Keep Her Safe(100)

I steal her words with my mouth, my hand slipping around the back of her neck to gain purchase as I kiss her, my fingers weaving into her hair. There’s no hesitation on either of our parts this time, that tentative, sweet tempo of this morning replaced with something more fervent, more needy.

“Believe me, I’m up to it.” My free hand travels down her arm, around her back, pulling her body flush against mine. Erasing any doubt she may have about how “up” to it I am.

Yet still, Gracie goads me. “Prove it,” she purrs against my lips, nose to nose, eyes locked on mine. It’s a challenge.

An invitation.

Maybe, permission.

Whatever it is, I greedily take it, my fingers testing the waistband of her shorts with a quick swipe before slipping beneath her T-shirt. Her breathing turns raspy as I memorize the ridges of her spine first, and then move my hand around to her flat, hard stomach.

Her own hands have found their place on my shoulders now, and they claw and tighten as my fingers venture upward to settle between the swell of her breasts, the lace of her bra itchy against my palm.

Her hands disappear from my shoulders and, a moment later, that lace material loosens, giving me access to her ample breasts. “Since you’re taking your time . . .” She smirks, her fingertips returning to my body—to my chest this time—to softly drag over the ridges of muscle.

I’ve never been nervous with a girl, but with Gracie my gut is rolling with nerves as I push her bra aside and cup her breast, full and heavy within my palm. My thumb grazes against her peaked nipple, eliciting a soft gasp from her against my lips. I’m desperate to see Gracie naked, to trace every one of her curves with my fingers, my tongue.

Yet sudden, rare fear holds me back from making a move.

Fear that she’ll change her mind on a whim, that I want this way more than she does; that, in the end, I won’t be what she wants. I fight desperately to chase that fear away by pulling her mouth into mine, to kiss her like I’m convincing her that I am what she wants. All that she will ever want. I kiss her like I want her to pine over me. I kiss her like I want her to remember this moment in case we never have another chance.

She melts into my body, her hands sliding down to my stomach, hot skin pressed against hot skin, her thumbs teasing my belt line. I feel myself swelling more, and I grit my teeth against the wish that those nimble fingers would make quick work of my buckle and zipper and slide farther down.

Gripping her firm backside, I lift and carry her into a corner, pinning her to the wall with my hips. It gives me easier access to her body and I take it, lifting her shirt high enough to take one of her nipples in my mouth, the delicious scent of peach-scented body wash that lingers on her skin making me inhale deeply.

Gracie moans my name softly, tightening her thighs around my waist.

This is going too far, much too fast. If I take her to my bedroom, I already know I’ll be inside her in minutes like some fool who can’t control himself. So I stay put in these cramped quarters, instead sinking to my knees and maneuvering around, until I’m sitting on the floor with my back to the wall and Gracie is straddling my hips, her eyes wild with need.

“Gracie, I think we should slow down and . . .” My voice fails me as she peels her shirt over her head and shrugs her unfastened bra off, leaving me to gape at her naked breasts, heavy and heaving with each quick breath. I knew her body would be beautiful, but she’s utterly perfect. “You’re . . .” I can’t even get the words out, admiring her bared top half while I run my hands up her muscular thighs, my finger slipping beneath the hem of her shorts. I manage to stop at her panty line, and it takes everything in me to not go farther, to not find out if she’s in the same predicament as I am. And I am in a terrible predicament—I don’t want to rush with her, and yet I’m about to explode, the anticipation too much.

Hooking my hands around the backs of her knees, I pull her body flush against me. “We’re not doing this yet,” I whisper against her lips, my arms folding around her body to hold her close to me.

“You sure about that?” Her voice is dripping with sarcasm.

I hiss as Gracie rolls her hips, pressing hard into me.

“I’m sorry, what did you say? I missed that last part,” she murmurs, cocking her head in mock concern, grinding down on me again. And again, her hips rolling in an erotic dance, the swell of her breasts brushing against my chest.

I hadn’t expected this version of Gracie—seductive, playful, forward.

Who am I kidding? I’m doomed to be a fool.

My head falls back against the wall and I close my eyes. “You wicked woman.”

Gracie’s delightful deep-bellied laughter answers, and she leans in to trace the edge of my neck with her tongue.

I groan as she pushes a hand down between us, to smooth over my length.

“What is that?”

“Uh . . . what do you mean?” That’s a question I’ve never had a girl ask me before, in this particular situation.

Her ragged breathing slows. “No, I’m serious, Noah. It looks like . . . blood?”

Finally I realize she’s intently focused on her fingertips, rubbing something between them. I follow her gaze to the hardwood floor beside us, to the dark crimson smear. It’s definitely fresh blood.

“Did you cut yourself?” Gracie’s hand begins prodding me as she searches.