Page 41 of Her Pretty Words

“Yes,” he breathes the words. “I’m lucky just hearing you laugh, Mace.”

“Keep talking like that, and maybe you’ll be lucky enough for other things.” I nearly widen my eyes from my own words. I’ve never been like this with my ex, but Grayson makes me feel comfortable. Bold.

“Can I ask you a question?”

I nod.

He opens and closes his mouth, as though he’s trying to find the right words. “Has anyone ever given you an orgasm?”

I reel back and my shocked eyes meet his curious ones. Heat is creeping up my neck and into my cheeks, but he is being genuine. I shake my head no.

His expression flashes with something I can’t place. “Can I?”

“What?”

“Let me make you feel good.” He cups my jaw carefully, his eyes darken. “It will be just for you.”

My chest is rising and falling so drastically from his words, from the forwardness to his question. Emotions bubble to the surface as I recall all the ways Grayson has showed hecares. The way he handled my emotions with care the other night when I felt as though I’d drown in grief. How he slept on his couch justso I’d get a good night’s sleep, and then pieced every broken piece of my grandparent’s collection together. The way he held me moments ago, and how his touch is tentative yet new and exciting.

I twist the front of his shirt in my hands and pull his mouth to mine. His fingers trail up my arms and then get tangled in my hair. He groans into my mouth, and I hook my legs around his waist.

He lifts me up and I can feel us moving through his house, but my eyes are shut and our lips never part. He drops me and I land in the comfort of his bed. I bury my face in his comforter and inhale his manly scent. He’s staring down at me with a look of adoration. He moves down to untie my sneakers and carefully remove them.

“I’m going to kiss anywhere you point.” He lowers himself on top of me but doesn’t place all his weight down. “Point,” he encourages with a low voice.

I swallow, suddenly unsure of myself. I tap my cheek, and just as promised, he kisses the spot. I smile and touch my lips. He grins and kisses me delicately. I giggle when I bend my knees so I can reach my ankle.

Feeling slightly more confident now, I point to the places I really want his lips. The spot below my ear, my collarbone, the side of my stomach. The last one tickles, and I laugh. His answering smile is endearing, and his dimples make my stomach heat. I like that he put me in control of the situation, and how good it feels to show him exactly what I want.

My eyes never leave his when I reach for the hem of my shirt, slowly lifting it up to my chest. He kisses above my bra like I directed him to, below it, above my navel, the top of my thigh where my skirt ends. He takes extra-long there, sucking the skin and then swiping his tongue across it. I can hardly catch my breath.

I feel myself getting hungrier and hungrier for what he promised me. I lift myself up on my knees and pull my shirt all the way off. I turn my back toward him, and his lips take their time exploring my spine. My voice is a broken whisper when I ask him to remove my bra.

He does so carefully, and then I slowly face him. The blue of his eyes is hardly visible behind his dilated pupils. I tap the tender peak and he takes no time laying me down. He kisses my nipple and it’s pure bliss. He uses his tongue and I’ve never felt more alive in my entire life. I cry out, and he grins up at me as he squeezes my other breast.

He takes his time in all the places that make me moan. His lips are music against my skin and his hands are a dance. He squeezes my hips pleasantly hard.

“My skirt,” I whisper. “You can take off my skirt.”

He blows out a steady breath. “Yes, ma’am.” He wastes zero time pulling the tight fabric down my legs. He removes my socks and I feel delightfully exposed in only my underwear. He’s fully clothed. Something about the sinful contrast makes it much hotter.

He’s still for a moment, then I feel his fingertips trailing along my hip bone. “What’s this?”

I look down at the spot he’s focused on. My tattoo. “It’s a sand dollar.”

His eyes flit to mine. “Why a sand dollar?”

“It’s stupid.”

His eyes seem to shine. “Tell me.”

I sigh. “I used to collect them with my friends when I was little,” I explain. “I went with Sarah to get her first tattoo and she convinced me to get one too. When I didn’t know what to get, she said to think of a good time in my life. The first few summers I spent here are the happiest memories I have.”

He doesn’t say anything else when he presses his lips against the ink. He’s strangely thorough on this one spot. Then, finally, his mouth moves down my thighs, then up, until his face is hovering above the last piece of fabric on my body. His eyes lift to mine, as if seeking permission.

I slowly trail the tips of my fingers down my stomach and then tap the cloth. He grabs my hand and presses it against the mattress, then slowly kisses me. My underwear is blocking the feel of his lips, but the pressure has me arching myself against him. “You can take them off,” I whisper breathlessly.

His grip tightens on my hand before he releases it to remove the fabric torturously slow. The air is cool against my bare skin, until I feel the warmth of his breath. I prop myself up on my elbows, eyes wide at the sight of his face an inch from the most intimate part of me. This man who I met only weeks ago, yet I trust with my life. He grins up at me. “Do you want me to kiss you here?”

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