mind and that’s driving Jameson to the brink, just as he had done for me the night before.
Making quick work of removing his sweats and boxers, my eyes delight at the sight of his heavy cock as it springs free.
“You’re so thick, Jameson.”
I rub the head against my greedy lips, savoring the tortured growl that escapes him at my naughty remark.
My hand closes around the width, cherishing the heat it transmits to my palm.
I lick my lips in anticipation, eyeing the pulsing vein that runs along the underside.
His penis is as beautiful as the rest of him.
Rising up on my knees, I stretch my mouth wide before I take him inside.
A curse tears through him when my tongue makes contact and I want to smile at the effect I have on him.
I begin to suck him fiercely. My head is bobbing as I move back and forth to accommodate him.
The saliva gathers in my eager mouth and coats his length, lubricating him.
My hands provide added stimulation as I fondle his heavy sack, teasing the hypersensitive flesh there.
Forcibly, his hands fist my strands and pull slightly as he begins to rock his hips towards my open mouth.
Oh my God, fire settles in my belly at the tugging action.
The slight pain is intoxicating.
Again, I moan against his hardness allowing the vibrations to travel through him.
“Fucking shit… ah, Grace,” he swears almost incoherently.
I pull him free from my suctioning hold with a resounding pop and focus on the swollen tip. My wet kisses moisten him in conjunction with the salty pre-cum oozing from the head.
Smearing his arousal against my swollen moist lips, I decide I could stay here all day, enjoying him this way.
He groans again, seemingly in agreement with my wicked thoughts.
My pussy throbs with the knowledge that I’m eliciting these sounds from this gorgeous, powerful man.
I want to reach down and rub my envious clit, desperate to enjoy this as much as he is.
But I’m deprived of the opportunity.
“Get up,” he commands roughly and I obey dutifully.
As soon as I’m standing in front of him, he crushes his mouth to mine and steals my next breath.
Effortlessly, he lifts me from the floor and into his capable arms.
Unconsciously, I wrap my legs around his waist as he walks over to the small table in his breakfast nook.
Sitting down on one of the chairs, he grabs my hips and lifts me to hover over him.
My pussy is actually aching for him to fill me.
“Ride me, baby.”
Anchoring my right hand on his shoulder, I take him with my free hand and slide his engorged cock over the swollen lips of my sex.
The friction is amazingly intoxicating.
I sink down onto him and nearly come from the sweet invasion.
Despite our marathon session last night, I’m still not used to the way he stretches me so deliciously.
A sense of fullness settles in my core as I begin to move.
Strong arms lock around my torso, crushing me to him in a binding embrace.
As my nerve endings are set ablaze, I know I could stay here all day.
Our kiss is sloppy and rough, teeth clashing as our tongues battle for dominance over the other.
“You’re so fucking tight and perfect, Grace,” Jameson announces as I bounce up and down.
His hips begin bucking brutally as he pushes upward to fill me even more.
I’ve never been so full in my life.
A hoarse cry startles me before I realize it’s my own.
He’s ripping me apart from the inside out and I’ve never felt anything so euphoric in my life.
“You’re perfect for me,” Jameson huffs, his palm making stinging contact with my ass I continue to ride him.
“Perfect, perfect.”
I delight in his words and try to keep up with the frenzied pace he’s set.
Nothing or no one has ever felt this damn good. I welcome the delicious assault.
It’s only been a day and I know I’m addicted to him.
My breasts shake and shift with the force of our movements and Jameson leans forward to give them the attention they crave.
The added stimulation nearly drives me over the edge, but I hang on at the precipice of coming undone.
“You’re mine, Grace. Tell me you know that.”
I want to oblige him but the words are stuck in my burning throat.
This emboldens him to increase his upward strokes.
“Tell me you know that, Grace. I need to hear you say it.”
The possession in his tone is palpable, a mighty force all on its own.
“Yes,” I manage with a shaky nod. I’ll agree to anything as long as he continues fucking me just like this forever.
“You’re mine,” he repeats, still pounding into me.
He reaches between us and the smallest touch of his calloused finger ignites my longing clit, effectively pushing me off the cliff into a body-shaking orgasm.
“Yes!” I shriek, falling apart. “Oh God, I’m yours.”
Satisfied with my compliance, Jameson holds me tight staring into my eyes as I ride out the final shudders that rack through my body.
Then, he starts moving again. This time all on his own. I don’t have the energy to join in right away.
Upward thrusts shake me as I watch the ecstasy blanket his striking features.
He kisses me hard on the lips, then bites down on my bottom lip unable to continue the caress as his body stills.
I know he’s coming and I grind my dripping sex into him, trying to pull it out of him quicker.
Jameson convulses and gives two final pumps before his hot cum fills me to capacity.
Panting, I rest my head against his chest with him still lodged deep inside of me.
Despite our best laid plans, I know we won’t be leaving the house anytime soon.
Chapter twelve
GRACE CHAMBERS
I’m walking around the market with a goofy smirk on my face.
I can’t help it even though I know I must look ridiculous.
The amount of mind-blowing sex I’ve been having lately would have any woman on cloud nine.
My muscles are wonderfully sore from our antics when I squat to grab a bag of rice.
When my phone rings in my purse, I pull out the device fully expecting to see Jameson’s name displayed on the screen.
My mother’s number brings me back down to earth.
“Mom?”
A wheezing smoker’s cough fills the line before she says a word.
“Gracie? Oh, thank God you answered.”
She sounds relieved and I’m not sure why.
“What’s going on, Mom?”
“How are you, sweetheart?” She attempts small talk and I roll my eyes.
“I’m fine, Mom. What do you need?”
My mom and I have no pretenses of a pleasant relationship.
She wasn’t exactly nurturing when I was growing up and I haven’t exactly forgiven her for it. Still, she is the only mother I have.
Whenever she calls, she usually needs something or has bad news to deliver.
I sigh deeply, wondering what she has in store for me today.
So much for my giddy mood.
“I hear Brick is looking for you and he’s hired a professional to do the job.”
Ice chills the blood in my veins.
“What?” I ask incredulously, my brain refusing to let her words sink in.
“Brick,” she repeats emphatically. “Martha from the bakery says she found out from his assistant when the girl came in to order a cake last Wednesday.”
Fear traps the words in my throat and my knees weaken.
With white knuckl
es, I grip the handle of the shopping cart before me, using it to support myself.
“Mom, I’m sure it’s just a silly rumor,” I say regaining my ability to speak.
“I don’t know,” she says uncertainly.
“Trust me. Brick isn’t thinking about me anymore. Everything happened so long ago,” I speak trying to convince her as well as myself.
“Even though I suspect you’ll never tell me the full story, I know the man is dangerous. Gracie, you didn’t just skip town for no reason.”
“I know, Mom,” I say, stealing glances at my surroundings. I want to insure that no one overhears our conversation.
“Gracie, I need you to promise me that you’ll be careful.”
“I always am.” My words are placating but hold zero confidence.
“Be careful of who you trust in that town,” she warns. “I don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to you because of that man.”
She sounds disgusted whenever she mentions Brick and I’m slightly comforted to have her allegiance on this.
“I promise to be careful.”
My mom takes the time to stress her earlier point about being trusting no one and tells me to call her if I need anything.
As soon as I disconnect the call, I abandon my cart of groceries and flee the store. Beating a hasty pace to my car, I survey the parking lot even more paranoid than I usually am.
Then I notice a completely blacked-out SUV in a far corner of the parking lot and my heart stills.
Is it the professional my mom claims Brick hired?
I’m being silly, I tell myself even as I draw a fearful breath. Brick and I have both moved on from that shitty time.
I have nothing to be worried about.
Right?
Still, the bile is rising in my stomach at the thought of him tracking me down.
After all the work I did to disappear. He could be lurking and I know my pepper spray won’t be a match for whatever he has planned.
I drive home, frequently checking my rearview mirror to see if the SUV is following me.
I’m pleased to see no signs of it during my ten-minute commute home.
Swimming in unpleasant thoughts, I trudge upstairs and come to a clear realization: it’s time to formulate a better plan.
*
Stephania raps lightly on my closed door, calling out to me.
“Gracie, I made your favorite. Seafood mac and cheese. Open up and I’ll give it to you,” she tries tempting me.
Stephania is a great cook and she knows I usually can’t resist whatever she prepares. But tonight is different.
“I’m not hungry, Stephania.”
I’ve been locked in my room since I returned from the market three hours ago. Trying to digest what my mother said and formulate a plan in the event that Brick really does track me down.
It’s possible that I’m overreacting but I’ve always preferred to err on the side of caution.
“Grace, please.”
Lost in my thoughts, I almost forgot that Stephania is at my door.
“Will you save it for me in the oven, please?” I ask, infusing my voice with kindness.
I’m irritated but she doesn’t deserve my foul mood.
She’s been nothing but great since I’ve known her.
“Fine,” she huffs dejectedly. “Does this have anything to do with Jameson? I’ll kick his ass,” she promises darkly.
My smile returns for the first time since earlier this afternoon.
“Jameson didn’t do anything,” I reassure her.
“Okay. I’ll put your food in the oven.”
“Thanks,” I call back.
I hear a light thud against the door and I imagine she’s dropped her hand to rest there as she says her next words.
“I’m here if you need me, Grace. You can tell me anything,” she emphasizes. “You know that, don’t you?”
Emotion fills my heart at her sweet words.
“I know, Steph. Some other time. I just need time to think.”
I want to tell her everything but trepidation steals my courage to do so.
When I hear footsteps retreat down the hall, I exhale.
The relief is fleeting.
My phone vibrates, rattling on my nightstand and I know without looking that it’s Jameson.
He’s called me twice already and sent three times as many texts.
It’s not like me to go without answering my phone and I know he must be worried. We’re usually in contact throughout the day, exchanging flirty texts and making plans for our next meeting.
But I can’t entertain those thoughts while my ex is somewhere plotting to exact his revenge.
I can’t think about anything but running again.
*
Pounding against my bedroom door wake me from a fitful sleep.
The aggressive knocks are much more brutal than before and I know it’s not Stephania on the other side offering food and conversation.
These knocks are heavy and violent, leading me to think the worst.
Had someone gotten into our apartment?
My bleary eyes read the time on my cell phone and I learn that it is 7:28 a.m.
Twelve missed calls.
Twenty unread texts.
The notifications widen my tired eyes.
“Grace, open up! I know you’re in there, sweetheart.”
Holy shit.
It’s Jameson.
I leave my bed and pad over to my bedroom window, which overlooks the street below.
His bike is parked near the curb in a haphazard manner as if he’d been in a rush.
I turn back to my door just as his fist makes contact again.
“Grace, please. You’re freaking me the fuck out.”
A pang of guilt hits me at the tortured sound of his voice.
He really is worried about me and my reclusive actions aren’t helping the matter.
I inhale a deep breath and pull open the door to face him.
Chapter thirteen
JAMESON WILCOX
I sit on Grace’s bed, patiently waiting for her to return from her shower. It was the sole condition she had listed before she agreed to talk to me.
My mind runs through a gamut of possible causes for her mood and I grow anxious.
Had she learned something about my true identity?
Why had she left the grocery store so abruptly yesterday without any purchases? Watching her from my truck, I’d seen a noticeable difference in her demeanor when she left.
Something had definitely happened.
Grace reenters the room and I watch her make quick work of getting dressed.
Her level of comfort with me in the room isn’t lost on me. She trusts me.
With damp hair falling beneath her ample breasts, I’m momentarily captivated by the picture she makes.
The somber look on her face reminds me that this isn’t a pleasure visit.
Taking a seat beside me, she sighs heavily.
“I think my ex is looking for me,” she reveals.
I carefully control my features into a look of concern.
“What are you saying, Grace? He wants you back?”
Her expression darkens and she begins to fidget with her hands.
“In a manner of speaking,” she states.
I wait for her to disclose more.
“He wants to get me back for something I did when I left him two years ago.”
My ears perk up in anticipation. It looks like I’m finally going to discover what it was that she did to get on Brick’s bad side.
“What did you do?” I coax her to share more.
Shame mingles with regret on her face before she shakes her head sadly.
“I stole from him.”
I stop breathing.
She was admitting guilt.
I was protecting… and fucking a guilty woman.
I want to smack myself for being so stupid.
“Jameson, are you okay?” I hear
her ask and I know my expression must have faltered.
I shift my eyes back to her.
She looks worried, wringing her hands as she watches me.
“Sorry,” I clear my throat. “Why did you steal from him?”
“I was stupid,” she admits, raising her eyes to look at me.
On my feet, I begin pacing and digesting this new information.
I’m betraying a client’s trust because of her and she’s telling me that it’s for nothing.
Grace looks at me, resigned.
“I wanted to hurt him as much as he had hurt me and I knew money was the answer.”
My pacing ceases and I come to a stop in front of her. I’m simultaneously enraged and intrigued by this new piece of the puzzle.
Had Brick laid his hands on her?
“He hurt you?” I ask for clarification as my jaw clenches.
Grace nods, her face wrinkling and I know that this isn’t easy for her talk about.
“Not physically,” she clarifies. “But it didn’t change the fact that I was terrified of him.”
“What did he do to you?” I ask, gravely and suddenly back on the defensive.
Just the thought of anyone harming Grace has my vision blurred by red lines.
“I guess I should start from the beginning.”
I give an encouraging nod.
“His name is Brian Masner, but people call him Brick. And he was my first everything.”
I absorb the significance of those words in stride, working to conceal my jealousy and repulsion.
That rat-faced motherfucker had been her first love.
“I grew up in Ravenwood a few hours south of here and he was the king of that town. I imagine he still is.”
Watching her carefully, I wait for her to go on.
“Anyway, I always had a crush on him because of his status in town. He had money and lots of it, but I didn’t know the origins of that money until it was too late.”
“What do you mean?” I pry.
“He commits insurance fraud with his brother,” she says cautiously. “Brick is a life insurance broker. He owns one of the largest agencies in the state. His brother, Matthew, is a coroner. They work as a team to scam innocent people out of millions of dollars every year.”
The puzzle pieces are starting to fall in place for me.
“Couple goes in to buy a life insurance policy, a few months later the husband or wife dies mysteriously. The other spouse cashes out on the claim and gives Brick a generous cut for his services,” she says ending her phrase with her fingers raised in air quotes.