Page 17 of Never Always
“Did my lack of Southern manners shock you?” I ask.
Grange clears his throat. “Not one bit.” He keeps massaging and I can’t help a small moan of satisfaction as I close my eyes amidst the bliss. Maybe I wouldn’t be so hungry for touch if I hadn’t denied myself for so long, but as it stands, I’d let Corrick Granger do whatever he wants with my body because it feels that good. He presses hard in the center of my heel and my whole body jerks.
“Can I touch you here?” Grange grabs my calf. He’s calm on the surface, assured, but underneath, I see that he’s just as wrapped up in the touching as I am.
I nod my consent, lifting my head to hang my hair over a throw pillow so I’m not laying on it. Grange turns so he’s facing me, my feet resting on his hips, one on each side. He takes the blanket and tosses it on the floor. I’m wearing pajama shorts and a tank top—everything is covered, but I feel exposed. His fingers grip my calves and work into the muscle. It never feels like this when I’ve gotten muscle massages in the past. There’s this fluttery feeling in my chest because I don’t know what comes next. There’s not a script, a plan. There’s free will and nothing more.
I can see him looking at me, and it’s not professional. I want to trip him up, force him to be in this weird, satisfying place with me. “What are you thinking?” I raise one knee so he can massage at a different angle and his gaze darts between my legs, where my shorts are more than likely gaping open to expose my panties.
“Nothing that would be appropriate to speak.” He coughs, taking a ragged breath before letting his gaze find mine.
“Tell me.”
Grange licks his lips, eyes sparkling. “I’m wondering if the carpet matches the curtains because this stubble,” he admits, running his palm up my calf. “Matches the curtains.”
I’m too blissed out to tell him he’s awful again. Plus, I just shaved so I know he’s messing with me. Shaking my head, I try to beat him at his own game. “Who says there’s any carpet?”
His eyes light, his grip tightens and he swallows hard, a visible gesture. In a brazen move I’m surprised I’m capable of, I tease my legs open.
“Do you want me to touch you there?” The question is a harsh rasp. A plea.
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s not looking at my face though. I repeat, “Do you want to touch me there?”
Chapter Seven
Tennyson
THERE’S NO ONEto blame for the position we’re in. I could have stopped him, told him to act professional, pulled away when he grabbed my feet, but I didn’t want to. This is my fault, and I’ll have to live with it in the morning. I’m not sure how, given that now I equate his hands to magic wands that make my body bend and flex at will. Grange pulls me closer to his body, his hips now between my knees. “It doesn’t matter what I want. You tell me. These are your lessons. Not mine.”
A sharp intake of breath holds me captive. “Lessons? What exactly are you trying to teach me?”
His eyes sharpen, a predatory gleam. “Teaching you what you want.”
“I’d tell you that’s predicative, and a cocky assumption, but you already know that, don’t you?”
Grange licks his bottom lip, a sly move I can barely track. “I’ve spent countless years in school being taught things. This isn’t like that. This is intuitive. I don’t need lessons. Don’t try to feed me that line. How did we go from hating me to this?”
His heavy lashes shadowed on his cheek fly up. “What? I don’t hate you.”
I swallow hard. “Could have fooled me. And well, anyone else.”
“I’m frustrated with you.” Grange runs his fingertips along my calves creating goosebumps.
I cringe. “See? That’s notnothate.”
“Okay.” He stills. “I’m bemused by what I feel when I look at you.”
“What exactly do you feel when you look at me?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. You like me touching you, and I like touching you. Isn’t that enough to sort of wing shit?”
“Look at me. Do I look like a woman who wings anything? You are not my type.”
That gets his attention. His face shutters. “Ah. Don’t hold the degree nor the brain full of science. Got it.” He releases me, standing to his full height. Grange looks back and down at me, legs still open where he was just settled. He readjusts his member through his pants and I can’t help but watch the huge bulge shift. “If you don’t want an orgasm, shall I kick your ass at chess again before we go to sleep?”
“An orgasm?” I nearly shout. “We haven’t even kissed!”
“I don’t kiss, Tennyson. It’s too personal. Too filled with… things I don’t chase any more. I can get you off in less than a minute with my hand, fuck you well and proper if I had a full night with your body, but I don’t bring politics into the bedroom.”
