by Kira Blakely
Shit.
The first time we had sex, I was drunk and I still felt the intensity of it. Now that I’m wide awake and sober, I feel the heat swirling beneath every inch of my skin all the way to my curled toes, my sex melting as his cock drives in and out, stroking every bunch of nerves hidden beneath the silky skin.
Indeed, with each thrust, he turns me inside out, robbing me of breath and speech. My fingernails dig into his shoulders. My vision blurs, my eyelids squeezing shut as tears form at the corners.
Grant moves faster and faster above me, gripping my thighs. Then he loses his rhythm and he stops, burying himself inside me, filling me to the brim. In that moment, I open my eyes, blinking away the tears so that I can see his expression, that same expression that held me in awe the first time I saw him in his office. It’s even more breathtaking now that I know I’m the one responsible for it.
Like before, it sends me over the edge. My second orgasm is like a roller coaster, knocking the breath out of my lungs as it goes on and on and on. My body trembles. My mind spins. Everything is a blur. Then the ride stops and I let my head crash down, turning it to the side as I gasp for air.
As my senses recover, I realize the rain has stopped. The storm within me has subsided as well. Yet, I’ve already been completely swept away.
“Are you all right?” Grant asks, planting a kiss on my cheek.
I look at him, smiling as I reach up to touch his cheek, my body spent but my heart spilling over with warmth.
“Grant Herbert, consider yourself wanted and taken.”
Chapter 8
Starry-Eyed
Grant
Taken, huh?
I grin in amusement at the word as I sit in the foldable chair in front of the fire pit with my tumbler of coffee, Abby still asleep inside the tent, recovering from yesterday’s adventures.
I’ve been a lot of things in my life – fatherless, resented, kept away, looked down upon, forced to abide by the rules, sent to boarding school. I’ve been a son, a grandson, a rebel, a dreamer, a lover, a friend, a fighter, an orphan and recently, I’ve been the founder and CEO of a company. A boss.
I’ve been through hell and back, but I’ve never been taken.
Until now.
Well, I guess that’s what happens when you give, when you offer yourself. When you open up, someone steps in and gets cozy.
Why did I do it? Why did I decide to take that leap of faith, to put down my defenses even though I was fucking terrified?
Simple.
It’s because of Abby. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I need her for my plan or my company.
The moment I saw her again, here where I never expected to see her, I realized just how much I wanted her to be by my side – so much that I scared her away. As Roger and I searched for her, I feared the worst. When we found her fast asleep under a tree, exhausted and with cuts on her arm, I wanted to punch myself, hating myself because I drove her to this. I vowed then and there I wouldn’t hurt her. As I watched her sleeping inside my tent, I told myself that I wouldn’t lose her or leave her behind again.
No matter what the cost.
I’m not going to let her slip through my fingers again.
Fuck, Grant. You’re in love.
Am I? I wouldn’t know.
I don’t know anything about love. My father died before I could learn to read or write. My grandparents don’t seem to love each other. I’ve never seen them hug or kiss. And they definitely don’t love me. Even my mother only said she loved me after she found out she was dying. She said it a million times as if trying to make up for lost time.
Apart from her, the only person who’s ever loved me was Lindsey. And she clearly no longer feels the same way.
Did I love her? I don’t know. I cared about her, but in the end, it was not enough for me to want to stay.
And yet, here I am wanting Abby to stay by my side.
Indeed, I was the one who tried to win her over and use her for my own ends. But in the end, I was the one who got won over.
What can I say? Abby is truly an amazing woman, much more beautiful and fascinating than I expected her to be.
Speaking of the angel, she comes out of the tent, stretching her arms. Her hair is uncombed, she isn’t wearing any makeup, and she’s still in the clothes she slept in – one of my college sweaters paired with her own blue jogging pants. She looks completely breathtaking.
“What?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips as her gaze meets mine. “Never seen a girl with sleeping bag hair before?”
I grin, taking a sip from my tumbler. “I can’t say I have.”
“Right.” She puts her hands in the pockets of my sweater and walks toward me. “You’ve never brought a woman on your camping trips before.”
“No,” I confirm, getting out of my chair. “You’re the first.”
“Well, technically, you didn’t bring me.” She throws one shoulder back. “I mean, I didn’t come with you. Then again, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be here.”
I shrug. “Does it matter?”
She sits on the chair. “Why don’t you bring women here?”
“Because I come here to think, and women usually make that impossible.”
“Then maybe I should go.” She gets up and walks away from the chair. “You know, leave you alone, so you can do your thinking.”
I put my arm around her, pulling her close. “I’m already done thinking. I’ve already made my decision.”
“And what decision is that?”
“To not let you go.” I kiss her.
Abby parts her lips and kisses me back, our tongues becoming entwined as she puts her hands on my waist. I would have liked to put both my arms around her as well, but I’m still holding my tumbler.
“Mmm.” She licks her lips as she pulls away. “Coffee.”
I frown. “And here I thought I was delicious.”
“Well, you, too. But right now, I need coffee.”
I hand her my tumbler. “I’ll make some more then.”
I put the half-filled pot of water over the fire and add another piece of wood to the flame.
“You’ve got this whole camping thing under control, don’t you?” she asks, sitting back down.
“It’s not a thing; it’s a hobby.”
“And how long have you had it?”
I shrug. “Years. When I was growing up, there was a patch of woods behind the mansion and I’d often escape there. Sometimes, I even slept there.”
Abby nods. “You sure love the outdoors.”
“How about you?” I ask her, shaking the dirt off my hands. “Have you ever gone camping?”
She shakes her head as she hands me back my tumbler. “No. My mom didn’t like it and I have to be honest – I don’t like getting dirty.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Nor do I like the idea of being in the middle of nowhere surrounded by wild animals or the idea of sleeping on the ground, knowing that bugs could crawl under you or worse, over you, at any moment.”
I take another sip of coffee. “And yet, you slept well last night.”
“Well, I was tired. And there were no bugs or wild animals. That doesn’t mean there won’t be.”
I huff. “Of course there are bugs and wild animals out here. We’re outdoors. This is their home.”
“Precisely.”
“They’re more gracious hosts, though, so you have nothing to worry about.”
She raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “Really?”
“Come on, Abby. This is the outdoors.” I gesture to our surroundings. “You should relax and have fun.”
She doesn’t answer, sighing.
I grab her hand. “You know what? That’s what we’re going to do today. We’re going to relax, and we’re going to have fun.”
This time, both her eyebrows go up. “And how exactly are we going to do that?”
I smile. “I know exactly how.”
***
“R
afting?” Abby gives me a look of horror as I hand her the paddle. “How exactly is this fun or relaxing?”
Right now, we’re on a rented orange raft in the river, our yellow life vests on.
“Come on.” I start paddling. “Where is your sense of adventure?”
She looks around anxiously. “Some people die while doing this. You know that, right?”
“More people die while driving their cars,” I point out.
Abby sighs. “Just promise me there are no alligators, sharks, or snakes in here.”
“We’re not in the Amazon, Abby.”
“Just promise me.”
“I promise,” I assure her.
“And just… tell me what to do.”
“Well, you can start by rowing.”
She reluctantly does that, dipping her paddle in the water and moving it forward and back.
“That’s it.” I smile encouragingly. “You’re doing great.”
She gives me a look of doubt. “Am I?”
I nod as I lean forward, touching her knee. “Hey, don’t worry. This river isn’t rough. It’s fine even for beginners. That’s why I brought you here.”
She still doesn’t look convinced.
“And I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you,” I go on. “You trust me, right?”
Abby gives another sigh. “I guess I’ll have to.”
I smile.
She frowns. “Hey, you’re slacking off.”
“Sorry.”
I continue rowing, guiding the boat along as the river becomes narrower. I still can’t stop staring at her every now and then, though, watching her features as they visibly relax, admiring the way she looks in her life vest, blue shirt, and black shorts, her hair in a loose braid with some tendrils floating in the breeze.
“You’re staring at me again,” Abby says, noticing it.
“Guilty,” I admit with a grin. “I can’t help it. You just look amazing.”
She snorts. “I’m pretty sure I look my least amazing right now.”
“Not at all. You look… like you’re not trying to hide or be something you’re not, just like you were at that party.”
She looks surprised. “So, you noticed what I was trying to do, huh?”
I nod. “Is there a reason for it?”
“There is, actually.” Abby takes a deep breath as she looks into the distance. “So, I told you my mama and I left the Philippines when I was eight, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, when we came here and I started going to school, I became immediately aware that I was different. I didn’t have pale skin or pale hair or blue eyes. I spoke English but it didn’t sound the same.”
“It takes some time to get the accent.”
“So, anyway, I had a hard time fitting in and some of my classmates picked on me.”
“You were bullied?”
“Yeah.” She looks at me. “Did you know that Asians are the ones who get bullied most in school?”
“I didn’t know that,” I admit. “I thought it was only in the movies.”
“Well, it’s real,” Abby tells me, glancing away. “And it was… bad.”
I frown, imagining her being called names by a bunch of giggling kids in the school lawn, having her things shoved down the toilet or being tripped on purpose in the hallway.
“Is that why you hate being Filipino?”
She nods. “When I changed schools, I told myself I would do everything I could not to stick out. I would speak like the other kids did. I would dress like them. I wouldn’t do too well in my tests.”
“You purposely held back.”
“I just wanted to fit in, to belong. You know, become one of the herd. When I got to high school, I dyed my hair. It doesn’t matter, though. Some people still found me different. No matter how hard I tried, I was still a Filipino, after all.”
I shake my head. “It shouldn’t have mattered.”
“But it did. Even when I was applying for work, it did.”
“At least, it didn’t for Nathan.”
Now that I can say Abby is mine, it no longer bothers me to talk about him. It feels silly, actually, that it ever did. He is my friend, after all.
“Yeah.” She nods, smiling. “But I never really got over the stigma. I’d try to look boring so that no one would pay attention to me. I tried my best to hide my ethnicity.”
“Yet, you caught my attention,” I point out. “And everyone else’s at that party.”
“Yeah, that was your fault.” She glances at me. “I was trying to prove that you couldn’t mess with me.” She lets out a deep breath. “Yet, you still did.”
“I promise I’m not messing with you.” I reach for her hand. “And you know what? I promise I’m not going to let anyone else do that, either.”
I touch her cheek. “You don’t have to hide anymore, Abby.”
She stops paddling, placing her hand over mine. “Thanks, Grant. You know, I do miss the Philippines sometimes, and I do think you’re right. I should embrace who I am and start holding my head up high.”
I lift her chin. “That’s my girl.”
I lean over, kissing her. I stop, though, as I realize the raft is wobbling. I adjust, looking ahead.
“Here come the rapids,” I warn, quickly reaching for my paddle with both hands.
“I thought you said there weren’t any.” Abby starts to paddle frantically as well.
“I said this river is safe enough for beginners. I didn’t say there wouldn’t be any rapids.”
“Shit. You should have told me earlier.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her. “You’ll be fine. Trust me. Just row.”
“You row.”
I do that, doing my best to steer the raft away from the rocks and down the slopes. After a few minutes, we make it past. I let go of the breath I’m holding, looking at Abby. She’s all wet just like me, but to my surprise, she’s smiling.
“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” I ask her.
Abby nods. “Yeah. I can’t say that was relaxing but yeah, it was kind of fun. Like a water ride at an amusement park but more thrilling.”
I lift my hand to give her a high-five. “Good job.”
Now that the water is running smoothly again, I continue kissing her, more passionately with the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I must have been too passionate, though, because I lose my balance and Abby and I both fall out of the raft.
“Fuck,” I curse, wiping my face then quickly going over to her. “Sorry about that.”
Abby shakes her head. “It’s okay. We were already wet anyway. And you know what? I kind of miss swimming in the river.”
“You used to swim in the river?” My eyes grow wide.
What with all the protests she was making earlier, I wouldn’t have guessed.
“Yeah. Just a small river, though.” She leans back, immersing her hair in the water as she floats on the surface. “Now, this is relaxing.”
She closes her eyes, and I smile.
Seriously, Abby is one heck of a woman.
“You never fail to surprise me, do you? What else don’t I know about you?”
***
“So, that’s pretty much my life,” Abby says as she places her arms behind her head, her eyes still on the stars that are shining above us.
For the past hour, as we lay on the ground beneath the night sky, she’s been giving me more details about her childhood and how she grew up, about her mother and the men her mother was with. And I’ve been more than content to listen, fascinated by her tales and changes in expression and glad to know all about her, even the sad things like how her mother was found dead in a motel room with her boyfriend when Abby was seventeen, a tragedy which, according to the police, stemmed from a lover’s quarrel gone from bad to worst.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” I tell her, reaching for one of her hands.
She shakes her head. “She had it coming, and I already lost her a long tim
e ago.” She sighs. “My life would make a good tearjerker on Broadway, huh?”
“I’d watch it,” I tell her. “And at least now, I know why you don’t like men with mustaches.”
They remind her of her stepfather, who she largely blames for her mother’s downfall.
She turns her head to look at me. “Your mother didn’t marry again, did she?”
“No. She loved my father too much.”
“That’s good.”
“Not entirely. She loved him so much that after he died, she stopped taking care of herself and standing on her own feet. I think she might have lost her will to live when she lost him.”
“But she still had you. Didn’t she take care of you?”
“Not really. It was mostly my grandparents who raised me and the maids who looked after me.”
“And your grandfather didn’t like you?”
I shake my head. “I look too much like my father, too American. I guess when he sees me, all he sees is the mistake my mother made, the crime she committed against him.”
Abby squeezes my hand. “I guess we both had a miserable time growing up, huh?”
We do seem to have a lot in common.
“How about now?” she asks. “Does your grandfather like you now?”
I snort. “Nope. I’m still rebelling against him, after all.”
She raises an eyebrow in surprise. “You are?”
“He wanted me to take over his company but I refused. I told him I’d start my own. If not for my mother begging him to give me a chance as she was dying, he wouldn’t be giving me one. He has to see at least fifty million in profits in a year, though.”
“And if you don’t make that much?”
“I have to go back to London and do as he wants. Otherwise, he’ll make sure I don’t get a single cent of his fortune.”
“Wow. Talk about pressure.”
“Nothing would give him more pleasure than to see me fail.”
“Well, you won’t.” She lifts her head and holds my hand in both of hers. “You have good ideas, excellent apps in the making.”
“I have to sell them, though.”
She leans on her elbow. “You know what? You said something about making a line of apps for women, right?”
“Yeah. That’s one.”