Page 133 of Built to Fall
Then his hand descends down my stomach while he leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that didn’t feel like begging or bragging. It simply blooms quietly in my chest, ruining me all at once.
I suck in a sharp breath when he pushes a finger inside me, pulsing them with perfect dexterity while the palm of his hand presses on my clit.
“How’s that feel, pretty girl?” he asks after a minute, pushing deeper, curling them, and creating a sensation I’ve never felt before. “Good?”
A gasp-like sound escapes my mouth right when he presses in further. “Um?—”
“Is that a yes? Or no?”
He shifts his hand, almost like he’s going to pull away, but my hand comes down on his, grasping his wrist to keep him there. “Yes, yes. Don’t stop.Please.”
Never once have I ever imagined myselfbeggingGrant Vandenberg for anything. And now that I have, it only makes every memory I have of him come rushing back tenfold.
Every moment where I’ve noticed the vein in his forearm every time he reaches for something, or the way his jaw muscle works when he chews gum. All the moments where I’ve silently thanked my brain for being graced with my photographic memory, for no other reason than being able to memorize every ounce of him.
Grant quickens his movements, all while I’m trying to steady my breathing, focusing on all the feelings rushing through me. I notice how intimate this position feels—me on his lap with my arms wrapped around his shoulders. All while he has one hand between my legs and the other holding my hip to keep me steady.
Then, slowly, he adds a second finger.
My body tenses for a split second, but he doesn't move—just lets me adjust, his thumb still drawing steady, rhythmic circles. He presses a kiss to the space below my ear, and his voice drops, low and deliberate.
"Still with me?"
Frantically, I nod, unable to form anything coherent. It’s not just the pressure or the rhythm. It’s him—his patience, the wayhe watches me like I’m the only thing that matters in the world right now.
I flinch slightly backwards, though, when his fingers curl downward instead of up like they were. He slows when he notices me trying to pull back.
“I don’t like that,” I say quietly, trying to reposition myself on his lap.
All he does is nod, not looking the least bit offended. “Okay, I won’t do that again. Keep telling me what you do and don’t like, alright?”
I moan when he returns to that spot, curling just right, as if he’s reading instructions based on my cues. “That,”I emphasize, my head falling forward so my forehead is now resting on his shoulder. “I like that.”
His breath catches, like maybe hearing me say it out loud does something to him too.
“There you go,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the side of my neck.
Grant shifts just enough to glance down, his fingers never losing rhythm. “You’re so wet for me, Lina,” he whispers, like a secret meant only for the space between us. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”
I know he’s telling the truth because I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
Moaning softly, my fingers dig into his back, and my body trembles under the weight of his words and everything he’s doing to me.
My hips start to move against him, and I can feel how hard he is beneath me. A broken moan slips from my lips, and he rocks harder. I catch myself wondering if it would feel the same if he didn’t have pants on, or if it would be even better.
Right now it doesn’t matter, because I’m climbing toward a peak like I never have before. My legs start to shake, my breath grows more erratic, and he feels it. Of course he does.
“Close?”
My head bobs against his shoulder, too far gone for words. My teeth graze the skin of his collarbone, not even trying to be sexy but because Ineedsomething to hold onto—something to tether me here with him, now.
I feel myself pulse on his fingers as I come in a blissful turbulence. Grant’s grasp tightens around my hip momentarily before he wraps it around my waist, pulling me closer into his chest as I come down from my high.
“Holy shit,” I say through a long breath, my body going lax in his hold as he removes his hand.
Grant chuckles against my hair, but it’s not teasing—it’s more reverent, as if he can’t believe he got to do that.
His hand drifts up my back in lazy strokes, and I let him hold me like that for a long time before I shift slightly and remember how obviously hard he is beneath me.
