FIVE
- Igniting
"What could possibly be wrong with the tables?" I snapped.
It was Christmas Eve-eve.
And we were standing in the empty nightclub, now with the lights turned back on, thankfully.
He wasn't even supposed to be there. I shot him the text about setting them up just so he knew things were progressing since everything had slowed down a bit once all the staff was hired and we secured a DJ. After three nights going to a bunch of different clubs to hear them play at Grant's insistence since, well, I didn't know why. Especially considering all we did was argue different points at every single one of the clubs, leaving me going home each night angry, wondering what the hell ever made me think he was anything other than an intractable, conceited, pain in my ass.
I wasn't even going to let myself think about how he inserted himself into the server and bartending interviews. How he just showed up on the days of, planted himself in my chair. Then vetoed just about all my top choices.
The fighting had gotten so heated that day that Evan stepped in, linking his arm through Grant's, leading him out the door, assuring him that he would calm me down.
"Sugar baby," he told me after closing and locking the door. "Can you just fuck him already and get the sexual tension over with?"
"What are you talking about? That was not sexual tension. That was him being a stubborn jackass who I swear goes against all my choices just to get a rise out of me."
"Yes, Sagey girl, he does. Because he likes you all worked up. How did you get to your age without knowing when a man is pushing your buttons on purpose?"
"Why the hell would he want to push my buttons?"
"Because it's the only time you don't sit around like you have a stick shoved up your backend when he is around, avoiding eye-contact, staying more than ten feet away at all times. When he pisses you off, you get in his face, you get all pink in the cheeks, it's hot. Trust me. He likes it. So he does it on purpose."
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
And it was.
So I pushed the thought away, much more comfortable with the idea that he was just a jerk.
"They're not the ones we agreed on," Grant insisted.
He wasn't wrong.
"Well, someone misplaced a third of the ones we needed."
"More like rented them out to someone else who paid more."
"Yes, well, there's nothing we could do about that now. These ones are similar."
"They're wrought iron."
"Yes, I'm aware. As I've been the one hauling them into and off of the rental truck for the past hour." With no help. I had no idea how heavy tables could be. The hair at the base of my neck was sticky with sweat. And I had half of them to go still.
"They look like they're meant to be outdoors."
"They probably were. But we have no other choices, so we are going to need to make these work. Some tablecloths and glass tops to keep them in place and even out the drink and eating surface. They'll be fine."
"I'll need to see it."
"Of course you will," I mumbled under my breath.
"What was that?" he asked, brow quirked up, daring me to tell him.
"I said Of course you will. Because you feel the need to micromanage everything. I'm surprised you even manage to employ a staff," I ranted as I dragged the table from the center of the dance floor over toward the bar area where Grant was leaning against the oversized bar. "I mean, why pay them when you are so fully capable of handling every single minute task all by your..."
I lost the rest of my sentence.
Because suddenly, my wrist was snagged in his hand, spinning me around to face him, the question barely getting a chance to form in my brain before his lips crashed down on mine.
A shock - electric, catching - traveled from the contact, down through the center of my chest, my belly, lower, making my body curve forward into his, my breasts pressed tight against his firm chest, my hips cradled into his pelvis. My hands rose, winding around his neck, holding on tight as his lips got harder, more insistent, dragging a low groan from somewhere deep within.
His tongue took the opportunity to slip inside, claiming mine, making the fire inside stoke higher, burn hotter until I was sure it might overtake me entirely as Grant's hands moved down my back, sinking into my ass, staying planted for a long moment before pulling, lifting me up to my tiptoes, higher, until I was dangling for a moment before he turned me, hopped me up onto the bar.
His lips ripped from mine, pressing into my neck, traveling down, his scruff burning over the sensitive skin even as his hands snaked up under my shirt, teasing over my belly, the underside of my breasts, before moving back down, grabbing the hem, dragging it up. My hands went above my head to allow him to remove it, all I could think of was having his hands on me again, his lips grazing my throat hollow, collarbone, between my breasts.
Gone were thoughts of tables, DJs, glassware, color schemes, all the times I would swear I was close to hating this man as his hand shivered up over my ribs before shifting inward, closing over the cup of my bra, squeezing, making my breath shudder out of me.
Urged on, his hand moved up, grabbing the cup of my bra, yanking it down, exposing me. His thumb and forefinger found my hardened nipple, rolling it between his strong fingers.
The need overtook me completely, making my chest tighten, my breasts get heavy, my breathing become fast and shallow. An unyielding, undeniable pressure started in my lower stomach, demanding attention, fulfillment.
Grant's body lowered, his other hand freeing my other breast even as his lips closed around my nipple, sucking hard, making an almost pained whimper escape me, the sound echoing back at us in the large, empty space.
His teeth nipped. And this time the whimper was a moan as my needy hands reached between us, struggling to work his buttons free, nothing on my mind but feeling his skin press against me. Seeming to sense the need, as soon as my clumsy fingers were done, he rose back up, sealing his lips over mine again as his chest pressed into my breasts, making a shudder course through me.
My legs tipped up slightly, folding across his lower back, pulling until his hips pressed forward, until I felt his hardness pressing against my need, a sensation that made me moan against his lips.
A low, deep rumble moved through him, vibrating into my body as his hands went down my back, freeing me of my bra completely even as my hips ground against him once again, needing more, sure nothing had ever felt this primal, this right before.
And I wanted more of it.
All of it.
Grant yanked suddenly away, pressing my back against the bar, his hands sliding down my belly, snagging my button and zip, working them free, then dragging not only my pants but my panties over my hips, down my thighs, then finally off my ankles.
He stood there for a moment, my knees at his sides, my body completely exposed to his gaze which raked over me hungrily before he shrugged out of his shirt, then lowered over me, his tongue tracing the undersides of my breasts, then down the center of my stomach, blazing a trail downward.
My muscles tensed as his scruff teased over my hipbones, the triangle above my sex, the sensitive, soft skin of my upper thighs.
His fingers traced up my calves, snagging me behind my knees, spreading them wide to the sides, opening me up to him entirely just a second before his lips sealed over my clit, sucking hard, making my back arch up off the bar for a long moment before his tongue started working me in quick, unrelenting circles, not giving my body a chance to calm, to settle, instead driving me up hard, fast, until my hands were twisted in his hair, my thighs shaking from the anticipation he was building as my sex tightened, as my breath caught and held, as his tongue did one more swipe.
The orgasm tore through my body, making it jolt hard once as I was finally able to draw breath again, crying out his name as the waves crashed through me, as Grant's tongue kept working me, dragging it out, milking it for all it was worth.
Body drained, his mouth moved away, kissing up my thigh, over my belly again, until his chin settled between my breasts for long enough for my eyes to flutter open, finding his dark eyes dancing, his lips twitching.
"That was one way to stop the ranting," he said, voice low, deep. And, if I didn't feel the anger rekindling in my system, didn't feel the weight of what had just happened settle over me, I would have found it sexy. Hypnotic even. But all I could feel was the skittering pace of my heartbeat, the way my stomach twisted hard, tight, making me wonder if I would ever be able to untangle it.
"Oh, God," I hissed, planting my hands awkwardly, folding my body up, forcing his to straighten as well.
"Don't..." he started, shaking his head, the smile gone, the light banked out of his eyes. Maybe if I had been paying attention to anything other than the nauseating speed of my thoughts, I might have seen regret there. Or something akin to it.
But all I could focus on was how epically I had just screwed up. You didn't mess around with clients. That was like rule number one of any job. Everyone knew that. I had been so good, so careful about my public image. I couldn't have it getting out that I messed around with clients. No one would want to hire me.
And I would deserve that failure.
"Oh, God," I whimpered again as I tried to scoot forward, my feet dangling just above it. And I couldn't shove myself off the end because his body had refused to budge.
"Babe, stop," his voice demanded, tone both forceful and pleading somehow at the same time.
"I have to go. I can't... this was a mistake," I mumbled, not even trying to make my voice sound forceful with the heady dose of shame and insecurity that was pressing down on my throat - on my vocal cords.
"No, it wasn't," he countered, his hand raising, fingers gently snagging my chin, forcing it up, waiting until my eyes finally found his. "This was always going to happen. I knew it from the moment you demanded twenty-five percent," he told me, his thumb moving up to stroke my cheek. Everything within me wanted me to lean into the touch, to be open to more of it.
"It can't happen," I insisted. "I can't be the woman who sleeps with clients. I can't be known as that. I've worked too hard."
"Did you think I would talk about it on the fucking party planner gossip boards or some shit?" he asked, head jerking back a bit. If I didn't know better, I would say he was offended.
"That is neither here nor there. I can't risk my reputation by sleeping with the first big client of my career."
"If no one knows, why would it matter?"
"I would know. You would know."
"So what?"
"So, I just don't... do this."
"Sleep with clients."
"Sleep around. Period. I don't do this. I get that you do, that this is no big deal for you. But..."
"All that bullshit aside..."
"It's not bull-"
"All that bullshit aside," he cut me off. "Can you really tell me you don't want this? Or was that someone else clawing the skin off my neck and crying out my name a minute ago. Yeah, that's what I thought," he said when my head lowered, knowing I would never be able to convincingly lie about it.
Because I did want it.
Him.
I wanted him.
Even if it was stupid. Even if it wasn't like me. Even if it was potentially career-ending. I had never wanted someone with the raw, primal, aching desire that I wanted him. And I had to admit that it felt like I was simply punishing myself by trying to deny it.
"Sage," he tried, voice damn near soft - something I wasn't sure a man such as he could be called. It helped, too, that it was the first time he'd used my name. And that it shivered off his tongue and over my skin deliciously, sinking in, making a warm, gooey feeling move through my belly. Seeming to sense a chip in my resolve, his body moved in, his hips pressing against my knees until they parted, allowing him to step inside, his face to slide past mine, his lips brushing my ear when he spoke. "Wanted you the second you stood up to me. You wanted me in the little room in this very club," he told me, bringing up something we had both seemed to bury. Or, at least, pretended to.
"Grant..." I was going to try to reason with him, with this situation where we both wanted something, but I knew I needed to deny it.
"Like the way you say that. Like it more when you say it while you come," he added, making another shiver course through me. A low rumble moved through him, feeling it. "Next time, I want to feel it," he went on, knowing it was working, it was breaking down my admittedly feeble defenses. "Buried deep inside you, crying out my name into my ear, your walls tightening around me."
His hand moved between us, gliding over my cleft, just barely teasing my clit before moving downward.
"See?" he said, pressing a finger slowly inside me. "You want it as much as I do." His body shifted, his cock pressing into my thigh - hard, demanding, promising fulfillment to the clawing, aching need inside even as his finger started to work me slowly. "Tell me you want me inside you," he demanded before his teeth sank into my earlobe.
A low whimper escaped me as my forehead planted into his shoulder. There was no denying it. "I want you inside me." My voice was small, barely audible even to my own ears. A rumble moved through him at hearing it even as his finger turned inside me, stroked over my top wall, raking over my G-spot with expert precision.
At the pre-orgasm fluttering deep inside, all thoughts to objections slipped away.
"No," I whimpered as my walls tightened, threatened oblivion just as his finger slid out of me.
"Sh," he murmured, his lips sealing over mine as his hand sank into his pocket, finding his wallet, taking out a condom, making short work of protecting us.
"Grant, please," I begged when he shifted forward, letting his cock slide up my cleft, pressing into my clit.
His head lifted, eyes holding mine as he pressed against me for a long moment before gliding inside, taking me to the hilt with a small pinch.
Our eyes held for a long moment, both of us absorbed in the moment, before the need overtook our systems, making my head slam to his shoulder, my face buried in his neck as he started moving within me - slow and steady at first, getting harder and faster as each moment passed.
"Come, baby," he demanded, voice rough with his own need for release as his hand moved between us, stroking over my clit to push me over the edge.
And just like that, he did.
I crashed down into the orgasm hard, knocking out all my air as the pleasure racked my system, starting at the base of my spine and sparking outward until it overtook me completely.
I was still whimpering his name when I came back into my body, clinging to him, my breathing unsteady, my heart slamming in my chest.
I wasn't sure how long we stayed there, holding onto each other as we broke apart. It felt like ages. Yet it didn't seem like nearly enough.
It was the foreign sound of his phone ringing that made us both jolt, break apart.
He reached for the phone as I dropped down, scrambling to gather my clothes, giving up on my bra and panties, just dragging my shirt and pants back on as my brain started racing.
What the hell did I just do?
Sleep with the client.
I had just become that girl.
Grant's phone silenced before starting up again.
Some work crisis.
I could feel his gaze on my face for a second, but my head stayed stubbornly down.
I could have sworn there was a sigh, but then his voice was speaking into his phone, something taking all his attention away from me. Enough that I was able to grab my shoes and purse and haul ass out through the kitchen, cursing myself the whole way home.
How the hell was I ever going to face him again?