Page 65 of Falling for Grace

The forever brave and strong Brandon Holder is crying in my arms and I want to mend him. I want to put him back together like a broken vase.

His shoulders shake lightly as he finally lets himself grieve for his baby brother.

That’s the trouble with emotion—you can only suppress it for so long until finally it bubbles up and explodes out.

We stay in this position for what feels like forever. My hands have made it into his hair and I’m running them through the short dark strands, rubbing at his scalp, trying to give him the comfort he has sought from me. His shoulders have stopped moving but I’m not pulling away from him. I don’t want to end this moment. I know it’s a lie, I know it’s selfish, but having him here in my arms feels right. It’s where he should be, it’s where we should be.

He moans, and his hands start to move against my back, his slow caress moving lower with each stroke, getting closer and closer to the curve of my buttocks. The heat of his hands penetrate the towel as if it’s silk, not thick cotton.

His hands stop the slow caress, the weight of them lifting off my body. I miss the contact immediately. But it’s soon returned as he moves his attention to the front of my legs at the top of my thighs. His head pulls back and I look down at him, but he doesn’t look up. He’s concentrating on my towel. The tops of his fingers graze my leg right where the material meets in the middle.

“Tell me to stop, Grace.” His voice is thick.

I don’t tell him to stop. I’ve become the very person that I vouched I’d never be, the other women. But in this moment, I didn’t care. I ignore my conscience.

Instead, I take a small step back and unwrap my towel, dropping it to the floor between us. Brandon finally lifts his eyes to me, his breath hitching. His hands wrap back around me and he plants a kiss on my stomach. I gasp at the contact of his warm lips. He stands in front of me, reaching his full height, and my head comes to his chest. I tilt my head up to look at his beautiful face.

“I know this is a bad idea,” he admits, his green eyes searching mine. I’m completely naked and the coldness of the room is causing everything to stand up on end. “But I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t stop,” I say, surprised at the sound of my own voice.

I place my hand on his chest, his black long sleeve T-shirt bunching in my fingers. My other hand wraps around his neck and I pull his head slowly towards me. Neither of us close the distance, our breath mingling as we stare at each other.

“Fuck, Gracie. I’m thinking so much right now,” he says, clenching his eyes shut. “My head’s a fucking mess.”

“I need you as much as you need me,” I admit. His green eyes sparkle at me as I stare back at him. “I want this, you. I need you,” I say through gritted teeth.

I lean up to him, my lips hovering over his, waiting for him to kiss me. And he does. His lips crash to mine with the need and desperation that we both feel, and I return it tenfold.

His tongue invades me and I open up willingly, letting him deepen the kiss with such force that I’m left breathless. His hands leave traces of heat as he moves them over my body, finally stopping and cupping my face. I tug desperately at his jeans. He pushes his shoes off his feet, then breaks the kiss long enough to pull his shirt over his head before his lips collide against mine. He turns me around and the backs of my legs hit the bed and I fall onto it. His huge half-naked bulk towers over me, his eyes dark with lust as he quickly pulls his trousers down along with his boxers.

The length of him that I’d felt press against my naked body through his jeans is now on display. I peruse his toned, lean torso, his defined shoulders. His skin is sun-kissed from his time in LA. He is beautiful.

It’s been three years.

But here we are, three years on, back like nothing has happened. Except so much has happened, to each of us.

Brandon leans over me, his weight delicious. His body melts into mine, his lips pressing against my swollen ones. The feverish need of moments before is gone, replaced with a slow, lazy pace.

We languidly kiss while his hands make slow progress over my body again, exploring, caressing. His touch leaves prickly sensations in its wake. My breath hitches and a small moan escapes my lips as his hands track over my breasts. He rolls my nipple between his fingers, causing my back to arch and his name to leave my lips on a whisper.

I can feel the tip of him at my entrance, teasing me. He’s at the perfect angle to slide in. I lift my hips to meet his length and wrap my legs around his back, the maneuver making my intentions completely clear to him.

He slides in painfully slowly, his control surprising me, taking it right to the base of his shaft, and then slowly, leisurely pulls out, causing another moan to escape my lips. He leans in and kisses me softly, his slow pace working me into a frenzy.

I want more.

I need more.

I need him.

I need this, but I need to get there faster.

I can feel it building, but it’s too slow. I move my hands to his beautifully sculpted ass and pull him into me harder, my tilting hips changing the angle. The feeling of fullness increases as he hits the deepest part of me.

“Brandon,” I beg, and I can feel him smile. This is a game to him. He’s purposefully making me crazy, it’s what he always used to do.

“Patience,” he whispers in my ear as he sucks at my ear lobe, his teeth biting down softly. But I have none.

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