Page 5 of Giving Grace

“Not really.” I move the fork out of reach, twirling it between my fingers in a move that surprises me. I’m good with knives—at least I used to be. I think about what Con said about muscle memory yesterday but tuck it away for later. Muscle memory or not, I can’t focus on more than one thing at a time and a pissed off Grace trumps everything else. “Why don’t you like the way I say your name?”

I’ve only known her for a week, but I recognize the mutinous jut of her chin instantly. She’d rather die than answer my question. On cue, she sharpens her gaze into a glare and practically stabs me with it. “Are you going to let me eat my breakfast or not?”

“I don’t know…” Making a show of it, I give the fork another spin between my fingers. “Are you going to let me apologize or not?”

“Not.” She pushes the word between clenched teeth. “Absolutely-fucking-not.”

“Jesus.” I take a frustrated swipe at my face and nearly stab myself in the eye with the fork I’m holding hostage. For safety’s sake I tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans because not being blind is one of the few things I still have going for me. “You want to know where Moll gets her stubborn streak? Because I can tell you.”

“Fuck you.” She hisses it at me, careful to keep her voice down.

“Geez, Grace.” I say her name again on purpose and feel a smirk tug that the corners of my mouth when she starts to seethe. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

Her mouth falls open for a second before it snaps shut again. It doesn’t stay that way for long though. “You’re an awful big asshole for someone who claims to be sorry.”

“Yeah?” I lift a hand and rub it along my jawline. I haven’t shaved since Cari’s opening and rasp of stubble against my palm sounds like sandpaper. “Well, maybe I’m not as sorry as I thought, or maybe it’s the head injury—it makes me moody.”

“Yeah.” She barks out a laugh. “A moody asshole.”

“I’ve always been an asshole.” Looking down at her, her tight jaw and flushed cheeks, I have the same insane urge I had in her car yesterday. I want to kiss her. More than kiss her. I want to shove that fucking breakfast tray off her lap and replace it with my face. Get her naked and tongue fuck her until she’s shaking and screaming my name. Lick and suck her clit until she’s completely and utterly wrecked. Until she’s coming in my—

“Ryan.”

“What?” The insanity continues because, even though I don’t remember moving, I suddenly find myself standing over her. Close enough to touch her if I want to. And I want to.

I want to touch her.

Lick her.

Every fucking inch of her.

She’s looking up at me, Blue eyes wide. Jaw slackened by the pull of her mouth. Lips parted slightly like she might start screaming. “Ryan.” Instead of screaming, she says my name again, but this time it sounds different. Softer. Breathless. Like she used all the air in her lungs to form that single word and she might die on the breath of it. She looks down, taking my glare with her.

I’m hard.

So fucking hard that the outline of my dick is clearly visible, trapped and straining against my thigh.

Holy shit.

And as soon as I see it, I feel it—the dull, throbbing ache in my cock. The same ache I’ve felt every morning when I wake up, since I met her. The same ache that prompts me to touch myself before I even open my eyes, even though I know what I’m going to find. How shitty and hopeless it’ll make me feel.

“Ryan.” She says my name a third time and I watch with detached fascination while my cock jerks like a divining rod behind the cage of my borrowed jeans, practically smacking her in the face.

That’s how close I am to her.

Jesus Christ.

I made her breakfast, determined to apologize for the way I shut her down last night. To maybe ask if we can start over, and what do I do? Pick a fight with her over semantics and shove my suddenly not broken dick in her face.

And the cherry on top of this particularly fucked-up sundae? I’m not even all that embarrassed about it.

“For the record.” I reach behind me to pull her fork from my back pocket and drop it in her lap. “I happen to like the way you say my name.”

How’s that for Captain-fucking-Obvious?

Three

Grace

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