I push her behind me, so she doesn’t catch any of the spray, get in position, go through the motion of my wind up, and then launch the bottle across the large bathroom through the open shower door and watch as it smashes against the tile wall, shards falling like rain all over the shower floor along with globby green stuff.
“Nice. Go again.”
“Nope. Your turn, sweetheart. Let it fly.” I hand her a large bottle of something that says toner, whatever that is.
“Show me how to throw a real pitch?” she asks.
“You serious?”
“If I’m doing it, I want to do it right.”
Can’t argue with that logic. I move in behind her, adjusting her so her back is against my chest, her ass to my thigh. My hand covers the one holding the bottle, adjusting her body until I have her the way I want her. Her breath hitches when she feels me flush against her, my face so close I know she can feel the warmth of my breath.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be this close to her, but fuck it, she asked.
Her hair tickles my cheek as I speak into her ear. “Keep your hands up in front of you, take a short step back and then pivot to the side with your dominant foot.” I use the hand not covering hers to adjust her hips, showing her how I want her to move. “Shift your weight to your pivot foot and then bring your other knee up. As you move forward, you’re going to wind up your throwing arm and use the momentum of your leg coming down to hurl the glass as hard as you can.” I keep her hand in mine, demonstrating the motion, and then I release her, stepping back.
“Like this?” she asks, glancing quickly to catch my eye before returning to her target.
“Perfect. Grip it and rip it.”
She laughs, but does just that, throwing a somewhat sloppy pitch, not that it matters. It has the desired effect with more glass breaking. She lets out a small squeal of delight, clapping her hands. “Oh, yes. Felt more powerful that way.”
“Anything else you want to break?”
She meets my eyes in the mirror, her expression growing contemplative before she shakes her head. “Nah, I don’t need any bad luck coming my way. I never considered myself the crazy, vindictive type, but I have to admit, this felt good. Seriously good. Probably similar to when you punched him. I’m still jealous of that though knowing me I would have given myself a boxers fracture on his stupid, hard jaw.”
“You know what you need?”
She spins around, her teeth meeting her bottom lip, almost as if she’s trying to hide a smile. “Carter, there are so many things I need right now. I don’t even know where to start. I’m hoping your idea is smarter than mine.”
I give her a bemused look, hitching my hip into the side of the counter. “What’s your idea?”
“Nothing that makes any sense at all and will only lead to trouble. Please, tell me yours instead.”
I stare at her, trying to read her expression, but she shuts it down quickly, averting her gaze yet I’d swear there is a blush that wasn’t there a few seconds ago. Carrie Underwood stops singing and the room falls quiet except for her slightly accelerated breathing.
Was she thinking about… no. Impossible. She wouldn’t…
Before conscious thought can take over, I step into her, lifting her chin until her eyes meet mine. “What were you thinking?”
“Nothing. Just forget it.”
My thumb brushes along the line of her jaw and I watch as her lips part and her pupils blow. Fuck. My cock jerks against the zipper of my jeans, and for a moment, I imagine hoisting her up on top of this counter, tilting her back, and eating her out until she comes on my face before flipping her around and taking her from behind while she watches us in the mirror.
But I can’t do it.
I can’t be her revenge. She’s angry, she said so herself, and I won’t be someone she fucks now and regrets later—because she will fucking regret it.
I want too much from her for that.
She doesn’t actually want me. She just wants an act of rebellion, something to make her even with Tony. Something to make her feel better, more in control. Like breaking the bottles did.
I lean in, unable to stop the action and listen as her breath catches high in her throat. A small press in and somehow I’m right here. So close. So stupid, I am not who or what she wants. I clear my throat. Clear my thoughts.
“I was thinking about taking you to that ice cream place Drew and Margot always hit up,” I offer, knowing Grace’s crazy love for all things sweet will save us both.
A smirk quirks up the corner of her lips. “You mean the one where you can add alcohol to your shake?”
“That’s the one.”
“You trying to get me drunk?”
“Only on sugar. We can even pop into that candy store on Charles Street on our way home.”
She moans and my cock jerks again, begging for attention I refuse to give. If Grace looked down, she’d find me hard and then I wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d see how much I want her and that would be that, fate sealed. But not all my blood is in my dick. I still have enough in my brain to give me sense and keep me sane.
“Is that what you want to do?”
No. Not even close. “Yes.”
“You’re buying. You’re a billionaire attending and I’m the homeless woman now trying to save up for a new place to live plus new furniture on a resident’s salary.”
“I’m buying, but you have to promise no gummies.”
She laughs. “You and your weird thing with gummies.”
“They’re nasty, Grace. All gelatin-based products are. Jell-O is no better.”
“All the chocolate I want?”
“All the chocolate you want.”
“You’ve got a deal. Let’s get out of here before we can never get this stink off our skin. Incidentally, your idea is a lot safer and a hell of a lot less messy than my idea was, though maybe not as fun if you know what I mean.” She winks at me, skipping over the broken glass back into the bedroom and I groan.
“You’re evil,” I yell, following her into the bedroom that is like a sex crime scene.
“I know, but you’re cute when you get all hot and bothered, Doctor. It’s not a look I get to see on you very often. Nice to know I still have that affect on men.” She glances indignantly about the room, and I was right not to act.
But still…
I grab her hand before she can grab her suitcase, giving it a tug until she spins to look back at me. “Don’t let him take away that part of you. This is all Tony, Grace. Not you. What did I tell you the other night? You know me well enough to know I don’t just throw out compliments to pad egos. I say something, I mean it. You are everything any man with half a brain and a pulse would want.” Myself included, I don’t add.
Hell, the woman gets me hard with a simple glance.
“I think it’s lucky that Tony doesn’t have half a brain,” she whispers, swallowing hard.
“I think it’s definitely lucky.” I just wish it was lucky for me too.
Releasing her hand, I pick up her suitcase, and with one last look around the room, she leads the way out, dropping her key on the floor before shutting the door behind us.
“Done,” I say. “You never have to go back.”