Broken Through

by J C Paulson

  Adam pressed gently but firmly, buried his face in her breasts, and Grace had no choice but to let go. He had to grip her as she started to spasm, her legs no longer supporting her . . . she clutched Adam’s head, held it against her, and screamed.

  *****

  Grace was wild to release Adam. After all that had happened, after the long days apart, how had she allowed him to bring her to orgasm before even touching him?

  She had never in her life had an orgasm standing up; nor had she reached one in under two minutes from first arousal. Then again, it wasn’t truly first arousal, she thought, somewhere in the back of her mind. She had been aroused for twelve days, and intensely so for the last twenty-four hours.

  Adam had gently lowered her onto a soft area rug, and Grace didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or ashamed or in her glory. Adam clearly took the third view.

  “You are so beautiful when you come, Grace,” he said, quietly.

  He had kissed her softly as, on their knees, they faced each other afterward. Recovering, Grace urgently started to undress him. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders, pushed him back onto the floor, tugged off his clothes. Kneeling over him, she peeled off her dress, kissed his chest and stomach, and slipped him inside her.

  Feeling him again was overwhelming. Grace caught her breath at the sensation, slowly took him deeply, then clenched her muscles around him and rose his entire length. She was rewarded by his body responding, his hands coming up to her hips, holding her, stroking her. Madness, she thought, how this feels.

  She watched his face, saw him lose composure, felt his hips buck, felt him expand inside her.

  “Grace, this is happening too fast. Stop, Grace,” he gasped, as she had asked him to stop moments before.

  “No,” she said, softly, as he had. She wanted to make him explode, to not be able to hold back. “No, Adam. I want to make you come to me. Right now. No more holding on.”

  But Grace’s body was ready again, and it wasn’t just Adam who lost control. She felt it happening again, as she felt him try to back off; but she held him inside. Lowering her head to his chest, she love-bit him lightly above the nipple, drawing an “Oh, God” from Adam; and he was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The room was a mess, covered in discarded clothing, cushions dragged down from the loveseat, a blanket draped haphazardly over the lovers lying tangled in each other.

  Grace was curled into Adam, her hand caressing his chest. Adam’s long arms embraced her, one hand gently sliding up and down her side to her buttocks. Adam finally spoke.

  “Grace.”

  “Yes, Adam.”

  “That’s all I’ve got. Grace.”

  She laughed. “Just keeping in touch?”

  “Something like that.” Another moment. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to decide between indescribable, which isn’t terribly helpful since it’s not describable, and incredible. I’d prefer to come up with something more original. You?”

  “Unbelievable,” said Adam into her hair, uttering the same word he had used to describe their first time together. He turned toward her.

  “As much as I’d prefer to stay in bed, or rather on the living room floor — really, we couldn’t make it another ten feet to the bed?” he asked.

  “Apparently not. But as much as you’d prefer to stay on the floor, what were you going to say?”

  “Well, do you want to go out? And do we need a dinner reservation? If so, we should slowly start thinking about getting up. I’m pretty sure I should have a shower, too. Otherwise, everyone will know.”

  “Do you care about that?” asked Grace, interested, propping her head on her hand to evaluate his tousled hair.

  “Not much. Actually, not at all. But I do care I don’t look like I’m trying to advertise my passion for you, if you know what I mean.”

  Grace did.

  “I could use a shower too. After the travel dust and sweat, I’m amazed you wanted to kiss me.”

  “Always,” said Adam, proving it.

  Despite their brave comments about getting up and getting dressed, Grace curled back up onto Adam’s chest.

  “Adam?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “What’s your middle name?”

  He laughed at the sudden turn of conversation.

  “We haven’t asked those questions yet, have we?”

  Grace shook her head, to the extent possible with her head against Adam.

  “No. We’re usually talking about murder and mayhem or sex. Pretty much.”

  “True. Adam James MacAlister Davis. And you, Grace Rampling? Have you a middle name? Is it Magnolia? Glory? Autumn?”

  Grace sighed. “Now I wish I hadn’t brought it up. I don’t have a middle name; I have a first name.”

  “Ah. Something Grace Rampling. And it is . . .”

  “Honor.”

  “Honor Grace. It’s beautiful. I mean it,” said Adam, as Grace made a face. “Although it’s quite obvious what was expected from you by your parents. It’s a lovely old-fashioned name.”

  “It is — old-fashioned, anyway. It was also my grandmother’s name. Father’s side. I feel it might be hard to live up to the moniker. What about James and MacAlister?”

  “James is the family’s longest-running Christian name. It was my grandfather’s name, also my father’s name. MacAlister is my mother’s maiden name.”

  “Are ye a Scot, then?”

  “Aye, lass. Half Scot, half Welshman, although there are a few drops of other bloodlines mixed in.”

  “Davis. Son of David, meaning ‘beloved,’” recited Grace.

  “Are you up on name origins?”

  “Hell, no. I looked it up.”

  Adam’s deep laugh resonated within his chest. “The constant reporter.”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  “Grace. How old are you?”

  “Another thing we don’t know about each other. I am, sad to say, twenty-nine in September. And you?”

  “Thirty-two. Am I getting old?”

  “Old? For what?”

  “I don’t know. Sometimes I feel . . . like life has gone by, a bit.”

  “You’re certainly not too old for sex,” said Grace, nipping him again, lightly. “Or anything else I can think of.”

  The nip shocked Adam back into an awareness of his body, and that he was cradling the naked and beautiful Grace in his arms. Oh, man, here I go again, he thought. A bit soon? He didn’t want to hurt Grace.

  Grace noticed, and gave a little gasp as she lowered her hand to touch him. For a moment. Then she stood up and said, “I’m going to have a shower.”

  He watched her walk away from him, her shapely, smooth, well-muscled backside swinging slightly. He pulled himself up on his elbows and regarded his aroused body, then Grace, again. Look at her ass, he thought, wishing his brain had come up with a more elegant word. He wanted to touch it.

  Adam got up off the floor and started to put the furniture back in place, picking up cushions and his scattered clothing, as well as Grace’s. Trying to ignore his arousal, he bent over to retrieve Grace’s bra, feeling the satin slip across his fingertips.

  “Adam?” he heard Grace call. “Are you coming?”

  Almost, he thought, as he saw Grace, slippery and naked in the shower, in his mind’s eye.

  “Yes,” he called back, through a constricted throat. At the bathroom door, he stopped. “I wasn’t aware I was invited.”

  “You are. If you wash my back.”

  “I can do that,” said Adam, entering the already-steamy room.

  She was rinsing shampoo from her hair, back arched toward the spray, hands sluicing the water from her auburn curls. Her breasts stood up and out, her stomach was taut and hard, her legs muscled and lean, her backside round.

  Oh, my God, said Adam to himself. Look at her. This was a new thing, seeing Grace behind a misted door, privately washing herself. It was an intimate moment, Grace doing something persona
l and every-day. His stomach clenched.

  “You’re a goddess,” he said, climbing into the shower and putting his hands on her waist. “Is your hair rinsed? Turn around.”

  “What will you do if I turn around?” asked Grace, trying to sound like she was teasing. But the words caught in her throat.

  “Wash your back. Price of admission, as I recall.”

  Adam took soap and a washcloth, and began to gently scrub her back, then her backside, and then crouched to reach her long legs. He took his time coming all the way back up. He turned her around to get the soap off under the water, and saw her eyes flutter open.

  “More, Adam,” she said. “Don’t say no.”

  “Never,” he said, pulling her toward him.

  *****

  Grace and Adam collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep. It had been a long day, with a very early start for both of them.

  Grace awakened first sometime later; it was certainly darker in the room. She glanced at the bedside clock and saw it was six-thirty. Enough time to scramble into clothing and dash out for dinner. At least they were already clean.

  Regarding Adam as he slept, his big chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm, she thought about the love-making, as if she could help herself. She had had three cataclysmic orgasms in less than an hour, and she wondered what the hell Adam thought of that. She wondered what the hell, too. It was almost embarrassing, particularly the first one. It felt like Adam had just touched her, and she was screaming in his arms. Standing, no less.

  Grace was highly sexually responsive and accustomed to the ability of having multiple orgasms if the lover allowed. But this was, even for her, ridiculous — the intensity and urgency of them, all three of them.

  I have it bad, thought Grace. The memory made her want again.

  Adam opened his eyes to see Grace watching him, and smiled.

  “How long have you been awake, goddess?” he asked.

  “A few minutes. If indeed you are referring to me. It’s twenty-five to seven, Adam. Are you hungry?”

  “Ravenous,” he answered, rolling on top of her and nibbling her neck. “I wonder what culinary adventure awaits?”

  “I have no idea. Did you look at the menu at all, when you made the reservation?”

  “I don’t believe I had time for that. I was trying to consume you,” said Adam, still nuzzling.

  Grace burned. But it really was time for sustenance.

  “You irresistible thing, get off me. We have to go and eat. Do I have to point out we have to get dressed first, too?”

  Adam groaned. “Fine,” he said, with mock disgruntlement. “Let’s put clothes on.”

  He pulled Grace out of the bed, kissed her again, and looked at her lips. Eyebrows lowering, he touched them lightly with his fingertips.

  “Grace, your lips . . . they look quite swollen. Did we . . . did I go too far?”

  “No, of course not, Adam. They don’t hurt; and besides, I have acquired a bee-stung, collagen-injected look.”

  Adam, though, looked upset. Grace took his face between her hands.

  “Adam, you lovely man, it’s perfectly fine. Your lips look a little ravaged too. Please don’t worry.”

  “I am not,” said Adam, then stopped to clear his throat. “I’m not used to this, Grace, to be honest. I’ve never, you know . . . . made love in the daytime three times in a row and I . . . “ he trailed off.

  Grace felt her heart thump.

  “Adam, it’s fine. More than fine. It’s wonderful. Please trust me on this. Honestly.”

  The cloud passed from his face, and Grace smiled at him.

  “If we do want to eat, we better move,” Grace said, looking around. “Okay. Where is my stuff?”

  Ten minutes later, Grace had thrown on clean underwear, a dress and heels, and skimmed traces of makeup over her face, including lipstick, hoping it would distract Adam from his concerns.

  Adam had pulled on black slacks and a white shirt trimmed in black around the collar and cuffs. If they hadn’t just made love and were starving, Grace would have pulled them off him. He looked incredible, dark hair in contrast with the white shirt, his clear navy-blue eyes shining.

  Adam had gone into the living area to retrieve his watch, and when he turned around to witness Grace advancing on him from the bedroom, his mouth fell open. She looked bright, fresh, sexy. Her breasts pushed into the décolletage of her dress, exactly as he had imagined during lonely nights in an L.A. hotel room.

  “You look amazing. Delicious. Elegant. Something I can’t even describe. My God, Grace. And you’re much taller than usual.”

  “Well, heels help. Thank you, Adam. You look . . . ” she swallowed. “Very handsome. Shall we go?”

  Adam crooked his arm, but then changed his mind and put his arm around Grace. “Let’s go.”

  The bayside restaurant was full when they arrived, except for the table reserved for them. The host led them to a spot by the window, so they could appreciate the view and the sounds of the waterfront.

  Adam and Grace, completely absorbed in each other, didn’t notice every head turn as they walked by. But the host did. She smiled. They were beautiful together — dark and light, black and auburn, tall and young and fit. That young man, she thought, being a woman; he really is a looker.

  She handed them menus.

  “Your waiter will be right with you,” she said, slipping away.

  Indeed, the waiter was right behind her.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Just to let you know, the catch of the day is Summer Steelhead. We have a delicious clam chowder, and excellent steaks. First, can I get you some wine?”

  Adam and Grace nodded in unison.

  “Red or white, Grace?” asked Adam.

  “Oh, red. We should try a B.C. wine? When in Rome, and all that?”

  Adam nodded, and ordered one of the wines.

  “Coming right up,” said the waiter, bustling away.

  Perusing the menu, Grace began to salivate at the thought of the seafood pasta. Adam decided on a surf and turf — Dungeness crab, beef tenderloin.

  They ordered when the wine came, and sipped the rich red liquid. Grace’s eyes widened.

  “Good Lord, this is incredible,” she said. “By miles the best B.C. wine I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Me, too,” said Adam, “but I’m no oenophile. Do you know your wines, Grace?”

  “I wouldn’t say that, no. Well, maybe a little bit. Wine is a big deal for my parents and their friends, and I’ve tasted a few — okay, maybe more than a few — while listening to them telling me all about it. Too much about it,” she added, laughing.

  “I don’t think you can buy this at home,” said Adam, taking another sip. “Man, this is delicious.”

  “Saskatoon has a pretty sad selection. My parents would order wines sometimes through the Opimian Society. That sounds stuffy, sorry.”

  “Are they? Stuffy?”

  “No. Well, they have their moments . . . discussing wine, the opera, various cultural things. But much of the dinner conversation is about healing society and defending people who can’t afford legal representation. They make enough money, for sure, but they do a lot of pro bono and Legal Aid work. They’re an interesting pair, no question.”

  “Can you give me an example?”

  “Well, Mom has worked for Legal Aid and defended a lot of women who have committed crimes for reasons stemming from poverty or abuse. She was part of a group of female lawyers who lobbied hard to start a low-security prison for women. Their view is incarcerating them in the usual way is not going to help them, or society, for that matter. They need to be healed, and preferably helped — not thrown into the system.”

  “And now we have that facility.”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Your mother sounds amazing.”

  “So does yours.”

  Grace remembered a story Adam had told her about his mother. She had been attacked in her farm kitchen one afternoon, and fought the man l
ike a hellcat. Adam, just thirteen, intervened by taking his father’s gun and shooting a hole in the ceiling to scare the perpetrator, then held the gun on him until the RCMP arrived.

  But Elizabeth MacAlister Davis had reacted afterward with calm, soothing her children and assuring them they would take precautions in the future. She never raised the subject again. Adam viewed her as very brave; Grace thought he, too, was incredibly brave, having stopped the attack at such a young age. It was clear to Grace that the event had a profound formative effect on Adam, affecting his choice of career and his views on violence against women. Or anyone, for that matter.

  Dinner arrived, steaming and fresh, beautifully arranged on white plates. Grace and Adam leaned in to devour the sensuous food, both of them having burned every calorie of their light lunches from eight hours ago.

  Adam leaned across the table with a buttery bite of crab on his fork.

  “Grace, taste this,” he suggested. He watched her lips accept the morsel, then her eyes close in appreciation. It was how she reacted to him, he realized, when he kissed her.

  “That,” said Grace, once she had tasted and swallowed, “is the best and freshest crab I’ve ever eaten. Possibly because I live in the middle of the Prairies. But I have been to Australia. This is better.”

  She swirled some pasta onto her fork, speared a shrimp and a scallop, and held it out for Adam to taste.

  “Fabulous,” he said. “May I feed you all the time? You’re very sexy when you eat.”

  “Wait until you see me inhaling toast on a morning when I’m late for work,” she said.

  Adam’s brow furrowed, for a second.

  “I look forward to it,” was all he said.

  *****

  As they wandered along the water after dinner, it hit Adam how much they had in common. He hadn’t concretely thought about shared interests; he just wanted Grace. But there was more, much more, than the sex. Food. Wine. Fitness. Crime. What else? He couldn’t wait to find out.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. Frowning and apologizing to Grace, he pulled it out and saw who it was; then quickly rejected the call.

  Grace looked at him quizzically, but Adam smoothed the expression on his face.