Grip Trilogy Box Set - Kennedy Ryan Page 0,227

you, and none of it did you justice.”

Grip’s mouth tightens against what I suspect is laughter. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“Have you heard that I really want to do a book deal with you?” Charm shifts from slut muffin to shrewd businesswoman-editor- person with whiplash swiftness. “I suspect come December your Grammy nom will be announced. May as well start on New York Times bestseller, too.”

“Charm, we’re here to look at the apartment,” I remind her. “Not ink a deal.”

Who can think about business at a time like this, when I’m snuggled into my boyfriend’s hard body and surrounded by his addictive scent?

“Knock, knock.” A living, breathing prediction of Charm in twenty years pokes her head into the apartment entrance. “Anybody home?”

“Mother.” Charm teeters on her Manolos, making her way over to Bridget Simmons, offering air kisses that come close to actually landing on her cheeks. “You look amazing.”

“Oh, thank you, dear,” Bridget practically purrs. “I’ve been doing Pure Barre.”

“It shows,” Charm says admiringly. “Where’s Mrs. O’Malley?”

“Not far behind me, I’m sure.” She smiles over at Grip and me. “Hullo, darlings. You must be Grip. Nice to meet you. Bristol, come, come.”

Her hands bid me, flashing diamonds and drawing me into her Chanel-scented bosom.

“Hello, Mrs. Simmons.” I do the perfunctory air kisses we were trained to perfectly execute in finishing school. “Thank you for helping me this week. This property is gorgeous.”

“Isn’t it just?” Bridget takes in the spacious living room and the glimpses of the city skyline it affords. “The owner wants to leave it furnished, if that’s not a problem.”

“Grip arrived just before you did, so we haven’t had a chance to look around yet.” I reclaim my spot beside him, tucking into his side, a wave of want and need slamming into me like a blow. The tension of his body tells me he’s suffering from the same deprivation I am.

“Mrs. O’Malley got stuck in some traffic, but should be here soon.” Bridget stops abruptly when her phone rings. “Oh, this is her now. Let me take it.”

She steps out into the hall and starts a rapid-fire one-sided conversation.

“I’ll be right back, too.” Charm holds up her phone. “I should check in with the office. I hadn’t planned to be gone this long.”

As soon as she steps into the hall, Grip drags me by the wrist into the small powder room just off the entrance. I don’t get the chance to ask him what he’s doing before he shows me, lifting me onto the sink and slotting his lean hips between my thighs. One hand shoves into my hair and the other wraps around the side of my neck. His tongue goes deep sea diving down my throat, and who cares about breathing? Endless days and interminable nights missing him make me desperate, make my hands shake when I touch him. I scoot forward to feel him through my wet panties, my tulle skirt rasping over my thighs as he pushes it up. I roll my hips into him, seeking friction in my neediest place.

“I heard the things you said about me,” he mutters against my jaw.

“Oh, God.” I squeeze my eyes shut, embarrassed not because he didn’t know I felt those things, but because I got caught gushing.

“Did you mean them?” His whisper over my lips makes them throb.

Forget embarrassment—he’s hard between my legs, and I realize my declaration turned him on. I’ve been too long without him to be reticent.

“Every fucking word.” I reach between us to rub him through his jeans. His breath rushes out against the skin of my neck, where his head is buried.

“Baby, I missed you.” He sucks my earlobe and runs his tongue along my neck. “God, so much.”

He drops to his knees, his wide palms on the sensitive skin inside my thighs, spreading me open. He tugs my panties aside and presses his nose to me, inhaling sharply.

“Grip, stop.” I halfheartedly try to bring my legs back together. “We can’t.”

“I woke up like eighteen hours ago in Paris and couldn’t remember how your pussy smelled.” Lava-level heat darkens his eyes. “That’s been driving me crazy.”

Holy shit. We may not make it out of this bathroom alive.

Before I can even voice that fear, he’s tugging my panties down my legs and lapping at me like he’s parched and I’m the last glass of water for miles. He’s French kissing my pussy, tunneling his tongue into my depths. I want to be discreet, want to do the decent thing