by Snow, Nicole
It still feels like a sauna outside, but there’s been a shift in the wind.
At first it felt like a heater blowing while we devoured the best marinated steaks, broccoli, and twice baked potatoes I think I’ve ever tasted. Now it’s turning dark and ominous.
Grady scans the horizon as we start clearing the patio table.
“Typical hot-ass day. I think the muggy weather’s brewing up a storm,” he says.
“A bad one?” Avery turns her concern-rippled face to me. “Will it hurt the flowers?”
“No, hun. Rain is good for them,” I assure her. “It has more oxygen than irrigation water, too, and releases all the nutrients the plants need.”
“Oh, all right! Let’s hope it’s a big rain then.” Back to her plucky self, she collects a few empty bowls and plates and carries them into the kitchen.
Inside, the girls continue helping with clean up and then with the laundry before they insist on a Yahtzee rematch. Can’t say I mind the excuse to have my eyes on something besides Grady.
The storm blows in during the game with loud thunder rattling the windows, and sweeping sword-like flashes of lightning. A cute weather guy with his hair styled on TV says it’s supposed to come in waves all night.
I’m thankful the house is safe and secure, and so is the barn.
I’ve been caught in monsoons and rainstorms in Africa that seemed like whole seas falling down, so I’m not overly concerned. A sturdy roof beats roughing it in a field tent any night.
“Look at that! Must be my lucky night,” I say after winning the second game in a row.
“Must be.” The heated look Grady aims my way sets my face on fire.
He’s a man of little innuendo but wow does he know how to use it.
Trying to hide how the rest of me sizzles, I say, “Or are you all just cheating so I can win?” I flash them a wink.
“Never,” Grady says.
“I’d never cheat!” Sawyer says, her head propped up on one hand.
“Nope,” Avery adds with a yawn.
His eyes turn to the kids and he slowly nods.
“I think all the hard work today has worn you two out,” Grady says, gathering up the dice in one hand. “Why don’t we call it a night? Sounds like a break in the storm and a good chance to get to sleep.”
No argument here.
Just, you know, so many butterflies exploding in my belly I feel like I’m riding a tsunami.
I box up the game and hold it out for him to drop the dice in before I stand.
Avery wraps her hands around my arms. “Will you help tuck me in with the new sheets, Willow? It’s always tough to get them just right when they’re fresh out of the dryer.”
“You bet,” I say, happy to buy my tingling body a few more minutes before Judgment Day with Grady.
All four of us head upstairs, Grady with Sawyer, who says she wants to talk to him alone.
Once Avery’s in her pj’s, and lying down in clean new sheets, I tuck the covers around her. “There you go, bed bug. Nice and comfy.”
She smiles and points to the nightstand beside her bed.
“Will you give me Bobbie? It’s a stormy night.”
“Bobbie?”
She gestures at the drawer. “I like to sleep with him on nights like this. It’s a habit.”
I open the drawer and find a large purple beanbag bobcat.
It makes me grin instantly. I bet this toy has something to do with Grady’s bar and that winking sign that guided me to safety the first night I came stumbling into his life. Avery settles in with the stuffed cat in her arms and she’s dozing off by the time I leave.
Grady passes by, entering the room, and I go into Sawyer’s to say good night to her.
I smile again, this time wider, when I see an identical purple bobcat tucked against her pillow.
Minutes later, Grady and I meet in the hall, pulling each bedroom door closed.
The house is freakishly still now.
The electricity outside feels minuscule compared to the invisible tension crackling across the hall between us.
Even every breath feels loaded, dense as ozone.
Giddy with excitement, I take the hand he holds out to me so fast it makes me blush.
“So, question. Is your bar named after two little stuffed purple bobcats?” I ask him with a knowing wink.
He chuckles. “Guilty. They’ve had them since they were born. It was either the Purple Bobcat, or Bobbie, and the second one’s not the vibe I’m going for.”
I laugh. “Good choice. What is your vibe, anyway?”
His lips quirk up in a smile and I’m drowning in brown-eyed amusement.
“The bar was a different place before I bought it. More of a lawless biker dive than anything else, it was called The Den back when old Wylie McGill owned it. The dude even kept a shotgun behind the bar to break up knife fights.”
“Holy crap.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“Yeah. When I finally scraped together the cash for the sale and knew he wanted to retire, I set out to do away with that crap. This town needs more places where friends and families can get together without having to worry about anybody losing an eye or having their car broken into while it’s parked out back. So I gave it a new name, a makeover, a mess of antique signs and silly jokes, and made it the kinda place anybody could like. I gave Dallas a new happy place.”
My heart swoons a little harder, hearing his passion and care for his people.
They’re not just detached clients keeping him afloat financially.
The way Grady talks, it’s clear he treats everyone like one big extended family.
He stops near the staircase then, and I sense his hesitation.
If I weren’t having a secret conniption fit myself, I’d be over the moon at the thought of Grady being nervous around me.
But here we are.
Smack-dab in the middle of now or never.
His bedroom is down the hall...or do we go downstairs to mine?
I don’t have a preference, but with the girls so close, I think my room might be the better choice.
With a grin, he lifts my hand, kisses it, and then starts down the stairs. We don’t stop on the main floor like I expect, though, but go all the way to the basement.
In his man cave, I ask, “We’re not here to watch the cameras, right?”
We’d better not be.
“Fuck no,” he growls, a hot second before his mouth attacks mine again with the force of a stampede.
His kiss might literally leave marks and I want it.
I give it back like I’m starving because oh, hell, yes, I am.
So completely, so thoroughly, so drunkenly enchanted by his lips I can barely think when he breaks away.
Every inch of my skin hums with electricity.
He hollows me out and fills me with his own aggressive strongman energy with every kiss, leaving me ringing down to my toes.
Taking hold of my hand again, he leads me across the room to the futon that he flips flat with the toe of one foot.
“Bruce won’t hear you scream from down here,” he whispers, lifting a brow.
Oh, crap.
I laugh and run my hands over his chest. He’s so ripped, so hard and enticing, I shudder.
“That sure, huh? You’re going to make me scream?” I bite my bottom lip.
“Only for more,” he rumbles, kissing me again.
“Big promises,” I tease, sliding my hands under his shirt.
“Promises I’ll keep.” He cups one of my breasts with one massive hand, teasing my nipple through the dress. “When you opened your bedroom door wearing this, I got hard as fucking steel, and I still am. You’ve been pure torment all evening.”
“Oh?” It’s a half question, half moan, because I love the way he’s pinching my nipple.
“Yeah. When the sun was coming through the windows behind you, your dress looked translucent.” He cups my other breast and slays me with his press
ure. “I could see two dark, pert little nipples right through it. Knew I’d have to taste them, darling. Fuckin’ knew.”
His face dips down and his tongue licks my left nipple, sucking it against his mouth through my dress.
Sweet hell.
I’ve never felt anything so amazing.
I...I think if he keeps this up, I might just explode still standing.
God.
Trying to downplay just how badly I want him to keep at it, I whisper, “Didn’t know my dress was see through.”
“I figured. You prance around like you’ve got no damn clue what you do to me. High time you found out,” he snarls, releasing my nip—just long enough to grasp the hem of my dress and yank it over my head.
In one fell swoop, I’m practically naked in front of him and flushed beet-red.
I keep my arms up after he discards my dress, giving him full access to feast on my sight, to feel, to kiss, to do whatever he wants.
He doesn’t disappoint, and a second later we’re on the futon, where he picks up touching, licking, kissing me into oblivion.
His lips find mine again as his hand slides into my panties.
Talk about direct.
Of course, I love it.
Those thick caveman fingers make me gasp as they tease my pussy, tickling the outside of my slit, then turning in to sink so deep my breath hitches.
But only for a second before the pad of his thumb slides up, raking my clit, making me a steaming, wilting mess in his arms.
“You need to know...I haven’t been with anyone since Brittany. So you don’t have to worry about catching anything,” he says.
Good thing he remembers, honestly.
The thought about protection hadn’t crossed my mind in this torn-up state.
I peel my eyes open. “I...I’m clean, too. I haven’t had much time for fun, but the few times I did in college, we were safe. Do you have any...”
“Condoms? In my room. I’ll grab them, but I thought we’d ease into this first before we get down to serious business.”
Holy screaming shit.
Like this isn’t serious business already? I’m not even sure I’ll survive another sixty seconds of his fingers in me without coming myself blind.
Thoroughly enjoying what’s happening, I groan, showing him just how much I like his hand.
I have to save face, so I shift to playing coy.
“What kind of fun did you have in mind?”
“This,” he growls.
And just like that, two of his fingers sink deep, this time to stay.
My hips arch, giving him full access, a sigh like hot wax oozing out of me.
“Grady. God. I think...yeah, I can live with that.”
“Can you live with this?” His eyes narrow like steaming crescent moons.
His thumb returns to my clit while those fingers pump, rending me in two.
A fireball builds in my core, molten and erratic and dangerously ready to light me up.
I have to tighten my thighs to hold on, to keep ecstasy at bay, digging my nails into his shoulders.
“You hear me, Willow?” he asks, fully in his glory as those glowing brown eyes drink me in.
“Yes!” I whine back, my legs starting to shake.
“Good, because this little nub has a lot more coming—and a lot more fucking coming to do for me.” He gently pinches my clit, sending more thrills rocketing through my system.
“And these nipples,” he adds, lowering his teeth to tease, sucking my soft bud against his tongue.
Destroyed.
My last shred of sanity snaps.
I’m humping his hand like an animal in heat, grinding into him, already on the precipice.
I’m not even sure how I can talk, but something hits me then.
“Willow?” he breathes, his voice so dark.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” I gasp. “I’m the only one having all this...this...ohhh, this.”
“Like hell.” He moves to the next nipple, staring up at me with those bearish eyes. “I’m loving every second. Tearing you down, making you mine, showing you how sweet you can come for me.”
He hoists me off the futon then, tumbling me up.
Delirious, I fall against him, my knees beginning to buckle as my heartbeat bangs my stomach and a dense, thudding pulse roars in my blood.
I close my eyes, lost in his fingers, his kiss, his promises. This is where the mind turns off and Hurricane Grady sweeps me away.
“Grady!” I whimper, my eyes pinched so tight it hurts.
Or, rather, it would hurt if he weren’t a split second away from bringing me to the best climax of my life.
He chuckles and then takes my nipple completely in his mouth while his hand picks me up and throws me over the edge.
His attention to detail is impeccable.
All sweet, hot tension, a magician’s touch crafted to bring a woman under his spell.
Totally unlike anything I’ve ever known.
Totally like this man was made to do this, to stroke and rule and seduce me to pieces, and then to catapult me up to all seven heaven.
But just when I’m about to lose it, gripping his shirt and twisting it around my hand, he drops to his knees and takes those glorious fingers away.
He shoves my panties down with one swift tug and replaces his hand with his mouth.
I’m so over, so undone as he pushes me against the wall, as his tongue sinks into me, as he makes me ride his face and slaps my clit with his tongue and—
“Coming!” I shriek, right before I bite down on the back of my wrist.
Knock me out with a feather.
I never knew a human O could have this many levels.
The first is this peppermint heat that bathes my brain in a slow, sugary rush of good feels.
The second is all convulsions, intense and merciless, riding the wave of his beard like my life depends on it and—
And I’m screaming, okay?
I hope to all that’s holy neither Bruce nor the girls can hear us.
The third and final layer to my beautiful destruction is the grin on Grady’s face.
Even if his mouth is still eating me for breakfast, lunch, and supper, I know I can feel it.
He’s freaking euphoric that he’s brought me such incredible strike-me-down pleasure, at least two or three minutes of slow burning inferno that totally empties me out.
As if Mother Nature wants in on the fun, there’s a loud clap of thunder.
I open my eyes to the house shaking, wondering how long the storm kicked back up while we’ve been blissfully occupied.
It’s a miracle I’m still on my feet by the end of it, and only because he had the good sense to pin me against the nearest wall, hands braced on his shoulders.
I’m panting for dear life as he rises, kisses my lips, and whispers, “Stay right here and take a breather. I’ll be right back.”
I run a finger along his jaw.
“Don’t be long.”
“Nah,” he whispers, shoving his forehead against mine. “Gonna be inside you real soon, Willow Wisp.”
“I can’t wait,” I whimper back, loving how he holds me in his arms.
Then with a parting kiss, just to let him know I’m serious, I watch him smile over his shoulder as he stalks up the stairs on a mission.
12
Here, Kitty, Kitty (Grady)
I’m damn near shaking at the superhuman effort it took to hold back till I’d turned Willow Macklin into a shaking hot mess of soft moans and delights.
The thought of doing it again, bringing her off harder while I pound us both to paradise, is fucking exhilarating.
I take both flights of steps to my room three at a time.
Thank God Faulk gave me a fairly new box of rubbers as a joke last Christmas.
Being newly happily married, his smart-ass now thinks a sweet woman and a lot of nookie is every man’s answer to the good life.
I’m not ready for the woman pa
rt, but as for the nookie, it’s game-fucking-on.
I’d given him nothing but shit over it at the time, but now, I could hug the man till he chokes.
Yeah, I’d damn near lost it in the laundry room when she first suggested sex.
That was right after I’d seen through her summer dress and realized she hadn’t been wearing anything except a little pair of cotton panties. They were pink.
I’d found that out downstairs and loved shearing them off her as much as I adored everything else.
The condoms are in my bathroom, tucked in the back of the closet where not even Aunt Faye would have ever looked. I sure as hell don’t need that embarrassment.
Darting into my room, I almost hit the light switch, but pause when I realize it should be dark before I turn it on.
The light is wrong.
The yard light doesn’t shine in this window at that angle.
What the hell?
Leaving the room light off, I walk over and look out the window.
Damn.
The storm must’ve gotten worse again while we were busy.
The light pole in the yard looks like it’s been snapped in half. The light hangs on only by the electrical line running to it.
Shit.
I can’t leave it like that; it’s a hazard. I’ll have to at least run outside and kill the power to it so we don’t risk any bigger disasters.
Just my goddamn luck.
No sweet fuckery for more years than I care to count, and here I run smack into a mess before we can do the deed.
Still, another ten minutes won’t kill me, even if it makes me see red.
I stomp back downstairs, without the condoms, and throw on my shoes before running out the front door. At least it’s no longer raining.
The thunder booms from the other direction like distant artillery now.
Looks like we’ve had a blast of straight-line winds though. The yard light pole is cut clean through the middle, while a stray shovel leaned against the shed is still standing up.
That’s not unusual.
Straight-line winds in these parts can take out a whole building and leave the mailbox next to it completely untouched.
All part of the charm of summers in flyover country.
Leaping down the steps, I jog toward the pole shed, where I’ll find the junction box for the yard light so I can turn off the transformer. Halfway there, a creak, then a clanging noise make me turn around.