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Because I want Grant’s hands all over me, even if I’m not letting him fuck me. Not that I don’t want to—but he’s not the marrying kind, and I have to cling to one thing so I don’t completely lose myself with this man.
And trust me… losing myself could be so easy with Grant.
I open the door and of the car service Grant arranged and paid for. Then, I slide out and walk to the sumptuous entrance. This house speaks of old money. Big tall Cedar trees outline the path to the property, classical in its style with red bricks, several tripartite windows and ceilings so high I can picture them even without having stepped inside.
Sucking in a breath, I knock on the heavy wood of the tall, double doors, and after my third knock, it’s swung open.
A zing of awareness courses through me. There he is.
Grant, with his easy charm, looking hot wearing a V neck black shirt, and denim jeans. Barefoot. I tell myself not to look at his feet. I don’t want to get any silly ideas about their size—I will not be looking at his dick tonight. Though thinking about it is fine, right?
“Look who Uber dragged in,” he says.
“Am I at the wrong address?” I ask with a witty expression. “I’ll be happy to ask him to come back and get out of your hair,” I say, pointing at the long driveway.
He pulls me inside, and the moment he touches my elbow, a shiver runs through me. My nipples get hard, fighting against the restriction of my cotton bra and dress. God. I want him to kiss me so bad I’m almost lightheaded.
“You’re not going anywhere tonight,” he says in a low growly voice that prickles the little hairs behind my neck.
Holy shit.
He shows me into his lovely home. The living area is roomy and luxurious, with heavy drapes, a vaulted ceiling and comfortable but still elegant sectional couches amongst the accents and coffee and side tables.
Pieces of realistic nature art hangs on the wall.
“What would you like to drink?” he asks.
“I’m good for now. Maybe just water.”
“Right. Not a drinker,” he says, and I appreciate he remembers what I said earlier in his office.
I realize I must have come off as prudish. My father drinks beer, and I hate the taste. I have sipped a couple of different types of wine before, but none caught my interest. “I don’t have anything against alcohol, I just haven’t tried any I enjoyed.”
“And you’re all about trying new things, aren’t you?” he says with a mocking smile.
I shrug. “Some.”
He smiles, a flicker of amusement touching his deep brown eyes. “I got us some appetizers and stuff.”
He cocks his head in the direction of the coffee table, and I see a charcuterie board filled with cheese whose names I can’t pronounce, fresh fruit, expensive slices of European cold cuts.
“That’s really sweet. Did you buy this?”
He shakes his head. “I bought the cheese and meat, and put them together.”
“What? Yourself?”
“My mother gave me the wooden board set as a gift. She’s always trying to domesticate me… and sometimes it works. I was thinking we could order some food, but wanted to see what you liked first.”
“This is actually great,” I say, and sit on the couch.Don’t read too much into this, Amy.I do enjoy that he put it together himself, and waited until I came to ask what kind of food I liked. In a small way, that shows he cares a bit about making me feel comfortable.
I grab a piece of cheese and take it to my mouth.
He brings a glass of red wine and takes it to his lips, and watches me in silence.
Silence stretches between us, and even though he’s sitting on the same couch as me, it feels strange. There’s a small gap between us, and I want him to erase it. I want him to jump my bones and kiss me until my heart goes back to its normal pace. Though a kiss would probably have the opposite effect.
I lean over and pop a cherry in my mouth, enjoying the sweet taste. A hint of desire glints in his brown eyes, and it’s like his gaze tracks my movements, following the cherry in my mouth, then how I slowly lick the corner of my lips. A shiver of awareness travels through me. Say something, Amy. “What do you usually do?” I ask. “When you’re out with… sugar babies?” I ask, then regret it. I have to block images of him with other women from my mind, unless I want to go cray-cray. Women he’s done a whole lot more with than what I’ll let him do with me.
