Page 80 of Waiting for Her

I don’t give myself time to think, rushing toward the door, I throw it open.

Grady’s eyes widen, do a slow track up and down, down, down… lingering on my bare legs. “Holy shit,” I think I hear him whisper but it’s so quiet I can’t be sure.

But what I am pretty sure of is that he can see nipple through my thin pale pink tank top.

My simple white boy short panties the only thing covering my bottom half.

Two steps and he’s inside.

I turn around, start walking farther into my small house and hear the door slam behind him. The lock clicks, the sound echoing through the small space.

Two pair of feet moving quietly, every step quicker than the last.

Strong arms wrap around me from behind, pull me back to his chest.

“How long am I gonna have to chase you?” Grady’s voice is gruff, breath hot against my neck.

His hands splay across my stomach.

Lips brush against my jaw.

“Are you done running, Bri?”

I’m a bobble head, my head nodding so quickly I’m lucky it’s attached so it doesn’t roll away.

“Thank fuck,” he growls and suddenly I’m airborne, my legs being taken out from underneath me as he lifts me up in a cradle hold.

I’ve never been so grateful for my small home than I am in this moment.

He makes it to my bedroom in record time then… slowly, he lowers me to the bed, leans over me with his arms bracing on either side of my head. His strong frame covers mine.

It feels so good, his body draped heavily on top of me. I squirm a bit, opening myself up enough to throw a leg around him, wrap a hand around his shoulders, my palm coming to rest on the back of his neck.

I press my lips together, staring up into his handsome face. My fingers trace the contours of his cheek, over his lip. “I don’t need any more chances, Grady. No more time. I’m here. With you. Yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

This time, I don’t cry.

And then his lips are on mine.

Teeth gnash together, tongues battle, breaths are shared.

Hearts are mended.

His forearms are pressed to the mattress on either side of my head, his hands frame my face and he pulls away for a moment. I whimper in protest, wanting his lips to remain on mine. But then our eyes connect and the look he’s giving me mimics what’s on my heart.

I hear a growl and I’m not sure if it’s from him or me, but suddenly our mouths are fused together once again. His tongue swipes against mine, my fingers grip the back of his shirt.

No words are spoken as I frantically push his clothes off him, anxious to finally get my hands on the muscles I know are under the pesky cotton in my way. My fingers fumble with the button on his shorts and he chuckles, my anxiousness apparently quite amusing.

“You’re wearing far too many articles of clothing. You should have been more prepared,” I mumble, our mouths still connected.

“Was I supposed to show up to your door naked?”

I raise my eyebrows and look down at my quite minimal clothing.

“May I remind you, I showed up here? It’s not as if you were waiting for me.”

I flush.

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