Page 130 of Grace

But I’m not ready yet. I can’t tell him I love him. My words will find him when he least expects them, each one a gift.

His index finger catches at the waistband of my pants. My breathing turns uneven, I gasp, and my heart races. My skin tingles as if someone had poured burning coals over it.

He works the buttons of my pants open and lowers the zipper. The moment his hand slips beneath the fabric, a sound breaks from me and I clutch his shoulder. Chase pulls me against him. One hand threads into my hair, the other slides lower under my pants, sure and intimate. This is his ritual. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and presses kisses to my trembling skin. His mouth lingers at my pulse while my body shudders—endlessly—but from desire, not fear.

I close my eyes and melt into his hand which is rubbing me shamelessly down there.

“Chase,” I whisper, my voice soft and warm, but before I can say more, he claims my mouth in a passionate kiss that steals my breath—sweet as honey, hot as fire.

He pulls me away from the cold, stinking wall and guides me to the bed. The blanket and pillow are dirty, revolting… it’s awful. The smell leaves a bitter taste in my mouth—still, I obey his gentle, wordless request and push down my jeans, then my panties. Chase pulls my T-shirt over my head. I don’t have a bra on, so my breasts rise and fall softly. His hungry eyes don’t make me blush—their gaze is almost an erotic caressing in itself. He takes in every part of me with devotion, the sight of my body stunning him.

I step up to him, grab the hem of his T-shirt, and help him pull it over his head. My eyes trace the lines of his body. I smile to myself, because I was right—he still doesn’t have a six-pack. But his stomach is flat, hard. His arms are strong.

We were together countless times when I was his captive. Sometimes it was just sex. Sometimes we were making love. Still, we never explored each other with this kind of freedom, this kind of depth.

We’re free.

I cup his face in my hands. I stroke the hard line of his chiseled jaw, those cool, unmistakable features. The admiration in his deep brown eyes makes my heart lurch. I brush my fingertips over his lips, then let my hand drift down the length of his muscular neck, slow and deliberate, following the center line of his torso.

My touch trails lower. His breathing turns uneven, ragged, his heart pounds like a summer storm, and lightning flashes in his dark eyes.

When I reach his belly button, I pause and trace a slow circle around it.

“Grace…” His voice is deep, hoarse.

“Hmm?” I bite my lip, smiling, and lift one eyebrow. Then…

Chase shudders under my touch. I want to press kisses to the sensitive skin just below his belly button.

He grabs my wrists and pulls them away from his throbbing manhood. He steps so close my hard nipples touch his hot skin. My senses tingle with the sexual tension.

“Lie on your back,” he breathes and kisses the sensitive skin behind my ear. Chase never made me go down on him, never expected me to. He was considerate—even when he hurt me, he never chased his own pleasure alone.

I do as he asks. I lie on my back with my legs spread wide—it makes me feel a bit timid. My hair spreads on the worn fabric, grey with dust, like a fan. The spring of the mattress is pricking my skin.

I watch with amazement as he presses down his pants and his underpants. The dim light glints on his hot desire. My breasts grow heavy, and my lower belly is tingling with a painful intensity. Chase kneels between my legs, his lips touching my sensitive skin. He presses a soft kiss on my breasts while his fingers are tracing the delicate lines of my body in silent worship. My back arches as my nails dig into the frayed bedsheet, tearing new holes as dust rises into the air. I tip my hips up. Chase presses me back to the mattress. A rough sound breaks from him as his hand slides lower, sliding into my wet, warm flesh.

I rake my fingers through his hair and drag him down to me. I suck on his lower lip, then press my tongue in his mouth. Our tongues dance a wild, dangerous dance. His fingers, however, move in and out gently. It’s an avalanche of passion, a beast trying to claw its way out from under my skin.

“I have one last thing I need to take care of.”

“The cop.”

Chase’s jaw tenses and he pinches my butt. The sharp sting makes me hiss. He gives me an apologetic look and caresses the red spot.

“Cyrus is a good man. He deserves an explanation. Between the two of us, I’m the quote-unquote monster,” I tell him, making air quotes. Then I slide my hand back under the blanket, into the pleasant warmth.

He kisses the tip of my nose. The corner of my mouth quirks into a soft smile. Apart from the cold, absurd circumstances, everything feels wonderful. It’s wonderful to be in his arms.

“Chase…”

“Hmm?”

“The cameras aren’t on right now, are they?”

Chase looks at me, then at a spot on the wall, and flips it off.

My lips part in surprise and disgust. I stare at him, bleary-eyed, accusation burning in my gaze—and that only tugs a faint smile onto his face.