by Kate Stewart
“Bristol, baby.” Grip’s gruff voice reattaches me to the present, to the memory of what just happened.
Me, the queen of DIY orgasms, just came twice in the shower without a dick or a vibrator, or even at my own hand. Unless you count the massaging shower head as vibrating. I try to speak, but my throat is scratched out from the hoarse screams Grip took from me.
“Yeah?” I finally croak.
“Before we do this,” Grip says, a tightness around his eyes and his mouth. “I need you to believe I would never step out on you. I—”
“Grip.” It’s my turn to hush him, resting my finger against his lips. “You don’t have to explain. We weren’t together.”
Anything else he would say stifles in his throat when I stroke him with a tight-fisted, steady rhythm.
“You were saying?” I whisper, lowering my head to suck on his nipple.
“Bristol, I’m not going to last long.” His head drops. “Please don’t take that as a sign of how it will always be, but watching you come in the shower has me halfway there already.”
A shaky laugh breaks up his words.
“I’ve waited so long for this.” The laugh dies, giving life to a tenderness in his eyes that pries my heart open another inch. “I’ve waited for you.”
He pushes my damp, tangled hair back from my face, his touch rough and reverent.
“I’ve thought about this moment almost every day since we met. Not just the sex.” His smile is so beautiful it literally hurts to look at it knowing it’s for me. “I mean, yeah, of course, the sex. But the first day I met you, I wondered what kind of man it would take to win you. I wondered if I could be a man like that.”
I slowly shift, nudging his shoulder until he’s on his back and I’m looking down at him. I kiss a hard pectoral muscle and dip my head to lick between the ridges of his abs, his sharply indrawn breath making me smile against his skin.
“And what kind of man are you?”
His expression sobers, his eyes a mesmerizing night I lose myself in.
“The kind who would do anything to keep you.” He brushes a thumb across my cheekbone. “Be sure because I won’t let you go after.”
I bite my lip to keep the tears at bay. He has no idea what it means to hear him say that. For the girl who had to beg for scraps of affection, for attention from the people she’s loved the most, hearing him say that sets my fears free. All my life I’ve been the chaser. Chasing my parents’ approval. Chasing my brother’s love and friendship. I went to extremes to make them notice me, to make them love me.
I was right to be cautious. This heart of mine that has no borders, no bottom, no ceiling, would be crushed by the wrong man. I could easily end up a shell bent to his will and settling for leftovers and reheated affection, but Grip is not the wrong man. He may be the only man I can trust with a heart like mine.
And I finally do.
“I’m sure.” I rest my chin on his flat, hard stomach, reaching up to trace the bold bones of his face, the soft lips and thick, curling lashes. “Are you sure? I’m not like other girls, Grip. You have no idea.”
He props up on one elbow to probe my eyes, palming my head and running his thumb over my brows and across my cheeks.
“Tell me what I’m in for,” he says softly, his eyes serious, really asking.
“I’m going to be unreasonably possessive.” I scatter kisses across his stomach, and the muscles clench beneath my lips. “I won’t hesitate to destroy any bitch who tries to take you away from me.”
“Okay.” His breath hitches. “What else?”
I sit up, settling my legs on either side of his magnificent naked body, the narrow waist widening to the sleek muscles of his chest, the heavier muscles of his shoulders and ink-splattered arms. I admire the contrast of my thighs against his skin so deeply bronzed.
“I will hurt anyone who tries to hurt you.” I laugh self-consciously. “If you hadn’t figured it out, I’m kind of protective of the people I care about.”
“I had noticed that, yeah.” Grip caresses my hip, his fingers splaying possessively over me. “Anything else I should know?”
I lean forward until our flesh is flush, positioning myself over him, poised to inaugurate our bodies.
“Yes.” I lean to reach my nightstand, grabbing a condom and barely fitting it over the thick, swollen head. “I like to be on top.”
I slide slowly onto him, unprepared for the stretch. Not only am I tight, but Grip is wide and long. I breathe through the initial pinch, determined to take all of him, even if my body has to accommodate him inch by slow inch.
“You okay?” His concerned eyes scan my face.
I offer a wobbly grin, biting my lip.
“Why is your dick so big?”
He chuckles, sitting up to kiss along my jaw and piercing his fingers into the hair at the base of my neck.
“You’ll get used to it. It’s the one stereotype about black guys that I’m glad is true, at least in my case. I can’t speak for the rest of the brothers.”
Our laughs meet between us, and I rest my temple against his.
“Besides,” he groans when I roll my hips to sheath him completely. “You were made for me.”
Our breaths catch, our chests press together, our bodies interlock. He caresses my back and then spreads his hands across my butt in ownership. Gently at first, he takes control of the pace. I pant with his every thrust up and into me, tightening my thighs around him. A blistering hunger burns away all discomfort as my body molds to his, as if we were carved to fit, as if I truly was fashioned to take him. I swoop to kiss the chiseled line of his jaw, and he turns his head, highjacking the kiss. Our mouths battle, each of us going deeper into the other with every parry of our tongues. The taste of him obliterates everything else. I can’t see. I can’t hear. I’m consumed, blindly grabbing his hard body anywhere I can—his biceps, his back, his thigh. There’s so much of him and not enough time.
My frantic touches seem to shred his control. With a growl, he flips us, reversing our positions so I’m on my back, the bed cushioning my fall. He drags my leg over his hip and opens me up, grinding back in, his cadence merciless, all gentleness gone. He stares down at me, and it’s hypnotic, our eyes locked as intensely, as intimately as our bodies. I hook my ankles at his back and meet every thrust, enslaved to the pace he sets. He’s dictating my heartbeat, governing my pulse, holding my next breath cupped in his hands. I’m at his mercy, and it doesn’t frighten me. With our bodies meshed, our hearts sharing beats, there’s no room for fear. He lifts me up to pull my breast into his mouth, every tug of his lips, every delicate bite, lures me deeper under his spell.
“God, Bris.” He groans against my swollen nipples, his breath a glorious burn on the sensitive skin. “I can’t get enough of this. Baby, of you.”
I don’t want him to ever get enough, because I already know my desire for him is a bottomless well. He reaches between us to rub that cluster of nerves that combusts me in his arms. I cling to him as I explode, particles of myself floating in the air around us and settling onto the sweat-dampened sheets.
Guttural, groaning, he stiffens, he floods me. My waters rise, and like a river bursting free of its banks, I overflow.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Grip
“SO YOU CAUGHT your dad banging one of his clients,” I say to Bristol over the large steaming pizza recently delivered to her door. “And that made you mistrust me?”
“It isn’t that simple.” She picks off a mushroom that landed on her half of the pizza. “Halving never works. The crap you don’t like always ends up creeping to your side.”
“One mushroom does not constitute creeping.” I pop the discarded mushroom into my mouth. “Don’t get distracted. You were explaining why you kept me and that tight, sweet pussy apart for so long.”
The slice she’s holding pauses on its way to her mouth. Her eyes smile back at me, though she censors the rest of her expression.
“Just b
ecause we’re sleeping together doesn’t mean you can objectify me.”
“How is that objectifying you?” I laugh before taking a bite of my pizza. “I said it was sweet and tight. That’s high praise.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
She rolls her eyes but laughs and stretches on the living room floor, her back against the couch. She looks completely relaxed, wild hair tucked into the neck of her Columbia University hoodie, legs bare in her boy short underwear.
“And you’re stalling.” I tweak her big toe. “You were telling me about your dad.”
Any humor drains from her face. She tugs one string of the hoodie, folding her legs under her.
“I was already wrestling with my feelings for you.” She puts the pizza down, dusting her hands of crumbs. “I knew I felt too much too fast.”
“It wasn’t too fast.”
“It was a week, Grip.” Bristol reaches for the bottle of red wine, giving me a wry look. “I’m not saying it wasn’t real. Just that it was fast. Throw the drama with Tessa into the mix, and I was already regretting letting my guard down.”
Hearing Tessa’s name replays that scene at Grady’s house before Bristol flew back to New York. Tessa screaming at me about being her baby’s father. Bristol witnessing it all with wide, devastated eyes.
“I didn’t handle that well.” I capture her hand, tracing the love line in her palm. “I should have officially broken things off with her before letting it go as far as it did between you and me.”
“I didn’t know what to think.” She runs her thumb along my finger. “I felt so connected to you, but Jimmi and Rhyson had painted you as this player.”
“And I was a little bit.” I shrug, my smile rueful. “I was young and feeling myself. Just because I wasn’t a cheat doesn’t mean I wasn’t a player.”
“I know.” She pours a glass of red, offering it to me, before pouring one for herself. “I was this close to writing you off anyway after Tessa, but when my mom and I walked in on my dad with that girl . . .”
She tips her head back, the wine untouched.
“That wasn’t it, though.” She grimaces. “It was seeing my mother after we caught him. She just . . . let it go. She put up a good front, but later I found her drunk and weeping because she loved him and couldn’t make herself walk away. It was pathetic what she was willing to take from him. All those years Rhyson and I assumed she didn’t love him, and the whole time she loved him too much.”
For the first time since she said she wanted me, her eyes become guarded again.
“And I realized that I’m like that.” She releases a disparaging puff of air. “That’s what I did with my parents, with Rhyson. I took whatever they had to give, scraps, and even when they hurt me, like a broken spigot, I couldn’t turn it off."
“You group Rhyson with your parents?” I hate hearing that because he would hate to hear it.
“Not him as much as how I responded to what I processed as rejection.” She sips her wine, cynicism coloring her laugh. “And yet after years of silence, I still wagered my future on him, on the possibility that he would take me into his life.”
I’m silent, giving her space to express this her own way while my pizza goes uneaten, growing cold.
“It’s like I only have a few spots in my heart, but the people who have one, I’d do anything for. I’d accept anything from them because they mean so much to me. It’s needy and weak and I hate it about myself.”
Emotion blurs her eyes with tears.
“I knew you were one of those people, Grip. That you had one of those spots, and when I saw how giving that kind of power to the wrong man has destroyed my mother, I just couldn’t risk it with you.”
Hearing her refer to me as “the wrong man” hurts, but I understand her caution. I just hate it took this long for her to trust me. Or for me to prove myself to her.
“I guess it didn’t help that I’ve been smashing everything that moves since you came back to LA.” I tear a slice of pizza into crusty confetti.
“And guys in your line of work aren’t known for staying faithful.”
“I ain’t gonna lie. You know I’ve had my fair share of . . .”
Ass.
“Fair share of girls,” I amend. “But I promise you I always let one go before I grabbed another.”
“You’re not helping your case,” she says wryly.
She’s probably right. I should move on.
“What changed your mind?” I ask.
She shrugs, picking pepperoni from her side of the pizza and chewing it slowly.
“I think seeing you with Qwest was a big part of it.” Her lashes shield her eyes from me. “And Rhys calling me a coward.”
“He knew about this?” I’m stunned for a moment. He wouldn’t have let me suffer for years this way.
“Only a few days ago. He confronted me about it when things started falling apart between you and me. When I wasn’t with you for the release, he kept digging until he figured out what I felt.”
That’s my boy! I owe him something overpriced or inebriating.
“I still have reservations.” She draws her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. “We’ve only been together once, and I already feel like it would be impossible to walk away.”
Her admission is a huge step, one I relish, but I think she’s looking at this all wrong.
“Bristol, having the capacity to love that way, as fiercely as you do, is not in and of itself a weakness.”
She doesn’t reply, but that curiosity that first drew me to her sparks behind her eyes.
“My mom has it.” I chuckle and shift to lie on my side, propped up on my elbow. “I think every strength has a dark side, can be a weakness. She’s learned to manage hers.”
I think of how hard it will be for Ma to accept my relationship with Bristol because of her desire to see me with a black woman. Or Hispanic. She did say brown was a color.
“Well she’s learned to manage most of her weaknesses.” I shake my head. “There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for me. She always said sacrifice is the essence of love. It was the same for her sisters and her brothers, but I saw her draw lines, set limits as she got older and more mature. She didn’t take shit from anybody, especially if it affected me.”
I lift up to lay a soft kiss on her lips, and she opens up, tangling her tongue with mine for a few seconds before I pull back.
“And you won’t take shit, either, not even from me.” I cup one side of her face. “Not that you have to worry.”
I rest my forehead against hers.
“Bris, you have to know how crazy I am about you.”
The lingering uncertainty in her eyes tells me, as much as I’ve chased her, showing all my cards for years, she doesn’t really know. She doesn’t know it’s her and no one else. And who can blame her with my dick waving like the state flag for the last few years?
“The thing you think is your greatest weakness,” I assure her. “Is your greatest strength. That capacity to love, everyone doesn’t have it. That grit to fight for the people who mean the most to you, it’s priceless.”
“You think so?” she asks softly, not looking away from my face.
“I know so, and I feel honored that I have one of those spots in your heart.” I lay a palm against her neck. “I promise I won’t abuse it. You can trust me.”
She closes the space separating us, taking my chin between her lips, meandering over my jaw and finally touching my mouth with hers.
“You know what I want?” Her question lands on my lips in a husky breath.
“Yeah. Me, too.”
I sit up, reaching for her, my dick solid as a rock, but I come up with thin air. She’s on her feet and walking toward the kitchen.
“Ice cream.” Over her shoulder her eyes tease and torture, but I know she needed to change the conversation. So, I let her.
The sweatshirt hits the top of her thighs, and the occasional glimpse of her ass in the white b
oy short underwear isn’t helping my erection. I follow her to the kitchen like she knew I would. When I swing open the kitchen door, she’s bent over, her upper body buried in the freezer, the sweatshirt hiked up to show off the firm lines of her thighs and curves of her butt.
“I know I have ice cream in here somewhere.” She shifts frozen meat and vegetables until she finds what she’s looking for. “Aha!”
She turns to face me, bumping the freezer door closed with a hip.
“Found it.” She shakes a quart of Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice cream. “This is my fave, not that I can afford it.”
I inspect the lean grace of her body, punctuated by subtle curves. There’s so much more to Bristol than her body, but it’s a really great place to start.
She hops up onto the kitchen island, swinging her legs and banging bare feet against the base.
“Want some?” She proffers a large spoon loaded with ice cream to me.
I definitely want some. I stalk over to her, insinuating myself between her knees and leaning forward, my mouth open and waiting. I can tell the moment she realizes it isn’t ice cream I really want. Her eyes go smoky and her pink tongue swipes over the fullness of her lips. She takes the large spoonful into her mouth instead. I lean into her, my palms pressed into the island surface and my arms bracketing her slim body. She brushes our noses together once, twice before opening my lips in a frozen kiss that shivers through my whole body. Her icy tongue plumbs the recesses of my mouth, brushing the back of my throat in chilly strokes. She cups my chin and holds me still to control the tempo of our tongues twisting together. When we finally pull away, harsh, frosted breaths gust the air between our lips.
She slides off the counter and maneuvers me slowly until my back is against the island. Without ever looking away, she scoops another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth and drops to her knees. She holds the ice cream in her mouth while she deftly unzips the jeans hanging low on my hips, already unbuttoned at the waist. The pants drop and collect around my ankles.
Please let this be happening.
She touches my hips under the briefs, coaxing the underwear down my legs, too. With no preliminary, she stretches her mouth to take my dick between her lips, rolling her cold tongue around the throbbing head.