Grip Trilogy Box Set

“Of course.” Grip’s powerful shoulders lift and fall carelessly. “They have a lot in common.”

“Really?”

“They both have this badass sensibility. I knew Jade’s lyrics would feel right to Qwest. They’ve both overcome a lot, lived through a lot of the same things.”

Things I have no idea about, things they can easily bond around when I basically have to negotiate a treaty just to have a conversation with Jade.

“You admire her.” It’s a statement, because it’s obvious he does. “Qwest, I mean. You admire her.”

“I respect her, yeah,” Grip says. “I mean, hip-hop’s a male-dominated industry where most of us call women bitch and ho without blinking, and she shoved her way to the top. Her drive and talent and intelligence have made her one of the biggest names in the business, and she takes no shit from nobody.”

Grip watches me carefully, probably catching on to the fact that this means more to me than it should.

“Does it bother you that I respect Qwest?”

I could just say yes, but it’s not that simple. I, too, admire everything Grip just described about her. I relate to it because in many ways, those are the challenges I face in my career, too. Those aren’t the things that bother me, and I have to be honest with him and with myself about what does.

“It doesn’t bother me that you respect Qwest. I think it bothers me that you fucked her.”

He doesn’t even flinch, and I wonder if I can still shock Grip, or if he knows me so well he anticipates my thoughts, reads them in the air over my head before they make it to my mouth.

“And I hate every son of a bitch you ever fucked,” he says, his voice remaining steady though his eyes darken. “But I can’t change your sexual history, just like you can’t change mine. We can only worry about the future.”

His hand slips between our bodies, between my legs, to cup me, his wide palm hot as a brand through the thin linen of my shorts.

“And this,” he says, pressing into my pussy, “is the sum total of my sexual future.”

“Are you using my body against me?” I ask, my voice sandpapered by lust.

“I will use whatever is at my disposal to keep you with me forever.”

“And you think my pussy is at your disposal?”

Grip slides one finger over my clit through my clothes.

“You think it’s not?” He grabs my uninjured hand and presses it to his crotch. “Because this is completely at your disposal as much as you want, any time you want it, and any way you want to use it.”

He links his fingers with mine, careful of the cut on my pinky, and settles our twined hands over his heart.

“And this is yours, too, Bristol, all the time, whether you want it or not.”

My eyes rest on our hands over his heart, and I feel some peace for the first time since I walked into the kitchen to talk to Jade, maybe since we arrived . . . maybe since I woke up today with this party hanging over my head. When things are out of control, he’s always my peace, always my sigh of relief. He’s the reminder that come what may, there’s us, and we aren’t going anywhere—ever.

I step closer, his hand still between my legs, my hand still on his dick, and rest my forehead against his chin.

“I’m sorry.” I breathe the apology into the Grip-scented skin of his neck. “I just feel . . . possessive, probably even more when it comes to Qwest because I know she would never have had you if I hadn’t thrown the two of you together. I love the way you love me, in and out of bed, and the idea of someone else having you . . .”

My words trail off as his dick thickens and lengthens in my hand.

My eyes zip up to his face, where his eyelids hang heavy over the dark storm of his eyes and his lips are parted on a hot breath.

“Does it turn you on that I’m possessive of you?” I ask.

“I’d fuck you in that sink right now if it wasn’t full of collard greens,” he says, his eyes speculating like he might follow through on his threat anyway.

Despite power surging through me from the knowledge that I affect him this way, and even with the air so thick with lust I could cut it with the knife I used just minutes ago, I laugh. It’s a robust sound that scrambles from the bottom of me and climbs to the very top, like I’m a mountain and this sound scaled every challenge, every obstacle, to soar.

“Is that you laughing like a bird again?” Grip’s chuckle vibrates from his chest into mine.