Page 107 of Good Graces

I don’t know if it’s because I want to stake my claim or because I’m trying to erase everyone else from his skin. But whatever came before this, whatever happened in the space between then and now, all I know for certain is that he’s mine again.

His hand tightens at my waist, fingers pressing bruises into my skin. I pull him closer, teeth catching on his bottom lip, dragging him in until there’s no room left for anything else.

We strip down fast, clothes hitting the floor in messy piles. The condom gets tucked aside for now as I push him back against the pillows and climb on top, sliding down his body and settling between his legs.

His cock is thick and flushed, the skin stretched tight, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. My mouth hovers just above him, practically salivating, tongue flicking over my bottom lip as I concentrate.

“I want you to look at me,” he says. “When your lips are around my cock, I need you to keep your pretty eyes on mine.”

He brushes my hair back and holds it out of my face, fingers curling at the nape of my neck. Our eyes stay locked, dark and heated, as I take him in. Just the head, then a slow, deliberate glide down the full length of him.

His stomach flexes tight, abs clenching with restraint. A sharp inhale breaks between his teeth. Then a ragged sound escapes him, breath hitching when I take him deeper, dragging my tongue so deliberately it borders on cruel.

I remember exactly what he likes—the way he gets tight and still, muscles locking up like he’s bracing for impact when I hollow my cheeks, how his fingers tighten when I trace my tongue along the ridge beneath the head.

Now, I pitch forward, swallowing around him, letting my hand follow where my mouth can’t reach.

I’ve thought about this so many times over the years. The way he’d groan, unraveling one breath at a time. The way his hand would tighten in my hair, not to push, but to keep himself from pulling me closer.

And now? He’s everything I remembered. His hips stutter, and then he’s gone in an instant. He comes hard down my throat in a broken, helpless release.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, breathless. “You were always so fucking good at that.”

“I know,” I say, voice smug as I wipe my lips and grab the condom, tearing it open and rolling it on for him.

He’s still breathing hard, but I know him. I know what he can take. He’s stubborn like that, all muscle and stamina, like his body’s built to outlast anything.

“You’re not done,” I tell him softly.

His smile is lazy and crooked. “You really think I’d tap out now?”

I move to climb on top, but Warren catches my wrist and pulls me down beside him.

“Not yet,” he says, slipping his hand between my legs. “Give me a minute to recover.”

“Warren, baby,” I murmur, twisting toward him. “I want you inside me.”

His fingers stroke me first, teasing and slow, like he’s deliberately dragging it out. He watches my face the whole time—every shaky breath, every sharp hitch of my chest. Every flutter of my lashes when I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

“This is my pussy, isn’t it?” he asks, thumb brushing just right until my legs go weak.

I barely manage a nod. Normally, I’d argue. Tell him not to get cocky, make him work for it. But now, with his fingers on my clit, his mouth hot against the shell of my ear, I can’t bother to think of a comeback.

“Then I’ll do what I want with it.”

His fingers slip lower, sliding through the slick heat of me, moving slowly like he’s savoring it. He presses a middle finger in, stretching me open before adding an index, twisting just enough to make my hips jerk.

“You’re dripping,” he murmurs, voice rough with satisfaction.

His fingers press deeper, curling until heat sparks sharp and fast behind my ribs. My hips lift to meet him, breath tumbling out in short, uneven gasps. My toes are curling, body tensing, but his fingers just keep working me through it, rough and perfect.

He knows exactly how to pull me under, and I let him. Every time.

When he flips me over and pushes his cock inside me, I’m already wrecked, clinging to him, breathless as he fucks me slow and deep, like he’s determined to make me feel it everywhere. And I do.

My legs shake with it, heat simmering beneath my skin, the ache lingering in places only he’s ever known how to reach. He was right when he said only he could do this to me. Only he could touch me like this, leave me unraveling from the inside out.

The feeling settles low and deep, a throb that pulses with every shaky breath. Like he’s left something behind, something I can’t shake.

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