Page 51 of Her Pretty Words
I want her to beg for my touch. “Say it.” I catch her reflection in the glass. She’s shooting bullets at me. I grin, then lift my hand higher, away from what she craves.
“Maybe I’ll just leave.” She mimics my expression in the glass.
I dip my hands in her underwear, making her head turn in surprise. I’m quick to kiss her parted lips. “You win,” I whisper, but I’m the one who’s truly rewarded by the delightful sound she makes.
I swirl the tips of my fingers over the most sensitive part of her, entranced by the hazel globes staring at my reflection. Imemorize the way her eyebrows pull together. It’s truly cruel to be so beautiful.
I press against her back so she’s flush with the glass. Her head turns and I hover over her lips. Our gazes never part, not even when I press my finger against her entrance. Her eyes darken and I push in, slowly curling the digit, which earns a new sound from her. “That’s it, Mace. Sing for me.” I quicken the pace and kiss her fervently. Our lips meet and break apart, like the clash of two swords. It’s a battle and we’re on opposing sides because she doesn’t want to want me, and I want her to be my center of gravity.
I slip another digit in. “Does that feel good, Mace? Fingers of a man you despise, filling you and coaxing those sounds from your pretty lips?”
She cries out, pulsing around my fingers. Her hands curl into white knuckled fists against the glass, as though she needs something to hold onto. I grab them with my empty hand, and she pierces me with her nails.
Once her moans quiet, I place a soft kiss to her hair and pull my hand out of her underwear, my fingers glistening. I turn her around, and smile at the sight of her rosy cheeks. Her eyes shine and when she stares up at me, I realize that she’ll never be my center of gravity because she is an asteroid rocking my entire world. She’s equally my undoing and my salvation. She’s heaven, and I’m hell.
She’ll either go up in flames with me or be the rarity that smothers them.
She slowly moves down until she’s on her knees, eyeing my zipper. Right now, she’s lighter fluid about to burn me alive. I take her chin between my fingers, with my clean hand, so she meets my eyes. “Don’t worry about me, Mace.”
“But you’ve made me…” Her cheeks go red. “Twice.”
I go on my knees, still towering over her, so I crouch down until our foreheads touch. “You say it as if I don’t get any enjoyment from it.”
“But no relief.” She eyes my zipper again, and the evidence of that statement is clear.
“I have plenty to think of tonight.” I grin.
She deserves to think of sex as something beautiful. At herself as divine. Not an object for someone else’s pleasure, the way her ex-fiancé made her feel. I can tell she was only going to do that out of obligation, and if Macy is going to touch me, it needs to be because she wants to. I intend to make up for all the wrongs I didn’t commit. For her.
I softly brush my lips against hers, and it’s kind. Like we’re finally on the same side, embracing one another as if we’ve won. The way she makes me feel burns brighter than anything I’ve ever lost, and then I realize, my theory proved true.
“If you fill your life with things that bring you joy, eventually happiness becomes bigger than the grief.”
Chapter 18
Macy
“When are you coming home? You can’t ignore Walter forever.” My mother’s voice comes through the receiver of my phone.
After last night with Grayson, I can’t imagine leaving. He’s starting to grow on me, the way barnacles take over the underside of boats. Nonetheless, I don’t want to leave the sunshine and my friends. “I don’t know.”
My father speaks, and I can picture my parents now, sitting at their round dinner table with the phone placed in the center, shooting each other looks. “We are worried, honey. This behavior isn’t like you.”
My mom speaks. “And you need to stop ignoring your fiancé.”
“He’s no longer my fiancé because I’m not marrying him.”
“I don’t know what happened between you, but I’m sure you will talk it out. Just come home,” my mom says.
“This isn’t something talking will fix,” I mumble.
“Then help us understand.” My dad.
“I hate to break it to you, Macy, but you’re not going to find anyone else like Walter,” my mom says.Thank God for that.“I strongly suggest you get home and fix this before it’s too late.”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I slide open the back door and sit on the swinging bench.
My eyes automatically go to Grayson, who sits on his porch, holding one of my books in his hand. It feels like fireworks go off inside my chest. He’s wearing glasses which is new, but they complement his features and make him look sophisticated. The black frames nearly match his dark hair.