Harlow
We could have sex. As upset as I was by the media showing up at the doctor’s office, it didn’t take away from the fact that we could have sex. I’d been having vivid fantasies about Grant lately, and I had to fight the urge to climb on top of him when we got to the car.
“How do you feel about this doctor?” Grant asked as he pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the road toward home.
“I like him. I feel better talking to him than I did with the last doctor. This one seems to know more about my specific situation,” I replied honestly. This doctor had explained things carefully and was thorough with his exam. He had even set up visits to a cardiologist for me. I had a cardiologist in L.A., but I needed one here. I needed one involved in this pregnancy. The only fear I had now was that our baby might not be healthy. I didn’t want to curse this child with my heart condition.
“He seems positive,” Grant said.
I liked that he seemed positive. It made me feel like I wasn’t the only person on earth who believed I could do this. “I’m low-risk.” I repeated the doctor’s words. I liked being low-risk.
“Yeah,” was all he said, although I could still see the pinched look on his face. He wasn’t going to accept things that easily. I understood that he was scared. The baby was hurting me, in his eyes. He needed to accept that the baby was a gift. I believed he would in time.
“Grant,” I said, staring at his arms flexing as he drove. I wanted to lick his biceps. I was close to begging.
He glanced over at me. His eyes took me in, then went wide before he swung his gaze back to the road. “What you thinking about, baby?”
I was thinking I wanted to lick his biceps. Then his abs and that wonderful muscle that made a V and disappeared into his jeans. That was what I was thinking. “About you,” I said.
“Shit,” he muttered, and he took a deep breath.
“The doctor said it was OK,” I reminded him.
He nodded. “Yeah, I heard him.”
I reached over and ran a finger down his arms and wrapped my hand around the muscle, which flexed as he gripped the steering wheel more tightly.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a shaky voice.
I had jumped on him in a car before. But this time, I wasn’t going to do that. We weren’t far from his apartment. I wanted to have time to explore him and kiss every perfectly sculpted part of his body.
“Harlow?” he repeated when I didn’t respond.
“I’m just touching you. I can’t wait to do more,” I told him as I ran my finger up over his shoulder. I brushed my fingertips over the vein in his neck, which stood out as if he were in pain.
“I can feel that, but I won’t be able to drive if you keep that up.”
Maybe I couldn’t wait until we made it back to the apartment. “Could you pull over?” I asked, feeling my breathing pick up with anticipation.
Grant let out a string of curses before pulling off an exit and into the parking lot of the first nice hotel we came to, which we had seen from the highway. He had barely put the truck into park when he swung his door open and jumped out. I watched in fascination as he stalked around the front of the truck and opened my door.
Both of his hands grabbed my waist, and he pulled me out of the truck, even though I didn’t need his help.
“Not taking you in a damn truck,” was all he said as he grabbed my hand and led us inside.
It took him no time to get a room. When we stepped onto the elevator, he backed me up against the wall and kissed me. Really kissed me for the first time since he’d shown up at Mase’s. This kiss wasn’t holding back anything. His hands gripped my hips tightly in a possessive, hungry grasp as his mouth moved over mine. When his tongue slid across mine, I tasted the mint from his gum and shivered at the intimate contact. The dinging of the elevator reminded us that we weren’t alone yet.
Grant broke the kiss and then stepped back to stare down at me. “I need to taste you. All of you,” he said, before taking my hand again and leading me down the hall toward room 2200. He touched the key card to the door, and the green light blinked. He swung the door open, revealing a suite.
“We just needed a bed,” I said, smiling as I looked around at the large room, complete with a bar and a gas fireplace.
“Once I get you naked, baby,” he said, closing in on me, “I don’t intend to let you get dressed for a while. We need a nice big tub and a place where I can cuddle you. Not just a bed.”
Oh. OK.
Grant started to lower his mouth to mine, then stopped. Suddenly, I was in the air. “We need a bed. Now,” he said, pressing a kiss to my lips as he walked us toward the bedroom. He laid me down, then stood back up and stared at me. The hunger and desire were there, but the love . . . it was burning even stronger. “I’m sorry,” he said, without moving to take off my clothes or his own, even though I really wanted one of us to be getting naked.
“About what?” I asked, confused.
He ran a finger down the side of my face in a gentle caress. “For hurting you. For letting you leave me. For being a son of a bitch,” he whispered as he continued to gaze down at me.
I leaned up on my elbows. “You’re forgiven. Now, would you get naked?” I said with a smile. He starting laughing as he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, gifting me with the view of his spectacular chest. Oh, yes. That was what I wanted.
“You’re a little impatient, aren’t you, sweet girl?” he said in a sexy drawl. He unsnapped his jeans and left them open before bending down to press a kiss to my lips. “I’ve never seen you so needy,” he said as he nibbled on my bottom lip and took small, little licks, sending me into a frenzy.
“I told you I missed you,” I reminded him, feeling a little self-conscious for being so demanding.
“Yeah, you did. I thought you missed my handsome face. Didn’t know you missed the pleasure,” he said in a teasing tone as his hands found the button on my jeans.
I watched his defined muscles move and flex deliciously as he tugged my jeans down and then crawled over me like a hungry lion. He stopped at my stomach and pressed a kiss just below my navel, then traveled up as he moved my T-shirt up. I lifted my arms so he could slip my shirt off. His hands made quick work of my bra, and he threw it to the floor. The sight of his large, tanned hands cupping my now-swollen breasts made me tremble.
“They’re bigger,” he said, holding them as if they were something precious.
“Happens during pregnancy,” I explained, but I was barely able to speak above a whisper. He lowered his mouth, and his tongue darted out to lick at one of my very attentive nipples. Just the sight of him had them standing at attention. I was now so excited they tingled.
“Oh!” I gasped, twisting my hands in the covers underneath me. Grant’s eyes shot up to me, and he watched me closely as he pulled my overly eager nipple into his mouth. “Ahhhh!” I cried out. There was no use trying not to make noises. I couldn’t control myself.
Grant let it pop from his mouth as he ran his lips over the tip and pressed a trail of kisses to the other one, giving it the same amount of attention, as I made desperate, panting pleas.
When he started to pull away, my hands left their firm grip on the sheets to grab his hair instead and hold him there. I was so close to a release with just his mouth alone. I didn’t want him leaving me now.
“Let me go lower, baby. I want to taste some more,” he said in a husky whisper as he stared up at me, brushing his lips over my sensitive buds. I eased my firm hold on his ear, and he grinned before kissing back down my body. He didn’t have to open my legs—I was shamelessly opening them for him. I knew where he was headed, and I wanted him there. More than anything else in the world at this moment, I wanted Grant Carter’s head between my legs.