Page 145 of Return To You

“Well, that and…” She trails a hand between us and gives my dick a stroke.

“I see. Your motives aren’t entirely pure.”

“When it comes to you, my motives are always pure… and dirty.”

I throb at her words. “That so?”

“You know it,” she says, her smile small, her eyes pleading.

Fuck, but her look of uncertainty kills me each time. It’s like she’s unsure of my feelings when it comes to her. “Yeah, I know it, beautiful.” I kiss her tenderly. “Babe?”

“M-hm?” she says, moving her hips against me.

“How ‘bout I clean up, we dry off, and we take this to bed? I seen enough water for today. Wanna make love to you but wanna make it while I’m nice and dry.”

She pretends to whine, and her little noise goes straight to my groin.

“Can I please get a rain check on sex in the shower?”

She giggles. “You’re funny. Rain check.” She steps out the shower and wraps herself in a towel while I bring the temperature to piping hot. “You could also be a comedian if this whole army thing doesn’t pan out,” she says as she leaves the bathroom.

Army thing. Now who’s funny? But it’s the second time today Grace mentions alternative careers for me, and even if it’s a joke—her serious insistence that I go to Brussels, proof enough—it strikes a chord with me.

I finish scrubbing the mud away, and when I step out, she’s back in the bathroom, waiting for me with a thick, plush towel.

And she’s wearing my jersey.

I towel off, follow her to bed, and lay on top of her warm, soft body, making quick work of the jersey. She wraps her legs around my hips. “Just take me,” she whispers in my ear. “I can’t wait.”

Fuck. I get lost in the deliciousness that is Grace’s body. Grace’s kisses. Grace’s caresses. Grace’s moans. Grace’s love. How did I go ten years without her? No wonder I felt like a zombie, going day by day without any taste for life.

I flip us so that she rides me. I love seeing her take control of our lovemaking. Seeing her breasts bounce above me. Seeing her fall apart around me, her arms trembling, her knees barely carrying her, holding herself up by the sheer power of her orgasm, tensing up as I empty myself into her, then folding onto me and laying her sweet head on my chest.

I fall asleep still inside her, holding her snug against me, the physical exertion of the day feeling fucking great.

When I wake up the next day, my first thought is for the roof. I gently nudge Grace aside—we’re spooning—and go swap the buckets. The rain has stopped, and the sun is shining bright. On my way down, I get the coffee machine started and find Grace sitting up in bed, stretching. We take turns in the bathroom, and as I’m getting dressed, her phone rings. And rings again.

I ignore it and make the bed. The phone rings a third time, and I glance at the display, wondering if I should bring it to her in the bathroom. Maybe it’s her parents? Maybe there’s an emergency?

But the display reads Kyle.

Who’s Kyle? Maybe something to do with work?

Then the phone chimes again with a text message.

Kyle

Hey, honey, everything ok?

forty-seven

Grace

“Kyle keeps calling you,” Ethan says, emphasizing the name as he hands me my phone.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

“Um… oh yeah?” I sound breezy enough, right?

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