I tap her right knee and her beautiful hazel eyes look at me in question. I tap her knee again and she narrows her eyes in confusion. Instead, I nudge her knees apart with my hand and those same beautiful eyes widen in surprise.
Leaning in to kiss her, I mumble a “shhh” against her lips as my hand slides up the inside of her warm thigh. She leans back further into the seat, sliding her ass forward, giving me better access. My hand finds her warm center, where I meet her wet panties. Instead of sliding my finger inside of them like I want to, I tease her, circling my finger over her clit through the satin panties. I can feel the warm bud grow harder with every circle I make as she purrs in the seat next to me. She’s fucking beautiful when she’s turned on, and her body reacts exactly as I want it to. I see her hesitation and her fear, glancing to the front seat and Tony, who keeps his eyes on the road, not even chancing a glance in the rearview mirror. From what I’ve learned about Grace, one-night stands and backseat rendezvous are not her style. Only I don’t give a shit right now. I need to feel her come on my hand.
“Wait until we get to my room, baby,” I whisper into her ear and gently nip her neck. She sucks in a breath and rolls her hips gently against my finger, getting herself off. Her nipples are tight, and her breathing is labored, she’s not even trying to suppress her arousal now. I grin. There is nothing sexier than Grace grinding against my hand—her need and want palpable.
The Town Car slows to a stop at the entrance of the Four Seasons and Grace freezes. I give her clit a hard pinch through her panties before pulling my hand out from under her skirt. She sits up straight and brushes her skirt down as I lean in and brush some stray lipstick off her bottom lip with my thumb. “Thank you,” she whispers before looking at me.
Something passes between us, but I can’t put my finger on it. Understanding? Loneliness? The door opens and I abandon those thoughts, stepping out into the tepid evening air. I reach in for Grace, and she grabs my hand as I pull her gently from the car. She stands on wobbly legs and I lace my fingers through hers again, this time without her resistance. This feels good…right. Her hand in mine. Her. With me. This is how it should be; this is what I want it to be.
She straightens her skirt and inhales sharply as we walk through the main entrance of the hotel. Her hand grips mine firmly, as if she’s afraid I’m going to let go of her. The lobby is bustling with people checking in and checking out. Business men and women stand around sharing stories and drinks and enjoying their Friday evening, as I have so many times before in hotels across the country.
I steer us toward the private elevator that leads to the floor with penthouse suites, one of which I’ll be staying in until I purchase a condo. When I said I planned to be bi-coastal, I really meant if things continue with Grace. I’ll fucking appoint myself the permanent manager of the New York office and relocate here. Someone else can manage the San Francisco office. Regardless, I need a place in New York City.
I can feel Grace hesitate when the elevator doors open. She’s second-guessing this, second-guessing us. Her brain is telling her a million reasons why she shouldn’t do this again.
“Stop overthinking it,” I tell her quietly, confidently, and lead her into the elevator.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and nods. It should be me nibbling that full lip, and I will… in about two minutes. Before the doors close, another couple joins us in the elevator. I smile politely at them and squeeze Grace’s hand, a silent gesture of support. She squeezes mine back and I pull her in closer to me, wrapping an arm around her lower back. Shit, she fits fucking perfectly into the crook of my arm, even though she’s almost as tall as me. Her head leans back against my shoulder and her warm body sinks into me. I love that she’s letting me comfort her in this moment. She trusts me.
The couple discuss their dinner reservation and theater plans as the elevator rises quickly. When it comes to a stop, the couple exits first and turns to the left, presumably toward one of the other penthouse suites on this floor, and we turn to the right, headed toward my room. Grace releases my hand and walks slowly next to me. But I hate the miniscule distance already. I reach around her, pressing my hand to the small of her back, guiding her to my door. I need to be touching her.
When I wave the keycard over the pad, the door unlocks, and I feel Grace tense up. Pushing through the double doors, she follows me slowly into the grand foyer. She looks around and then back to me.
“This isn’t the room we were in last night,” she comments, her voice soft, but her eyes still taking in the extravagant surroundings.
“No, it isn’t. My trip was very last minute, and the penthouse wasn’t available until today.”
She runs her fingers across the base of her neck as if she’s touching a necklace as she looks around, her eyes taking in the luxury before us. “Penthouse,” she whispers…whether to me or herself, I don’t know.
“Please, make yourself at home.” I drop my briefcase on the large, round table that sits underneath a giant crystal chandelier in the foyer. Placed in the center of the table is an enormous vase of fresh roses, probably six dozen. A common staple in all the penthouse suites I rent, only I don’t give a shit about flowers, but Grace does. Her eyes twinkle as she looks at them.
Grace sets her handbag on the table next to my briefcase, slips off her shoes, and we move into the living room, where there is a full-sized sectional couch, two chairs, and a large table that could double as a conference room table or a dining room table.
I should ask Grace if she’s hungry or needs a drink, and I will—after I’ve buried myself so far inside her, she’ll never forget me. Fuck first, food later.
She digs her perfectly painted toes into the plush carpet, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. She looks vulnerable but not scared.
“Stop overthinking this.” I toe off my shoes and walk over to her.
Grace’s hands fall to her sides and her bottom lip quivers. “I’m not,” she whispers.
“You are.” I place my hands on her biceps. She’s trembling. “Grace…Trust me.”
She shakes her head to silence me and drops her eyes from mine. “Can I use the restroom?” Her voice is so quiet, I can barely hear her.
“Of course.” I reach for her hand and guide her through the living area of the penthouse and into the bedroom. I gesture toward the bathroom and miss her touch the moment her hand breaks free of mine.
After she disappears behind the closed door, I hang up my suit coat in the closet. Unlatching my watch, I set it on the built-in shelf in the closet next to the wallet I pulled from the pocket of my suit jacket. I run my hand over my wrist where my watch just was, noticing it’s rough and dry in comparison to Grace’s soft, supple skin. Skin I plan to touch, and suck, and mark—letting her know who owns her body…me. I’ve never wanted someone as much as I want Grace. Our connection is undeniable but maybe she’s scared. Maybe I should back off, but I can’t. I won’t.
I’m caught by surprise when I hear Grace clear her throat and I turn around to find her standing in the doorway between the closet and the bedroom. Her hands are twisted together in front of her and she rocks slightly in place from heel to toe. But it’s when I notice she’s wearing nothing but my white dress shirt that my breath hitches. She’s fucking stunning, her long brown hair hanging in loose waves over her shoulders.