CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Grace
It didn’t take long to get our rental car and be on our way to Ida’s Bed and Breakfast. Located in the historic Houston Heights, it was touted as a luxurious inn and romantic getaway. I looked surreptitiously at my husband who was currently navigating his way out of the airport’s rental car parking.
I was surprised how easy our dynamic had evolved. Sometimes I had to let Matt take charge and know he’d take care of me. I’d never depended on a man before. I think my mom, being a single parent, had reinforced the way I did things. I didn’t know if I would have married Matt if I hadn’t had amnesia when I found out I was pregnant. I would have refused and wouldn’t be surprised if Matt would’ve had to hogtie me to get me in front of John to be married. So, in a way, things happened for a reason.
Right then, I was relaxed, trusting Matt to know the directions. It was a treat to watch this man. His jaw was always shadowed by some facial scruff. He’d let his stubble grow into a clean and clipped beard. Dark blond hair curled at his nape, setting off the light tan of his skin that undoubtedly bronzed very well in the summer. His biceps flexed under the short sleeves of his tee as he deftly handled the steering wheel. Matt had this air of confidence that was sexy. He was a man’s man. Even if he probably didn’t know the way to the B&B, I’d trust him to get us there. I didn’t know if it was my pregnancy hormones that triggered this primordial instinct to find the strongest male to claim me. Or maybe, I had fallen in love with him.
For all appearances, ours was a marriage of convenience. Matt married me primarily to give our child his name, but there was no mistaking his determination to make me his wife in every sense. That was one sentiment that was repeated to me by Matt’s friends and relatives. They told me I was his savior, but, in reality, I think he was mine. You could tell a lot about a person by the friends he kept. And so far, the odds were going Matt’s way.
We’d been on the Hardy toll road for a few minutes, and I’d been daydreaming about my husband when a smirk tilted up the side of his mouth. “Gypsy, you’ve got to stop staring at me that way because there’s no roadside where I can ravish you right now.”
I glanced away quickly, looking out the window and feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “Ravish?” I had to laugh at his choice of words. “Are you a pirate or something?”
“Pirate?” He grinned wickedly when I looked back at him. He let his gaze roam lasciviously down my body before returning his attention to the road. “I like how you think, wench.”
I rolled my eyes at his readiness to play the pillaging pirate, but took a sharp inhale when his hand rested on my thigh. I had worn leggings and a flowing tunic. The weather in Houston was quite balmy compared to Georgia weather.
Yes, I was thinking about the weather to keep my girly bits from reacting because Matt’s fingers were being naughty and they were teasing up and down my thigh.
The bastard was pretending to be all about driving, but the way his lips were twitching only gave away his dastardly scheme. I summoned all my willpower to remain unaffected. I failed miserably. We hadn’t had sex in six days. Cassie and Kate thought it would be a great idea to do an extended bachelorette party, which was kind of unfair since I was the only one who couldn’t drink. Still, I had fun spending time with Cassie and getting to know Kate.
Matt’s twin was the all-American blonde that every horny-teenage boy had a poster of in their bedroom. She was willowy with skinny limbs; however, she was curvy in the right places. Her breasts were the right size for her frame and her ass was a perfect bubble butt. Physical attributes aside though, Kate was like her twin who had a magnetic appeal that couldn’t be put in words.
She just was.
No wonder Colt couldn’t move on from her. His pursuit of Matt’s sister would be interesting to behold seeing that she was stubborn.
Fifteen minutes later, Matt exited the toll road and got on a service road. A couple of turns after, we were on Heights Boulevard. There was a tree-lined grassy mall dividing both directions of traffic. A mix of historical houses as well as more contemporary residences dotted the neighborhood. Several cars were parked on the side of the road with runners and bicyclists going about their morning routine.
“Isn’t check-in time usually at three?” I asked. “Um, we’re six hours too early.”
Matt cast me an indulgent look. “I took care of that, babe. Don’t worry.” He patted my thigh, then held my hand.
With one hand on the steering, he maneuvered our rented Lexus SUV inside the parking lot of our destination. Ida’s Bed and Breakfast was a renovated Queen Anne mansion. A cone-shaped turret covered a pentagonal frame of Palladian windows serving as a focal point for the inn. The royal purple fish-scale roof covering the wraparound porch was the perfect foil for the antique baby blue siding that adorned the inn. Cream accent rails and friezes completed the arresting architecture of the B&B.
“It’s more gorgeous than the pictures,” I breathed.
Matt gave a noncommittal grunt. Men. I guess it was a bit too froufrou for him, but even he should appreciate the detail given to the façade of the house.
A woman who looked to be in her sixties greeted us when we pulled in. She was tall and broad-shouldered and had on a head scarf you see chefs wear. Her physique and facial features reminded me of Julia Child. In fact, the similarity was uncanny.
“Welcome, welcome,” she beamed at us as we got out of the car. “I’m Ida Lowell, the innkeeper.”
Matt and I introduced ourselves. As my husband went to the back of the SUV to retrieve our suitcases, Ida leaned in conspiratorially. “I know what you’re thinking, I look like that chef. Bless her soul.”
I bit my lower lip but couldn’t help the laughter that escaped. “Sorry, was my face that obvious?”
“No need to apologize, I get that all the time, especially since our inn is such a foodie destination.”
She smiled at Matt who once more stood beside us. “It’s good to see a young man taller than I am.”
Matt’s smile was pained and I resisted the urge to laugh again. I think he didn’t like the idea of being referred to as a young man.
“Well, come on inside,” Ida said, walking up the steps to the porch. “I’m glad you made it in time for breakfast. I’ve got fresh ginger scones out of the oven and fresh coffee brewing. Let’s get you checked in and your vacation started.”
*****
The chirp of my phone woke me up. I reached for it and saw it was a text from Millie.
Millie: Do you like the inn?
I laid my head back on the downy pillow and stared up the ceiling. I had a refreshing nap, and the only thing that would have made it perfect was if I had not woken up alone. Where the hell was my husband?
After our scrumptious breakfast of flaky scones, maple-glazed thick-cut bacon, and quiche, I declared a food coma, and we retired to our room. I took off my shoes and tried to climb into the ridiculously high king-sized bed. Matt boosted me up the mattress, teasing me about being a shorty.
I mumbled back that that comment wasn’t increasing his chances of getting laid. I didn’t remember taking off my leggings but feeling the bare skin of my thighs rubbing against each other under the blanket, I probably did. Or he did.
I stared around the room, noting how cozy it looked. There were French windows leading out to the balcony that faced the back lawn and the woods. I got out of bed and texted Millie back.
Me: Loving it. But I seem to have lost my husband.
Millie: ??
Me: He’s not in the room, probably didn’t want to nap like I did. Later. I need a shower.
Dropping the phone on the bed, I padded to the bathroom and paused at the portal. I glanced longingly at the marble tub, but had decided not to soak in one again until I’d talked to my OB. I knew Doctor Ryan was a general physician. Matt and I had not discussed getting an OB for my pregnancy. Matt preferred not to expose the unusual gene pool of the baby until my blood work came back.
I looked at the fancy shower with the multiple heads just like the one in Matt’s loft and decided to pamper myself.
After my glorious shower, I felt clean and whole again. I wrapped myself in the inn-supplied terry robe and headed back into the bedroom. Matt had laid out our suitcase on the luggage rack. I flipped the lid open and pulled out my sexy lace underwear—one of my splurges in online shopping. I slipped into them, put the robe back on, and went back to the bathroom to dry my hair. When I was about done, I thought I heard a door slam. I turned off the hair dryer, fluffed my hair, and returned to the bedroom.
Matt stood there in sweat-soaked tee shirt and gym shorts.
I narrowed my eyes. “You left me in bed and went to work out?” I knew I sounded snippy and needy, but wasn’t this supposed to be our honeymoon?
Heat emanated not only from his eyes, but his entire body. He advanced on me with pure aggression and made me rethink my words. I gasped as he extended his arms and yanked me by the robe’s belt.
By the time my body hit his, my robe was off my shoulders. By the time my legs wrapped around his hips, his mouth had crashed on mine, and by the time my back hit the mattress, his hand had slipped inside my panties.
Two fingers slid into my pussy and I couldn’t help but moan into his mouth, his tongue plunging deeply as if he couldn’t get enough of the kiss. Then he moved down my collar bone, nipped at me there before he descended on my nipple. All the while his fingers worked their magic on my clit. My sensitive flesh was swollen and my skin was on fire.
He moved away and pulled off his shirt, then my panties disappeared and he threw my legs over his shoulders. His mouth moved between my legs—licking, savoring, and devouring. I cried out as my orgasm swept through me, jolting me hard; my hands fisted the sheets to ride out its intensity.
“Oh God,” I screamed as unending pulses twitched at my core. “Matt, stop,” I gasped raggedly. The growl between my legs sent another spasm through me. “I can’t—I can’t breathe.”
As I shuddered in the aftershocks, his mouth left my pussy and my legs were pushed further apart. Then he plunged inside me, filling and stretching me. His chest crushed me with possessive weight while his mouth swallowed my needy whimper. He was pumping hard, thrusting deep, and moving fast. I was breaking all over again, my fingers digging into the dampness of his hair as I sobbed into his mouth, his pounding rhythm sliding us up and down the mattress.
It was too much. I felt too much in my heart and my body. It was that feeling of being too good, so good I was afraid to open myself to it for fear of the fall. Matt just pushed me over the cliff, and I found myself shattering into a million pieces of carnal intensity and soul-shattering emotions. And as his own climax claimed him, he threw his head and roared like a rutting beast and flooded me with the warmth of his cum.
He rolled off me, but unlike before, he didn’t pull me into his arms. Instead I saw him with an arm thrown over his eyes as if he was reflecting on something profound. As for myself, what had transpired between us transcended everything else I had experienced before. I was immobilized by its sheer perfection and terrified that he didn’t feel the same, so I tore my eyes away from him and stared up the ceiling. As the silence lengthened, punctuated only by our breathing, tears pricked my eyes.
He better not fall asleep, I thought.
He better not roll off the bed and take a shower, I hoped.
But worse, I prayed he would not up and leave the room.
He did none of those.
From my peripheral vision, I saw him lower his arm and turn his head to me.
“I love you, Grace.”
Tears spilled from my eyes, but I continued staring at the ceiling.
I heard him swear and felt the shift of the mattress.
“Will you look at me, gypsy?” Fingers gently tipped my chin his way. Matt was propped up on an elbow, looking at me searchingly. “Words can’t quantify what I feel for you, but I realized you needed to hear the words.”
I exhaled a ragged breath and tried to look away, still raw from what I was feeling. I didn’t have the emotional capacity to process more. “You don’t have to—”
He held my chin firm and brought his face close to me. “Yes, I do,” he gritted through his teeth. “Don’t accept anything less from me, Grace. I love you. I adore you. I’d die for you. I’d do anything for you, even kill for you. The one thing I can never do is let you go. I’ll try everything to make you love me, but understand that you’re mine forever. No one else can have you. I’d kill him first.” His eyes grew fierce. “You have not seen obsession like mine. If it scares you, it’s too fucking late. You’re fucking mine.”
Before I could react, Matt lowered his head and stilled my words with a devouring kiss. He grabbed my ass to tilt me on my side, then slid down my leg to hook it over his, grinding his leg against my core. He broke the kiss, his face a hairbreadth from mine. “Say it, Grace.”
“What?”
“That you’re mine,” he growled. “Say it.”
“I love you,” I said instead, my eyes doing most of the talking.
He stilled, a harsh breath escaping him as he dropped his forehead to mine. He was breathing heavily, and I felt him shudder against me before I was flat on my back again.
He got on top of me, got between my legs, shoving them apart and up, and he was back inside me.
“God, I fucking love you,” he growled. His eyes turned molten, watching my face as he moved inside me. He slammed into me again and again, glancing down to where we were joined. Pure male satisfaction was written over his face.
And as he worked his fingers between us, bringing me to another pinnacle of ecstasy, he took me over the edge once more. But this time, he was there to catch me.