by S. E. Hall
I can’t argue with everything she said, most of it spot-on, and with which I agree. And I’d smile even if I disagreed with every single word, because more so than what she’s saying, is the refreshing surprise that she is… saying something real. I love that she’s intelligent, passionate, and not afraid to show me both. But… “I can’t change the whole country’s problems or mindset, Gracelyn, and I’m certainly not going to refuse the salary I was offered, even though I agree it is a ludicrous amount of money. All I can do is use it to give back, pay it forward.”
“You’re right; you can, and should.”
“I know, and do.”
“Oh yeah?” She juts out her chin, squaring her stance and shoulders. Precious. “How? And how often?”
Another chuckle I can’t capture escapes; she’s turning out to be even more fascinating than I thought, such a bold little thing. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if she asks me to get my manager on the phone to verify what I say next — and I’ll be glad to do so. And it won’t be to impress her. It will be to prove I’m not a liar — ever — and I won’t leave any room for her to doubt that. “Well, let’s see.” I rub the back of my neck, suddenly a bit shy. “I had a rec center built downtown not too long ago to make sure the inner-city kids would have a safe place. One where they can always go, any time, for whatever they need; escape from something bad going down at home, a place to sleep, knowing they’ll wake up in the morning, a meal, or, just a better choice than… others too available to them. Instead of getting caught up in something they know better than, don’t really want to do, they can go to the center; learn how to play a sport, learn a certain skill or trade, or take their pick from lots of activities that might give them a purpose, passion, or direction besides trouble. I take care of its funding, but the whole team takes care of the women and children’s shelter. Every single player, in rotation, takes their month to pay for supplies, labor, clothes, food, and takes their ass down there to do, paint, fix whatever needs done. Plus-”
“Catch me.” She launches herself at me, and I easily, readily, obey, lifting her up by the hips to hold her snug against me. “Altruism is super sexy.” She lets out a little puff then gives me those sweet lips of hers.
Fuck yes; for this, I’ll sponsor a whole damn planet.
When Gracelyn Bolton sets out to kiss a man, she kisses the hell out of that man. She’s got her legs are wrapped around my waist, and tiny fingers clawing at my hair, as our mouths, tongues, and equally eager hands get to know each other. Well. And the longer we kiss, the more she squirms, like she’s trying to climb me, every wiggle against my cock tempting me to take her right here and now.
I’ve fucked in bathroom stalls, the dark corner of a club, more than a few locker rooms that reeked of sweaty balls, and plenty of backseats, but for reasons I’d probably never understand, should I try to, I want things with Gracelyn to be… intimate? Yeah, that’s the right word… I just can’t believe that’s the right word. I don’t do intimate.
Then again, I don’t normally do this much thinking either, especially when I absolutely don’t have to — any need to “chat her up,” or come up with a clever “line” eliminated when she jumped me, her round, ripe, perfect ass already in my hands. Maybe it’s the chase that’s got my brain scrambled, working overtime. Gracelyn didn’t serve herself up on a puck-bunny platter; well, not until a few minutes ago anyway. Instead, I had to hunt her down, and I do like a good hunt. Or it could be the unique way we met — can’t say I’ve ever stopped, playing a conference game, to play a sexy, impromptu game of charades before. Never sent a note to a fan, or received one back, before either.
And now that I’ve gotten a few clues, or preciously pissy lectures, whichever, of who Gracelyn Bolton is, and what she’s about, it’s only drawing me in more. No woman has ever so much as flinched, let alone complained that I have too much money. And campaigning for me to give it away. Yeah, no… never been a thing. And although Gracelyn’s the first woman I’ve ever brought to my house, I’m pretty confident she’s also the only one who’d insinuate it’s ostentatious.
But… the cynical side of me can still be heard, faintly, over the fascinated one, and begs the question… is she faking her criticism so she will seem different?
Hmmm.
I force myself to release her mouth and lean back, catching her eyes. “How about we take this inside?” My nostrils flare as my breaths deepen, the sight of her — swollen, pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and long hair the color of sunset, a beautiful mess from my hands — quite possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.
But what hits me hardest, in places other than my dick, is the wild passion blazing in her eyes.
That, she’s not faking.
She wants me.
Me.
Brewer Hayes, the man, the person. Not the captain of an NHL team; she looked miserably cold and clueless at both games. Not in public, where everyone can see her on my arm; she ran from me, out of the public and into hiding, twice. And not after, or because, I spent piles of cash on her; hell, I didn’t even buy her dinner; she declined.
My previous flash of skepticism is gone — Gracelyn Bolton is the real deal, her motives null, her intentions clear — all she wants is me. In the privacy of my home… that really doesn’t impress her.
She bobs her head wildly, making sure her very enthusiastic ‘yes,’ is clear, too out-of-breath for a verbal response. My grin stretches wide as I walk us to the door; for the obvious, obviously, but not solely — it feels damn good to be wanted at face value. Shifting her in my arms, I dig my keys out of my pocket, and she stops running her tongue along my neck long enough to razz me some more. “What’s this, no butler to let us in? What about Alexa? Surely she’s streaming through your whole h-, mansion; just yell at her to unlock the door.”
“Only woman in this house is you,” I growl, swatting her ass.
No sooner than I get us inside, by using a key, all by myself, she wriggles to be put down. And the high I was on starts to fade faster than it’d risen. Here we go… now she’ll want to see everything… be given the “grand tour,” gasping and fawning her way through the house that no longer disappoints her.
With a hefty sigh of my own disappointment, I can’t remember the last time I wanted something as badly as I wanted Gracelyn to be special, I toss my keys on the counter and take her by the hand. Guess I’ll start by showing her the backyard; the main reason I bought this place. Back there waits a giant pool, complete with a rock waterfall, hidden coves, and a hot tub. Throw in the kickass landscaping, hammock, cabana gazebo thing, and an amazing view that always helps me escape, any time I actually have time to come back here, and… okay, so maybe I won’t hold it against her if she ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ over the backyard. Other than on the ice, it’s my favorite place to be, so it’d be pretty hypocritical of me to fault her for being struck by it too.
But again, and realizing such keeps getting better and better every time, my pessimism’s nothing but another bout of wasted time, and the hunch I’ve had since first laying eyes on her proves its validity once more. We haven’t moved. Her hand in mine, she’s not tugging on it, in a hurry to inventory my possessions. In fact, I’m now positive, she wouldn’t notice, or care, if every wall in here was painted neon green and there were flashing disco balls dangling from the ceiling. Because she’s not looking at my house. No, those same big brown eyes that shared my attention in a crowd of hundreds are trained solely on me.
It’s settled, staying settled, and kick-fucking-ass — I’m right about her.
Gracelyn Bolton is indeed something, someone, special. More than worth spending the time to explore and get to know… inside and out.
Still silent, just drinking her in, while wrapping up my unusual, annoying barrage of thoughts, I literally watch as the battle between her own misgivings and desires plays out. First, a heavy gulp bobs in her throat, and uncertainty flickers in her eyes — tell-tales of slowly creeping doubts — but
Gracelyn’s got spunk, so desire wins — her hesitance only exposed for a split-second before she recovers. Her pink, plush lips start curling at the corners, in unmistakable invitation, and her gaze falls to half-lidded, and beyond certain. “Brewer?” She purrs it slow. “What now?”
“Come here, Gracelyn,” I growl, emphasizing with a gentle tug on her hand.
“I am here,” she giggles nervously, “and you really can call me ‘Gracie.’”
“I like Gracelyn; and if you were here enough, I wouldn’t have mentioned it. I want you closer, right here,” I point to my chest, “now.”
Well, well… she liked that; the assertiveness in my deep voice, telling me so with her tiny gasp and the freshly-stoked fire in her now widened eyes. But, that spunk of hers refuses to give up easily. “And I, want you, to try calling me ‘Gracie;’ at least half the time. Not gonna lie, can’t wait to hear how you make it sound. Deal?”
“Deal,” I grunt, not used to being told no, which is exactly what just happened, no matter how sweetly she spun it.
“Great. Then I agree to the rest of your bossy terms.” She smiles, and takes the step needed for our bodies to be touching.
“Good thing; arms up,” I order, my dick swelling as she instantly, instinctually, obeys. Eyes fixed on hers, I pull her shirt up and off, tossing it aside, and dip my head to get that first taste of her, memorizing every curve, sensation, and flavor, as the first time can never be replicated. Her neck, trembling shoulders, and firm, ample cleavage, are all mind blowing, and I lose grip on my pace, yanking her bra off, then dragging myself away from my sampling to have a good look. She’s gorgeous. Fucking flawless. Ivory skin tinged with a slight blush, big, natural tits topped-off with small, rosy nipples, a toned stomach, and the most beautiful part of all… an understated innocence lingering just beneath her wicked allure… that’s driving me to the best brink of insanity.
She softly whimpers, and a shiver wracks her whole body as she waits out my perusal. “Cold?” I tease, diving in once more to kiss my way lower down her body before she can respond.
At first, she jolts from the sensation, but quickly, relaxes into it. “Ohhh,” she mewls as I learn her chest, hands filled to perfection with her perky rack, giving both budded nipples equal attention from my mouth. “Brewer,” she begs my name in the sexiest damn rasp I’ve ever heard, and I answer, sucking harder, licking faster, until her hands leave my hair and the unmistakable peel of a zipper echoes throughout the room.
Yep, hit that brink of insanity, and went sailing right the fuck over the side, has to be it, because… I stop her. Breaking suction on my mouthful of tit, I snag her eager hands and growl, “Look at me.” Her eyes travel slowly up to mine, lazy lidded and glazed with delirium. “Never had to chase. Try. Never been stopped dead in my tracks, struck stupid. Never brought anyone home, and never wanted to take my time. You get what I’m saying to you?”
She only nods, but somehow, I heard what more she said and she told me she feels that exact same way.
“Then you know why I stopped you, why I will be going first, uncovering you inch by inch, slowly, at my pace. Not about to be robbed of a single second with you. So, when I let go of your hands, they better not touch any clothing; mine or your own. You hearing me, babe?” Her scowled pout is sexy and adorable at the same time, but won’t get her what she’s after — me to change my mind. “Not kidding, Gracie.” I use the name she asked me to, testing it on my tongue and finding it just as fittingly beautiful. “Not even a little bit.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. Just… hurry.” Her panted impatience touches my ego briefly, but shoots, and stays, with my cock. And yet….
“Nope, that’s not happening either, beautiful.” I wink, keen to the fact she likes it when I do, and release her hands, sliding my own to the waistband of her jeans. Inching the denim down bit by bit, I follow the same path until I’m on my knees, and forget everything I just said — rushing through this part — her shoes, socks, and jeans flung… who the hell cares where, tiny lace thong ripped clean off with one anxious yank. “Damn.” Is all I can think, exhale.
Gracelyn, “Gracie,” Bolton is a fucking knockout — a one shot TKO — yes, T, because there’s no way I’m fit to further fight a damn thing. She already had me backed against the ropes, but naked? Naked, Gracie’s, almost not to be believed, her body built as if to the exact specifications, guaranteed to drive a man, this man, out-of-his-mind. “Hot damn,” I rumble, further showing the depth of my appreciation with my wandering hands, “you’re… you’re goddamn glorious, baby girl.” And is she ever — delicately feminine in all the right places, small in state, a perfect fit with my large shadow, little nose, wrists, gasps, balancing out my beast. Curvy, womanly in others, sleek, yet supple, breasts, hips, and ass. Exactly what I like, where I like it, as if crafted by my dreams’ guide.
On my knees, face less than inches from the secret spot between her thighs, her body assures me of the truth — she’s ready. For anything, everything, I give her. Swollen, glistening wet, the heady essence of desire… my control snaps.
My warning is a rumbled promise, “Grab something.” That she heeds, her shaky hands finding grip in my hair as I hoist her legs over my shoulder. And without further notice, hesitation, or permission, both hands are spreading her open, giving myself full access to inhale a deep dose of her aroma before lazily dragging my tongue from her drenched core to throbbing clit.
“B, Br, uhhh, Brewer…” Her body curls toward me, arching, like the pitch of her long, incoherent moan, for my touch.
“Ask me, Gracie. Ask me for what you want,” I growl, warm and heavy on her sensitive flesh.
“M, more… please.”
“More what?” Easing one, then two, fingers inside her, I groan my torture — she’s so snug around my fingers, the thought of how damn tight she’ll wrap up my cock has me rock-hard and fuck hungry. “You want me to eat more of this sweet little pussy? Eat you until you come? Get you nice and slick, ready to take me, or do you need me inside you now? Maybe you want to sting from the stretch of my cock? You have to tell me, baby.”
“Uh huh, yes, that.” I chuckle at her breathless, senseless, precious reply, withdrawing my fingers out of her heaven and lowering her leg to stand.
“Open.” Her eyes bulge in stunned comprehension as that pretty mouth pants and she sucks on my offered fingers. “Fuck yes, Gracie,” rolls off my tongue in depravity, my eyes locked on the dance between her mouth and my digits. “You taste yourself, your sugar?”
Embarrassment blooms hot on her cheeks, and she nods once, fast, then uses the tip of her tongue to push my finger out.
“Um,” she crinkles her button nose and diverts her eyes, “where, exactly is that you buy your sugar? ‘Cause mine down-”
Oh shit…head thrown back, I laugh loud and hard, until I feel years younger, finally reeling it in to simply stare at her in complete awe. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
“Not that again, I hope.”
This laugh’s lighter, but no less fascinated as I cup her cheek. “I heard somewhere that women don’t generally like being called ‘precious,’ ‘adorable,’ or things like that, but I’m going to need you to deal, see it for the compliment it is, because, well, you’re the cutest damn thing in the world. No better way to say it.”
“Not sure who those women are, or what they were smokin’, but this girl’s a pretty smart cookie, and ‘cute’ is a compliment. ‘Precious’ is even better. Feel free to fire either or at will.”
“Will do… precious girl.”
More so with every minute spent together, I’m gradually peeling back the layers of Gracelyn Bolton, finding my way to the intricate center. She’s shy but fierce. A dreamer, with both feet on the ground. She doesn’t bat an eye at clearly expressing her opinion on certain subjects, yet couldn’t care less to examine those you’d guess she would. And the suspicion I’m most excited to confirm — that beneath her “ladylike” exterior lies an infer
no; a vixen I can’t wait to meet, expose, and explore.
I can’t wait another second to test my theory. Taking her hand in my free one, I guide it down, and together, we rub the aching erection trapped inside my jeans. She hums, squirming in what looks a lot like anticipation, but I make sure. “What now, Gracie?”
“You know.” She tries to dip her head, refused by my hand on her cheeks.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have asked, and if I assume, I’m an ass, so, tell me, beautiful.”
“Brewer…” she hedges once more, her cheeks pinkening more with every shallow breath.
I slowly shake my head, then toss her a wink. “Just you and me here, Gracelyn; no one will hear you. But I, I want to hear you. Say it.”
“For your conscience or your ego?”
I wait to respond until my lips are teasing her ear. “Both.”
The loss of eye contact must embolden her, because she tilts her head into my touch and breathes out a reply that’s nothing short of exactly what I’ve quickly come to expect from her. “Thought I’d made myself pretty clear before, but if hearing it again really gets your motor running, all the better for me, right?” She clears her throat and finds a new, low tone that speaks straight to my cock. “I want you to fuck me, Brewer Hayes. I want you to fuck me all night long.”
“Up the stairs, third door on the left. I’m gonna stay right here and watch your fine, bare ass walk away to my bed, but I won’t be far behind you. And when I catch up, I wanna to see you sprawled out on that bed, with your legs spread as far apart as they’ll go. Will you do that for me, Gracie?”
She bobs her head, ducks past me, and takes off... and though I’ve never cared to notice before — when it comes to Gracelyn, wouldn’t dare miss it — I watch with rapt interest, precisely how both ripe, round ass cheeks rise and fall with every step taken.