Page 5

Grace

The scent of garlic and fresh herbs fills the air, and I watch Marlon move around the tiny kitchen with a focus that feels oddly intimate. It’s one of those moments that makes me feel like we’ve known each other for years, not just a week. A week. That’s it. And yet, every minute spent with him has been enough to make me feel like I’ve known him for much longer. We’ve shared everything—laughter, stories, quiet moments, long conversations—and all of it has only made me want him more.

But as I sit at the small table, watching him, I can’t shake the feeling that this is temporary. He’s only here because he’s passing through. He’s on a tour of the East Coast, just like he told me. Cherrywood Village’s a pit stop. Nothing more. I can’t get comfortable with that thought, but I also can’t ignore it.

For a few days, I pulled back, held my distance, and tried not to think about the fact that I was falling for someone who didn’t belong here. But tonight, everything’s different. Tonight, I’m determined to make it count.

I’ve spent years thinking about what it would be like to be with him—Marlon Henderson, the man who used to be a dream on a screen, my idol, my crush. And now, I get to be with him. But I want to make sure I remember this night forever. I’m finally putting that lace set I bought to good use.

“So,” I say, standing up and crossing the small room to where Marlon is stirring the sauce, “need some help?”

He glances over his shoulder, his face lighting up with a grin. “I think I’ve got it handled, but thanks.” He points to the counter. “You can open the wine if you want.”

I nod and move over to the small kitchenette counter where the bottle of red wine sits. As I open it, the sound of the cork coming free sends a tiny shiver down my spine. There’s something about the whole scene—the warmth of the kitchen, the soft hum of music in the background, the scent of food filling the room—that makes it feel more intimate than I ever expected. It’s a quiet, peaceful night, but my body feels anything but calm.

I pour the wine and hand him a glass. He takes it with a smile, his fingers brushing mine as he does. The touch is simple but electric, and I feel my heart race as he looks at me, his expression unreadable.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says, leaning back against the counter.

“I’m just thinking,” I tell him, taking a sip of my wine to hide the fact that my nerves are jumping around like fireworks in my chest.

“About what?”

I set the glass down, then take a slow step toward him. “About how perfect this is. You and me, here, like this.”

His eyes soften as he looks at me. He sets his glass down on the counter and then wipes his hands on a towel. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

I bite my lip, my gaze dropping to his chest for a moment before lifting back to meet his eyes. “I am,” I say quietly. “More than you know.”

For a second, there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. I can’t quite place it, but it’s there. And then he smiles, a half-smile, but it’s still warm. “I’m glad.”

The air between us shifts. It’s charged now, thick with the unspoken things that have been building over the past few days. I’m not sure who moves first, but suddenly, we’re close. His hand finds my waist, pulling me gently toward him. The feel of his body so close to mine is dizzying, like the world tilts for a second, but I don’t care. I want him.

I look up at him, and this time, I don’t hold back. I reach up, my hands resting against his chest for a brief moment before I tilt my head up, meeting his lips with mine.

The kiss is soft at first, but then he shifts his angle and deepens the kiss and the whole world explodes. His lips press harder against mine, and I melt into him. My hands find their way to his shoulders, then to his neck, as I let myself fall into him completely.

He tastes like wine and something familiar—like home, but so much better. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and my body responds instantly, heat spreading from my chest to my fingertips.

Our hips are flush together in this position and there’s no mistaking the way he feels, the way he wants me. And suddenly, I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I want is him.

His touch burns through me, every inch of his hands on my body sending jolts of heat straight to my core. My head spins, and I can’t think clearly, only feel. I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, and now that it’s happening, I’m struggling to keep up with the rush of emotions and sensations. But it’s not just the physical pull I feel—it’s something deeper. Something that makes me feel seen in a way I’ve never experienced before.

I pull back slightly, my breath shallow, my fingers still resting against his chest. “Marlon,” I say, my voice barely a whisper, but it’s enough to get his attention.

He pulls back, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes full of concern as he scans my face. “What is it? Are you okay?”

I bite my lip, my pulse quickening. This is it. This is the moment where I either take a leap or I hold back. I don’t know if I can do this without being honest with him. Not now. Not when everything feels so intense, so real.

“I—I need to tell you something,” I start, the words coming out rushed. “I’ve never... I mean, I’ve never been with anyone before.”

His eyes soften immediately, and he lifts a hand to cup my cheek. “Grace,” he says gently, his voice low and soothing. “You don’t need to explain yourself. I’m not going anywhere.”

I feel a wave of relief wash over me, but also a flutter of nervousness. “I just—I don’t want to mess this up. You’ve been so patient with me. I don’t want you to think I’m not ready, or that I don’t want this. I do. I just... don’t know how to do this.”

Marlon’s thumb brushes across my cheek, his gaze intense but calm. “Hey, you don’t have to rush into anything. We’ll go at your pace, okay? I’m in no hurry. Whatever you want, whenever you’re ready. I’m not going to pressure you. We’ll take it slow.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my heart ache. I want to believe him so badly. I want to trust that this—us—can be everything I’ve hoped for, that he’s really here for me. But the uncertainty still lingers, like a shadow over everything we’ve shared. I wonder how long this will last. Whether he’ll still be here when he’s done with his trip. Whether he’ll even want to be.

But I nod, feeling the weight of his words sink in. “I just... don’t want to regret it, you know? I want it to mean something.”

“It will, Grace,” he says softly, his lips brushing over my forehead. “Whatever happens, it’s gonna mean something.”

I close my eyes, taking in the warmth of his touch. The way he holds me feels so right, so natural. The space between us feels full of possibility, of something more. But for now, this—this moment—feels like enough.

I feel like I’ve waited for this moment forever, and now that it’s finally here, everything inside me feels...Vulnerable. Alive.

“Marlon...” I breathe, his name coming out as a plea. I’m not sure what I’m asking for—maybe for him to hold back, or maybe for him to pull me in deeper, show me what it’s like to be wanted by someone who truly sees me.

His lips curl into a slow, teasing smile. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Grace. And just so you know, I want you, all of you. Every bit of you.”

Before I can even think about what I’m doing, my lips find his again, this time with more urgency and more hunger. I don’t think about how fast my heart is pounding or how much I’m trembling. I just want him. All of him.

His mouth answers with equal intensity, his tongue meeting mine, teasing and exploring with a slow, deliberate rhythm. The sensation of him in my mouth—his taste, his warmth, the press of his lips against mine—overwhelms me, and I lose myself in it. It’s as if all the nerves and fears I’ve been holding onto for so long evaporate in the heat of this kiss.

His hand moves up to cradle my face, tilting it just slightly as he deepens the kiss, pulling me closer until I feel like I’m melting against him. There’s a fire inside me, one I never realized was there, until he stoked it with every gentle press of his lips, every swipe of his tongue.

Marlon’s lips leave mine, and a soft whimper escapes me as he begins a slow, sensual trail down my neck, his hands steadying me as his mouth explores. His kisses are deliberate, each one stoking the flames building inside me. He lingers at the hollow of my throat, his tongue teasing the sensitive skin there before he moves lower, the heat of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. His hands grip my hips as though anchoring himself, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on my skin. I feel his lips graze the curve of my collarbone, and the combination of his touch and his words sends a jolt of electricity straight through me.

He looks up at me through heavy-lidded eyes, a small, teasing smile playing on his lips. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, the word catching slightly in my throat.

“Good,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes my pulse race. He lowers himself further, his hands sliding to my thighs as his lips find the bare skin at the edge of my dress.

My hands grip the counter behind me, desperate for something to hold on to as he takes his time, kissing and caressing every inch of exposed skin. His movements are unhurried, savoring every reaction he draws from me. It’s as though he’s worshipping me, and the intensity of his focus makes me feel like I’m on the verge of unraveling.

“You’re so responsive,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice like velvet and he pushes himself onto his knees. “I could spend all night learning every little thing that makes you tremble.”

I shudder at his words, my head tilting back as I let the sensations wash over me. His hands grip my thighs more firmly, spreading them and baring me to him. My lace panties are fully exposed to him now and I can feel the tension in his body as he holds himself back. It’s intoxicating, knowing how much he wants me and how much restraint he’s showing.

When he grows tired of the teasing and suddenly latches his whole mouth onto my sensitive mound through my panties, I let out a mewl. My hands fly to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as I try to steady myself.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and filled with promise. “I’ve got you, Grace. Just let me take care of you.”

His hands slide up my thighs, his thumbs brushing against the lace of my underwear, and I can feel the heat of his breath against me. Every nerve in my body is on edge, the anticipation building until I feel like I might come apart from it. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls aside my underwear, and then, finally, his mouth finds me with no barrier, and the world tilts on its axis.

The first touch of his tongue is soft, and teasing, and it sends a wave of heat crashing over me. My breath catches, and I grip his shoulders tighter, my fingers digging into him as my head falls back. He hums against me, the vibration sending another jolt of pleasure through my body, and I feel his grip on my thighs tighten, holding me in place as he works my clit with a slow, devastating rhythm.

He alternates between soft, languid strokes and firmer, more focused movements, his tongue exploring every sensitive spot with a precision that leaves me trembling. The heat builds steadily, a pressure coiling deep within me, and I can’t stop the soft moans that escape my lips as he pulls me closer and closer to the edge.

A particularly loud moan slips from my lips and he sucks at me harder causing me to see stars as I climb impossibly high.

“Marlon!” I gasp, my voice shaky as the sensations overwhelm me.

His response is a low, satisfied growl that vibrates against me, and it’s enough to send me spiraling. My body tenses, the pressure reaching a fever pitch before it shatters, a wave of pleasure crashing over me so intensely that I can’t do anything but cling to him as he continues to move, drawing out every last bit of sensation until I’m left breathless and boneless against the counter.

When he finally pulls back, his hands gentle on my thighs, I look down at him, my chest heaving as I try to catch my breath. His dark eyes meet mine, and the intensity in his gaze sends a fresh wave of warmth through me.

“You’re incredible,” he says softly, his voice filled with awe as he presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh before rising to his feet.

Before I can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that’s both tender and possessive. I can taste myself on him, and the realization sends a shiver through me. His hands cradle my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks as he deepens the kiss, and I feel like I’m falling all over again.

Chapter Six

Marlon

I run a hand down the front of my shirt for what feels like the hundredth time. It’s the nicest button-up I could find in the rushed hour I spent at that boutique downtown. While the fit is decent, I can’t help but feel like I look like a kid trying to dress up for picture day. The sleeves are stiff, the fabric smells like it’s been folded in plastic for way too long, and the collar is choking me.

Why the hell am I nervous? I’ve stood in octagons with opponents twice my size, faced down journalists who were practically frothing at the mouth to take me down a peg, and fought in front of sold-out crowds who either wanted me to win or see me get my ass kicked. But somehow, meeting Grace’s parents is making me sweat like I’m cutting weight.

I glance at Grace out of the corner of my eye. She’s radiant tonight—her hair straightened out from the usual brown curls and pulled into some kind of loose, effortless updo that probably took her all of five minutes to perfect. She’s wearing this flowy navy dress that makes her look both elegant and approachable, and her smile as she glances at me puts me at ease. For a second.

Then she reaches over, brushing her hand lightly against my arm.

“You’re going to do great,” she says, her voice soft but amused, like she knows exactly what’s going on in my head.

“How can you be so sure?” I mutter, shifting in my seat as we pull into the driveway of her parents’ house. It’s modest but well-kept, with a wraparound porch and a light glowing warmly from the kitchen window. It looks like the kind of place where people sit down for Sunday dinners and talk about their days.

She leans closer, and her perfume—something floral but clean—fills my nose. “Because I know them. And I know you. And I promise, Marlon, they’re going to love you.”

I snort, trying to cover up how her words make something in my chest tighten. “What if I embarrass myself? What if your dad hates me?”

Grace laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes everything else fade into the background. “Trust me, my dad’s probably already a bigger fan of yours than I am. He used to stay up late to watch your fights on TV, and he won’t shut up about how he saw your match against Rivera live last year.”

“Rivera? That was one of my worst fights.”

“Exactly.” She grins. “He loved the underdog comeback. And my mom? She’ll win you over as soon as she brings out dessert. Just don’t let her intimidate you—she’s got a sharp tongue, but she’s all bark.”

The truck rolls to a stop and I put it into park. “Stay there.”

Hopping out I jog over to Grace’s side, pulling her door open and holding out my hand for her to step down. She gives me a reassuring smile before stepping out.

Shoulders drawn back and head high, she marches toward the house. Closing the door and locking the truck, I follow her lead, my palms suddenly slick as I smooth them on my jeans. This wasn’t in the plan. Hell, two weeks ago, I was just passing through town, looking for a distraction from the grind of training, the press, and the constant expectations. Grace was supposed to be a momentary reprieve, not the woman I’d be nervously meeting parents for.

But she’s different. And now here I am, standing in front of a house that smells faintly of barbecue and lavender, wondering if maybe—just maybe—I’m falling for her.

Her dad, Frank, meets us at the door with a grin that could rival the sun. He’s a stocky guy with salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of warm energy that instantly makes me feel a little less like a fish out of water.

“Marlon!” he says, grabbing my hand in a firm handshake and then clapping me on the shoulder like we’ve been friends for years. “It’s an honor, man. I’ve been following your career since your early days. You’ve got heart, you know that? And skill, of course, but heart—”

“Dad,” Grace interrupts, laughing as she steps between us. “Let him breathe. He just got here.”

Frank laughs, not the least bit embarrassed. “Sorry, sorry. Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”

The inside of the house is just as inviting as the outside. The walls are lined with family photos, the furniture is cozy but well-loved, and the smell of something rich and savory fills the air. My stomach growls audibly, and Grace stifles a laugh.

Her mom appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She’s smaller than Grace, but there’s no mistaking where Grace got her sharp eyes and easy smile.

“So this is the famous Marlon,” she greets, looking me up and down like she’s sizing me up for a sparring match.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, suddenly unsure if I should stick out my hand or wait for her to make the first move.

She breaks into a smile that’s equal parts welcoming and mischievous. “You don’t have to call me ma’am. Makes me feel ancient. I’m Nina.”

“Nina,” I repeat, nodding. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She eyes me for another beat before turning to Grace. “He’s handsome. And he doesn’t look as cocky as I expected.”

“Mom!” Grace groans, her face flushing.

“What? I’m just saying.” Nina shrugs, then waves us toward the dining room. “Now, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

***

Dinner is perfect.

Frank and I talk fights over plates of tender roast chicken, roasted potatoes, and green beans that remind me of home. He’s got a million questions—about my training, my toughest opponents, my favorite fight moments—and I answer them all, enjoying his genuine enthusiasm.

Nina, meanwhile, keeps things grounded with her quick wit, throwing in comments that make Grace groan and roll her eyes but have me laughing.

And Grace watches it all with a soft smile, her hand occasionally brushing mine under the table.

By the time dessert comes out—a homemade peach cobbler that’s somehow even better than the main course—I feel like I’ve known these people for years.

When we’re finally leaving, Frank pulls me into a quick hug and says, “You take care of her, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” I promise, and I mean it. I don’t know when or how I came to mean it that seriously, but I do.

Nina kisses my cheek and winks. “Don’t be a stranger, Marlon.”

I look over at Grace, who’s watching me with a warmth in her eyes that makes me want to promise her the world. After our goodbyes, the drive to Grace’s apartment is filled with quiet and tension. My blood is practically vibrating in my veins at her nearness and I can tell from the clench of her thighs and the soft breaths barely escaping her lips that she’s feeling the same draw that I am.

That’s why as soon as we’re inside her place, I press her against the door, my lips finding hers with a hunger I’ve been holding back all night. She responds just as eagerly, her hands sliding up to tangle in my hair as I lift her off her feet.

“You were amazing tonight,” she breathes against my lips.

“So were you.” I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hands sliding down to her hips. She feels like heaven in my arms, and I can’t get enough of her.

We move to the couch, and she pulls me down with her, her legs wrapping around my waist as our kisses grow more heated. My hands slide under her shirt, and her soft moan drives me wild.

“Grace,” I murmur, my voice rough with desire.

Her fingers thread deeper into my hair, pulling me closer as if no space between us can be left untouched. Her breath hitches when I shift my weight, pressing her further into the couch cushions. The scent of her skin is intoxicating, a mix of lavender and something warm and distinctly her.

I trail kisses down her jawline, the sound of her soft gasps and murmured encouragements fueling the fire coursing through my veins. My hands travel under her shirt, grazing the smooth skin of her sides, memorizing the way she arches into me like she’s as desperate for this as I am.

Her hands wander too, one sliding down my back, the other pressing firmly against my chest. When her nails lightly drag along my skin, I groan, deep and guttural, as if all the restraint I’ve been clinging to is about to snap.

“God, Grace,” I mutter against her neck, my lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She tilts her head back, her pulse racing against my lips. “I think I’m starting to get an idea.”

The teasing lilt in her voice makes me chuckle, low and breathless, but the laugh dissolves quickly as her nails scratch gently over my scalp. Her legs tighten around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer. The soft fabric of her dress rides higher with every movement, and my hands follow the path of her bare skin, feeling the curve of her thighs under my palms.

Her lips crash into mine again, and it’s like every nerve in my body is on fire. I let my hand slide higher, feeling the edge of lace where her dress ends, and she shivers against me. My heart is pounding so hard it drowns out everything else—the world outside her apartment doesn’t exist.

Her voice is a whisper, but it’s enough to undo me. “Marlon…”

The way she says my name—breathless, full of heat and longing—makes me want to give her everything. To stay here, tangled up with her, where nothing else matters.

But just as my hand dips lower, my phone buzzes. At first, I ignore it, too caught up in the moment, but it buzzes again. And again. Grace pulls back slightly, her lips swollen and her breathing uneven.

“Your phone,” she whispers, her forehead resting against mine.

I groan, the sound guttural and annoyed as I drop my head to her shoulder. “It’s probably nothing.”

She laughs softly, her fingers brushing over the back of my neck. “You should check. What if it’s important?”

I want to argue, to convince her that nothing could possibly be more important than this moment, but the phone won’t stop buzzing. Reluctantly, I pull it out of my pocket, glancing at the screen. My manager’s name flashes across it in bold letters.

I sigh, my free hand still resting on Grace’s hip. “It’s my manager. He doesn’t call this late unless it’s urgent.”

She nods, pulling back slightly, though her hands stay on my shoulders. “Go ahead.”

I answer the call, trying to keep my tone neutral. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Marlon, I’ve got news.” My manager’s voice is sharp, all business, and it instantly puts me on edge. “There’s a huge opportunity for you. An off-season fight in Chile. Short notice, but this could be career-changing. Build your fanbase, get international exposure—this is the kind of event that gets you on magazine covers.”

“Chile?” I echo, glancing at Grace. Her eyes are on mine, searching, though her expression is unreadable.

“Yeah. It’s a major deal, Marlon. We need to lock it down immediately. Flights leave the day after tomorrow, so you’ll need to head back to LA first thing tomorrow to start prep. Think of the doors this could open for you.”

My chest tightens. The world I’ve always known—the world I’ve fought tooth and nail to succeed in—is calling me back. And I know I need this for my career. I’m on my way to retirement. Another few years and I’ll be old news. I need a steady international fanbase to transition in the sports arena to something more than a fighter.

But it feels wrong. The very thought of being somewhere that Grace isn’t feels like the air is being dragged from my lungs. I glance down at her where she’s still sitting beneath me, her hands now resting in her lap.

“I’ll call you back,” I say abruptly, ending the call before he can push me further.

For a moment, the apartment is silent except for the faint sound of our breathing.

“You know you’re going, don’t you?” Grace’s voice is quiet, but there’s no mistaking the tension in it.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my hand running through my hair. “This fight…it’s huge. It’s everything I’ve been working toward. But, Grace…” I pause, struggling to put everything I’m feeling into words.

She stands, adjusting her dress, her arms wrapping around herself. “You have to go. It’s a big opportunity for you and you need to start considering what you’re going to do in retirement. Getting a global base of fans is a big deal for that.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. She knows exactly what I’m thinking. She gets me and she isn’t wrong, but hearing it feels like a loss I can’t quite name.

I reach for her hand, but she takes a step back. “Grace, I don’t want to leave you.”

She offers me a small, sad smile, her voice soft but firm. “I know. But you’re going to.”

With those words, she turns away from me, walking into her bedroom and softly shutting the door, leaving me staring behind her wondering what the hell just happened.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything but this ache between my ribs. So I do the only thing I can.

I walk away.