I’m completely torn as my car pulls away from Grace’s house. Just what is it about this girl exactly that has me all tied in knots. I’m used to being in control, of myself and everyone around me. I casually date gorgeous women, maneuvering them through the standard moves of drinks and dinner before bed (not that it’s often bed, more like floor, counter, wall). It’s all fine, the regular thing, never any fireworks going off.

No one has ever been particularly stimulating, especially after I’ve peeled off the layers of clothing and bared the body that first attracted me. It’s like a bunch of perfectly wrapped gifts under the tree. All too often there’s nothing exciting beneath that top layer of wrap.

Women assume that I’m a playboy just wanting another notch in my belt. That once the thrill of the chase is over, so is my interest. From where I sit the real issue is that they don’t offer much beyond their bodies to maintain my attention.

I lean my head back on the seat trying to wrap my head around it all. It’s like unknotting the cables of all my devices. Every time I get somewhere, the tangle just gets tighter.

Then I pull out my phone.

By the time I’m done with the call, we’re back in the city, right in front of my brownstone. I climb wearily agitated out of the car to stamp up to the stoop and inside. The huge fucking place seems like a cavern. Empty, hollow, an echoing chamber.

I stride down the long open plan hallway, my shoes noisy on the floorboards. The echoing sound makes the house seem even emptier. Unlived in, unloved. The kitchen is like some deserted space station where the monster alien’s about to jump out. My previous ideas about having dinner with Gracie here at the island counter are now blown to smither-fucking-eens.

I can still envision her sitting there on a high stool, wearing only my shirt, bare legs dangling. The one fixed button is mismatched and her hair’s all tousled from the way I took her roughly on top of the counter. She smiles naughtily at me as she runs her finger around the sauce left on a plate from the pasta I just cooked her. She puckers her lips as she sucks the tip, her eyes diving into mine. Wanting more.

Christ, I’m wallowing in those impossible fantasies again. I need to get the itch clawed, never mind scratched.

I pull out my phone again, dial the number for the service I use when I can’t be bothered with the dating game but need something a little less raw than the masseuse. Models new in town that want to increase their exposure and finance their expenses. Without Grace, I don’t want to talk or dine, I just want to fuck. I want a woman wrapped around me, grinding back down on my thrusts. I want her legs hooked around my pelvis, tugging me deeper into her tight pussy.

“Bloomingtons,” the silky, but business-like voice picks up the phone and recognizes my number. “Good evening, Mr Grady.”

I swipe the screen and disconnect.

Shit, I don’t want any other woman here. Or anywhere near me. The only one I want is Grace and she’s put up her boundary. Not that I don’t see it wobbling on very shaky ground but she’s still adamantly holding it erect.

I sleep badly and even the quick jerk off doesn’t quell my desire in the slightest. My mind is full of images of Grace, her thighs all creamy tender, her eyes gazing at me with lust. I shoot my load but end up feeling more frustrated that I can’t have the real thing.

I’m in my gym before dawn, running hard then lifting heavy to pummel my body into submission.

“You’re early,” Grace says softly, emerging from the house and pulling the door firmly shut behind her.

She comes down the path toward me where I’m stopped in stunned amazement.

“Don’t look so horrified.” She laughs shyly.

“That’s not horror, that’s stunned admiration,” I husk out.

Christ, my mouth almost slipped into the word adoration. Every one of my limbs is pulsating with renewed desire for her. I never would have dreamed she could put herself together so perfectly after seeing the dump she lives in. She’s like a different woman, but still the same challenging, partly insecure girl on the cusp of something.

“You look incredible.”

She smiles at that, hearing the genuine wonderment in my voice, no casual line. Her confidence visibly picks up and she sashays down the path toward toward me as I watch, my smile stretching my jaw muscles.

When she comes about a foot away she does a little twirl for me. Her high heel catches in the broken cement of the walkway and she stumbles. One second she’s going down, next she’s in my arms. Her soft flesh is pressed into my shield of freshly-pumped chest, lining my torso. Her curves sliding into my ridges makes my cock stiffen in moments.

She tips her face up to me, eyes wide with expectation, maybe a tremor of fear. Surely she can feel the bulge of me pulsating against her stomach. Does she think I’m going to attack her right here on the sidewalk? What is she so scared of?

I thread her arm through mine and walk her back to the car where Henry stands with the door open for us.

She leans forward to climb in and her dress tightens around her perfect ass. Shit, the bride is going to be seriously upstaged at this wedding. And I have no idea how I’m going to keep my hands off Grace for the entire day but the knowledge that I can keep her beside me for all of it is incredible. As I slide in behind her and Henry closes the door on us, all I want to do is push her back along the seat and ravage every inch of her.

She smiles at me nervously, as though she knows what I’m thinking. Then I remember what an ordeal this must be for her, now that I know about her buried lack of confidence. Today, I’m determined to slash through that and make her sense of her own worth grow. As I take her hand in mine, I realize again how much I’m actually looking forward to spending the whole day with Grace.

“You look so breathtakingly beautiful,” I tell her, “those flowers I got you pale in comparison.”

That may have sounded cheesy but Grace laughs out loud and I can tell she’s happy. That feels exceptionally strange to me, that I should be satiated by my date’s contentment.

“Honestly?” she whispers. “I’ve been up since five so I could get into the bathroom. Alone.”

“I’m sure that place is tough for you.”

She shrugs me off but her face tightens and I know I’m right.

“Thank you for the bouquet. Are they, um, dahlias?”

“Peonies. Let’s have a glass of champagne,” I add, pulling open the bar and pouring from the bottle I opened just before picking her up.

“Isn’t it a little early to start drinking,” she says, looking around as though she might get in trouble, forgetting we’re entirely secure in our own little universe in back of my car.

“A toast to the happy couple.”

“Is that what we are?” she stammers.

“I meant the bride and groom,” I say, squeezing her fingers.

“Oh right,” she whispers. “But I really shouldn’t. I’m not supposed to.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” I say with a wicked glint.

I can see that barrier wobbling and Grace trying to shore it up against what must seem like the tornado of my seduction.

“What happened to you, Gracie?”

Her eyes flick immediately to the back of Henry’s head. Like the thought of him knowing anything about her makes her squeamish. I hit the button that slides the screen into place and turn toward her. But not before I hand her the flute with an insistent gaze, insisting she share with me. Then I settle back, my knee crooked under me so I can swivel and give Grace my entire attention.

“I was sent away,” she whispers in a very small voice, it would be almost indecipherable if I weren’t paying such close attention.

“I already knew you’d been in the system. We both know that I give work experience to women in your situation to help them get back on their feet.”

“Yeah but I bet you never took one of those women out on the town before.”

“That’s true. I know it goes against code to ask but what were you in for?”

She squirms and for a moment I think she’s going to clam right up. I pick up her hand again, wrapping her in my fist and she makes an effort.

“For being an idiot,” she says.

I wait, not letting that be all she tells me. I want to know all of her.

She inhales all the air in the car.

“I was caught carrying.”

“You were made a mule against your will?”

“You think I’m way more innocent than I am. I knew what I was doing but I never made anything out of it other than the fantasy that Carl, the guy that asked me to do it, really liked me.”

I wrap Grace under my bicep and she instinctively settles into the hard curves and ridges of my chest and underarm. It’s like she was created to be there.

“Everyone does crazy things for love and to be loved,” I tell her.

She sighs.

“I don’t feel like I’ll ever truly get over this. Not the love part although I know I have walls up against being tricked by a man.”

“It takes time. You have to take it slow so you know it’s safe to give your trust.”

“Was that slow for you? Our first meeting?” she asks.

“What can I say? I was bowled over by you. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Slumming it.”

“Why do you always talk about yourself like that?”

“I shouldn’t.”

“No you really shouldn't.”

“I don’t mean to be victimy, it’s like I said, I feel that shame is ingrained in me now, like a tattoo branding my skin forever.”

“You aren’t being a victim by sharing the way you feel with me. I want you to do that.”

“You do? Why?”

“So you can let out your emotions and move through this sense you’re not good enough.”

“You don’t think I’m damaged goods?”

“You may be for now, but like a perfect piece of porcelain, you can be put back together.”

“But the cracks will always be there.”

“Not if they’re repaired by the master.”

She lifts her head to gaze up at me and it takes a whole lot of strength not to press my mouth onto hers and show her how precious she is. First she has to find that for herself but that doesn't mean I can’t show her the route.