For Life (15 page)

Grady

Damn it, I’ve dreaded this all day. I just know Cassie’s going to put the brakes on what’s happening between us, and it’s killing me. I get that maybe I moved a little too fast yesterday, but all the signals were there. In Delaware, she was mine. Somewhere between then and yesterday she talked herself back out of it. I sit in the truck for an extra moment until I man up and force myself to walk up to her front door.

“Hey.” I have nothing cleverer than that, and I need to gauge her mood.

“Hey,” she replies softly. She looks well-rested despite the anxiety I know our conversation caused her yesterday. The ends of her hair are wet and she’s wearing jeans, so she obviously showered before I showed up. Which means, hopefully, she’s relaxed and we can have a calm, rational discussion without her freaking out.

As I move past her in the doorway I’m reminded of how she used to pile all that dark hair on top of her head sometimes when she showered and my fingers would catch in the hair tie trying to undo it. She hated that. But she always loved me playing with her hair, and I long to do it now. I want nothing more than to pull her to me and wrap her in my arms, to bury my face in that dark veil of hair where I used to find comfort.

“Want anything to drink?” she asks, like she always does.

“I’m good.”

“Okay.” What’s that in her voice - disappointment? Nervousness? She’s so hard to read right now. She heads into the kitchen and I follow her until we’re right back where we were yesterday. And then I can’t fucking take it anymore.

“I’m sorry. I know I pushed you. But goddamn it, Cassie, life is short.”

She turns and half-smiles. “You sound like Renée. And stop. Please stop. I know I overreacted.” My throat tightens as she closes the distance between us and slips her arms around my waist.

I’m afraid to hold her as tightly as I want to, so I wrap my arms lightly around her shoulders as she burrows into my neck. Just like we’ve done a thousand times, we hold each other. I can scarcely breathe.

“Grady.” Her voice is muffled in my shirt.

“Cass?”

“It wasn’t just a moment.”

I have no idea how to respond to that.

She pulls back a bit. “I wanted that kiss. I felt it all week between us, from the day of the funeral. I don’t know, maybe even before that.” Her upturned face is confused, but she’s not pulling back.

“Babe.” I cup her cheek and trace the curve of her bottom lip with my thumb as her eyes search mine.

“Say something,” she pleads.

The only thing I want to say is “I love you,” and I’m pretty sure it would be the wrong thing to say. So instead I say the first thing that comes to mind, which is, “The ends of your hair are wet.”

To my relief, she giggles.

Cassie

“Cass.”

An arrow of desire pierces me as he says my name just like he used to, the way that made me melt no matter how late he’d been out or how drunk he’d been when he got in or how much he’d pissed me off. He whispers my name like a blessing, and I’m lost. His thumb strokes the corner of my mouth and just that little brush of his skin on mine overwhelms me.

I look into the same blue eyes I used to gaze into as a young girl, and for the first time I see uncertainty. I know he’s waiting for me to flash a red or green light. He made this move, but the way I’ve behaved this week led him to my door. I’m in control here, and the fact that he wants me to be the one who brings it the rest of the way home is a gift. He knows he could take me and I would say yes, but he’s insisting on being asked.

I’m not sure how he believed I’d do anything but melt into him and tip my face up so my lips meet his. When he kissed me before, he let me lead, and he wasn’t asking for or expecting more. But now his lips tug at mine, pleading, willing me to take him. He backs me out of the kitchen and I moan into his mouth at the thought of being separated, but he holds me close as he kisses me, walking me all the way down the hall to my bedroom with his lips on mine.

I forgot what it was like to fuse to another human being as if they were part of me, to take that sweet breath of life and return it in an endless exchange of desire and intimacy. I forgot that it was like this, once. Our bodies in sync, no barriers, no thinking, just
feeling
.

Grady’s lips are tender on mine, searching but still not demanding. The tip of his tongue teases me, requesting permission. He’s holding back, giving me the sweet kisses I once loved so much when he made love to me. But I want the urgent kisses, the ones we shared when we tore each other apart. I nip his bottom lip and he groans. I do it again, and he wastes no time pinning me to the closet door and taking my mouth roughly, his tongue a welcome invasion.

When my back hits the panel, I give about a half a second of consideration to the fact that if he pushes against me any harder the door will come off its track and we’ll tumble into the closet, and then I decide I don’t care. Grady is kissing me and it’s glorious, the taste of him both brand-new and as familiar as my own reflection in the mirror. He can fuck me on a broken closet door in a jumbled pile of shoes for all I care, just as long as he never stops kissing me.

He cradles my face in both hands and kisses me as if he has every right to do so. As if I’m his to kiss like this whenever he wants. As if no time stood between our last kiss and this one. As if the kiss in Delaware was just the beginning.

I arch against him. He’s rock-hard, a delight since he’s no longer the young man who got aroused at the drop of a hat and could fuck me all night long. I’m shocked but not surprised that Grady’s still as virile as a teenager. Clutching his ass, I rub my pelvis against his and savor the low groan that escapes from his throat.

“Cassie, fuck…” he whispers against my mouth.

Suddenly it’s not enough. I need to touch his skin. I slide my hands inside the back of his flannel shirt, tugging his t-shirt free from his jeans so I have access to his bare flesh. I smooth my fingertips over the broad expanse of muscle, and this time the moans are my own. I’m surprised and delighted at the hard planes of his body burning under my hands. He feels so different, but he moves exactly the same way, and it’s both wildly arousing and somewhat disconcerting. While his tongue plunders my mouth I rake my nails across the taut muscle and feel him shudder as his skin breaks into goosebumps, just like it used to.

But my stupid sensible mind still wants to protest. “We can’t,” I gasp as his hand moves to cup my breast, his thumb raking over my nipple, which hardens and pops right through both my bra and sweater. “We shouldn’t…”

He kisses away my protest until I’m writhing under his expert touch, rolling my hips against his as his fingers find and tease my nipple. Over and over he strokes and plucks it until I’m beside myself with lust. My entire body has gone molten.

“Grady…” But I’m no longer pleading for him to stop. There’s an ache in me that my body remembers Grady satisfying. I try to fight that urge, try to cling to reason. “Grady, the kids—”

“The kids are at practice,” Grady murmurs, nibbling down my neck, his tongue and teeth a stealth attack on my nerves until they sizzle. My legs are shaking by the time he reaches my collarbone. “We’ve got an hour.”

An hour. Oh, God, the things Grady could do to me in an hour. I haven’t had sex in three years and my body is raging. Why am I protesting when I need this? There’s a supernova of desire between my legs and all I want is to have it acknowledged by his hands and mouth and cock, or I might actually die.

Grady tweaks my aching nipple hard and I feel a gush of wetness between my thighs. His fingers steal inside my sweater, over the straining the thin satin layer of my bra, and down my stomach. When he shoves his thigh between my legs, my hips roll without hesitation so I’m rubbing myself against him. I rub harder, trying desperately to sate my need. He yanks my sweater up until it’s tucked under my arms and squeezes my breasts together with his strong hands.

Grady kisses a line from one swell to the other, and I’m still riding his thigh when his fingers tug aside the bra cup and his mouth closes over one nipple. I cry out as he presses it hard between his lips.
I could come like this
, I think.
Oh, please, let me—

His breath is as ragged as mine as he teases my nipple with his teeth, a delicate, tugging bite. With that little pull I gasp without shame, willing him to strip away exactly as much clothing as is necessary to remove in order to fuck me.

Grady covers my hand with his own and brings it between us to cup his erection through his jeans. He’s straining against my palm. My tentative squeeze is met with a twitch and I rub as clumsily as a frustrated teenager, my hips separating from his so I can grip him harder over the denim.

I barely notice his fingers flutter over the waistband of my jeans until they slip lower, so he’s stroking me over my clothing, between my crotch and his thigh.

“I can feel your heat right through these jeans,” he growls. “Fuck, Cassie, just let me taste you.”

I’m finding it impossible to breathe. Of all the memories I’ve tried to chase away, the memory of his mouth on me is one that I cling to. There are nights I lie in my bed and dream of that mouth and the things Grady used to do to me with it. How he used to slip beneath the covers and wake me up by licking me slowly, so that I came to in a haze of pleasure. How he delighted in lowering me over his face, feasting on me like a starving man while I gripped the headboard for dear life and begged my legs not to give out on me. No man since has had his appetite for me.

His tongue flits over my jugular and trails up to my ear. I’m losing ground by the second.

“Cass…” His voice is hoarse. “Tell me you don’t want it and I’ll stop.”

But I do want it. I’m aching for his tongue on me. I feel myself pulsing at the thought that I’ll probably come the second he touches me with it, and that overrules any of the reasons to say no. I squeeze my eyes tightly closed when I give him my answer.

“Okay,” I breathe. “Yes.”

Grady grips my chin. “Look at me,” he demands, and when I open my eyes he’s staring at me as if to see if I really mean it. I can’t stand the way he searches me, and I don’t want to look at him. He wants more than I can give. I can only give him this.

“Yes, Grady.” My voice is steady when his fingertips attack the button on my jeans.
“Please,
” I insist.
Touch me. Taste me. Fuck me. Make this ache go away.
We’re both breathing heavily, staring at each other as he yanks my zipper down. When his fingers encounter the drenched fabric between my thighs he groans my name again and I’m lost.

His mouth hovers over mine as he touches me, and this time I don’t look away. I watch his pupils dilate as he feels exactly what he’s done to me. Our breath mingles in the millimeters of space between us as his fingers steal over saturated satin.

“Baby,” he marvels. “Christ, you’re so wet.” His fingertips slide under my panties. When they meet my slick flesh I shudder involuntarily. It’s shocking how good it feels to be touched so intimately while he gazes into my eyes.

“Yeah?” he asks again, his fingers working me ever so lightly, and this time I just nod. If he doesn’t get down there fast I’m going to come on his fingers. Which would also be welcome at this point.

I feel the cool air whoosh over my bare flesh as he tugs my jeans and underwear down in one swift movement. At the same time, his fingers slide inside me and I can’t hold back the whimper that escapes my throat. His fingers drag back out of me, coating my clit with my slickness, and then he’s rubbing soft circles over it, giving me perfect pressure. I clutch his forearm with one hand and fall against his chest, needing to feel him solid against me, needing to inhale his scent. His lips move against my hair, murmuring endearments. Inside I twist tighter and tighter, everything gathering and coiling, dragging me past every level of pleasure I’ve experienced to the heights of something far more magnificent.

“Yes?” he growls, tugging my hair back until he can see my face. He holds me there, his gaze locked with mine, still working me with his fingers. All I can do is shake my head, mouth hanging open, a silent prayer running through my mind.
Please Grady, fuck, I need your mouth, I need your tongue, I need to come, please don’t stop…

He drops to his knees and yanks my jeans and panties to my calves, nuzzling along the inside of one thigh until his lips whisper against my drenched curls. Parting me with his thumbs, he touches his tongue to my clit so lightly it feels like I’ve dreamed it, and then swipes me with his tongue from bottom to top. Thank God, he isn’t gentle about it. My legs tremble so violently I worry I won’t be able to hold myself up when I come, but as Grady covers my wet flesh with his mouth I realize it won’t matter. I’ll fall, and he’ll catch me. With his face.

My entire universe condenses to what’s happening between my thighs. I’m aware of nothing but the satisfying scratch of his stubble on my skin, the exquisite lapping of his tongue between my folds. It shouldn’t turn me on to hear the soft sucking noises his mouth makes on me, but it echoes in my ears like the most erotic sound in the world. Grady moans softly as he feeds on me and I drop my chin to my chest so I can watch him delve into me with pure bliss on his face.

“Grady—” I gasp. I’m close, so close, and I need his fingers back. I’ve never come so hard in my life as I’ve come with his fingers inside me and his mouth on my pussy, and that’s what I need right now. To come hard. To break apart.

He draws his face away, rubbing some of my wetness off his mouth and onto my thigh, and grins up at me. I gasp in frustration, grabbing his curls. He chuckles and slides one finger back into me, teasing with it. There’s a quickening in my groin as my orgasm slightly recedes, but then he bends again and his hot breath in combination with his finger makes me whimper. Everything roars right back to where it left off.

“Yes!” It bursts from my lips. "Oh my God, I'm so close..." I chase my release, my entire body shaking, my hips rising to meet the movement of his mouth, and then suddenly he stiffens and withdraws his fingers. It takes a second, but I realize he’s not teasing me.

About the same time I register the sound of the front door banging open, Grady murmurs, “Fuck.” Yanking my pants back up over my hips before I even have a chance to speak, he tugs down my sweater and adjusts his own obvious erection.

I’m still in a daze, leaning against the closet, my heart hammering in my chest. My body’s poised on the edge of climax, and my brain is muddled by having to think again. “What—”

And then I recognize the clunking of our son’s footsteps in the hallway, and his voice yelling, “Mom?” yanks me fully into reality.