I breathed in shallow pants as his hand found its way between my thighs. Using his thumb, he began stroking me over the thin, silky fabric.
He pulled back, breathing harshly, and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of my panties, yanking them down forcefully. Sitting back, he spread my legs, baring me to his gaze.
“That is the hottest motherfucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he rasped. Moments later, I felt the warmth of his breath between my legs before he pressed his lips there, kissing me so lightly I wanted to scream with frustration. I bit my lip to keep from crying out when his tongue came out, licking me in one long, hot stroke.
“Casey,” I moaned, my back arching off the bed from pleasure. “More, please.”
“Whatever you say, baby,” he murmured against me, and I could feel his chuckle.
I laughed breathlessly and it ended on a moan when he circled his tongue around my clit, rubbing and teasing me. My hands found the softness of his hair, and I scraped my nails gently through the strands.
“Don’t stop,” I panted, completely overwhelmed when he slid a finger inside me while still working me with his tongue.
“So hot,” he groaned.
I couldn’t remember this ever feeling so good. I’d never been one to let go during sex, but Casey kept up some kind of wild assault I couldn’t fight. He slid another finger inside me and tingling pressure rose with mind blowing intensity. I held my breath, knowing I wasn’t able to do anything with this man other than feel.
“Fuck … Grace …”
He sat back on his heels and grabbed at his belt buckle, undoing it swiftly. With a yank of his zipper, he shoved his pants halfway down his ass, releasing his erection. He took it in his hand and began stroking as he looked at me. “You’re so beautiful. I want to jack off until I come all over you,” he muttered.
I sat up, reaching for him, but he planted his free hand on my chest and shoved me back, working his erection as he pinned me to the bed. After a minute, his tongue found its way back between my legs.
“Casey …” I breathed, sinking back into the bed with a groan.
“I want to feel you come against my tongue.”
There was no way I wasn’t going to. His mouth was hot and wet, lapping at me with an unrestrained rhythm that would not let up. I watched his hips move against the bed. With his pants halfway down his hips, I could see his firm, muscular ass moving up and down as he rubbed his erection against the sheets. The sight of him getting himself off while his tongue teased and tasted me made me lose the last of my control. Panting, I bit down hard on my lip, trying to draw out the delicious tingles he stirred inside me but I couldn’t. I came hard against his mouth. I knew he could feel it because he sucked hard at my clit, groaning as he ground his hips hard into the bed.
I tried not to cry out, but everything blacked out for a moment, so I wasn’t sure if I did or not. When the world came back into focus, Casey was sitting on his heels between my legs, gorgeous, masculine, and so damn sexy.
“God,” I moaned, blinking as reality returned.
He pressed a quick kiss to my inner thigh and winked. “You can call me Casey.”
I groaned, laughing, and he grinned, dimples popping as he tucked himself back in his pants and yanked his zipper upwards. His eyes fell on the bedspread in front of him. “I made a mess on your sheets.”
I couldn’t summon the will to care about any mess. Casey was right. He really was good with his tongue. The next few weeks were going to kill me.
He slapped me lightly on the rump. “Get up, Slim. We need to get back downstairs. Quick. Before I get my second wind and decide to fuck you so hard, you scream my name loud enough for everyone in the whole damn house to hear.”
Subterfuge.
Casey ‘Subterfuge’ Daniels. That was a new low for me.
I sighed heavily at my desk on Monday morning, tossing my pen down with irritation. I wouldn’t tolerate going behind Henry’s back with Grace, so why was I doing it to Grace with Morgan?
Because you’re a dumb prick, that’s why.
Leaning forward, I tapped at my keyboard, googling the word as though I had nothing better to do.
Deceit used in order to achieve one’s goal.
I laughed humourlessly because whatever my goal was supposed to be, I hadn’t achieved it. I’d been avoiding Morgan and it had been over a week since I last got my hands on Grace. Getting a taste of her hadn’t been anywhere near enough and that eight weeks had now dwindled to six. Why did time always move so damn fast?
Closing the Google tab, I called up Facebook instead, clicking on her page before I could stop myself. She hadn’t updated it in a couple of days. Her last post was an update to her profile picture. It showed a photo of her and Henry, hugging close and smiling at the camera.
Picking up my phone, I sent her a message.
What are you doing today?
After hitting send, I realised I was a stalker now. I sat at my desk, stalking Grace on a Monday morning. That was fucking sad. I was a sad, pathetic bastard. And a stalker.
“On the phone again?” Tim appeared in my office, holding aloft my customary Monday morning cup of piss-weak coffee.
“Really? You’re investigative powers of deduction dazzle me,” I replied dryly as he set the coffee on my desk.
I tucked my phone away, knowing I needed to get a hold of myself. Maybe getting a real coffee would go a long way towards achieving that. I got to my feet, snatched up the takeaway cup, and started for the door.
“Where are you going?” Tim called to my retreating back. “You’ve got a meeting with Frank in ten minutes.”
Hell.
I’d forgotten about that.
Frank had resigned last week. The news was not unexpected. He’d been making noises about retiring for over a year now, yet every time he mentioned it we played deaf. Now my Monday was lined with screening potential new employees, and because Frank knew the job better than anyone, he was sitting in on them with me.
I waved the cup as I kept walking. “I’m going to sort out this problem with your barista, Tim. I can’t function properly without decent coffee.”
“Wait!” The sound of rapid footsteps came from behind me. “He’s not my barista. You can’t just—”
“Shit,” I muttered when I tripped over a box in the front reception. I rescued the cup before it flew from my hands. Why, I don’t know. It would have been better off smeared all over the sleek timber flooring. “What the hell is with all these boxes?” I asked no one in particular. Having come through the back entry from our underground car park, I’d completely missed seeing them earlier.
They were stacked precariously throughout the front entryway, creating a safety hazard for any sad, pathetic stalker bastard who happened to walk through.
“Um …”
I turned, directing my gaze on our receptionist, Alice. She’d taken over from Tim when he was promoted. She seemed a little too timid for the role in my opinion. No one else had agreed and when put to a vote, majority ruled.
“They um …”
“They …?” I prompted after a moment of silence.
Alice flushed. Seriously. Had she forgotten what she wanted to say in just a matter of moments?
“It’s Jared’s fault,” Tim said from behind me, quick to cast blame on the situation.
I spun around, dismissing Alice. Tim’s eyes flew up quickly. Was he staring at my ass? Goddamn, but this office was going to the dogs. “Why?”
“He worked all day Saturday clearing out all our old files from archives. I think he might be nesting.”
My brow furrowed. “Nesting?”
Tim nodded. “Yes, nesting. You know, that thing people do when they have babies?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger, needing caffeine so desperately I wanted weep. “Do I look like I know anything about what people do when they have babies?” I asked irritably.
“Not really,” Tim admitted, “but you do
look like someone who knows a hell of a lot about what people do to make them.”
“Amen,” Alice muttered under her breath.
My brows flew up as I turned back to look at her. Did she just say Amen? “You know what?” I set the takeaway coffee cup on the reception counter and held my hands up in surrender. “Never mind the coffee. Let’s just get rid of these damn boxes. We can’t have them piled up here when we’re trying to interview potential employees. Not only does it make us look like some half-assed operation, it’s not safe.”
“Where should we put them?” Tim asked as he stood staring at them, one hand on his hip, the other fussing with his hair.
Alice cleared her throat so I gave her my attention. “Document destruction.”
I waited for her to supply more information but none was forthcoming. Should I ask to buy a vowel? “What about them?”
Tim spoke up. “They were supposed to stop by Saturday afternoon to collect them, but they never arrived.”
“Has someone rung them?” I asked.
Tim started for his desk, saying, “I’ll go do it now.”
“No.” Tim halted while I dug my car keys from my back pocket. “Alice, you ring them, tell them I’ll take them over.” I tossed the keys at Tim, who fumbled and dropped them. “Go unlock my car. I’ll start bringing all the boxes out.”
Tim started for the back entrance and Alice picked up the phone and started dialling.
“Fucking Mondays,” I growled under my breath when I picked up the first box and followed Tim to the car park. He was unlocking my car when I arrived behind him. “How do you think Alice is going, really?” I asked. Tim was the one that trained her to take over his position. He would be honest if he thought she wasn’t doing okay.
“She’s amazing.” He paused in the act of opening the rear passenger door. “Why? You’re not going to fire her, are you?”
The odds of that were low. No one else seemed to have an issue with her. “No, but a receptionist is the face of the company. They’re the ones who answer phones and greet clients. For someone who never speaks, I’m not sure if Alice is suited to that type of role.”
With a shake of his head, Tim swung the back door wide. “I barely spoke to you for the entire first year I worked here, remember? She’ll …”
“She’ll what?” I prompted when he trailed off, his eyes wide on the backseat of my car. I looked from him to the seat. “What the fuck?” I breathed, the bottom falling out of my stomach. I dropped the box in my arms. It landed on my foot but I barely noticed as I stepped over it to get a better look at the … the … “What the fuck is that?”
Tim leaned in for a closer inspection, his shoulder jostling mine as we both stared at the torn and mangled leather. “It looks like some kind of … small animal has attacked your car.”
I ran a hand over the shredded pieces of leather, feeling ready to puke. I’d spent years restoring this car. The backseat had been shipped from the States for the same price it cost to buy a small aeroplane. I looked at Tim. “You think an animal somehow infiltrated my car, climbed onto the backseat, and in a sudden fit of rage just …” I closed my eyes, swallowing. “Grace,” I muttered.
“Grace? You think Grace chewed your backseat?”
Opening my eyes, I snatched the car keys from Tim’s hand and started for the driver’s side door. I jabbed a finger at Tim. “Ring all my appointments for today. Tell them I’ll be late.”
“How late?” he called as I swung the driver’s door open and slid inside the car. I turned the key in the ignition, surprised I was even able to see it over the red haze of fury.
“However long it takes to kill someone and hide the body,” I yelled as the engine came to life with a loud, throaty growl.
I pulled into the driveway of the duplex in record time. I could see Grace standing by the front door already. I didn’t have much room in my schedule for a killing today so that made it convenient. I got out and slammed the door with force before whispering a silent apology to my car.
The sky was clear and the sun bright, warming an otherwise cool day as I strode up the drive. I ran my eyes over Grace when I got near, feeling that familiar pull in my groin as though she was a shining beacon and my cock had just seen the light.
Her skin glowed with a light sheen of sweat. A white tank top was plastered to her chest and a tiny pair of hot pink Adidas running shorts showcased her legs perfectly. They were the kind of shorts you knew were designed by a man because the little splits up the sides were more than just aerodynamic, they were a cocktease. Combine all that with her flushed cheeks, and Grace was the perfect combination of athleticism and raw, sweaty animal sex.
Focus, asshole! You’re here to kill Grace, not fuck her.
I took a steadying breath and dragged my eyes away, letting them fall on the two guys standing on the timber porch facing her. I figured it must have been Rage Monday all round because Grace was ranting at them, her eyes flashing fire. My brows drew together, wondering what they’d done to incur her wrath. They had their backs to me, but that was enough for me to know I didn’t recognise them. She obviously knew who they were or they wouldn’t have been let inside the gates.
My eyes scanned guy number one. I didn’t need to see his face to know he was a complete wankjob. His jeans weren’t just tight, they were white for fuck’s sake. I was sure his brown shoes had a heel on them, and the sides of his blond hair were buzzed with the top gelled in a pompadour. He was in complete contrast to guy number two who looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. A crumpled tee shirt, old ripped jeans, and a cigarette dangling from his right hand completed the look. He turned slightly and I got a glimpse of beard—like he’d not bothered shaving for a couple of weeks—and a pair of expensive aviators that were at odds with his whole don’t-give-a-fuck appearance. I knew they were expensive because I had the exact same pair. I ripped mine away from my eyes, tucking them into the neckline of my shirt as I arrived at the little scene.
“Grace,” I growled, interrupting her rant because I didn’t have the time or the patience to wait for her to finish.
Three pairs of eyeballs shot my way, Grace’s mouth falling open in surprise at finding me standing there. She must have been so focused on delivering her wrath that she hadn’t seen me arrive.
I ignored the two guys, choosing to favour Grace with a hard glare instead. “I’m here to kill you. If you come quietly, I’ll make it quick rather than drawing it out in a long, torturous process.”
A wide range of emotions played across her face—confusion, indignation, dawning comprehension, and finally the one that damned her for the crime—guilt.
“Who the hell are you?” growled don’t-give-a-fuck guy, turning to face me full-on in an aggressive stance. He flicked his sunglasses to the top of his head so his glower made more impact. I took in his features coolly—from the dark eyes and the prominent cheekbones, to the fat lip and graze above his right brow that announced him as trouble.
“Who the hell I am is none of your business,” I retorted at the same time Grace began inching backwards. My hand snaked out and snatched her wrist without missing a beat, halting her. I had to forcibly stop my thumb from caressing the trail of veins where her pulse thumped erratically. There was a time and place for soothing, sensual gestures, and this wasn’t it. “Going somewhere?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“Let go of her,” bit out don’t-give-a-fuck guy.
“John, it’s okay. This is Casey,” she said. The emphasis on my name and the exaggerated wide eyes she threw his way conveyed some silent form of communication.
John looked me up and down, a smirk forming on his lips while the blond guy stood quiet in the background, his arms folded. I knew then that this was her friend from Melbourne and that Grace had told him everything. That was awesome. Nothing like knowing another guy was all up in your business.
“If this is about the car,” Grace said, trying to tug her hand free and failing, “you should know I had not
hing to do with it. And you shouldn’t let yourself get so angry or you’ll have a heart attack. It is just a car after all,” she added.
Her attempt at cooling the situation only served to further inflame it. Just a car? My mouth fell open as I stared at her, unable to even find the words to reply to such a reckless statement.
John’s smirk turned into a full on grin. “That dog’s going to get you killed, Grace.”
“That’s my fucking dog you’re talking about and I want him back,” the blond guy snapped, his face turning red as he took a step closer to Grace.
I dropped her wrist instantly and turned to face the blond guy who I hadn’t heard speak until now. Hands fisted, my eyes flared wide before narrowing. “You’re Dalton?”
“I am,” he confirmed, lifting his chin as if to say what of it?
Someone had done a real number on him. In contrast to his careful outfit and hair, his face looked like someone had pounded him to the ground. I barely saw it. All I could see was an idiot who shopped his dick around on the best thing that ever happened to him.
Before he could take another breath, my hands gripped his precious shirt and his back slammed against the front wall of the duplex. The white-painted weatherboard shuddered under the force of the impact.
“Casey!” Grace shouted.
“What the fuck,” Dalton grunted. He shoved back, but whatever muscle he had under his clothes must have been for show because I didn’t budge.
I cocked my head at him as he panted and squirmed underneath my grip. “First, I’m going finish the job someone started on your face. Then we’re going to have a chat.”
“I did that,” John said from behind me, sounding pleased with his handiwork.
It explained the graze and split lip. Dalton must’ve taken John by surprise to get that in because Grace’s friend was no lightweight. And while it was good to know he had her back, judging by the attitude just thrown at Grace, Dalton still hadn’t learned his lesson. “But you didn’t finish the job.”
John’s brows flew up. “I didn’t?”
“He’s still breathing,” I growled aggressively.
Give Me Grace Page 16
