Page 79 of Saving Grace

I slide my finger behind the button clasp on his jeans, and his jaw tenses. Eyes hooded, he studies my face. As if this is more about me than it is about him. I undo the button and lower the zipper. It’s not like I’ve never seen him naked. But, just like everything about tonight, it hits different. Like this matters so much more than it did before.

I pull the jeans down and he steps out. His boxers are tented. His legs are as tense as the rest of his body.

My panties are beyond soaked. The heat that’s been growing in my core has my clit throbbing. I need his hands on me.

“Please touch me. You don’t have to ask. Or be gentle. You won’t break me.”

He shakes his head.

He doesn’t want to touch me?

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m pacing myself, Gracie.”

“You want to go slow?” I wind an arm behind my back and work the clasp on my bra.

“I want it tolast. I want you?—”

The clasp releases, and the bra falls to the floor.

“Fuck,” he growls.

The sound pulls a whimper through my lips. Taking the waistband of his boxers, I shove them to the floor. Slow is overrated.

This man in front of me is not.

Reining himself in to protect me.

Always, I’m at front of mind with him.

“My turn to give.” I make quick work of my panties and lower to my knees.

“Sweet Jesus . . .”

I grip the base of his thick, hard length and slide the tip into my mouth—my eyes trained on his face. I want to see it wrecked. To know I make him this way. He gathers my hair up into his hands as he cradles the back of my head. I take him in as far as I can, pulling back up, cheeks hollowed out. A deep growl rumbles from his chest.

Holy hell.

I send my tongue around the tip and sink back down. Mack tenses, hands turning to fists in my hair. There it is—the face hepulls. The one that takes my breath away. I repeat the action, and his head drops back, the veins in his neck pulsing. Good.

I release him with a pop and push to my feet. His head dips, eyes opening. “On the bed.”

I like it when he orders me, too. Like I’m strong and he doesn’t have to hold back. Like his control over this overwhelming pull between us is threadbare. Just like mine. Wanting him badly, I’ve soaked up every close contact. Every time his hands, lips have been on my body.

I’m done having to ask.

“Take what you want, Mackinlay. Because I will.”

I lie on the bed with slow movements. He rounds the foot of the mattress and wraps his hands around my ankles. With one quick tug, he slides me down until my legs drape over the edge and he’s wedged between them. Hot kisses dot up my inner thigh, and he skips over my hip bone and across to my belly. They continue until wet kisses are planted between my breasts. Over my collarbones. I push my hands into his hair with a giggle, as he trails soft pecks that litter my neck.

It tickles a little. Goosebumps flood my skin.

He nips my ear. “Come on my face, my girl.” Warm lips wrap around my nipple next, and I arch off the bed. He flicks his tongue around one and then the other. His teeth graze one breast with the lightest touch, one hand caressing the other. Planted on the other hand, his arm flexes with his weight as it shifts.

I can’t form a coherent response.

My heart is literally in my throat.

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