His head tilts ever so slightly.
“I see…”
We share an awkward glance before I think I detect a hint of a sly smile tugging at his lips.
“Whatever you decide, I’m always at your service to assist everyone in this household.”
Shit, I knew I was hoping for too much, getting a human response from him.
Though the fact that he raises no ‘concern?’
It’s basically his approval.
“You’re excused,” I tell him, turning away to push my chair in.
Tobin stops with my door open, looking back, and then says, “On a purely personal note, I believe Miss Sellers compliments you rather nicely. Please let me know when you’d like dinner tonight.”
With that, he’s gone, and I feel my jaw dragging on the floor at the fact that Tobin—stuffy, cautious, stick-up-his-ass Tobin—actually might approve of Grace.
Okay, now I have to get moving.
It’s not just a workable plan to snare Clay and his merry band of fucksticks I need.
I’ll need a plan for the epilogue, too, after we take down this prick.
What does it look like if I’m not just living alone, living for myself, and suffering?
What the fuck happens if I ask my fake fiancée to stay when our troubles are through?
19
No Waking Up (Grace)
There are times when I wonder if I’m dreaming.
Life can’t be this good.
I’m afraid to pinch myself because I might wake up, and then where will I be?
Not here.
Not in this beautiful house, spending every night in the arms of a dark beast who takes me to bed some nights with all the fervor of a flipping sex god, and others, makes love to me slowly, tenderly.
Just like I’m as fragile and delicate as blown glass.
I love it all.
Especially the anticipation, the buildup, wondering which way he’ll take me every time he leads me to his bedroom. But I think the mornings might be my new favorite.
Like this one, where I’m draped across his naked slab of a body, legs open, one breast in his hand as he plunges into me. His other hand grips my ass, delivering a demanding pinch that reminds me to keep the pace he’s set.
“Harder, sweetheart,” he growls into my ear. “Reverse cowgirl means you shake that ass for me. Let me hear you sing.”
Holy hell.
My body obeys as his thrusts quicken. The dawn’s golden light spills in through the blinds, adding this sparkly beauty to every movement: his rough hands roaming my body, his muscular legs sprawled out beneath mine, his cock rending me in two every time I look down.
With a low, guttural sound, he raises me up with his hips, every punishing stroke equally divine and devilish. Just like how I fall back into him, into his friction, into how effing good it is to be filled by this man.
My core vibrates with a fireball threatening to engulf me. I flop back against his wall of a body, his hips still power crashing into mine.
A loud moan slips out of my throat and I whimper.
“Ridge!”
“Not yet, a little longer,” he whispers in my ear, his voice hot with lust as his dick strokes deeper. “We’re gonna come together this time, woman.”
He’s insane.
I don’t think I can take another minute of this, and his stamina is legend.
I try, though, biting back my screams, working my hips harder against his frantic tempo. I swing down on his shaft in perfect sync, the friction on my clit killing me, the throaty growls and soft curses spilling out of him each time he crashes into me again.
“Ridge.” His name sighs out of me again, my legs quaking.
I swear to God, if he asks me again, I can’t. I can’t hold on.
Not when he’s got me on the edge, each thrust a ruthless threat to push me over.
“Ridge!” My jaw clenches.
“Now, darlin’!” he grunts, primal excitement in his voice, all loving thunder breaking the sky. “Let it fucking go for me—I’m coming.”
Oh, do we ever.
My O hits like an angry wave as he buries himself in my depths and explodes.
If I can’t actually feel the heat of his release even through the condom, then I definitely feel it in his body flexing, convulsing, growling. Ridge hugs me against him with his hand against my throat and just the right pressure to add sweet insanity to my finish.
Toes tangled in the sheets, I glide down on his pulsing cock, screaming so loud it puts Cornelius to shame.
We fold into each other, lost in our release, two heaving bodies slick with sweat and drunk on passion.
And when I’m finally coming down, a boneless heap on his body, his hand sweeps my thigh, caressing me so dearly. His lips graze my neck from behind with a wicked nip of teeth.
Soon, I find the energy to tilt my head, where he meets me halfway, bringing his raider lips home.
Good morning to you, too.
This is life waking up under his roof. I reach up to run my hand over his coarse jaw, hoping it’s the only waking I’ll ever do.