Page 51 of The Billionaire Is Back

He squeezes my butt cheek with the other hand and swirls his fingers around in the silky pool of my arousal. “Fucking hell,” he groans.

“I know.”

He massages my clit in a circular motion with his flattened hand, but I’m so wet, there’s no friction. He taps at my pleasure center, makes a V with his index and middle fingers, strokes up and down the sides of it. Soon, those two fingers slide up inside me with ease. I eagerly clench and release around him. He glides in and out, slow and steady, reaching up to caress my face with his other hand. My cheekbone, my jaw. I tilt my chin down and take his thumb in my mouth, nibbling and sucking on it like it’s giving me life. The guttural sound he makes is so satisfying.

I want to see his face, but I can’t open my eyes. I am so far gone, so deep inside my own body, and so connected to Grady even though I wish there was more of him inside of me. He removes his thumb from my mouth, and I feel his lips on mine. His tongue penetrates my mouth to the same rhythm as his fingers down there. Then he curls his index and middle fingers toward himself. Finding mysupercharged G-spot, he strokes it, picking up speed, applying the perfect amount of pressure to yield rolling waves of pleasure through my belly, radiating outward. I feel full and ripe. And I feel deeply, deeply connected to him and to my body and to the truth of being wanted.

Then he extends his fingers and penetrates a deeper part of me that I didn’t even know existed. I gasp. He thrusts. Every nerve ending sparks, every muscle in my body spasms.

I don’t recognize the sound of my voice when I chant my gratitude and praise, but Grady takes it as a signal to change things up. He wraps one arm around me, pressing his torso against mine as close as possible, presses the heel of his hand against my clit, and holds his fingers still. I grind against his hand as he rocks his pelvis upward. He’s just letting me ride his hand because he knows it’s all I need right now. I hug his neck so tight, rocking back and forth and making happy, surprised animal sounds until my whole body suddenly tenses up and I don’t even exist anymore.

Everything has been erased.

There was never any rejection or heartache, and Grady never left.

The stillness as he holds me close and waits for me to have my release is the only thing that’s real.

It isn’t until I heave a sigh and rest my cheek on his shoulder that he places both of his warm hands on my back.

I never consciously uttered any positive affirmations about getting fingerbanged in a car bymy high school crush after he finally admitted to liking me, but I feel very supported by the Universe right now.

I kiss Grady on the cheek and then assemble myself in the passenger seat.

The raindrops and windshield wipers provide the soundtrack to the drive back to my parents’ house. The silence between us isn’t heavy. A little tired, maybe, but sated. Like coming home from a long day at the beach.

He pulls up in front of the driveway and doesn’t turn off the engine. I wait until I see him turn to face me, in my peripheral vision, before looking at him. We both smile, warmly.

“Well…” I say, shrugging. “Good night.”

He nods once. “Good night.”

I’m glad he doesn’t walk me to the house, but I do feel his eyes on me as I hurry up the path and porch steps. I open the front door and turn to give him a cute little wave before going inside. Thankfully, my parents are already upstairs. I lean back against the door and cover my face.

That was, in so many ways, more fulfilling than baking therapy. But I do feel like I just binge ate a fresh batch of cookies. Dopey. Content. Tired. Gratified. Trying not to think about the consequences. Finding it difficult to walk quickly.

But I do feel like I can move forward now. Slowly. Because I can still feel Grady’s fingers inside me.

Chapter 14

Don’t Take Dough for an Answer

Grady

I wake up early,covered in new Frette Egyptian cotton sheets. This morning, instead of wishing I could stay asleep to prolong a sex dream, I’m eager to start my day, trying to remember every detail of what actually happened last night because it doesn’t seem real. The sweet, musky scent that lingers on my fingertips confirms that it did, in fact, happen.

And it was fucking great.

I’ve never been big on affirmations. There was a cultish part of business school that was all about verbalizing the things you want to make them manifest. All thatSecretnonsense. I don’t know if I’ve ever said it out loud before: “I want Claire Sweeney. I’ve wanted her for years.” I say it in the mirror around my toothbrush. The words come out muffled and distorted, but they make it clear. The thought that I’ve had since I was eighteen, thefeeling I’ve hidden in my heart, and the lust I’ve hidden much lower was always a secret.

The very first time I said the words out loud was in the car last night.

To Claire.

Saying it out loud set it free and made it real.

And I don’t just want her because of how tight and warm and wet her pussy felt around my fingers. It’s not just because of the way she kissed me like I was her first and last meal. It’s because I realized how hard I’ve gotten. I’m not talking about how hard she made me last night, which was very, very hard. I mean being a New Yorker has made me a hard person. Being in business has hardened me. Little by little. Everyone I’ve learned from and done business with and dated ever since I left Beacon Harbor—they’ve all been putting on fronts. I’ve spent my whole adult life dealing with a version of people that was fabricated for boardrooms and trendy restaurants. Claire was real and vulnerable and honest. It was a gift that no one else could have given me. And I want to keep giving back to her.

I want Claire Sweeney.

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