Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(26)

“What?” Davis wraps the towel at his waist. The contrast of the soft blue shade, his golden skin tone, and gray eyes is staggeringly beautiful.

“You’re…much more of a gentleman than I would have expected.”

“You’ve accused me of as much once before,” he says. “At first I was flattered. Now I’m wondering if I should be insulted.”

Wrapped in my own towel, I go to the mirror and finger-comb my hair. It’s damp but not soaked.

“Don’t be insulted. It’s more of a reflection on me than you,” I say, my eyes on him behind me in the reflection. “I’m not accustomed to platinum service.”

In one smooth move, he snatches the towel from my body and lifts me into his arms. I shriek in surprise, hanging onto his neck until he deposits me onto the bed.

Then he overdelivers on his platinum promise.





Davis


My heart pounds hard and my breaths narrow and shorten.

Making love to Grace is a singular experience. Not that I ever compare, but if I did? I can’t remember another woman who’s been under or on top of me who turned me on this fucking much.

I’m not sure if it’s the intense eye contact Grace and I share or the way she strokes the backs of my thighs with her feet while I thrust into her again and again. She’s worlds apart from what I’m used to.

From what you’ve gotten used to.

I hate the idea that I’ve been settling since I first laid eyes on her, but damn. Had I known what awaited me at the end of the rainbow, I’d have asked her out a hell of a lot sooner.

Her forehead pleats and her rosy lips part: Grace’s O face. There’s nothing as breath stealing in this world as her coming. Her dampened red waves are spread over a white pillowcase. She thrusts her hips upward to meet mine as her eyes squeeze closed.

Her orgasm crashes into her, wringing mine from me. While her sweet, breathy, high-pitched moans roll, my release exits on a guttural growl. I damn near black out from the head rush of her squeezing me tight. Everywhere.

Her arms are lashed around my neck, her legs clutch my ass, and her inner muscles milk my cock as sparks burst on the insides of my eyelids.

Fuck.

Yes.

“God damn” are my first coherent words a minute later when my throat decides to work. I press my lips to hers and she wrecks my hair with her fingers as she kisses me, no holds barred. “That was one for the books.”

“Don’t tell me you keep score.” She rolls her eyes playfully, but a dart of chagrin stabs my chest. I don’t want her thinking I keep score.

“Do you keep score?” I challenge, because I’m not going to defend myself.

“If I did, Davis Price, that performance would be in my top three.”

“I’ll take it.” I give her another slow, long kiss and slide from her sated body. “I guess next time I’ll have to try for number one.”

She hums thoughtfully and pegs me with eyes the color of the greens on the golf courses at Pebble Beach. “That was a better idea than you sitting on the couch waiting for me.”

Her finger strokes my bottom lip—she does that a lot.

I take her fingertip between my teeth and put enough pressure there for her to gasp. Then I release her and we stare and smile like idiots for a protracted moment. I like these silent seconds with her. No one counts. It doesn’t feel awkward. We just share a slice of time.

It’s cool.

“I know the platinum includes three sex dates,” she calls as I shuffle to the bathroom to discard the condom, “but what about sexting? Is that the deluxe package only, or is it included in the platinum?” She lifts a hand to illustrate her point. “You know, is it tiered? Each one building on the next?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. She’s adorable and confusing.

“You want me to sext you?”

“I don’t know.” She wrinkles her nose. “Do I?”

“I don’t know. Do you?” I grab my boxers as I cross the room, stepping into them and pulling them to my waist. She hungrily scans my chest, so I suck in a full breath and let her look.

“I’ve never done it before but I admit, I am curious.”

“Up to you.” I lean on the bed with both fists and level my gaze on hers. “I’ll leave that ball in your court, Gracie.”

I turn and fetch my slacks and shirt, both of which I tossed over a spindly wooden chair. As I tug my socks on, she points out the obvious.

“I assume you’re leaving.”

“Yeah. I’m leaving.” I have to.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s almost midnight,” I tell her, but I don’t elaborate. I’ve watched the calendar every year for so many years, I barely have to look to know the day is coming. I’ve never been entwined with a woman on “the” day for the last six years, and I don’t intend to start now.

Arguably, since it’s only a little after eleven, I have time to crawl into bed with Grace and talk for a while, but I know where that will lead. Then it’ll officially be “tomorrow” and I’ll have to make up a reason not to make love to her while trying not to sound like I’m having a psychotic break.

The easiest road is the one leading down her street and back to my house.