Page 30 of His to Explore
“Just show my girl a good time.” Then she winks at him. Actually winks. I wish I could fall through the floor.
“I like her,” Grant says, laughing as he leads me out onto the sidewalk.
I grumble in annoyance.
A late lunchwith Grant is way more enjoyable than it should be. I expected him to take me to another high-end restaurant, like the one we visited that night he asked to take a larger role as my Dom. But the place we end up feels more like a dive, a little hole in the wall in the arts district that promises a margarita special to go along with our Mexican food.
We both order street tacos, fish for me and birria for him. The waiter brings over endless tortilla baskets and the best damn guacamole I’ve ever tasted. Grant tells me about his day and the idiot intern he’s been trying to train as a favor to the kid’s father, someone Grant apparently has a lot of respect for.
“I’m gonna have to tell him it’s a hopeless cause,” he says, topping up my glass from the margarita pitcher. “The kid might be able to understand even a quarter of what I’m saying if he wasn’t out doing MDMA every night of the week.”
I shake my head. “Rich kids.”
Grant laughs. “Sometimes, I feel like I should thank my deadbeat dad for leaving me and my mom when I was a kid. She had to work way too fucking hard over the years, but at least it taught me the value of effort, of making something of myself.”
“I didn’t know your dad left,” I said softly.
He shrugs. “We were better off. He was an asshole. And my mom is the shit.” His face lights up, making him look more boyish than I’ve ever seen him. It’s adorable. “The best thing about making my first million was being able to buy her a house and retire her.” He chuckles. “Now she spends her days obsessing over her garden and meeting for boozy lunches with her book club.”
There’s no denying that this side of Grant is incredibly appealing. He clearly loves his mother very much, and I have the vague thought of sending her a gift basket to thank her for raising such a good guy.
But then he has to go and ruin my soft feelings.
“What about your parents? Are you close?”
Just like that my stomach drops, all the warmth going out of the conversation. “We, um, don’t speak much.”
He waits, watching my face. I don’t want to go on, don’t want to explain the messy relationship. Our situations couldn’t be more different. While Grant was abandoned by his abusive father, I’m the one who messed up my parents’ lives.
“We were close when I was young,” I finally manage to say. “My parents own a dairy farm. I helped out as much as I could, so we spent a lot of time together.” I grab my water glass and take a sip, trying to relieve the sudden dryness in my mouth. “Then I got married and we moved out of state. My ex…um…he didn’t like me to be in contact with them. It was part of his control.” And like the spineless coward I am, I allowed him tocut me off from the people who had loved and cared for me my whole life.
Grant’s hand comes down on my thigh, firm and reassuring. “And since the divorce?”
I shrug. “How do I apologize for what I did? I abandoned them. Refused their calls. Let Fred send their Christmas and birthday gifts back unopened.” I close my eyes. “God, they must be so ashamed of me.” But it would never match the shame I felt for myself.
“They want to hear from you,” he says softly. “I know they do, Kense. They’ll understand—it isn’t your fault you had an abusive husband.”
“Maybe,” I say, but I really don’t believe it.
“I could go with you, if you wanted to visit.”
I gape at him. “Seriously?”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Sure. I wouldn’t mind seeing where you grew up.” He gently tugs on a lock of my hair, grinning. “You were probably pretty hot as a farm girl.”
I laugh, all the tension of the ugly topic fading. Grant asks me questions about farm life and living in a small town for the rest of our meal, and for the first time in a long time, I find I can talk about my past without the crushing pressure of guilt.
Victor, Grant’s driver, is waiting for us when we’re done. The moment we get into the backseat, Grant is on me, his lips insistent as he pushes his tongue into my mouth, his hands pushing up my skirt to grip my thigh.
“I couldn’t stop staring at your mouth in there,” he growls, placing his thumb on my bottom lip. “Do you have any idea what it did to me every time you licked a drop of salsa from your finger?”
I shake my head, overwhelmed and already so turned on.
“I’m gonna need that mouth on my dick,” he demands. “I think you owe me for making me hard in my favorite restaurant.”
My hands go to his buckle without hesitation. There’s something about him that eviscerates all of my inhibitions. He can set me on fire for him with a single touch, and the second he uses that commanding Dom voice on me, I know I have no chance of arguing. I don’twantto argue—I want to be a good girl who does exactly what he says.
Once I have his dick free, Grant immediately takes control. He wraps my hair around his fist and controls my pace, making me take it deep, not caring when I gag.
