Playing For Her Heart - Megan Erickson Page 0,56

build, that she wasn’t even sure it had hit her until Grant said, “Yeah, that’s it, I can feel it, sweetheart, come for me.”

Her muscles were squeezing his fingers and sounds were coming out of her mouth that might have been prayers. She wasn’t sure.

Grant crawled up her body, massaging her thighs. He was grinning, lips red. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m pretty good.” She sounded like a frog.

“Did you lose your voice already, Princess? Good thing you don’t have to talk to do your job because man, I’m not even close to being finished with you.”

She grabbed his neck and crushed his lips to hers, tasting herself and not caring.

She wrapped her legs around his hips. His hard cock rubbed along her wet, sensitive flesh. She rolled her hips and smiled against his lips when he groaned.

“Go get a condom and claim your woman.”

Grant laughed and was off the bed in a shot, running into the bathroom. He came out holding a condom, grinning like an idiot. “You’re lucky I keep one in my bag.” He rolled it on as he knee-walked between her legs on the bed. He dropped to all fours, hands on either side of her head. “Hey there, Chloe.”

She ran her hand through her hair and let it rest on the bed above her head. “Hi, Grant.”

He closed his eyes slowly, then fired her with the blue laser when they popped back open. “I think that’s the first time you said my name to me,” he said softly.

She felt the smile drop off her face as her stomach rolled. She hadn’t realized she hadn’t even said his name. This man was definitely her dream man for still wanting her after all this. “Really?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re saying it now.”

“Grant.” She licked her lips, tasting his name on her lips, savoring it on her tongue. “Grant, Grant, Grant—”

He cut her off by kissing her and entering her at the same time.

She gasped into his mouth and clutched her shoulders. When he began to move his hips, there was no rush to the rhythm. He pulled back so he could watch her face. He’d stop when he was in to the hilt, grind his hips, then pull back out, each thrust a blow to her mind and her body.

Because the whole time, he was whispering things like, “beautiful” and “gorgeous” and “I dreamed about this” and “thank you, Chloe.”

And she thought about saying, I love you, Grant.

But there was time. There was plenty of time, so instead she watched his face, this beautiful, caring man who wanted her.

So when he whispered, “Say my name,” she didn’t hesitate.

“Grant,” she said through a lump in her throat.

“Fuck yes,” he whispered. He shoved his face into her neck, bit her skin, and she came. She came apart on Grant’s cock plunging inside of her, Grant’s breath in her ear, Grant’s breath saying her name like a prayer.

And then it was Grant who came inside of her on a long moan, whose hips stuttered. And it was Grant who stroked her hair as she burst into tears.

…

Chloe’s fingers grazed Grant’s chest as he lay on his back. Every once in a while, he’d feel a nail, but mostly, it was soft touches, like a feather.

He squeezed her tighter to his chest and closed his eyes.

He couldn’t remember a time when the sex had been…like that. Sex where he stared into his partner’s eyes. Sex where the journey was better than the destination. Sex where hearing his own name was like coming home.

He liked rough sex. He liked dirty talk. Chloe did, too, if their previous encounters were any indication. But to know now that they could also have sex like this, where they took their time, where they—Jesus Christ, made love—well then wasn’t that the ultimate?

He hadn’t realized he wanted that, the type of lovemaking they’d just done. But now that they had, he couldn’t imagine living without it.

Chloe shifted in his arms so she could look him in the eye. “So, are we going to try this?”

He cupped her cheek. “Yeah, we are. I want to take you out to a fancy dinner. I want to snuggle with you on the couch under a blanket while we watch bad action movies. I want to see you in my kitchen, cooking with my daughter.”

Her eyes were wide. “I want those things, too.”

“And you’re okay dating a washed-up single dad?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not washed up, you’re thirty-two. I love your daughter,