Weekend Wife (Sassy in the City 1)

“I wouldn’t hate that,” she said.

Chapter 8

So obviously, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to come over to Grant’s. Or rather, what was getting into me.

But Grant was so different from the other men I had been with and in the best way possible. He purposely dropped lines he knew would catch me off guard. I wondered if we were together, together, in the way that Savannah had thought I was saying, how far he would go with the alpha aggression.

Way further than now, because there would be trust.

And I would love it.

But we wouldn’t be together, together, so I was just going to enjoy every minute he was touching me.

Right then he was stroking me to full and complete arousal while kissing me like we were on a plane that was going down. Desperate. Passionate. With everything. I’d never been kissed the way Grant did. It was all his usual control shattered when our lips touched and he unleashed the darkest most reckless parts of himself onto me.

Our passion was like wildfire. It sparked, grew, then ran wild across the landscape, leaving everything in its path searing hot.

It was overwhelming in the best way poss

ible. I gripped his shoulders and spread my knees further as he nudged between my legs, into my space. My feet went slack and my slippers dropped to the floor from gravity.

“Lie down,” he said, pulling his hand out of my leggings, leaving me aching with desire.

“What?” I couldn’t even picture how that would work. But I obeyed and instantly regretted it. “Yikes, that’s cold.” Even though my skin was flushed with desire, it was a brutal shock.

I was about to shoot back off but Grant was yanking my legging off. Before I could even process what was happening, he had me off the cold stone and in his arms. I grabbed his biceps, needing somewhere to hold on. Grant turned us both and pushed me against the nearest wall. Wanting to feel his skin on mine, I yanked up the bottom of his T-shirt.

With a skill reminiscent of Houdini, he had a condom out of his pocket, his pants down, and all that gorgeous hot cock covered in latex. It was a thing of wonder and delight. Both the movement and his cock. In the ten days since we’d had sex, I’d convinced myself I had exaggerated the length. The girth. The skill.

That after my Halloween debacle of the year before, I’d been so hungry to believe in the existence of good sex, I had turned Grant into a savant when maybe he wasn’t.

All of that was wrong.

I hadn’t exaggerated a damn thing and he was a savant.

He was a sexual unicorn in my world.

Something I had always hoped existed but had thought was most likely a fantasy.

He might not sparkle but he fucked like a rock star.

I was holding on, head thrown back, making sounds I hadn’t even known I was capable of, as he held me like I weighed nothing and thrust up inside me. Grant kissed me again, and the warm wet tease of his tongue over mine mimicked the deep slide of his cock into me. My orgasm showed up without warning and for a split second I couldn’t breathe. Or think. Or move.

I just locked eyes with Grant and felt the most intense pleasure I’d experienced in years. Maybe ever.

It was deep and powerful and desperate.

Grant’s grip on my ass was firm, and after I murmured, “Oh, God,” my orgasm finally fading, he yanked me up higher.

I had been slipping and hadn’t realized it.

“You feel so fucking amazing,” he said.

I was starting to wonder if it was an “us” thing because for a man who had most likely been around the block a few, or ten thousand times, was either by nature over-the-top complimentary (doubtful) or we had chemistry.

Just good old-fashioned, no-explanation-for-it, sexual chemistry.

Grant came with a low growl, his forehead pressed against mine.