Page 66 of Ghost on the Shore

She’s bare, pressed up against me where I want her. “No,” I tell her, and suddenly I’m struggling to remember what it is that she asked me. Her eyes are knowing, and she continues to tease me when she slowly tugs at the towel she’s wearing and looks down between us as it falls to the floor.

Coming back to my senses, I ask her, “You don’t seriously think this would hurt me, do you?”

She shakes her head. “You’re a big boy. I know you can handle me.”

Such a smart ass, and I fucking love it.

Grace lets out a happy scream when I toss her over and pin her beneath me. I can play her game, and while I liked that view, I don’t always like being on the bottom. “I can handle you morning, noon and night,” I whisper as I reach down to touch her, and I damn near growl when I feel how slick she is. “Give me one more, Grace,” I plead as I push my underwear down and enter her, and then I’m lost.

I can hear her in the background, but then I dial back in so that I can really focus on her, on what she’s telling me. How does she expect a man to last when she talks that way? Begging to be fucked, telling me to ride her harder? A mouth so wicked and so beautiful.

I want to fall at Grace’s feet and worship her after I come. It’s like she’s feeding a man who’s been starved of that intimate, good kind of loving for so long, and I don’t ever want to go hungry again.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Grace

“What did you think?”

We’re walking down York Avenue holding hands, and I’m still kind of amazed that he even wanted me there with him. I know he thinks of me as different from a friend, but I like the friendship side of what’s developing between us too.

An extra set of ears always helps, he told me, and I get it. What we just sat through was information overload. And I guess medicine is in my blood at least a teeny bit, because I did find all those cutting-edge advancements fascinating.

“It sounds like a no-brainer on the surface, right? Better control, better mobility. But then again, it’s major surgery. There are risks.”

“And the recovery and the rehab...”

“Are no joke.”

“Exactly. Been under the knife enough times for this lifetime and another already. I’m not looking forward to another stint in the hospital.” He gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “But I have to admit, that video of the guy skiing has me seriously considering it.”

“You used to ski?”

“No,” he says before laughing. “But just knowing that if Iwantedto then I could...It makes it tempting, you know?”

“I never saw the upside to skiing besides the hot chocolate and chili they served in the lodge. The few times I tried it I was scared out of my mind. I can still remember the sound of my skis skidding over patches of ice.”

“Oh my,” he teases. “You just physically shuddered. Was it that bad?”

“I remember careening out of control, falling on my ass, and it taking me forever just to untangle my skis and finally get off that mountain.” I look up to him. “I mean hill...It was the bunny hill.”

“No ski vacations, got it.”

I tug on his hand and lead him down a side street to a café with outdoor seating. “This is more my speed.”

“Is this the place with the best seafood salad in the universe?”

“So says the reviews.”

“I could definitely eat.”

“I’ve got someplace else picked out for dinner tomorrow night that you’re going to love.”

“You haven’t steered me wrong so far. That falafel we got yesterday was insane. And I’ll admit, I was doubting you when I saw the size of the place.”

“If I went to NYU I would have lived on that stuff. Where else can you get lunch for four bucks in Manhattan, right?”

Once the waiter leaves us with bread and the wine we ordered, Owen says, “I feel like there’s so much I still don’t know about you.” I look away, buttering a piece of bread as I think,Oh,you havenoidea. “Where did you go to school?”

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