Davis

I hesitated outside my grandma’s door to give her and Grace a few minutes together. What I heard was no less than I expected.

Rose has been trying to make sure I’m over my ex for some time. I used to worry that she was fixated on it more than I was, or that it was causing her undue stress.

I thought about asking one of my dates along to visit my grandmother for her sake, but I didn’t want to lie. Introducing Rose to a woman I didn’t care about deeply would be a lie.

My grandmother is a human lie detector.

I heard her tell Grace I like her and I heard Grace admit she liked me. I lingered in that hallway, my stupid arrow headband in my hands, and smiled at my shoes.

It’s heady what the right girl can do to you.

“She’s cool,” Grace declares after we check into the hotel. She puts her bag on a pleather bench next to the dresser. I set mine on the office chair. A suite is overkill for one night, but so is the suitcase, because neither of us is going to be wearing any clothing while in this room.

I tell Grace as much and she laughs.

“I’m completely serious.”

“Hmm.” Her soft hum is paired with a demure smile. Demure on Grace looks naughty in the most inviting way. “I was hoping you’d allow some clothing, though.”

“Why’s that? Are you going to put the devil horns back on?”

“Better,” she promises with the quirk of one eyebrow.

I’m standing with my back to the bed, and she gives my chest a shove with both hands. When my butt hits the mattress, she reaches for her sweater. It flies through the air and hits me square in the face. As I pull the fabric away, I see what Grace means about my wanting her to stay partially clothed.

She reaches for the zipper on her skirt and pushes it to her ankles, and then my girl is standing in front of me wearing a lacy push-up bra, and tiny, strappy panties—both white and stark against the pale pink tones of Grace’s skin.

I fold my hands in front of me like I’m praying. “Please, please keep those on for a while.”

She slinks toward me. She has the power and she knows it.

I’m totally okay with that.

She reaches for my tie and tugs. I tilt my head back and get a close-up of breasts encased in white lace. It’s a great view. She unknots the length of silk around my neck.

“Take off your jacket, Mr. Price.”

I obey.

“I have a very special surprise for you.”

“I love surprises.” I’m hoarse, which is laughable, except I can’t laugh because I’m too turned on. She starts on the buttons of my shirt and then pushes it from my shoulders.

It hits the floor next.

Parting my knees, Grace slips between them, and I smooth my hands over the globes of her ass.

And squeeze.

“Strip, Mr. Price.” Her tone is not teasing. I love that her tone is not teasing.

Fingers on the button of my pants, I draw the zipper down and strip my socks and pants off, along with my shoes.

Every thought zooms out of my head the moment Grace goes to her knees before me. She’s a gorgeous sight, looking up at me with those jade greens, her red hair in bright contrast with her pale skin and winter white lingerie.

She reaches behind her and unclasps her bra, and I’m rewarded with a view of her naked breasts. I reach for her but she takes my hands, pressing them to the bed.

“No touching, Mr. Price.” That smirk. She’ll pay for this in the most orgasmic way possible.

She pulls my boxer briefs free and my erection salutes her. He’s been standing at attention since she ditched the sweater.

“Oh, my,” she purrs. “What have we here?”

Eyes on mine, she lowers her red mouth to the head of my dick and delivers a long, intentional, mind-erasing lick. I mangle the bedding, balling it in my fists as I watch, captivated.

She opens her mouth wide, takes the head onto her tongue, and then, so slowly my hips lift off the bed, sucks my cock into her mouth.

“Gracie.” Her name bursts from my lips. I anchor myself to the bed while she works me into a brainless lost cause, watching me the entire time. When I’m going to come, I warn her by palming the back of her head.

She doesn’t stop so I shift my palm to encourage her instead.

She accepts the encouragement.

A few minutes later, I’m pumping into her mouth, and Grace, hands braced on my thighs, is letting me, greedily swallowing all I have to give.

My mind blanks, borderline animalistic sounds coming from my throat. When I finally come to, I’m on my back looking at the stomped plaster ceiling.

Grace appears in my line of vision a moment later, rosebud pink nipples puckered and her smile smug.

Her red curls tickle my face as she brings her lips to mine for a kiss.

I swear on everything holy, I love this girl.

Grace

Davis and I enjoy a shower. The hotel stall is narrow but the ceiling is high. We soap each other’s naked bodies, a pastime I’m not sure I’ll tire of anytime soon.

“Ms. Buchanan,” he says with a lopsided grin—the same one he’s been wearing since I went down on him. “The decks are unevenly stacked.”

He pairs this statement with his fingers between my legs. I admit, I’ve been wanting him since we set foot in the hotel. His pleasure is all mine, trust me on that one. I’m primed and ready to go.

Another slide of his fingers through my silken wetness and I’m tilting my hips in the direction of his hand. Nothing feels as good as him touching me.

He soaps my breasts and then his other hand goes to my nipple and pulls sudsy bubbles over the taut peak. Nerve endings pop and sizzle as his fingers find my clit and massage.

“Gracie,” comes his reverent growl. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I wanted to treat you.” I hold on to his shoulders so I don’t slip and fall. Davis continues touching me—alternating between rubbing and plunging two fingers deep into my core.

“Honey, you treated me.”

He picks up the pace and a shudder overtakes me. Trying to hold myself up while I let go is no easy task.

“You know what, Gracie?” Davis’s gray eyes are filled to the brim with heat.

I can’t speak. I’m too busy begging for relief. No wonder “please” is the favored cry during lovemaking. I might explode if I don’t come soon. The pleasure is so intense, it borders on painful.

“You’re the most beautiful woman.” His fingers glide over my pussy. “You’re incredible. I’m glad we’re here. Glad you’re here,” he whispers before he consumes me with a deep kiss.

I let go, an electric bolt zipping down my legs. Davis doesn’t stop kissing me. Not even when my knees buckle. He simply relocates his hands to my ass to hold me in place.

Lazily I open my eyes, my skin chilling in the lukewarm spray. We’re losing our hot water.

“Your lips are turning blue,” I joke, but he doesn’t crack a smile.

Instead his controlled expression shifts to awestruck. In a tone that smacks of that same wonder, he says, “I love you, Grace.”

I was numb before with pleasure, but now it spreads through my body, fanning out from the center of my soul to encapsulate him.

“I love you too,” I whisper back, my voice as awed as his.

Davis grins and kisses me hard. Sheer joy explodes in my chest.

Love.

I’m in love.

He shuts off the water and steps out, handing me a towel and taking one for himself.

“I didn’t expect to say that,” he muses as he swipes the towel down his legs.

I step out and mimic his movements. “I didn’t expect you to say that. Did you…mean it?” I bite the inside of my cheek. “Or were you caught up?”

“I was completely caught up. And”—Davis palms my cheek—“I meant it. Did you?”

“I…did.” I let out a thin laugh. “It’s soon, right?”

“Not for me” is all he says before dropping his towel on the floor and exiting our tiny hotel bathroom. I watch his flexing butt as he leaves.

Is it too soon for me?

There’s a danger in overthinking it, so I don’t. I drop my towel next to his and follow him.

Davis logs into his Netflix account on the TV and pulls up the zombie series we started watching together.

It’s a strange choice for “our show.” Imagine, if things work out between us, we could someday tell our grandkids how we bonded over rotting, flesh-eating cannibals and a group of plucky survivors.

A shadow crosses my mind at the thought. It’s in the shape of my parents and the love that rotted in much the same way as the on-screen walking dead. My mother and father’s marriage ended long before they divorced.

Did they start out in love? They would have had to, right? My mom says most of her clients start out very much in love and devolve as the years pass. By the time they come to her, all that’s left is a bickering, petty couple who can barely agree on an appointment time with their respective lawyers.

“What episode are you on?” Davis asks. I’m in bed, leaning against his chest. We’re both wearing the fluffy bathrobes we found hanging in the closet. White bathrobes and white bedding. It’s all so lush.

“Same episode as you, I imagine.”

“You didn’t watch without me?” He angles his face to look down at me and I shake my head. “Wow. Gracie Lou, you must love me.” We share a smile as three quick knocks on the door alert us that our room service has arrived.

Davis climbs out of bed and tightens the belt on his robe so as not to flash the delivery guy.

The other man wheels in a cart holding a single red rose in a vase and four platters with domed metal covers. He exits to the hall, only to return pushing a second cart with two more covered dishes and a chilling bottle of champagne on ice.

Davis and I sort of went crazy on the ordering.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Just your absence, friend.” Davis palms a bill into the guy’s hand, and it must have been a large one because the guy doesn’t hesitate in leaving us to our food and our show.

We watch our show, eating on the bed, each taking bites from one of four entrée plates. We ordered filet mignon and smashed garlic potatoes, teriyaki salmon with asparagus, a buffalo mushroom Swiss burger and truffled fries, and vegetable croquettes that I was hoping would taste as heavenly as the ones at Milestone 299. Sadly, not even close.

I express as much to Davis, who saws off a sliver of filet and feeds me from his fork.

“We’ll go back to Milestone,” he promises.

“And the Ferris wheel?”

He slides me a stern look.

I smile, satisfied and happy.

We finish our food and, after three back-to-back episodes, our cuddling turns to kissing.

The kissing leads to touching.

The robes hit the floor.

Television forgotten, Davis and I opt to feast on each other instead.

Maybe a zombie show is a good foundation for our relationship.

I think Davis was right.

I must love him.