Page 17 of Delay of Game (Norwalk Breakers #4)

SEVENTEEN

GRACIE

Rob parked the car and strode out, away from the house and toward the pottery studio. I groaned before pulling myself out of the car.

“I don’t really feel like pottery today,” I said, unsure of why I’d agreed to spend the rest of the afternoon with Rob.

I wasn’t fine, despite what I said. My body felt heavy and unwieldy. My brain foggy. I wanted to climb under the covers and pretend that I hadn’t dragged Rob to meet a woman who didn’t even remember my name.

Despite my request, Rob unlocked the studio. “Nah, fuck that.”

I followed him inside.

“Put these on.” He handed me a pair of safety goggles hanging by the door. I frowned before taking them. He put on his own pair. “How much have you poked around here?”

I shrugged. “A bit.”

“What about this door?” he asked as he approached a door on the far side of the studio, next to the exit leading to the kiln.

I smiled. I’d tried that door. “It’s locked.”

“Because it’s mine.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and slid one into the lock. The door opened with a dull creak, and he stepped aside. I slid in beside him, my shoulder touching his chest as I peeked inside.

“Did you make all this?” I asked, taking in the packed shelves of plates and cups and bowls and vases. “Are you planning on firing any of these?”

He shook his head. “Hell no.”

He grabbed a tote sitting next to the door and filled it with armfuls of stacked plates and cups. Once he filled the tote to the brim, he grabbed two large vases and balanced them on top.

Speechless, I followed him as he hefted the bucket up and led me out the door to the kiln yard.

I had only come out here a handful of times. A red brick patio covered by a galvanized tin overhang. On the far end of the patio, two kilns sat protected inside a chain-link fence. The patio faced into the woods and fields.

Rob set down the tote and unpacked the pieces, spreading them out on a rickety metal table. “Pick one.”

“Pick one for what?” I asked. When he didn’t answer, just nodded toward the pile, I picked up a plate. “It’s a nice plate.”

“Smash it.”

“Excuse me?” I stared at him and then the plate incredulously. “Why?”

“Because it’ll make you feel better.”

“Who’s going to clean it up?”

He shrugged. “Me? Or I’ll send the housekeeper out here. Don’t worry about it.”

“It is actually a nice plate, though.” I frowned. Nicer than anything I’d ever made. And when Rob said he’d show me how he coped, I hoped it’d involve a tub full of ice cream.

His brown eyes softened as his lips tipped into a smile. “I’ll make another. Today sucked. Break something.”

I wavered. Unsurprisingly, the idea of smashing something felt pretty good. And I had permission. It wasn’t like at home when I’d have to clean it up and risk damaging something important. Rob was right. He could just make another. He had dozens.

“You’re sure?” I asked with a grin.

“Smash it, Astrid.”

I raised my arm, eyes flitting to Rob for permission. He nodded, and I threw the plate to the ground. Soft clay shattered around our feet, shards bouncing off the brick with a satisfying clang. Some of the tightness in my chest loosened and a smile slipped onto my face.

“How’d that feel?” Rob asked, his smile mirroring mine. He nodded and grabbed a mug. “Another.”

I didn’t hesitate this time, lifting my arm and throwing the mug onto the ground. I exhaled as the pieces bounced off my pant leg and grabbed another plate. This one, I aimed for the corner of the yard, tossing it like a frisbee so it shattered with a satisfying pop.

The tension that built up in my chest during our visit eased.

Not all the way. Not even most of the way.

But enough so that I could finally breathe.

Rob handed me another plate, and I smashed it into a pile of rubble.

I grabbed a mug and cracked it against the shelving.

A layer of ceramic debris built around our feet, and when my fingers reached for another piece, they collided with Rob instead.

I sucked in a breath as we both froze. Rob’s brown eyes softened before his palm ran up my arm.

My eyes closed as his fingers danced up my neck and raked through my hair.

I slipped my hand underneath the hem of his shirt, running my nails over his abs.

I shivered as he leaned closer, the tiny patio shrinking with each breath.

Our safety glasses touched as Rob’s lips fluttered over mine, not making full contact but leaving the impression of a kiss that I desperately wanted. I grabbed his shirt with my free hand, and he tightened his fingers, balled into a fist in my hair, pulling my lips into his.

The same release that seeped through my body at throwing the plates washed over me again, tenfold. An electric high followed by a deep calm.

His hand snaked along my waist, lingering over the journey that would normally make me feel self-conscious.

I leaned into it, closing my eyes as goosebumps followed his touch.

The rest of the tension drained out of my body as Rob backed me into the shelving, pottery clinking behind us as his arms enveloped me in a way that somehow felt entirely safe and way too dangerous.

He groaned into my mouth, his tongue parting my lips before he broke the kiss. A frenzied intensity filled his eyes as he searched my face. As if expecting me to pull away.

I tightened my grip, pushing up on my toes to reach his lips and draw him back into me. My tongue slid over the seam of his lips, teasing them open as I pressed my body against his.

When had I wanted someone this bad? I couldn’t come up with a time, a name, a year even. And judging by the bulge against my thigh, Rob wanted me too. And whether that meant for the next hour or the next week or the next year, I didn’t care.

I arched my back, friction and leverage forcing his hand to cup my breast. I moaned into his mouth as his fingers massaged my nipples erect. His other hand dropped from my waist and cupped my ass.

The soft waves of pleasure weren’t enough. I wanted more. My unsteady fingers fumbled to unbutton his jeans, barely pushing them off his hips before delving past the waistband of his boxer briefs.

He broke the kiss, his forehead pressed hard against mine. “Just this.”

I nodded. Unsure of what that meant other than his grip released from my ass and slid around my thigh.

I pressed my palm further down, past the thatch of hair, until my fingers encircled his hard cock.

“Just this” might have been a blessing in disguise because I could barely get my fingers around him. His breath caught in his throat as I slid my hand down the long length of him and back again.

“Astrid,” he croaked out, eyelashes fluttering closed as he thrust into my hand.

His mouth slanted over mine, taking me with an intensity that caught me off guard. He pushed up my dress, tugging aside the plain cotton underwear I’d put on that morning, never thinking for a minute his hands would be on them by lunch.

“Fuck,” he murmured into my mouth as his finger slid down my damp slit, the gentle touch creating more pleasure than my hand and a toy had done in the last five years.

His breath hit my cheek, hot and heavy as he met my pace, thrusting his fingers into me as his thumb strummed over my clit.

Even as my hair caught in the shelving and the greenware behind us teetered perilously close to falling, the pleasure built in my body, half prompted my Rob’s fingers on me and half spurred by his reaction to my touch.

For a guy of few words, he was surprisingly verbal as he alternated between soft moans and terse commands.

“Like that.”

“Right there.”

“Fucking hell, Astrid.”

He said my name like a curse and a blessing. Each time he said it, he urged me closer to the edge until…

“Rob?” Gloria’s singsong tone acted like a cattle prod. One minute, Rob had his hands all over me, but at the sound of her voice, he was on the other side of the patio, face red and chest heaving.

He raked a hand through his hair before pulling his pants up. “Yeah, just a second.”

His eyes locked with mine, panicked. “Your dress.”

I glanced down at the fabric wadded around my waist and pulled it down, smoothing it with shaky hands. My underwear were stretched out of place and chafed my inner thighs, but with Gloria inside the studio, I couldn’t exactly take them off.

“How did the lunch with Mercy go?” She walked through the studio and to the open door.

She spotted Rob first. Under his mother’s gaze, Rob feigned nonchalance, leaning against the gate barring the kiln before springing away.

“God damn, is that on?” he shouted, rubbing his red elbow.

“I started a bisque fire last night,” she drawled. “I told you that this morning.”

A faint breeze rushed through the patio and across my ass. I grabbed my dress, pulling the hem out of the back of my underwear and elbowing the shelf in the process. Gloria whirled around, surprised.

One lingering glance from her, and I knew I looked like a disaster. Her eyes caught on the hem of my dress and then the neckline, finally resting on my face. I fluffed my hair, thinning my lips into a tight smile.

“Gracie, honey, I didn’t expect to find you here. Are you doing some pottery?”

I nodded, not trusting that I wouldn’t blurt out, “Nope, back here rounding third base with your son.” Of course, the pile of broken bisqueware shattered across the concrete proved I hadn’t done anything except destroy a ton of greenware and make out.

Her eyes followed mine to the ground, head tilting. “How did the lunch go?”

“Good. Mercy thinks I’m Jimmy, who maybe was an ex-boyfriend. Did we ever land on who he was exactly?” The huskiness from minutes earlier left Rob’s voice, replaced with a muted indifference.

“Well, that sounds interesting.” Gloria pursed her lips. “I’m going to play with Mila for a bit before starting dinner. I’ll let you two…” She raked her eyes over the floor. “Clean up.”

The awkwardness that Gloria introduced into the studio stayed after she left. Rob rubbed the back of his neck, eyes anywhere but on me. “Let me grab a broom and clean this up.”