Well I guess I can’t be mad anymore.
My heart is lodged in my throat and it’s so happy, it’s ticking like a speeding clock. He loves me. Grant loves me. There’s so much that needs explaining, but having his love overflows my cup and I find myself nodding, a smile stretching my mouth. “Yes.”
He exhales in a rush.
And then his eyes cloud with lust. A lot like the kind I’m experiencing.
I’m naked on the seat, nothing but a flap of plaid covering my sex, and when Grant’s mouth falls to my breasts, I can do nothing but thread my fingers through his hair, holding him there while he sucks my nipples greedily, his cheeks hollowing with the effort. His ministrations are enough to make me climax, but before the tide rises, his mouth trails lower and attacks my womanhood. There’s no other term for it. He closes his lips around the entire sensitized area and twists his face, kissing my private flesh the way he’d kiss my mouth.
“Ohhh,” I moan at the new sensation. “That feels s-so good.”
Grant’s hands slide under my bottom and grip my cheeks, lifting my lower body up toward his ravaging mouth. He feasts on me like someone eats a lengthwise slice of watermelon and my thighs fall helplessly open to receive his treatment. My usually stoic and exacting stepbrother licks me in a way that is uncharacteristically messy, growling as he drags his tongue up and down, seesawing it between my folds, before targeting my clitoris. He squeezes my backside in a bruising manner, using his hold to ride me up and down his flickering tongue. Up, down, up, down. Sidetosidetosidetoside. I claw at the door, the seat, my hair. It’s a divine torture I’m being subjected to and the orgasm slams into me so fast, my back is propelled off the seat with the force of my scream.
“Grant!”
I’ve been shot into another level of existence, my flesh quickening and trembling with the intensity of my peak. While I whimper and sob, twisting on the seat, Grant continues to lap at me, kissing up the moisture coating my upper thighs and sex. He massages my bottom rhythmically, groaning at my taste and pumping his lap against the seat. Looking down at his beloved head, I have the feeling nothing is ever going to be the same again.
I have no idea how right I am.
When Grant carries my limp body, wrapped in his jacket, into the penthouse ten minutes later, I find out nothing has been what it seems.
CHAPTER FIVE
When Grant carries me into the penthouse, the place is in utter shambles.
Artwork has been torn off the walls, fist-sized holes punched clear through the middle. Furniture is upended, mirrors are shattered and glass shards lie in piles everywhere.
“Who did this?” I say in alarm, my hand curling in his shirt. “Were we robbed?”
“No, princess,” Grant responds, jaw popping. “I was home when security called to report you missing. This is my handiwork.”
“Oh.” I lay my head on his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Possessions can be replaced. You can’t.”
Warmth settles in my middle and I smile into his neck, getting a low grunt in response.
I’ve never been invited inside Grant’s bedroom before, so when he casually carries me in that direction, I perk up with excitement. I bet it’s super monotone, with lots of dark, manly colors and a work station. Maybe a pullup bar and an exercise area, too, since he’s in wicked amazing shape. Not that he’s ever taken his clothes off in front of me, but his corded forearms and tight buns suggest he manages to squeeze in gym time on the regular.
Wait a minute. Am I going to see him with his clothes off now?
I glance up at his face, but he gives away nothing. Although…do I detect the ghost of a smile? Yes, I think I do.
I’m prepared for an expensive yet tasteful man-dwelling when Grant kicks open the door to his bedroom—and that’s what I get. Mostly. What I never expected was for the walls to be covered in paintings. Of me. I’ve been painted while studying, while leaning over the railing of the balcony, smiling impishly at Grant as we play a game of chess. My mind is playing catch up, trying to absorb what I’m seeing, when the largest painting of all draws my attention. There is a fireplace straight ahead and above it, a painting stretches all the way to the vaulted ceiling. In it, I’m lying in a bed, sheets twisted strategically around my body to cover my private parts. Just barely. My blonde hair fans out around me, my eyes beckoning whoever looks at the painting closer.
“In a way, I guess you could say we’ve been falling asleep together every night.” Grant sets me down gently on his huge king bed, easing the coat off and once again leaving me in nothing but my short, plaid skirt and socks. “Now I’ll get to hold you for real.” He laughs quietly, averting his gaze. “Provided you’re not scared of me after I finish explaining everything.”