Worth the Wait (Kingston Ale House)

by A. J. Pine

  And this was Jeremy, a guy who in the span of a week had become the friend she didn’t know she needed, and now he was about to be something more.

  Just. Hit. Send.

  His number was already there. All it would take was one tap of her screen.

  When the phone vibrated and began to ring in her hand, she yelped and tapped accept on reflex. And there he was.

  He didn’t wait for her to say hello. “You were supposed to call the second you walked in your door,” he said.

  But there was no reprimand in his tone. Just a soft, low hint of a tease, and she had to brace herself against the door with her free hand before her knees turned to Jell-O.

  “I’m…I’m not in my door yet,” she stammered, and she heard his long, slow exhale.

  “Are you scared, Grace?” He wasn’t teasing anymore. She heard heartfelt, genuine concern, and it only made her want him more.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “I am, too,” he admitted. “And you don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to. We’ll be okay either way.”

  She let her head fall against the door.

  “Can I be scared and still want to go through with it?” she asked.

  “Absolutely, beautiful.” She could hear him smiling. “I think I can call you that now that we’re—”

  “We’re still friends, right?” she blurted. “No matter what happens tonight, Jeremy, I’d never ask you to wait. We just met, and I’m not naive enough to think that whatever is brewing between us will last past my silly cleanse.”

  “Hey,” he said. “First of all, don’t discount what you’re doing. It’s important to you, and I respect your decisions. Secondly, I’m the one who initiated…whatever this might turn into in three months. I want to be your friend, Grace. I want to be whatever you need me to be right now. And then take each day as it comes. We’ll see where this goes, okay? And if you don’t pick me in three months?” He paused for a few seconds, and she wished she could see his face to read his expression. “Then that’s okay, too,” he finally said.

  Her heart hammered inside her chest, and she tried to reconcile this patient, caring man with the flirty player she’d met a week ago. She tried to understand why he insisted on being everything she needed right now when she could offer him nothing more than she’d already given. But the more she thought, the more confused she got, and for once she didn’t want to try to piece the puzzle together.

  She slid her key into the lock, opened the door, and stepped over the threshold into her apartment.

  “You still there?” he asked, and she could hear the slight worry in his voice.

  She leaned back against her door, pushing it shut with the weight of her body.

  Then she grinned. “I’m inside my apartment.”

  He let out a sigh that sounded like relief.

  “Well then, Miss Bailey,” he said, his voice velvet smooth and back in control. “I think it’s time you unbutton your jeans.”

  She giggled, a breathy, nervous sound, and she almost didn’t recognize her own voice.

  She dropped her bag on the ground, shimmied out of her coat, and turned the dead bolt on the door. She wasn’t expecting any interruptions, but hell if she was going to take a chance.

  And then she did it. She flicked open the button of her snug jeans.

  “Okay,” she said. “Am…am I supposed to tell you to do something now?” Oh, Fraggle Rock. She was a complete and utter novice. She groaned. “And if I just killed the mood, tell me now because if we’re going for honesty tonight, I have no idea what I’m doing. I just knew when you sat down at the table that I wanted this. You made me want to be bold. Is that weird?”

  He laughed softly, and she heard nothing even resembling nerves from him. Jeremy was a man in control. A man who knew what he wanted. And right now she hoped he still wanted this…whatever it was…from her.

  “It’s not weird, beautiful. I kinda like this being your first time,” he said. “How about you leave the talking to me?”

  “But what about you? I mean, I want you to…you know, too.”

  He laughed louder this time. “Oh, Grace,” he said, a deep, impossibly sexy rasp in his voice now. “I promise if all goes the way I intend, I will be well taken care of without you having to give me any direction.”

  Heat spread to her cheeks—and other parts of her body. She was happy for the visual privacy offered by their situation. She could feel her underwear, warm and wet already against her skin. He probably wouldn’t have to say much to get her there, but the thought of him talking her into orgasm made her throb with need. Her whole body seemed to vibrate and hum just at the sound of his voice.

  She didn’t want to ask if this was his first time, though. She was pretty sure it wasn’t, but that didn’t mean she wanted confirmation. For tonight, ignorance was bliss.

  “Are you still standing?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Button open?”

  “Yes.”

  “I liked the shirt you had on tonight. Red with that thin-strapped tank underneath.”

  She bit her lip. She could barely remember her name, let alone what he was wearing twenty minutes ago.

  “It’s a camisole. The tank,” she said.

  “Take off the red top,” he said. “But not the camisole. I want to picture you like that.”

  She did as he asked, anticipation building like a fire in her core.

  “It’s off,” she said, her voice airy and soft. Did she sound sexy when she was this nervous and worked up? Or did he think she was a total mess already?

  “What kind of a bra are you wearing underneath?” he asked, and she looked down at her nipples, hard and peaked under the thin, fitted cami.

  “I’m not wearing one.” There was something to be said for her small breasts. The right cami with enough support meant she could go commando when she wanted to. And she had to admit, tonight’s absence of an undergarment had its advantages, like hopefully sounding sexy when she admitted this to Jeremy.

  “Jesus,” he hissed. “See? You’re already driving me crazy.”

  Mission accomplished.

  Grace smiled at this, trying to imagine if he was clothed or not. Standing, sitting, lying down? There were too many variables, yet all she could do was listen and react.

  “If I were there right now, Grace, I’d have my tongue on one of those nipples. I’d suck you into my mouth right through that little tank top. Do you know how badly I want to do that right now?”

  She pinched one of her raised peaks between her thumb and forefinger, imagining it was him, and let out a tiny cry. Her knees went weak, and she braced herself against the door, but it wasn’t enough. So she moved as quickly as she could, using a wall and then the living room chair for purchase until she collapsed onto her back on the couch.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Let me hear you react.”

  It took her several seconds to control her breathing enough to speak, and when she could, she simply said, “More.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jeremy couldn’t believe his jeans were still on. He was rock hard against his zipper, but after she’d cried out, and he’d imagined what she’d done to herself to elicit such a sound, he was afraid he’d come too quickly with only the slightest friction.

  He agonized with the anticipation of release. He ached for touch. Grace’s touch. But he waited, wanting nothing more than to bring her to the brink before he joined her leap over the edge.

  “Where are you now?” he asked, wanting to picture her in that skintight tank. Or camisole. Whatever. He didn’t fucking care what it was called, as long as he could see her when he closed his eyes.

  “On the couch,” she answered, her voice soft with the slightest bit of strain.

  He grinned. That strain was because of him. Because of what her body felt because of him.

  “Lying down or sitting up?”

  She didn’t respond, but a few seconds later his phone v
ibrated with a text. He pulled it from his ear and opened the message.

  It was Grace. Correction. There was no message from Grace, just a photo of her from the waist up, lying on her couch. Her free hand covered an embarrassed-looking smile she couldn’t quite hide.

  He scanned down the photo to her breasts. Even at the selfie angle he could see her nipples, rigid beneath the thin cotton of her tank. The hem of the top rode up to reveal her belly button, and below that a pair of blue panties peeked out from her unbuttoned jeans.

  “You are absolutely stunning,” he said. “I am never erasing this photo.”

  She laughed softly. He would never get tired of that sound, especially when he was the one responsible for it. But tonight he wanted to be responsible for different sounds entirely. A sweet laugh was just fine, but he wanted to hear her cry out his name.

  “Your turn,” she said, and he raised his brows. Then he opened his camera, snapped a quick photo, and sent it off.

  He heard a sharp intake of breath, and then she was back.

  “You could have warned me that you were shirtless,” she said, and it was his turn to laugh.

  “It’s not like you haven’t seen it before.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “But before I wasn’t imagining your mouth on my breast…or other places.”

  Other places? Christ.

  He shifted his position in bed, the heating pad on his lower back easing the sciatica pain, but it did nothing to ease the discomfort up front.

  Soon, he told himself. Just hang in there.

  “Unzip your pants, and I’ll show you where else I’d put my mouth,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she teased, and he almost couldn’t take it—the need to see her, to kiss her, to actually touch her. He’d gone three months without sex before. Granted, he’d been a teenager, but that was beside the point. He could do it again, especially if it meant the light at the end of the tunnel was the golden-haired, golden-eyed goddess on the other end of the call.

  “Slide your jeans off completely. I don’t want them getting in the way of what I’m going to do to you.”

  “Okay,” she said, this time her voice devoid of any teasing and laced with pure, aching need. He loved that he could hear it, that it dripped off her tongue, and that it was all for him. “They’re off,” she added.

  He let out a deep breath, careful not to let her hear. He had to stay in control, or at least not let her know how crazy he was for her. Not yet. He had to make her just as crazy first.

  “Now slide your hand under those blue panties, all the way down until your fingers nudge that opening—but don’t you dare go inside.”

  She whimpered, and he knew she’d done exactly as he’d told her. His erection throbbed, pulsed against the cotton of his boxer briefs and the restraint of his jeans.

  Keep it together, Denning. So close.

  “Jeremy…” She hummed a soft moan, and he reached a hand behind his head, gripping his headboard so he wouldn’t grip himself.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Dip a finger inside for me.”

  A gasp. And then another whimper. Fuck. He was ready to come just from her reaction.

  “Jeremy…” she said again. This time his name was a plea. “I don’t know if I can…it’s too much. It’s never been like this. I—”

  “Another finger,” he interrupted, imagining how warm she was inside. “As far as you can go,” he added.

  “Yes,” she said. “More.”

  “Slide out slowly,” he said, gritting his teeth and gripping the headboard.

  She cried out again, and he knew her fingers must have found her swollen clit.

  “Did you imagine my mouth there?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “And then I’d slip my fingers inside you and kiss my way up your stomach to your breasts. And your neck. Until I found your lips. Your beautiful lips. I don’t just want to be that first kiss, Grace. I want to be your first everything. I want to taste every last inch of you.”

  “Yes,” she said again, and he licked his lips, wishing it were his tongue parting hers. He hadn’t realized he’d let go of the headboard until he’d already flicked open the button of his jeans.

  “Again, Grace. Let me inside you again. Let me fill you up.”

  “Jeremy.” A moan followed his name.

  God, she was close. He could hear it. He could feel it. And he was right there with her.

  He gripped the base of his shaft and stroked up, hissing between his clenched teeth as he reached the tip, his fingers swirling in his own wetness.

  “I’m with you, beautiful. Every step of the way,” he said.

  “Jeremy,” she said again, panting, and he pumped faster, harder, without mercy.

  “Still with you,” he said, his voice low and rough as he let go of the last of his restraint.

  “Oh God!” she cried, and he knew this was it.

  “That’s it, beautiful. Let go for me.” He gripped his cock as hard as he could without hurting himself, creating the friction he needed to move beyond the build and straight over the edge.

  His jaw clenched, and he grunted with the release. The phone had fallen from his hand, and he reached for it before it bounced off the bed and to the floor, and then he laughed at the image of himself entering the phone store and explaining about his unfortunate phone sex accident.

  He laughed hard and loud, giving himself a much-needed emotional release after what just physically transpired.

  “You still there?” he asked softly when he didn’t hear so much as a breath.

  “Mmm-hmm,” she said dreamily after several seconds. “Were you laughing?”

  He chuckled again. “At myself,” he said. “Promise.” She hummed again, and he let out a breath.

  “Are you sleeping?” he teased, wishing he could roll over and do just that, but he’d have to shower and clean himself up before he could let his body officially shut down.

  “Almost,” she said softly. “Jeremy—”

  But he didn’t let her finish. “I know,” he said. Because whatever either of them said right now, it wouldn’t articulate what just happened. No words seemed right for what she’d trusted him to do. And he’d trusted her, too. Hadn’t he? He’d been more intimate with her on the phone than he’d been with any other woman, Whitney included.

  Nothing could be said without saying too much, and it was too early for too much.

  “I know,” she echoed, and he smiled.

  “Sweet dreams, Grace,” he said. “I want to see you when you get back from Madison.”

  “Okay,” she answered. “Sweet dreams, Jeremy.”

  And then she was gone.

  After a quick shower, he climbed back in bed, his body finally reminding him that he was injured and in pain. But Grace had made him forget, if only for a short time.

  He’d forgotten all the pain he’d held on to for the past three years, and he finally realized why it took him so long to do it.

  That’s how long it took him to find her. Maybe Grace’s universe had a plan for him after all.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Grace helped Mrs. Abelli off the massage table, then turned toward the door to give the woman privacy so she could put her robe back on.

  “You leave without your pizzelle?”

  Grace pivoted back to where Mrs. Abelli sat wrapped in her sheet.

  “In my bag.” She nodded toward the flower-printed shoulder bag hanging from the hook on the door. “I bring special, just for you.”

  Grace’s cheeks warmed. She didn’t have any living grandparents. Her dad lost both his parents before she was born, and her mom was a Chicago transplant, originally from Arizona. Grace had grown up seeing Nana and Poppy only twice a year, and both had passed while she was in high school. Maybe it was an awful thing to think, but Mrs. Abelli treated her like she always wished her grandparents had. And maybe they would have if they’d been closer…seen each other more. But her mom maintained a physical and emotional distance
from them for as long as Grace was alive.

  She unhooked the bag and handed it to Mrs. Abelli, who promptly pulled out a container filled with the crispy, waffle-like cookies she’d grown to love.

  “I try lemon this time,” the woman said, handing Grace the container.

  Grace lifted the lid and breathed in the sweet yet tangy scent, her eyes falling closed. They were just cookies. Yet she felt a pang in her heart at the small gesture, a yearning for something she wished she had but wasn’t sure she ever did.

  “You tell me his name, yes?” Mrs. Abelli asked, and Grace’s eyes flew open.

  “Wh—what?” she stammered, but the other woman just smiled a soft yet knowing grin.

  “For three months you tell me about the no drinking, no swearing, no horizontal mambo…”

  Grace snorted. “Horizontal mambo?”

  Mrs. Abelli waved her off. “But today you say nothing. You don’t even ask about my hip.”

  Grace gasped. “Mrs. Abelli. I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you? Was the massage too deep? You should have said something—”

  This time the woman waved at her with both hands.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I’m always fine, but you are a sweet girl to always ask. But today?” She pointed to her temple. “You are distracted.”

  Grace blew out a breath and held her pizzelle to her chest like a cherished treasure.

  Mrs. Abelli said nothing else. She simply raised her brows and waited.

  What choice did Grace have? She couldn’t lie to the woman who baked her fresh cookies each week, whose genuine interest in Grace’s life and happiness was the one thing that made her look forward to the five hours in the car every weekend.

  “His name is Jeremy. And I’m afraid I might fall in love with him.”

  Grace sat in her car and watched the windshield wipers work furiously against the downpour. She glanced at the cats and dogs umbrella on her passenger seat, dripping from her run between the hotel entrance and her car in the far-off staff lot. But instead of grinning, guilt twisted in her gut.