“When I saw the book and the whistle on your bed, I didn’t know what to think. Even though I knew the connection between us was undeniable, the last few weeks had me questioning everything I believed was possible for us.”
“I’m sorry.” I swallow my uncertainty and force myself to tell him things I’ve kept for years. “When it first came in the mail, I wanted to burn that book. I was furious with you over Tessa. I didn’t want it to mean anything to me.”
Despite his hand caressing my hip, I sense a stillness in him behind me, an alertness that tells me he’s listening with every part of him.
“But even after I told myself I would put that week behind me, put you behind me,” I continue. “I found myself reading it at night.”
“Yeah?” He pushes my hair aside and traces the downy line of my nape with a finger. “Why?”
I shrug, reaching for the ease we shared yesterday at my house. In my shower. In my bed. Sex has always been much easier than intimacy, but with Grip they’re inextricable. One giving rise to the other. One and the same. Sex with other men never meant much to me, but taking Grip inside my body shook me, rearranged me. Sharing the thoughts I’ve kept private for so long, I feel just as naked as I did in the shower when he commanded me to open myself for him. I feel more exposed.
“I kept going back to the book, reading your notes in the margins and searching between the lines for what it could tell me about you,” I say. “When I moved to LA after college, the memories and emotions from that week all came back, and I had to freeze you out or I knew I’d give in to the pressure you put on me.”
“You acted like we’d never been anything to each other,” he says softly. “And despite my part in screwing things up, it pissed me off.”
“Oh, so was that hate fucking you did with all those other women?”
I turn onto my back to look into his eyes, the lighthearted note in my voice forced. There’s more than a granule of truth in most jokes, and this one is no exception. It’s levity with talons, and I take the chance to dig in, even if it isn’t entirely fair.
There’s regret, but no apology in his eyes. “Nope. Just plain old fucking fucking.”
He props up on one elbow and splays his hand possessively over my stomach.
“At first, I told myself I would win you back. I would remind you of how it had been between us, but you wouldn’t budge. After a year or so, I promised myself I wouldn’t give up on you, but I also assumed we’d circle back to each other when the time was right. In the meantime . . .”
“I get it.” I rub the soft heather-colored comforter pulled around us. “It wasn’t cheating, but it still felt like a betrayal.”
I hastily glance up at him, spreading my fingers over the hand resting on me.
“I know that isn’t fair, but it’s how I felt.”
“You felt that way because even though we weren’t together,” he says, caressing my collarbone. “We were supposed to be. Inside you knew us being apart wasn’t right. Me with them wasn’t right, and you with anybody other than me sure as hell wasn’t right.”
His chuckle loosens some of my tightly wound places. He settles his eyes, still slightly sleep-glazed and growing more solemn, on me.
“I don’t want to rehash everything.” He cups the side of my face. “We’ve wasted too much time. I want us moving forward from now on.”
“Starting today.” He drops a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ve got a surprise.”
“A surprise?” I trail fingers over the carved strength of his shoulders and down the hard biceps.
He shifts until he’s over me, notching his hips between my thighs. With both of us naked, we’re one deep breath away from penetration. His lips wander down my neck and to my breast. He takes his time with each nipple. The suction of his mouth, thorough and voracious, stirs desire low in my belly.
“We are not having sex.” I moan, wetness pooling between my legs and my hips circling beneath him, seeking friction. “I can barely walk.”
He releases my breast with a pop, his smile triumphant. “What’d I tell you?”
“Like your other head isn’t big enough, you had to go and have a big dick.” Our laughter shakes us under the covers.
“If you’re not giving up that ass,” he says, the smile lingering. “Get dressed so we can go. I don’t want to be late.”
“Go where? Late for what?”
“Pretty sure I said surprise, and last time I checked, you don’t know about those before they happen.”
The thought of leaving the loft freaks me out a little for more reasons than one, but I’ll start with one.
“Grip, as far as the world is concerned,” I say carefully. “Qwest is still #GripzQueen. I don’t want to embarrass her, or for people to assume we’ve done something wrong.”