Page 91 of Graciously His

She’s naked and I feel as if the world is coming back into focus as I settle her onto the curved edge of the tub. It’s about half full, the rushing water the only sound as I kneel down, then look up into her darkened eyes. Slowly, her breasts heaving above me, Grace opens her legs. I open her wider. Then my tongue is on her and her hands are in my hair, and I know the rushing water will overspill soon and I don’t fucking care because Grace is mine, and I’ll flood the entire goddamn world if it means keeping her here with me.

Chapter 37

Grace

Icannot tell Nate what Mother said on the phone. He’s using every torturous technique to persuade me to share it, but I resist. The water flows into the bath while he plies me open with his tongue. I try to lean away so I can turn the tap off, but he digs his fingers into my thighs, holding me in place.

“Nate,” I say, “the water.”

He pulls back just enough to glare at me. “I’m not stopping until you come, Grace. Come hell or high water,” a pointed look at the tub, “interrupt me again and you’ll owe me two orgasms instead of one. Is that clear?”

There’s only one word I need at times like these, when the only option is to let him have what he wants—and what I want, too.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He presses his tongue into places he shouldn’t, driving me fast and hard into a clenching rhythm as warm water touches my bottom. My release accompanies the sound of a waterfall cascading to the floor. The orgasm is perfunctory, fading fast because the position is uncomfortable and I can’t focus on the pleasure. Shuddering, I try to reach back to turn the taps off, but Nate’s hand shoots out, seizing my wrist.

“Again,” he demands, a manic light in his eyes. The knees of his jeans are darkening as the tub continues to overflow.

“Nate, please. We’re going to damage—”

“It’s multiples or it’s nothing, Grace.”

I know this isn’t about making me come again. The water creeping towards the bedroom, my body held uncomfortably on the edge of the tub, the unsatisfying, empty orgasm—it’s about Mother’s call. It’s about control. And I know how to take it back.

I whisper my safe phrase, the words sour and slick in my throat.

Nate leans up and past me, turning off the tap without another word. Then he backs away, water sloshing around his feet. I recognise the protocol, and I feel frustrated with both of us.

“All right, Grace," he says, "the scene is done and—”

“No!” I stand, wobbling on the wet tiles.

Nate catches me, wrapping a towel efficiently around my shoulders. “We’re going to dry you off, then we can discuss why you used your safe phrase.”

I close the towel over my chest. The bathroom echoes in the wake of the tap being turned off. Naked and quaking, I wish that I’d let him continue. I’m wound too tight with tension. And guilt. And I still have to get him to agree to take me to Auckland.

“I don’t want this safe phrase thing,” I say, “and—”

“This is what happens,” he interrupts, voice rising, “after you say those fucking—”

He stops himself, turning his back to me. He’s wet from the waist down, his jeans fully soaked. I approach him from behind, reaching tentatively. I’ve managed this wrong. I need to find a way to take the safe phrase back. If he closes up on me now, there’s no way he’ll let me come with him tomorrow.

“We should get you out of these wet clothes.” I brush my fingers along his back. “You can’t be comfortable like that.”

“My comfort doesn’t matter right now.”

The words are dull. When I peer up at his expression, I see the lack of emotion in his eyes. Mother’s accusations clang through my mind, and I wish I could decide, right now, that I don’t believe her. I wish I could stop myself from believing that this man, whom I still want so much, would have hurt his own twin.

But I can’t. Not yet.

I lean up on my toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

He gives a low hiss and speaks from between his teeth. “Step away from me, Grace, or I swear—”

“What?” I step even closer. “Aren’t I the one in control now?”

“Fuck. Grace—”