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I feel drugged as I try to draw my body from sleep. My limbs feel heavy. My eyelids feel like concrete. It’s very hard, this waking up thing.
As I pop my head up, eyes blurry, I realize Grisham is naked beside me. Holy hot bikers, Batman. I thought last night might have just been one extended, amazing wet dream. Yet, here I am, and here he is in his full, gym-hardened glory.
If I wasn’t already pretty hardcore crushing on David Grisham before now, having lost my virginity to him sort of cements that I’ll forever be a little swoony in his presence. Waking up with him like this moves me beyond crushing. I think I might like him, like him.
I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll ever love me. He probably regrets what we did, for whatever stupid man reason he’s concocted to convince himself that this is wrong. I’m too young, or I’m Drew’s daughter, or he can’t ever love another woman like he loved Giselle.
It’s okay. It really is. Because I don’t regret it one bit. I wanted him and he was a little drunk and a lot emotional and I took advantage of that. So whatever else happens, I’m fine with what went down. It felt good—so good—better than I expected for my first time. I mean, it hurt a little, at first, and women aren’t supposed to come like that when they’re doing it for the first time, right? Or maybe that’s just because most women lose it in high school, usually with a boy who has less experience than I had. Grisham, however, is a man. A man who knows his way around a woman’s body. Score for me. Whoop!
I get up, dodging Grisham’s temper-tantrum remnants as I head to the bathroom and wowza! My thighs feel like I ran a marathon and my pussy is tender like a young chicken. Holy cow, is that normal? I do all the standard morning things, and then crawl back into bed. Grisham finds me, his eyes opening as he wraps an arm around my waist.
“Good morning,” he says roughly.
I wrinkle my nose. “You have morning breath. Pussy mouth. Go brush your teeth and come back to try that again.”
He chuckles. The first time I’ve heard him laugh. Score!
When he returns, minty-fresh, he kisses me softly. As he pulls away he says, “You were amazing last night.”
I blush ten thousand shades of pink. He gets hard, his cock pushing against my belly.
“You have no idea what effect you have on people, do you?” he asks as I lift my leg, inviting him in.
Belly-to-belly, we move together, a slow salute to morning. I’m sore, but having him close to me feels so right that I simply don’t care. I grab his ass and he sucks on my neck.
“Can you come for me?” he asks. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
Oh, the dirty talk. Grisham has a wicked mouth and I love it. I push my hips to meet his, my clit rubbing against him. The pressure builds and it’s not long before I feel that tingle of pre-release.
“Almost there,” I whisper against his mouth. “Keep going.”
He takes it up a notch, his cock stiffening inside of me as I fall over the edge. I had no idea. No idea. Christ.
We lie there, staring at each other.
For no good reason, I blush again. He rubs his thumb against my cheek and leans in for another kiss.
“I should have someone clean this place up,” he says. “I’m surprised neither of us got cut last night.”
“Yeah, it’s a ... bit of a mess,” I agree. “Let me see your hand?”
As expected, he’s got a deep gash that’s now crusted over. “This probably could’ve used stitches,” I say.
“I’ve had worse,” he says.
“I heard. Where’d you get shot?”
He turns, showing me a puckered scar in his side. “Just grazed me, really. I dove to push my buddy out of the way. Two guys in two other clubs got in an argument at a party. They started getting physical and then one pulled a weapon. My friend Sam tried to be a peacemaker, because that’s just the kind of person he is. He thought everything was fine so he started walking away, but the guy was blitzed and he got a shot off. I dove and pushed Sam, because he had his back to the guy. Bullet grazed me. No big deal.”
“You have friends?” I ask, hoping he hears the humor in my tone.
“A few,” he admits. “But that’s what you got out of that story?”
“Well, it surprises me, honestly,” I say, cringing a little. “You seem really closed off,”
“I guess I am,” he says. “Just a byproduct of losing the people you care about.”
“Where’s Sam now? Not in the club?”
“Nah,” he says. “He stopped riding. Married his old lady. Went legit.”
We kiss a little, just brushes of the lips. He asks, “What about you? You have friends?”
“Sure,” I say. “One thing my father never limited was time with my girlfriends.”
“But he locked the chastity belt nice and tight?”
“He just made it intimidating for any guy who came around. No one wanted to cross him,” I answer. “Plus, I ...”
Grisham makes a questioning face.
“I never ... I mean, I messed around some but I never felt ... like, whatever that was between us.”
“Chemical attraction,” he said.
“I guess. Sure,” I say.
He sucks in his lips and rolls away, tiptoeing around the broken items that remain strewn about the room, finding clothing and dressing without another word.
“I’ll send someone to clear this out right away,” he says. “I need to prep for a club meeting tonight. Grab yourself some breakfast and do whatever you want today. If you want, I can send for someone to give you a massage.”
“That sounds nice,” I answer, my tone confused.
We were just having a nice chat, learning more about each other, and then—bam—he’s cold again. Rolling away, all business. I mean, I sort of figured he’d be out the door as soon as he woke up, so our sleepy little conversation was a really nice surprise, but now he’s doubled back, the open Grisham gone.
I look around, knowing that the next time I come into this room, it will look different. New artwork, new lamps. Who knows, maybe the furniture will change. It occurs to me that this may have been a room he shared with Giselle. My heart breaks for him, destroying things that may have reminded him of her. I can only begin to imagine what that must feel like. All that loss in his life—he’s lost so many people he cares about, it’s a miracle he has anything left to give. Or maybe that’s it? Maybe he doesn’t think he has anything left in the emotional tank. Being here with me, close to me, sharing his stories with me—there’s an emotional price for that kind of interaction, and I suspect that David Grisham might have spent every penny before he ever even knew I existed.
Pity, really. Because I really like him a whole lot.
Strange, how this place has started to feel like home to me. It feels like I belong here, and that alone has me feeling all kinds of feels. Disloyalty to my father, to his club. Excitement for feeling like I have a place that could be only mine. Angry that I had to discover it by being a pawn in some political game. Emotional. Strange how much this man has come to mean to me, how much I find myself feeling like I really am his, really am claimed.
I sit in bed for a long while before finally rising to find a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Slipping on my flip flops, I clack out into the hallway, off to attack the hell out of some pastries.
Who knew sex would work up such an appetite?
*
