I don’t know where that came from. It’s a commitment, with me looking into a future where she’s still with me, but it feels right, too.
“Of course I’ll invite you. You’re the only one’s who’s ever taken me seriously about this.”
It’s crazy that with her background she can say that to me and mean it. I bury my face in her hair. She smells of her usual flowers, but there’s also a hint of spices and pumpkin cake, and I want to fuck her and eat her, but most of all I don’t want to let her go.
She kisses my neck, using her teeth and tongue, and I don’t protest as she slowly slides my cut over my shoulders and drapes it over the counter. As if we have all the time in the world, she tugs my tee from my jeans and eases it over my head before tossing it onto the floor.
There’s a hundred jobs waiting for me downstairs, but no way am I moving. And Kat’s at work for another couple of hours so we won’t be interrupted.
With a sigh she runs her hands over my pecs and down my abs, and hooks her fingers into the waist of my jeans. “Your body is perfection.”
I grin and pull her hair free from its band. “Yeah, I’m God’s gift. Aren’t you the lucky one.”
“Gorgeous, and modest with it.” She unbuckles my belt. “Plus, tattoos.”
“The whole package.” I flex my biceps and strike a pose. “You wanna take photos?”
She laughs and feels up my biceps. “So hard,” she says in a breathy voice. “Like rock.”
“They’re not the only part of me that’s rock hard.”
“By rights, I shouldn’t be able to walk straight with all the sex I’ve had since meeting you.”
“You’re not walking straight, princess. Didn’t I tell you?” I leer at her, but it’s strange because while I’ve always enjoyed casual hookups, I’ve never had as much sex in such a short space of time as I have with Grace.
“Ouch.” She steps back and slowly tugs the big bow at the back of her apron free while she sways her hips, like she’s doing a strip show. “You’ll pay for that.”
I kick off my boots and shuck my jeans. “I’m counting on it.”
Her gaze slips to my junk and she licks her lips. It’s like she doesn’t even know she’s doing it, and it’s so damn sexy I pull her toward me and kiss her as though I’ll die if I don’t.
Somehow we manage to tear off that insane apron without breaking mouth contact and then she wriggles out of her dress and it drops to the floor. She tastes so good, spicy and hot, and I tuck my fingers into the back of her sexy underwear and push it over her thighs.
Her skin is so soft against my cock, and I growl deep in my throat. I want to ride her bareback, feel every silky inch of her squeeze my dick as she falls apart around me. I plunge my hands through her hair and force her to look at me, but it doesn’t help. Her lips are swollen from my kisses, and her eyes are dark with need, and her hair tumbles through my fingers and over her face.
She unhooks her bra and it dangles from her finger. “Sex in the kitchen is so unhygienic.”
“Better than a pool table.” I pull her into my arms and back up against the refrigerator. “Maybe not as good as on the hood of a Merc.”
She play-punches my shoulder. “You think?”
I slide down the refrigerator until my ass hits the floor. She kneels between my legs and scrapes her nails over my nipples, and it’s obvious she’s trying not to laugh.
Is this why I still want her? I’ve known a lot of mouthy chicks over the years, but as soon as we get naked they shut the hell up.
Grace isn’t mouthy, though. Except when it counts. The memory of her sucking my dick burns through me, and I wind her hair around my fist, preparing to push her head between my thighs.
And then she kisses me—soft and sweet and with so much heat I can’t even function. I wrap my arms around her and roll onto the floor with her on top, looking down at me as though this is all she’s ever wanted.
She hovers over me, her wet slit sliding along the length of my dick as she slowly rocks her hips. It’s agony not to just slip inside her, but it’s an agony I don’t ever want to end.
“Zach,” her breathy gasp almost tips me over the edge. “Condom. Now…” Her voice trails away as she arches her throat and her eyes close.
My groan hurts every damn inch of my body. As I scrabble to find my jeans without looking away from her, I curse my man-whore lifestyle. Sure, I do safe sex. I’m not a moron. But I’ve fucked around too much to even ask Grace if she’s using any contraceptive, no matter how much I want to be inside her without any kind of barrier.
I rip open the packet with my teeth. Why am I so obsessed by this? It’s never even crossed my mind before with other chicks. Except Grace isn’t other chicks. She’s mine. Possessiveness surges through me, and I roll on the condom as my knuckles glide against her pussy.
She shifts position and I watch the head of my cock slip into her. It’s mesmerizing and so much better than any cheap porn movie. Slowly I drag my gaze up her body to her tits, so close to my mouth, but I’m happy just watching them jiggle as she teases me.
“Hey,” she pants. “I’m up here.”
“I know where you are.” I finally look up and her face is flushed and damp, and if she doesn’t fuck me soon I’m gonna lose my mind. “Don’t get pissy because I like perving on your tits.”
Her smile is pure evil as she sinks down my length, and I forget about everything but the feel of her slick flesh grasping me tight. Her nails dig into my shoulders as she braces her weight, and I run my hands down her back and cup her gorgeous ass.
She teases my mouth with her nipples, and I lick and suck until she’s gasping with need. As she rocks into me I slide my finger between her butt cheeks, circling and stroking her. My cock fills her, stretching her sensitive flesh, and it’s never been this good before. She rides me hard, and the slap of skin against skin fills my head and I can’t tear my gaze from her face.
When she convulses around me, I can’t hold back. Her frantic cries spur me on and I buck into her, gripping her ass as I make her mine.
She collapses onto me, our bodies slick and hearts pounding. I wrap my arms around her, one hand tangled in her hair, and don’t ever want to move.
Finally, she stirs, raising her head from my shoulder, and her sated smile is the best thing I’ve ever seen. She slides off me and I dump the condom before pulling her against me.
I should get back to work, but it’s easy enough to ignore when Grace sighs and snuggles in my arms. Why do I like it so much when she does that? I’ve never wanted or needed this connection after having sex with anyone else. But it doesn’t bother me the way it did a few weeks ago. I don’t know what it is about her, but ever since she’s been here things have been…different. I can’t explain it. Just right, I guess, as though after years of searching I’ve finally found someone worth holding on to.
A shiver inches along my spine, but it’s okay. I’m not going to push her away or disappear back to work just because some random thought freaks the shit out of me. I don’t fit in her world, but she fits in mine, and that’s all that matters.
I reach up and grab a cupcake. Without breaking Thor’s hammer perched on top of the frosting, we share the cake. I’ve never fed a girl anything before and always thought it real weird that anyone would want to, but there’s something hypnotic in watching Grace eat. And it’s downright sexy the way she slowly licks every last crumb from my fingers.
It’s not that comfortable on the hard floor but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. Finally, we finish, and I still don’t make any move to get up. After a few more moments, she gives a long sigh.
“This is nice, just the two of us.”
Yeah, it’s great when it’s just the two of us. “Fuck the rest of the world, huh.”
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
Of course she didn’t. She’s too classy for that. “Just your world, then.”
She tips her head back and gives me a mock f
rown. “That’s not very friendly.”
About as friendly as her mom and ex, but I keep that to myself. “Never said I was.”
“You’re so hard on yourself.”
It’s not the first time she’s said something like that, as though she really believes I’m not tough as nails to the core. No one else would ever suggest that to me, and it’s not something I want anyone believing, but I don’t mind her thinking it. Even if it’s not true.
Guess that’s part of the reason I like having her around so much. Because she sees me in a way that nobody else ever has.
The end of the week looms like a black storm cloud, and I don’t want to spend the holiday on my own, half comatose at the bottom of a bottle.
My chest tightens, and the old familiar sense of drowning engulfs me. Even Jett’s old lady stopped inviting me to share Thanksgiving with them years ago, since I always bailed. The only way to get through it is with an excess of alcohol, porn, and anonymous pussy.
Not this year. I want Grace to stay so much it hurts my chest, and that’s fucking sick. But she’s no longer just another girl. She’s the only girl I want, and it’s impossible to find the words.
But if I don’t ask her, she’ll never know. I cradle her face in my hands, and her eyes are so blue and her lips so soft that my brain scrambles and the words come out before I even think about it. “Stay the rest of the week with me.”
Chapter Fifteen
Grace
His demand is rough and I frown at him, not sure what’s suddenly happened. He looks really pissed off, and yet his touch is tender.
I pull back so I’m not distracted by his dark, chocolate-colored eyes, his too-long hair, and the unsmiling face that is now as familiar as my own. It doesn’t make any difference. It’s hard to think clearly when we’re both naked, sitting on the floor of his kitchen, and the scent of our recent lovemaking is all around.
“It’s Thanksgiving on Thursday.” I feel an idiot reminding him of that, but he must’ve forgotten. “My family’s expecting me, and I can’t get out of it.”
“Right.”
I shiver, not sure why that one word sounds so ominous. “Otherwise I’d be happy to stay until the end of the week.” For some reason my words sound fake, as though I don’t mean them.
“Sure you would.”
My face heats, as I have the horrible certainty that he doesn’t believe me. “I’m sure Kat doesn’t want me hanging around over Thanksgiving.”
He doesn’t answer right away. His gaze bores into me and goose bumps chase along my arms.
“Kat won’t be here.”
Does he mean he’ll be alone? Is that why he asked me to stay? Warmth floods through me. No one should spend Thanksgiving on their own, and there’s nothing I’d love more than to be with him over the holiday.
“Why don’t you join me at my parents’ house? It won’t be a problem.” Except, as my hasty invitation drops like a stone between us, I doubt that’s true and have the terrible fear he knows it, too.
He laughs, but it’s not friendly. “You don’t really believe that.”
I fold my arms across my breasts, no longer comfortable with the fact I’m naked, and I wish I could take back my stupid invitation. What was I thinking?
Except I’m not prepared to back down. “It’ll be fine.”
“The same way it was fine when your mother turned up on Sunday?”
I know it was awkward, but he’s making it sound as though my mom was deliberately rude to him. “It’ll just take a little while for them to get used to it, that’s all.”
“What, that you enjoy a rough biker fuck on weekends?”
For a second I’m speechless. Biker fuck? I know Zach always says what he means, and that’s one of the things I really like about him. But is this really what he thinks about me—about what we have together?
“Of course not. What a stupid thing to say.” Actually hurtful is what I really mean, but if he’s going to be a jerk about it, I don’t want him knowing just how much his comment affects me. Why would he jump to the conclusion I was referring to him, and not the fact my parents need time to realize I’m never going back to Russell?
He links his fingers behind his head and leans back against the refrigerator, as though having excruciating conversations on his kitchen floor, while stark naked, is a common occurrence.
“Not any stupider than you inviting me for Thanksgiving dinner when your prick of an ex is gonna be there. What d’you think we’ll do, princess, fight for your hand over the fucking pumpkin pie?”
I’d forgotten Russell’s still invited, but that irritation pales into insignificance besides Zach’s derisive remark.
“Fight for my hand?” I inject as much scorn as possible into each word, even though inside I’m reeling at how this entire conversation’s gone to hell in the space of five minutes. “We’re having dinner, not a medieval reenactment.”
He shrugs one shoulder, as though I’m not worth the effort of shrugging both. “Whatever. I won’t be there.”
If I had any sense I’d take this as my cue to leave with my dignity intact. He’s obviously seriously pissed that Russell’s going to be at Thanksgiving, but it doesn’t give him the right to be such a dick about it.
“So it’s okay for me to spend the holiday here with you, but you won’t make the effort to spend one day with my family.”
“Why the fuck should I?”
His arrogance is breathtaking. He didn’t even try to deny my accusation. “It’s called compromise, Zach. That’s what people do when they’re in a relationship.”
He laughs, and the sound sends ice through my veins. “I don’t compromise, and I sure as hell don’t do relationships.” He makes the word sound obscene. “You’re a good fuck, Grace, but that’s all.”
It’s as though he physically punches me in the stomach, and it takes everything I have not to double over. A good fuck? That’s it?
There’s the faintest hint of a smile on his face as if he finds this situation amusing, but his eyes are cold. He’s not the guy I spent the last month with, who made me laugh and question my life and gave me the best sex I’ve ever had.
He’s just some guy who took what I offered, and everything I imagined about him having a vulnerable side was just garbage.
I reach across the floor for my bra and put it on without looking at him. My panties and dress are just out of reach, so there’s nothing for it but to stand up and move. I know he’s watching me and I want to sink through the floor, but the sooner I’m dressed the sooner I can get out of here.
Talk about a walk of shame.
My baking things are piled up in the sink, but I’m not sure my pride could hold out for the time it’d take to gather them up, and I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break down in front of him.
At the door, I can’t help myself, and glance back at him. He hasn’t moved, but his gaze is fixed on me. My head’s telling me to play it cool as though I’m fine, but I’m not. My entire body hurts as though I’ve got the flu and I desperately want to say you don’t mean that but I’d cut out my tongue before letting him know how much he’s devastated me.
“I was so wrong about you. You really are the biggest jerk I’ve ever met.”
…
Zach
I sit on the cold, hard floor, and it’s not until I hear Grace go downstairs and the front door finally shut that my rigid muscles relax.
She’s gone. I grab my jeans and yank them on before pulling on my T-shirt and cut. I should’ve finished this weeks ago instead of holding on to something that was never real and never could be.
Did I really think she’d want to stay with me this week? Of course she chose her family. She’d always choose her family, and I’m a fucking dipshit for thinking there might’ve been a chance for us to have something more than sex.
Jesus. I shove my fingers through my hair and grip my scalp, but it doesn’t help with the brain-killing headache. It was alw
ays only about the sex. That’s all I ever have with chicks.
I catch sight of the cupcakes on the counter and a red rage fills me. They’re a reminder of everything I’ll never have again, and with a violent curse I swipe everything onto the floor. The smell of pumpkin and cake and Grace’s perfume fills my head, and I stamp out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind me.
…
A few hours later Kat comes into the garage, arms folded. “Where’s Grace?”
I don’t bother looking at her. “Gone.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Finally, I slam my wrench on the workbench and turn to glare at her. “What?” I growl.
Her eyes narrow. “The kitchen’s a mess.”
I don’t fucking care. “I’ll clear it up later.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“No.” When I see Kat frown, I realize my mistake. “Nothing to talk about. She was just a hookup.” Yeah, right. How long do I have to keep telling myself that before I start to believe it?
“Right.” Disbelief drips from the word, but she doesn’t push it. When she leaves I grip the edge of the workbench and the metal digs into my palms, but it doesn’t touch the dull ache deep inside my chest.
…
My hangover the following morning is fucking epic. Despite the backlog of work, I give up on it late in the afternoon and ride to the club. Ty and a couple of brothers are sprawled on the sofas watching porn on the seventy-two-inch screen. The blonde in the movie with her huge fake tits and pouting lips does nothing for me, so I grab a beer and sit next to Ty, who’s getting a blow job from a black-haired chick who hangs around the club sometimes.
I pretend to focus on the movie and try to ignore Ty. All I can think about is the way Grace goes down on me, with her long red hair tumbling down her back, looking like a sex goddess. My dick stirs and I close my eyes, but it doesn’t help with either the vision or the headache.
What the hell’s wrong with me? She was just a piece of pussy. She’s gone, and it’s time to move on. So why, when I dumped all of her ruined cakes into the garbage last night, did I pick out every single cake topper, dust them off, and drop them onto my nightstand?
Hooked (Viking Bastards MC) Page 12