Page 11

Gracie

Standing in the cool Miami night with Bennett's warm hand clasping mine, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Bennett," I start, my heart racing just a tad faster, "I get it, you know? You're not after a one-night thing. You laid your cards out on the table over dinner, and honestly, that's refreshing."

His intense green eyes meet mine, and there's a softness there that contradicts his tough hockey defenseman exterior.

"Honesty's all I've got. I'm glad you appreciate it."

"Let's go inside," I say

Up the elevator two floors, and the door swings open to my apartment. Through Bennett's gaze, I imagine he sees a world unlike the fancy places where he spends his days. My space is part minimalism and warmth.

Bennett's eyes linger on a stack of well-read romance novels laid next to a bouquet of fresh lilies that sits on the coffee table in front of the cozy couch. His gaze drifts to the small workspace tucked in the corner with my laptop closed.

"Nice place," he says, his tone genuine. "Feels like you."

"Thanks," I reply. "Want something to drink?" I ask, already moving towards the kitchen.

"Sure. I'll have whatever you're having."

"Coming right up," I call over my shoulder, reaching for two glasses. I opt for a bottle of wine.

I pour the ruby liquid as Bennett leans against the doorway, watching me. I hand him his glass, our fingers brushing before we retreat to the living room.

We sit close on the couch, not quite touching, but close enough that I can catch the faint scent of citrus and cedarwood from his cologne.

Bennett's arm finds its way onto the back of the couch, like he’s truly opening up himself to me. As we talk—about everything and nothing, about hockey plays and Miami's endless summer—I find myself drawn closer to him, wanting to know more and more.

His hand moves, almost absentmindedly, to play with a rogue curl of my hair, twisting it around his finger. My heartbeat quickens with the flicker of attraction in his eyes.

"Sorry," he murmurs with a half-smile, though he doesn't pull away. "Your hair..."

"It's fine," I whisper back, the words barely escaping before his touch shifts, tucking the curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering to cup my cheek.

I lean into his palm, feeling the stubble on his jaw. My eyelids flutter shut, giving in to sensation, to the moment, to him.

When his lips find mine, it's like the first breath after diving underwater, essential and life-affirming. The kiss deepens, and fireworks explode behind my closed eyes.

Breathless, I break the kiss first, reluctantly pulling away from the heat of Bennett's mouth. My chest heaves with a boldness that surprises even me.

"I want you," I say, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. "In my bedroom."

I rise to my feet, feeling taller, braver, and more in command than I have in ages. Extending my hand, I don't just offer it—I present it as an invitation.

Bennett looks up at me. A slow smile spreads across his lips, and he places his hand in mine. As I lead him to my bedroom, I feel his fingers tighten around mine. It’s his unspoken promise that he's right there with me, step for step.

The door clicks shut behind us. He stands before me, his hands finding the hem of my shirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness. His gaze never leaves mine. The cool air of my bedroom brushes against my newly exposed stomach, making me shiver.

"Beautiful," he murmurs, and I believe him. Each careful movement he makes, every lingering touch, tells me this isn't just about desire. It's reverence.

With the final barrier of clothing slipping from my shoulders, yet Bennett stands before me, still clothed. He's like some sort of Grecian god in jeans and a shirt, all sculpted lines and controlled strength. His gaze sweeps over me, so intense it's almost palpable.

"Stay still," he instructs.

I obey, rooted to the spot by the command in his tone. Bennett circles me, just out of reach, his eyes never leaving mine. It feels like I'm the center of his universe, the sole focus of his attention.

His hands begin touching me on my shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tension there, kneading away the stress of the day. His touch is worshipful, as if he's memorizing every curve and dip of my body with his fingertips.

"God, Gracie," he murmurs, his lips hovering near my ear, sending a jolt straight to my core. "You're so damn beautiful."

And I feel it—beautiful. Not for how I look, but for how he makes me feel: cherished, adored, wanted.

His hands trail lower, tracing the contours of my waist, my hips, before slipping behind to cup my backside. His fingers grip gently and pull me closer.

"I like when you touch me," I whisper.

He nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. His fingers work deftly at the buttons of his shirt, popping them one by one until the fabric parts to reveal his tone chest.

The shirt falls away, and now it's my turn to explore, my palms gliding over the hard planes of his stomach, up to the dusting of blond hair that leads enticingly lower. My breath hitches as his hands find the waistband of his jeans, unbuttoning them with practiced ease.

He kicks off his shoes, steps out of his jeans, and there he is, gloriously unclothed except for the boxers that tent from his hardness. I hook my fingers into the elastic and tug them down.

There's a moment of pure, raw hunger in his eyes when he steps out of the last piece of clothing separating us. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his wallet in his jeans pocket, retrieving a condom and sheathing himself with a few quick, efficient movements.

"Gracie," he says, his voice rough with need. Then he's moving toward me, positioning himself at my entrance, both of us holding our breaths as he pushes inside.

The sensation is overwhelming. It’s a perfect stretch, a complete joining. I wrap my arms around his neck, anchoring myself to him as we begin to move together, lost in the rhythm of two bodies finally claiming what they've been resisting.

Heat floods my veins, a pulsing tide that Bennett fans with every deliberate thrust. It's like he knows just how to stoke the fire, pushing me higher, closer to that edge where everything blurs except for the burning need clawing its way through me.

"God, Bennett," I gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin. He grunts in response, his movements becoming more urgent, telling me without words that he's right there with me, on the brink.

The room is filled with the sound of our ragged breaths, the soft creak of bed springs, and the slick noise of bodies moving against each other to find their own rhythm.

"Gracie," he breathes out into my ear. His hand slips between us, finding the bundle of nerves aching for attention. It's only a few focused strokes before I'm shattering.

“Fuck! Bennett!” I call out his name as pleasure pulses through me, and my pussy walls milk his cock that’s deep inside me.

Bennett follows, a low groan vibrating against my neck as he finds his release, hips stuttering against mine. We cling to each other, riding the aftershocks, as sweat cools on our skin and our breathing slows.