Easily, he secures me. His large, warm hands cradle my back as he draws me in until I’m flush with his chest. “You’re not used to others taking action for you, are you?”
“I’m not.” A shaky breath rattles my chest, and I have to look away to refill my lungs.
And perhaps it’s wrong, but a tinge of bitterness bites at my ribs when I see a face—one of another man who should have fought hardest of all. A quarter of Grant’s determination might have been enough. And even though Grant is holding me, it’s impossible to stop the nagging ideas blaring through my head the longer I stand here and marinate on the past.
I almost want to cry, or scoff. I’m not too sure.
He would still be here if he’d done something—listened—fought—anything.
Why didn’t he fucking fight?The memories flooding from our conversation sends a searing hot pain to the base of my stomach. I bow over, pressing more of my weight onto Grant.
I register Grant’s fingers gently stroking through the hair at the crown of my head. “Is this a moment you want to forget?”
“I think so.” My eyes flutter to a close as his head dips and full lips brush my ear. Just the small connection is already driving the hurt, anger, and resentment away. My body sags against him.
A cool breath hits my earlobe as he sucks it between his teeth. “Moment granted … again,” he purrs. “For as many times as you need.”
I moan, tilting my head to the side, allowing him whatever access he wants. He flicks the lobe with his tongue, and his name spilling from my throat feels positively primal. The heaviness growing between my thighs signals that if he doesn’t stop soon, I’ll be cursing the fact we must go to work. There are several meetings lined up for today as well, so skipping isn’t an option.
But all I want is this, and with him becoming easier to be around, I keep asking myself … how long?
How long before I tell him everything about me?