Page 73 of Holding Grace
Certain parts of my body weren’t necessarily getting the memo, but that didn’t mean I had to – or would – follow through.
I carried Grace inside our apartment, kicked the door closed behind us, then set her on her feet. She looked up at me, blinking like a little owl, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“What?” She smiled back at me.
“It seems like the champagne is catching up with you a little bit.”
She tilted her head, considering. “Maybe. I think you’re right.” She sighed. “We should probably go to bed.”
I wished she meant that as an invitation. Even if she did, tonight wasn’t the night.
“Why don’t you go get changed and I’ll bring you some water and aspirin?”
Grace headed to her room as I went into the kitchen to run her a glass of water and grab the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet.
Grace’s bedroom door was wide open when I reached it. I walked in to find her struggling to unzip her dress. She’d taken the clip and pins out of her hair, and she was having a hard time holding it out of the way with one hand while working the zipper with the other.
“I need help,” she said, turning her back to me.
I set the glass and aspirin bottle on her bedside table, then walked over to stand behind her. While she held her hair out of the way, I clasped the tiny zipper pull and carefully lowered it about halfway down her back.
“Will that do it?” God, I hoped so.
She glanced over her shoulder trying to see the dress. “Can you just unzip it all the way? That would help a lot.”
I took a breath, clasped the zipper again, and lowered it the rest of the way, thankful that the edges stayed close together, so I didn’t get a glimpse of...
The breath clogged in my lungs and my heart slammed to a stop as Grace pushed the dress off her shoulders, let it fall in a heap around her feet, and stepped free.
Giving me a spectacular view as she walked away from me toward the bathroom, her hair tumbling in waves down her back and her sweet little ass showcased to perfection in a tiny white thong.
Thank God I hadn’t known all day that that’s what she had on under her dress. I doubt I would have even been able to say my vows if I had.
“I’ll be right back,” she said over her shoulder, jolting me into action. I turned my head away, resisting the need to watch her, and picked her dress up off the floor. Not sure what she’d want to do with it, I put it on a hanger and hung it on her closet door where she’d see it.
I was standing wondering what to do next when she walked back into the room and every bit of blood still left in my brain and upper body headed south.
She still had on the thong – which was made of white lace I could now see from the front – now paired with a thin white tank top that fit her like a second skin, with just the faintest shadow of her nipples showing through. She’d scrubbed her face clean and gathered her hair into a loose braid that lay across one shoulder.
She was the picture of temptation and I felt myself getting weaker by the second. My entire body went rigid when she came to stand in front of me, once again turning her back to me and holding her braid out of the way.
“I couldn’t work the clasp on the necklace. I don’t want to break it.”
I forced my attention to the necklace as fantasies of pulling her close, slipping one hand up and under her tank top and the other down the front of her thong while running my teeth along the creamy white skin of her neck and shoulder swamped me.
Careful to touch only the necklace, and not stroke my fingertips across her silky skin, I undid the clasp and lifted the necklace away.
Utterly unaware of the effect she was having on me, she crossed to her bed, climbed in, pulled the comforter up to her midsection, then patted the space next to her.
It wasn’t enough room for me to climb in with her, so I took it as a request for me to sit next to her. Not that I was about to do that.
As a concession, I walked over to her and handed her the water and a couple aspirin tablets. Though I fought against it, my eyes drifted to the outline of her breasts in that damn tank top. She caught me, looking down at it before looking up at me.
“Is this okay to wear?” she asked, sounding innocent as a child. “I’ve been wearing a t-shirt, but I used to wear tank tops a lot and I grabbed this so...”
“It’s fine.” I sounded choked, hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s fine. Whatever you want to wear is fine.”
“What do you wear?”