“Everything is a tall order, Gracie Lou.” His voice has taken on a deep, husky tone.
“Well,” I say as he spears his fingers into my hair, “I did request the platinum.”
Chapter 9
Davis
Are you kidding? Of course I wasn’t going to leave.
I’m not about to turn Grace down when her green eyes telepathically sext me.
She has a tight hold on my hand when she closes the door, but when she tries to let go, I squeeze her palm with mine. Her smile is devilish and slightly shy. It’s the best combination I’ve ever seen on a woman. Normally you get one or the other. Grace is a tantalizing mix of both.
She points to the loft with her purse. “I should get a quick shower. You know what to do.” She inhales a steep breath and gestures to the fridge. “Grab a beer.” Then she gestures to the two-cushioned sofa. “Have a seat.”
I nod.
She lets go.
I watch her ascend the steps, smiling to myself as I flip the lock on her front door.
If she thinks I’m staying down here while she strips naked and takes a steamy shower without me, she’s crazy.
Grace
I had a very long shift at McGreevy’s tonight, followed by a date with Davis. A fact I became hyperaware of the moment he stepped into my cramped house behind me. As much as I’d like to ride this fizzy champagne buzz all the way to the land of orgasms, I need to shed my work clothes first.
Under the warm stream, I’m careful not to wet my very clean, perfectly styled hair—I clipped it back. Hot water pounds my shoulders and I stretch my arms to release the tightness and aches from lifting and bending.
I can practically hear the exasperated sigh coming from the college degree buried in the back of my bedroom closet. It’s in a large, overpriced frame, and the only reason I kept it is because my dad framed it for me. It was the least he could do, since he’d skipped my graduation—and been MIA for the last eight years of my life.
Anyway.
The degree in communications led me to an unfulfilling job working in HR at a prominent company downtown. My desk was near the top floor and I had a cubicle to myself. The hours were a dream—eight to five and an hour for lunch gave me all the nights and weekends free that I could want. But the job? Torture for a fun-loving people person like me. I picked up a bartending gig on the side at Club Room, figuring I could have a social life and make a dent in my school loan.
After I paid off said school loan, the bartending job became my true love. I’d picked up so many shifts, I spent almost as much time at Club Room as I did at my HR position. With few bills, and fewer incentives to continue working round the clock, I chose between the two. Saying sayonara to the Notorious J.O.B. to sling drinks for a living was the best decision I ever made. My mom rolls her eyes to this day. But hey, I paid for that degree, not her. I can waste it if I want to.
Turning toward the spray, I push my past back where it belongs and think instead of the tall, sexy man in my living room. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll beckon him upstairs after I’ve arranged myself on the bed in my sexiest lingerie (or nothing), or if I’ll go downstairs wrapped in a towel (or nothing). Each has its own merits. If I wait in bed…
My ears perk when I hear movement outside the shower curtain. When the bathroom door clicks shut, I know I didn’t imagine it. Short of the outlying possibility that a stranger has broken into my home, incapacitated my date, and crept into my bathroom, that’s Davis.
“Hello?” I call, hoping my would-be assailant is my super tall, hunky date.
I’m answered by the metal-on-metal sound of decorative shower curtain rings sliding along the rod. I peek over my shoulder.
“Who’d you think it was?” Davis’s handsome face appears in the gap of the curtain, his hungry gaze sliding down over my bare ass and up again while I futilely cover my breasts.
Then.
He gets in.
“What are you doing?” The words escape me on a breath strangled with lust because Davis’s ass is also bare. He adjusts the shower curtain to keep our steamy shower hot and lays cool hands on my hips.
A kiss lands on my shoulder and his heat blankets me from behind, though nothing other than his hands have touched me.
Yet.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks, kissing my shoulder again.
I chuckle. It’s a little late for that question, and he knows it. He also knows the answer as well as I do. I don’t mind if he joins me.
“You startled me,” I purr, tipping my head to one side as he feathers kisses along my throat. His hands wrap my waist and splay over my belly. “I thought you were a robber.”
“Not a robber,” he murmurs, his tongue laving my earlobe before he suckles it between his teeth.
He is so good at that move.
“Unless you want me to be. The platinum includes role-playing.” Hands on my hips, he turns me, and I duck my head to avoid getting doused. He notices and trades places with me, the water is warming his back instead.
“Smooth, Romeo,” I scold him. “Now I’m cold.”
“You won’t be cold for long, Gracie.”
Can I confess something? Whenever he adds that “-ie” to my name, I melt. It’s the way he says it. Like I’m his and his alone. Like he’s branding me as his. He says my name with possession and confidence and familiarity. Each time he extends my name to two syllables, I know I’ll do whatever he wants.
Whatever he asks.
I take advantage of our close, wet quarters to run my eyes down his body and appreciate every nuance. I didn’t take careful inventory the first night we slept together. Or the next morning. We were too busy…well, getting busy.
Not now, though. We have all the time we need.
I start with his hair, which he soaks in the shower spray and smooths off his face. His sandy brown is darker wet, and his long eyelashes spike when he swipes the water from his face. Davis has great cheekbones, an angled jaw built from determination, and a full, firm bottom lip designed to drive women wild. It’s no secret my spine turns to jelly whenever he kisses my neck.
He winds one of the curls that flopped out of my clip around his finger as I reach out and brush his pecs. Firm and round and punctuated by flat nipples. I run my fingers down to abs that aren’t too pronounced but cut enough that I’m able to trace them with my nails. His muscles clench as I continue my exploration with my eyes and with my fingers. I run my hands over the manscaped thatch of hair above a penis now happily jutting to attention.
“Hello there.” I grip him in my palm, smoothing the skin over the head and down again as lust crashes into Davis’s storm gray gaze.
His hands go to my jaw, tipping my chin as he lowers his mouth to mine. He grows rigid in my fist as our kisses turn more desperate. More pronounced. More insistent.
He pushes my back to the shower wall, snatches both my wrists, and presses them over my head. My chest heaves as he watches me, desire thrumming mercilessly between my legs as he holds both my hands with one of his and draws a slow line between my breasts.
His fingers circle one areola. My back arches. Then that talented tongue of his closes over one nipple. He pulls me deep into his mouth as a moan of satisfaction works its way from my throat. When he releases my hands, I transfer them to his hair as he slides his fingers between my legs. He finds me as warm and wet as the water surrounding us. An answering groan comes from him as he continues swirling his tongue over the turgid flesh.
I start to crest, rolling onto the balls of my feet, my muscles tightening in my legs—in my entire body. He plunges a finger deep inside me, working my clitoris with his thumb. When he lowers his mouth to my nipple again, I explode like a shattering pane of glass.
A strong arm wraps around my back as my orgasm rocks me. I lower my heels to the slick tub floor, and Davis’s mouth presses against my forehead, where my now-damp hair has slid from the clip and is mopping the wet wall behind me. Wet hair is a small price to pay for
this much pleasure.
As my breaths lengthen and slow, I hum a happy sigh. My eyes are closed but Davis is smiling. His chest rumbles when he chuckles.
“I really enjoy doing that for you.”
I really enjoy doing it, I think, but only have enough energy to emit another satisfied hum.
The next sound is of the water being turned off, and I lazily open my eyes. My body is overheated, my limbs weakened. I could fall asleep right where I’m leaning.
Davis steps out of the tub and hands me a cream-colored towel before lifting a robin’s-egg blue towel to his hair and scrubbing it dry. I keep my eyes on the droplets rolling over the landscape of his perfect form. Each elongated muscle and limb is a work of art.
I move to climb out of the tub, and he offers his hand like I’m a lady exiting a carriage. A small laugh escapes me as I step onto the fluffy rug outside the shower.
“What?” Davis wraps the towel at his waist. The contrast of the soft blue shade, his golden skin tone, and gray eyes is staggeringly beautiful.
“You’re…much more of a gentleman than I would have expected.”
“You’ve accused me of as much once before,” he says. “At first I was flattered. Now I’m wondering if I should be insulted.”
Wrapped in my own towel, I go to the mirror and finger-comb my hair. It’s damp but not soaked.
“Don’t be insulted. It’s more of a reflection on me than you,” I say, my eyes on him behind me in the reflection. “I’m not accustomed to platinum service.”
In one smooth move, he snatches the towel from my body and lifts me into his arms. I shriek in surprise, hanging onto his neck until he deposits me onto the bed.
Then he overdelivers on his platinum promise.
Davis
My heart pounds hard and my breaths narrow and shorten.
Making love to Grace is a singular experience. Not that I ever compare, but if I did? I can’t remember another woman who’s been under or on top of me who turned me on this fucking much.
I’m not sure if it’s the intense eye contact Grace and I share or the way she strokes the backs of my thighs with her feet while I thrust into her again and again. She’s worlds apart from what I’m used to.
From what you’ve gotten used to.
I hate the idea that I’ve been settling since I first laid eyes on her, but damn. Had I known what awaited me at the end of the rainbow, I’d have asked her out a hell of a lot sooner.
Her forehead pleats and her rosy lips part: Grace’s O face. There’s nothing as breath stealing in this world as her coming. Her dampened red waves are spread over a white pillowcase. She thrusts her hips upward to meet mine as her eyes squeeze closed.
Her orgasm crashes into her, wringing mine from me. While her sweet, breathy, high-pitched moans roll, my release exits on a guttural growl. I damn near black out from the head rush of her squeezing me tight. Everywhere.
Her arms are lashed around my neck, her legs clutch my ass, and her inner muscles milk my cock as sparks burst on the insides of my eyelids.
Fuck.
Yes.
“God damn” are my first coherent words a minute later when my throat decides to work. I press my lips to hers and she wrecks my hair with her fingers as she kisses me, no holds barred. “That was one for the books.”
“Don’t tell me you keep score.” She rolls her eyes playfully, but a dart of chagrin stabs my chest. I don’t want her thinking I keep score.
“Do you keep score?” I challenge, because I’m not going to defend myself.
“If I did, Davis Price, that performance would be in my top three.”
“I’ll take it.” I give her another slow, long kiss and slide from her sated body. “I guess next time I’ll have to try for number one.”
She hums thoughtfully and pegs me with eyes the color of the greens on the golf courses at Pebble Beach. “That was a better idea than you sitting on the couch waiting for me.”
Her finger strokes my bottom lip—she does that a lot.
I take her fingertip between my teeth and put enough pressure there for her to gasp. Then I release her and we stare and smile like idiots for a protracted moment. I like these silent seconds with her. No one counts. It doesn’t feel awkward. We just share a slice of time.
It’s cool.
“I know the platinum includes three sex dates,” she calls as I shuffle to the bathroom to discard the condom, “but what about sexting? Is that the deluxe package only, or is it included in the platinum?” She lifts a hand to illustrate her point. “You know, is it tiered? Each one building on the next?”
I laugh. I can’t help it. She’s adorable and confusing.
“You want me to sext you?”
“I don’t know.” She wrinkles her nose. “Do I?”
“I don’t know. Do you?” I grab my boxers as I cross the room, stepping into them and pulling them to my waist. She hungrily scans my chest, so I suck in a full breath and let her look.
“I’ve never done it before but I admit, I am curious.”
“Up to you.” I lean on the bed with both fists and level my gaze on hers. “I’ll leave that ball in your court, Gracie.”
I turn and fetch my slacks and shirt, both of which I tossed over a spindly wooden chair. As I tug my socks on, she points out the obvious.
“I assume you’re leaving.”
“Yeah. I’m leaving.” I have to.
“Are you sure?”
“It’s almost midnight,” I tell her, but I don’t elaborate. I’ve watched the calendar every year for so many years, I barely have to look to know the day is coming. I’ve never been entwined with a woman on “the” day for the last six years, and I don’t intend to start now.
Arguably, since it’s only a little after eleven, I have time to crawl into bed with Grace and talk for a while, but I know where that will lead. Then it’ll officially be “tomorrow” and I’ll have to make up a reason not to make love to her while trying not to sound like I’m having a psychotic break.
The easiest road is the one leading down her street and back to my house.
I kiss her one last time. “I have a thing.”
“A thing? Tonight?”
“Tomorrow, actually, but it starts really early.” Like at 12:01 A.M.
A flash of what may be disappointment crosses her face before she purposefully brightens. “No problem. Maybe we can wrap up our platinum package tomorrow night.”
She lifts one eyebrow and bites her bottom lip. Waiting.
I hate to tell her no. But I have to.
“Tomorrow is bad for me.”
Her smile disappears.
Shit. This is the reason I also don’t get entwined with a woman on the day before the day. This is awkward. Grace and I don’t do awkward.
“The weekend might work,” I say.
“Sure.” She nods, but she’s not happy about it.
I finish buttoning my shirt and pull on my suit jacket. “I’ll let myself out.”
“ ’Kay.”
I wave over my head as I jog down the stairs. At her door I hazard one last glance up the stairs at Grace, her hair a wild tornado, her quilt piled around her gloriously nude body. Her eyes on mine.
I don’t want to leave.
“Sext me,” I say. Then I leave anyway.
In my car I crank the heat—a cold spell kicked in while I was in Grace’s house. I shift into Drive as a text tone sounds from my cell. At the stop sign I check it.
An engorged purple eggplant lights my screen.
I scroll through the emojis and tap the peach, pleased when the cartoon fruit closely resembling Grace’s ass hits the screen as my reply.
I toss the phone on the seat and grin as I navigate home. The text tone sounds twice more, but I don’t check it until I’m in my own house, heading up the stairs.
As I predicted, the first one reads LOL.
The second one I didn’t see coming.
Here if you need to talk. About on
e “thing” or another.
She’s sweet.
I’m not planning on talking about it. I’ll get through tomorrow the way I do every year. As painlessly and quickly as possible.
And a little drunk.
Just a little.
Chapter 10
Davis
Five A.M. comes early.
I leap out of bed, clap my hands together, and decide it’s going to be a banner fucking day.
I’m going to make my clients a shit-ton of money. I decree it.
I realize as I shave, dress, and tie my shoes that this is a coping mechanism. But it works—which is why coping mechanisms were invented, so here we are.
An hour into my workday, one of the guys from work calls to ask for advice on an account. I take the call. Simps (short for his last name, Simpson) is younger than me both in this business and in birthdays. I first met him at a work retreat a year or so ago, and then he came to the poker night I hosted over the summer. I work with—well, not with, more like alongside—some incredibly driven men and women, but Simps manages to run circles around the competition without being a flaming dick weed, so points to him.
I’m hungry for lunch by eleven thanks to my early hours and the amount of pacing I’ve done while talking on the phone. I rinse my coffee mug and reheat a hearty bowl of chili. I pair it with a grilled cheese, and because I’m eating my feelings today, I make one layer of cheese Gruyère and the other layer Brie. I top the cheese with thin slices of Bartlett pear and the pièce de résistance: raspberry jam. I grill it to a buttery golden brown that would make any chef weep.
I bite into my masterpiece, expecting to be so turned on by my sandwich that we might need a moment together. Instead I’m hammered with a memory. One I didn’t see coming.
One I should have seen coming.
It involves my ex-fiancée, Hanna, and her affinity for Brie on melba toast with a dab of raspberry jam.
The bite goes rancid in my mouth, and it was a big one. I block my throat and chew, but for all my efforts, I may as well be navigating a mouthful of setting cement.
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