Page 15 of Defended By Love

“My name’s Grant,” he says, a lopsided half-smile touching at his lips.

“Grant,” I whisper, savouring his name on my tongue. It suits him. Much more than the Garnet Defender. Certainly more than the Crimson Streak.

“It’s very nice to officially meet you, Hailey.”

Before I can say anything, he dives into my pussy.

His tongue finds my clit immediately and he lavishes attention on it in broad, swooping strokes. Within seconds, my body starts to hum with the familiar anticipation. I wrap my legs around his head and splay my hands against the glass to brace myself as my body tenses with building pleasure.

Except, just as the feeling approaches its crescendo, he moves. His tongue leaves my clit to swoop down to my sopping entrance. He licks my needy center, devouring every drop, while being careful not to dip inside.

Even though I really want him to dip inside.

I want him inside me so badly it’s practically imprinted into my DNA. Every last atom of me wants him to fuck me and fill me up.

“Grant,” I moan, an argument with why he should fuck me roughly right here and now locked and loaded to go.

As if he senses where I’m going, he shuts me up by moving his fingers to my clit. While his tongue swoops and licks at my core, his fingers move in tight, perfect circles on my clit.

Words abandon me. I never had a chance. All I can do is beat my hands against the window as my orgasm detonates. My body seizes to an impossible rigidity, every muscle flexing, as pleasure pulses to every cell in my body. My orgasm runs hard and deep, leaving me panting as it runs its course.

His fingers stop moving when my body starts to shudder with sensitive bucks, but his tongue continues to lave my entrance, drinking down every last drop of my life-changing orgasm.

Then, when my body goes slack with the release of tension, Grant lowers me to the ground and envelops me in his arms. Once again, I’m lulled by the steady beat of his heart against my cheek.

“Do you want to—” I start to ask, feeling his granite cock against me.

“Not tonight.”

He reaches down and helps me into my pants, holding my shoes in one hand.

“But—” I protest.

“You need rest. You’ve been through so much tonight.”

As he says that, it’s apparent that it’s no longer truly night. The sky has begun to lighten, even if it hasn’t started to glow with its morning blush.

He scoops me into his arms as the door flies open. We’re off flying into the night as I curl against him, feeling safer than I’ve ever felt. I go to protest that we should stay at his place, that I won’t be able to sleep anyways, but with the soft morning breeze in my hair and the warmth from his chest on my cheek, the need for sleep covers me like a warm quilt.

By the time his penthouse is just a prick of light, one amongst a cityscape of electric stars, I drift off to sleep. I sleep feeling safe and unworried, like everything in my world is perfect.

It’s a stark contrast to the feeling that I feel when I wake up hours later in the afternoon light.

I wake up alone and in my own bed, even though I’m certain that I neither let Grant in, nor did I ever tell him my address.

Chapter 8

For once, I don’t dream of work. I know a lot of people hate work dreams. I don’t. I find them soothing. It’s like a practice run before the big show. Besides, every weird stress-induced embarrassment that plays out in my dream—forgetting my presentation, not wearing pants, calling my boss Dad—I get to prepare extra to avoid.

I really don’t know why people don’t like them.

Especially when the alternatives are considered.

Last night and into this morning, I dreamt of buildings collapsing. I dreamt of near-death experiences and crumbled dreams. Worst of all, I dreamt of love. In its guards-lowered state, my mind dreamt of charged kisses and impossible feelings. And I dreamt of the pain I’d feel when the inevitable rejection comes.

Still, there’s a lingering blush on my cheeks and a gentle hum in my heart as I allow myself the indulgence of remembering last night.

For a woman who keeps detailed (and private) notes about my dating app hookups to best determine who will scratch which itch in the future, it seems impossible to just be satisfied. Pleased even. Delighted maybe.

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