Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(59)

A sluggish reverse out…then a quick plunge in.

“Ohh.”

He extracts the sound from me without trying, and then does it again.

“Come for me, Gracie.” He glides back, then forward, this time adding a trick we’ve tried once before. “I’m going to count down from three, and you’re going to come so hard, you’ll beg me to stop.”

I think back to the hottest phone sex I’ve ever had—okay the only phone sex I’ve ever had—and a ripple of pleasure blasts through me at the idea of coming so hard I’ll be begging him to stop.

Worth a try.

“Three,” he commands. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.”

“Two.” He releases my wrist and teases my breast. “Feel it building?” He’s as breathless as I am.

I manage a weak nod.

“Gracie.” He rewards me with another thrust, and another. “Give it to me.”

That’s all it takes.

I coil, clinging to his back as wave after wave of my orgasm washes over me. And when he continues working toward his own release, I coil tighter still, my spent muscles spasming within until I’m sure I can’t take it anymore.

I come again, begging him to finish because I can’t take another second of pleasure. Finally he gives in.

Even during Davis’s orgasm, my body greedily takes another. Sweat coats my hairline, my breasts, my stomach. A ragged breath wrings itself from my lungs. My arms and legs go limp from exhaustion.

Davis gives me his weight, lying against me, embedded deep. His lips find my neck, his warm breath tickling my skin.

“Fuck, we’re good at that,” he says.

“Yeah, we are.”

He pushes to his elbows and studies me for a long moment. I can see what he’s not saying as plain as day. My heart kicks my ribs in terrified anticipation, but instead of saying the three words that could send me into a panic attack, Davis says three very different ones.

“Zombies and beer?”

It’s a cowardly move on my part, but I take the reprieve. “Zombies and beer.”

—

I have Monday off, which is a dream, considering McGreevy’s will be slow and I wouldn’t make much money anyway.

I’m at Davis’s house. He sits on the floor between my legs, his eyes on the screen as another hapless zombie meets a swift and merciless end. I’m massaging a particularly troublesome spot on Davis’s right shoulder, which must be tender given the way he grunts.

I lean to whisper into his ear, lightening my touch, “Office work is killing you.”

“I don’t work that hard.”

He does so. I harrumph.

“Eight to five at a desk isn’t exactly coal mining.”

“No, but moving that mouse all day and not moving your hot body isn’t doing you any favors.”

“I work out.” He digs a handful of potato chips out of the bag and munches.

“I’m jealous of your metabolism,” I grumble. “I too would like to sit on the floor and eat an entire bag of calories.”

He drops the bag to the coffee table and turns, wrapping his arms around my waist and looking up at me.

“Then do it,” he says.

I snort. “In case you haven’t noticed, my hips aren’t as narrow as yours.”

He grabs a handful of my ass-slash-thigh and squeezes. “And thank God for that. Your body is my dream. Or do you need me to prove it to you?”

I brought takeout from McGreevy’s for our dinner. We ate sandwiches, then collapsed on the couch. We haven’t taken our clothes off yet, which is a record for us.

“Why the smile, Gracie Lou?”

At a loss for a clever response, I decide to be frank. “Just…you.”

His eyes grow warm, long lashes dipping low as his mouth spreads into a slow smile. “Are you staying?”

“Why?” My eyes go to the screen. “Going to have nightmares if I don’t?”

“Possibly. I have a nightlight, though, so don’t feel pressured to stay if you can’t manage.”

I run my fingers through his respectably messy hair, thinking of reasons to go home. I come up blank.

“I brought a change of clothes.”

“Good.” He joins me on the couch and drops the chip bag onto my lap. “Eat all the chips you want.”

I lean against him and pluck a few crisp, round chips from the bag. His heart thuds against my back. On TV a katana blade slices the air and blood spurts from one of the zombies.

My shoulders shake with laughter.

“Like that?” Davis asks.

“I don’t know about us, Price.” I snuggle deeper against him. His arms lock around my stomach and I pull out another potato chip, reach over my head, and feed it to him. He crunches it happily.

“I do, Gracie,” he finally says.

Happy, eating potato chips, and resting on Davis’s solid form, I decide that his knowing might be enough for both of us.





Davis


I’m finishing my espresso two minutes before work when Grace comes downstairs wearing my T-shirt and her own floral pajama bottoms. I freeze at the bottom of the stairs, smiling at her messy hair as much as the cute, sleepy expression on her face.

“I won’t disturb you,” she says as she steps into the kitchen. “I know you have to work, like, now. You should have woken me up and told me to leave.”