Page 54 of The Dis-Graced
He smirks, looking my body up and down. His hands move to my shoulders, brushing back my hair and forcing my chin upward so that I’m looking him in the eyes.
“I’ve been learning how to track micro-movements myself,” he says in a deadpan voice.
I burst out laughing, striking a hand to his chest. He grips my wrists, pulling me into him, and I melt.
His lips find mine, his tongue an eager explorer. My body livens in his embrace, wanting more. Wanting all of him.
With one hand he grips around my waist, the other is firmly planted behind my neck, keeping me locked onto him.
The kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity, but when he breaks away, it seemed too brief. My mind is spinning, coming up with a thousand reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, but it only takes one thought to break through the barrier of doubt.
I want Drake.
“God, you’re so beautiful,” he says, but all I can do is pant in return.
He closes the distance between our lips, teasing me with a feather touch. I moan, pressing my body against his, to which he responds by lifting me up off the ground and carrying me to the bed.
As I’m lying there, staring up at him as he looks down upon me, he removes his white shirt revealing taut muscles.
He’s so fucking hot.
“I want you to know,” he says, scrunching up his shirt and tossing it across the room, “that after this, I’m going to take care of you.”
My brow furrows. “Yeah, whatever, Drake. This assignment is going to take care of me.”
He licks a delicious lip. “After this,” he lowers his pants to the floor, and I spy his raging hard-on beneath his boxers, “it will be all me. I won’t have you lifting a finger. You’ll want for nothing. I’ll set you up with an account, so you never have to worry about being poor again.”
“That’s not what I want from you. I have to be able to make my life work. I want to take care of myself. You’re still making that possible for me, though, with the project you have me on.”
His eyes betray his worry. “I can’t have you working on ALAN.”
“What?” I snap, scooting away from him while glaring my eyes into his.
“Grace, you can’t just go around mixing business and pleasure. Look where it got you last time. I will take care of you. You have nothing to worry about.”
My lust turns to rage as I process what he’s implying.
“Get out!” I yell.
“I’m sorry if—”
“I don’t care how sorry you are, get out!” I lob a pillow at his chest.
“Alright-alright—”
“Now!” I lob another pillow at his chest, and he begins backing towards the door.
I take deep breaths, trying to abate my rage.
He has no idea you were set up. Maybe you should cut the guy a little slack.
I know it’s not his fault, but that doesn’t stop my anger. If anything, it multiplies. I’m mad at Drake, Frank, Luke—heck, I’m angry at Drake’s mother, and I barely know the woman. And screw Stephanie too for sleeping with dozens of men without judgment, while I sit here scorned by the world for being set up by my fiancé.
Fuck them. Fuck everything.
?
Drake
