“Never again.” were the only words he spoke to her. She nodded in agreement, of course, and then she rushed to the grocery store to get him the cheese. Several people asked her what was the matter as she cried her way, disheveled, through the grocery store isles. As she’d come to do as a matter of habit, she gave her usual rehearsed speech. I’m fine, she’d say, Nothing’s wrong, but thanks for asking. No, I don’t need a tissue, but thank you. She’d said those words to more people than she could count—usually after Robert lost his temper. She tried to cry herself out before leaving the house, but tonight she had no choice but to get him what he wanted.
After paying for the cheese she headed for her car, still shaken by everything that had happened, and horrified that she had to walk back into that apartment again. But what choice did she have? She was deep in thought when she saw him. Ava wasn’t the type of woman to stare at a guy—usually they weren’t stare-worthy, but this man, whoever he was, caught her attention like no other. He was getting out of his car, alone, and the first thing that caught her eye was his height. He was tall, but not lanky. He was perfectly proportioned, and it was clear from the fit of his clothes that he was in shape. He had brown hair, and a confidence that was exuded even in the most pedestrian of movements.
Ava caught herself starting, her car keys in hand, and the strange man noticed it also. When he met her gaze he smiled back, and Ava was done. His smile made him even more good looking, and Ava forgot all of the troubles that awaited her at home. She smiled back, awkwardly, as the man closed his car and approached. He had to pass her to get into the store, so she looked away and opened her car door to not seem like a weirdo. She knew how red her eyes were, and she’d thrown on some clothes quickly to get out of the house. Her hair was a mess and she wasn’t wearing any makeup, but despite all that she felt happy when the man looked at her.
She was about to sit down when he spoke to her. She didn’t expect him to talk to her, but when he spoke, she was taken by how deep and commanding his tone was. She felt a strong hand on her shoulder which she also didn’t expect. The firmness of his grip didn’t scare her, nor did the fact that a complete stranger was touching her in the parking lot of a grocery store. That would have been a normal reaction, but it wasn’t Ava’s. Instead she just looked—first at his hand and then into his crystal blue eyes. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn’t quite place it. Nonetheless she found herself wanting to hear his voice. She didn’t have to wait long.
He spoke only once, and only one sentence. Sometimes that’s all it takes to change you life forever.
“You should never let anyone do this to you ever again.”
She didn’t have time to process what his words meant, or how he knew, or anything else. He was gone, as quickly as he’d appeared. Ava was stunned into passive silence. All she could do was turn around, but he was gone by then. She didn’t know who he was or why he said those words, but they’d gotten inside of her.
As she drove the few blocks home she thought of a another set of words—the ones that were spoken by Robert right as he put the knife to her throat. Only this time the voice saying the words wasn’t Robert’s voice—it was the strange man’s. As she pulled up in front of her place they echoed again and again.
“Never again,” she thought. “Never again.”
Chapter 15
Grayson
I can be really indecisive.
Too many choices and I just say ‘screw it’ and don’t do anything. That’s what happened when I tried to think of a place to go on our date. I though of local places, and every place seemed good. So then I made the mistake of jumping online and looking places up in the five boroughs—and I found about two hundred spots that all seemed really good! So after a few hours of non-planning I decided to cook dinner myself. I can’t cook—I should put that out there right away, but there’s one think I can make really well—home made pasta.
It’s the one thing I used to make with my grandmother, who died when I was in middle school. She used to come over our house most weekends for dinner, and more often than not she’d end up cooking the dinner. Her cooking was some of the best food I’ve ever tasted to date, and I regret everyday not actually learning those recipes. She was from that era where no one ever wrote recipes down. A little of this, a little of that. And my mom never seemed interested in learning any of the recipes. So one Sunday when she was cooking pasta, I asked her to show me how she made it. It was so simple, yet so easy to screw up. It’s still a fond memory of mine, and every time I make pasta I think of her. I haven’t had occasion to make it in a long time, but this seems like the perfect time.
I thought Rowan would think I was being dumb, or cheap, or even too forward if I invited her over to cook, but she was really excited about the idea. I don’t know why I’m still weird with her. We spent a very intimate few days together, but I still feel like we’re going on our first date or something. I think it was the setting that everything happened in. It was such an unusual thing that I need to make sure that I feel the same way back here in my real life. Tonight is a good start. I really like Rowan, and she’s one of the sexist women I’ve ever met. On top of that she’s cool, loves my books, and has been ride or die for me since I met her at the Wordsmith signing. Tonight’s going to tell me a lot about where our future lies, or even if there’s going to be one.
I told her seven, and she gets to my place just before. When she knocks on the door I feel nervous for some reason. I’m putting a lot of weight on what happens tonight, but I have to be sure not to pressure myself, and to just go with whatever flow we have together. I open the door and can’t believe my eyes. She’s one of those women who’s so beautiful that if you don’t spend every day around her you can actually forget what it’s like to look at her. She’s wearing just enough make up to make every feature on her face pop. Her lips, her cheeks, and those gorgeous eyes—all of them catch my attention, one at a time, as though it’s the first time I’m seeing them. Her outfit fits her body in just the right way as to emphasize the curves of her hot body, and I’m not even hiding the fact that I just want to look at her right now.
“I’m going to take your weird silence as a compliment.” She says, doing a fake model pose for my benefit.
“You should. You look amazing, Ro.”
“Why thank you, Gray. That means a lot coming from you.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, opening the door all the way so she can come in. She walks past me, and I steal a glimpse of her from behind.
“You’re not exactly forthcoming with your feelings, you know? You seem like you keep a lot inside.” She’s spot on with that observation. It’s ironic for a writer to not say too much about how he feels. Maybe I save it all for the written page, but it’s a quality that I’ve always had to work on. I’ve had people in my family tell me I’m too in my own head. I’ve had girlfriends tell me that I’m not expressive enough. I used to always fight back when I heard that. I’d deny it, and start a fight with whoever it was who made that observation, but I came to see that it’s true. I think more that I speak.
“I’m sorry about that,” I tell her. “It’s a flaw. You’re not the first person to tell me this, trust me. I’m working on it.”
“How about you work on it right now with me?”
“Okay. You look like you could break every heart of every man you passed on the street. That’s how beautiful you are right now.” I mean it. It’s hard for me to be so expressive, face to face, but I’m at a zero loss for words right now. I know exactly what I’m looking at, and she’s making my heart beat faster than it should.
“See,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me a hug. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? And you look good yourself. But that’s always true.”
We kiss, but it’s more of a familiar kiss than a passionate one, but still it makes my pants tight in all the right places. As soon as I feel the softness of her lips and smell the sweetness of her hair, I forget al
l about salting my pasta water, and what kind of wine I’m going to serve. I want to grab her and bend her over my coffee table, but I can’t do that. . .yet. But the night is still young.
Rowan makes herself comfortable in my kitchen. I have everything set up to cook for us. Pasta water in an old pot, eggs, flour, extra virgin olive oil, and my pasta machine fastened to the counter top. It looks like I’m about to shoot a YouTube tutorial on pasta making. “Wow, you are super organized. You should see me cook sometimes, I’m a hot mess.”
“I have,” I say, reminding her of her amazing breakfast she cooked for me at my uncle’s house. “And it was messy, but delicious.”
“Thanks, that seemed to be a hit.”
“Not kidding, best breakfast I’ve ever had.”
“Thank you. I’m good with toast and eggs, but this kind of stuff? I’ll just go out and leave it to the professionals.”
“Wanna do it with me? It’s easier than it seems.”
“You sure you want me to cook with you?” She asks. She looks even sexier in a kitchen. I don’t know why, but there’s something about her standing there, getting ready to help me cook, that really turns me on.
“I’m one hundred percent sure. What do you say?”
“I say that I’m going to need a glass of wine first, how about you?”
“We can definitely do that. Do you like Merlot?
“Love it.” I bought six bottles of wine at the liquor store. I didn’t know what she liked, so I grabbed three different whites and three different reds. Merlot it is! I pour us each a glass and tell her about my crazy lunch with North. “They showed up to fight you at a pizza place?”
“I know! How ridiculous is that? Who does something like that?”
“Apparently three really bad authors. That could have gone really sideways if something had happened.”
“It nearly did. I thought North was going to start throwing hands. I kind of wanted him to.”
“What?”
“I’m being honest. There’s been so much passive-aggressive bullshit between the guys in each group, that I kind of wanted to just resolve it with an old fashioned throw down.”
“Only it wouldn’t have resolved anything. Do you think you can punch the asshole out of those guys? Or that getting into a brawl in a public place will bring you less drama? Beating them up would have been like eating fast food—satisfying for a minute, but then you’d feel terrible right after.”
“You’re right. I’m usually the one telling the other guys that. I should take my own advice. Luckily the brawl was just a fantasy in my head. You should’ve seen them, they looked about ready to shit their pants when North stepped to them.”
“And his whole crew was there? Is he a biker or something?”
“Used to be. I mean, I guess, technically once you’re in one of those MC you stay in it forever. But I don’t think he’s as actively involved as he used to be. But he’s still good friends with those guys. He has a whole series of MC books that are his most popular ones.”
“I started one,” she tells me. “It was interesting. Very violent and a lot of sex.”
“The MC books tend to be that way. It’s not for everyone.”
“No, I liked it, I was just surprised. He’s a good writer.”
“One of the best. He gave me some good advice.”
“Well that’s good. What kind of stuff?”
“Basically that everyone sucks at some point—either their writing, or their sales, or their overall career. He said to just keep riding it out—that I was a good author and that I just had to push through.” She listens, and then raises an eyebrow at me.
“So, he told you exactly what I already told you, only with me you don’t believe it?”
“No,” I say, trying to deny it, but it’s true. She’s been really supportive and encouraging, even when I was at my darkest on the day we left. I don’t know why I’m taking that advice to heart now. “Well, alright. I’m sorry. It’s not that I didn’t believe you.”
“What then?”
“North’s been through it, either personally or with other authors he’s mentored. H. I guess that’s the difference. Hearing from someone in the business carries a little more weight, because he’s seen what’s on the other side of what I’m going through.”
“I get that, I’m just messing with you, don’t worry. I don’t really care who you take your advice from, as long as you start believing in yourself and get to writing the next great book.”
“You really do love my books, don’t you?”
“Of course I do, Gray.” The conviction in her eyes is so real that I shouldn’t even have to question it. That’s just my insecurity, I guess. Every time she talks about my work her eyes light up and she sounds like I’m the best writer she’s ever read.
“I’ll make you a deal. You help me with this pasta and I’ll start believing in myself, okay?”
“That’s the easiest deal ever. You’re on.” We finish our first glass and wine and pour another, only this one is going to be a drink-while-you-cook glass. “Are you as good of a teacher as you are a writer?”
I smile. She’s looking at me like she did in Arizona. Her eyes have such an effect on me that I suddenly want to eat the pasta off her, instead of with her. “I’m not bad. You have to be good at following directions, though, otherwise the whole thing gets messed up.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that, Grayson. I’ll follow any orders you give me. What’s first?” I take her through the steps. Make a well with the flour. Pour the eggs in. Mix slowly. She starts to do just that like a natural, but she makes the well too shallow, and the eggs start to run. “Shit,” she yells, as the yellow from the yolks breaks away from the flour and starts running across my counter.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Happens all the time. The key is not panicking.”
“Trying, but help!”
I walk right behind her and press my body right against her. It happens instinctually without any thought whatsoever, and now I’m pressed right into her ass, and it feels amazing. I put my hands over hers so I can control her arms, and I use the fork she’s holding to scoop some of the extra flour from the well over the running egg yolk, stopping it from spreading all over the place.
“See. Don’t panic. I’ve got this all under control.”
“That was close.”
“Yeah, it was.”
I haven’t let go over her yet. I’m still cupping her hands, and I’m still standing behind her, only now I’m pressing her against the counter. I know I’m supposed to let her go, but my body won’t seem to separate from hers. It’s like I’m glued to her and I can’t let her go. Fuck pasta. Fuck making dinner. I know what I want right now, and so does she. She’s not fighting me or telling me to let her go. She isn’t doing anything just yet. We’re both in some wonderful state of suspended animation—me holding her in place—pressed into her soft ass and her pushing back ever so slightly, just enough to tease me. We’re not speaking, and we’re not moving, but we both know what’s happening.
“Grayson,” she whispers, turning her head just enough to see me out of the corner of her eye. “What about the . . .”
I don’t wait for her to say the word ‘pasta’ before I spin her body around. When I do I accidentally dust up some of the flour on the table, and it falls on both of us. I barely notice because my lips are smashed up against hers, and we’re making out harder than we ever have before. Our tongues are fighting a viscous battle for control in each of our mouths, and so far it’s a stalemate. Her hands find every part that they can reach, frantically transitioning from my hair, to my face, to my chest, and all the way down to my waistline. My hands are exploring her body also, feeling every part of her that I can as we kiss.
Finally I reach around and grab her ass and pull her upwards. She gets on her toes as I turn her away from the pasta ingredients and up against the front of the fridge. She lifts up her knee and I reach down and rub my hands on the ou
tside of her pants. We’re kissing still—trying to undress each other as we do. I take a step back and get my shirt off quickly. She does the same, taking her bra off with it and tossing away. I step back into her and lean down to wrap my mouth around her hard nipples. They’re hard in my mouth, and I run my tongue in small circles around them, one at a time. She runs her fingers through my hair, and as I do work with my mouth I let my hands undo her pants. I pull back again and she steps out of them. I do the same.
She reaches down and starts playing with her pussy. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. I stand there, watching her rub her fingers around. She reaches inside of herself as I slowly stroke my cock. When she takes her finger out she uses it to wave me over. I step into her, grabbing her finger and putting it in my mouth. “You taste amazing,” I tell her. “But I need more, right now.”
She doesn’t respond with her mouth—she responds with her body. She lifts up one of her legs and puts it on the counter top, showing me her pink, wet pussy. “I’m really flexible,” she tells me. I don’t answer, I just go to my knees. She’s given me easy access and I’m going to take full advantage. My tongue goes to work as I kneel on the floor. She’s really sensitive right now, and every flick of my tongue against her clit seems to make her whole body shake. I stand up, and my cock hits her in just the right place. I grab her face with both hands and kiss her hard. Her legs is still in the air, and she reaches down and grabs the head of my cock. Squeezing it at first, she guides it so it’s just outside of her lips. I let go of her face with one of my hands and find just the right spot.
When I push into her she yells and wraps her arms around my head. She weighs almost nothing, so I lift her up in the air as I fuck her. I slam her little body against me while holding her up with my arms, and she keeps everything wrapped around my neck and waist like a snake. When I’m done I carry her to the bedroom that’s only a room away and throw her down. She turns around immediately and falls on her hands on the bed—her ass pointed right at me, waiting to get fucked. I spread her open with one hand and insert myself with the other. Every time I slide into her is like the first time—she’s tight and wet, and the sensation of her clenching makes me never want to pull out again. Once I’m in her I grab onto her hips, and every time I pull her towards me I use all of my strength so that he ass is slamming into me. I keep doing it, faster and faster, and the sound becomes so audible that we sound like we’re starring in our very own porn right now.
Grayson: Wordsmith Chronicles Book 3 Page 11
