Page 61 of Second Position (Astor Hill #2)
Gen
Four months later
We’re alone this morning—Ben and Liv are still asleep, Sloane’s not here yet, and Jean’s flight got cancelled last minute. Grant’s parents aren’t driving up until later this afternoon, and the privacy is more than welcome.
When we let it slip that we wanted to come down here to hike over spring break, it quickly evolved into a whole thing: an itinerary, courtesy of Liv; group crafts in the evening per Sloane’s insistence; a drink menu carefully curated by Jean.
I don’t not love the commitment we have to each other or the way we want to wring every moment for what it’s worth now that we found one another, but the stillness of this mountain peak, with the love of my life , is actually all I really need right now.
Standing behind me, his arm is slung across my front, pulling me into him with quiet strength as we watch the unobstructed sunrise.
“I want to do this every morning,” I declare, feeling the rumble of Grant’s laughter as I turn my head back toward him.
He wears this amused smirk, the corner of his mouth barely ticking upward, but his eyes tell another story.
The feral glint I spy there tells me he’s not even paying attention to the unearthly layers of peach and gold lighting the morning sky.
“That would require getting up before the crack of dawn…every morning.” That smirk grows into a grin, and I playfully swat at his chest, turning my back to the sunrise in favor of him.
Like an illustrated backdrop, gorgeous fuchsia and lavender plumes blossom behind him, the path we took to see this almost camouflaged by the lively foliage.
“I had no issues getting out of bed before I met you .”
He lets his hands dip, cradling me just under my ass, and I feel his fingers slip beneath the tight spandex of my shorts.
“Is that a complaint, Dupont?” His touch trails upward until he’s skating over the sensitive flesh between my thighs.
A whimper I can’t control escapes me as he sinks a finger inside me, unfazed by the fact that other well-meaning early risers could see the way he’s touching on this mountain.
“Not at all,” I strain to answer, my hand now on his shoulder as he dips to gain better access. “I just…was saying I could do it, if I wanted to.” His free arm scoops me up with ease and I wrap my legs around him on instinct, the itch too hard to ignore. He’s too hard to ignore.
“You can do anything you set your sights on.” He presses hot kisses to my neck, runs his nose along the sensitive skin there, and suddenly, we’re back under the canopy of the forest. “There’s nothing more attractive,” he says, pressing me up against a tree, “than the sight of you,” he continues between shallow breaths, “taking what you want. ”
His gaze flits down to my lips and I swear I’ll never tire of the way he looks at me. Like he wants to devour me, like there isn’t enough time for him on this earth for him to have me the way he wants to. When he meets my gaze, I know he’s putting the ball in my court.
“Are you trying to fuck me on my serene morning hike, Grant Fielder?” I ask, my teeth worrying at my bottom lip as I suppress my over eager grin.
“I’m letting you know that if you’d like me to fuck you on your serene morning hike , I’d be more than happy to oblige,” he counters with a lazy grin, wetting his lips just before he rolls them together and he has to know that is my kryptonite.
That or him in a backwards hat. Or both at the same time.
Running my fingers through his hair, down to the nape of his neck, I pull him toward me, pressing my lips against his and it’s euphoric—the way his lips feel, his tongue feels, against mine.
He meets me stroke for stroke, ruining me with just his mouth, and my core throbs with anticipation at what he’ll do to the rest of me.
The hike down is that much harder after coming so hard, you see those little floaters you sometimes get when you stand up too fast, but we manage.
Well, mostly Grant manages—he carries me downhill the last third of the way, without a complaint, glad to do it.
And I love him, more and more, deeper and deeper, in these in-between moments: when we’re quietly coasting down a mountain, me on his back; when the playlist’s been on for a while and we stop commenting on the songs, content to just sit in each other’s silence; when he glances over at me, his easy smile so calm and content, just before he shuts off his car.
I love him more intensely when I see him with his family, when I watch the way he loves them. I love him more fiercely when I watch some idiot foul him in a game. It just grows and grows—boundless.
We traverse the large, gravel entrance driveway to the mountain home his parents offered up for this friend-cation, stopping short when I see Sloane’s iconic cherry red convertible.
Admittedly, it looks like it’s seen better days, but it makes sense after the eighteen hour drive she made from Boston.
Why she didn’t just fly is beyond me, but then again, Sloane is oftentimes beyond any of us.
“Ready for summer camp?” Grant grumbles, still not entirely sold on the upsides of spending an entire week with all our friends in a rural cabin. “We could still book a hotel.”
“It’ll be fun . Anyway, we have the entire guest wing. I think you can manage doing some paper mache to placate your sister.” I tug him toward the front door, flashing him a hopeful smile. “If you let yourself, I think you’ll even enjoy it.”
“I’ll enjoy it,” he relents, pulling me to him just before I can reach for the handle. “You’re here. That’s all I need.” His lips land on my forehead, pressing a kiss to the salty sweaty skin he’s sure to find there.
“You’re quite the romantic. Anyone ever told you that?” I smirk, about to press another kiss to his lips, when the front door swings open.
“Oh my god, you’re back!” Olivia says a little too loudly, eyes as wide as saucers. Then quietly, so only Grant and I can hear: “S.O.S.”
“What are you talking about?” My brows knit in confusion as I walk through the large doorway, worried that maybe Ben has news about Will, before spying Sloane swinging her feet from where she’s perched on the massive granite slab in the airy kitchen.
I feel Grant tense behind me, stopping in his tracks as the heavy door falls shut. “What are you doing here?”
“I told him I’d owe him one,” Sloane says with a slight shrug.
“Jesus Christ,” Grant grumbles, raking his hands through his hair.
Ben stands off to the side, cautiously looking between Grant and his sister, and Liv slowly makes her way back to his side like she’s waiting for a bomb to go off.
“So what we’re not going to do,” Sloane says, popping off the counter with graceful ease, “is be rude. I invited him.”
Andrew Spellman sheepishly turns from where he was scouring the fridge, sinking his hands deep into his pockets as he gives Grant a brief nod.
“Hope I’m not imposing.” And it’s not so much that it’s Andy.
I mean, everyone likes Andy. It’s that he’s here with Sloane, and that Sloane made a point not to tell anyone—that’s what has Grant so on edge.
I watch as Grant’s eyes bounce between the two blondes, attempting to calculate what grave error must have occurred for Sloane and Andy to have shown up here together. He looks at me, and all I can do is shrug.
“I literally know just as much as you do,” I tell him, running my hand up and down his arm. “But the more the merrier, right?” I offer Sloane and Andy, smiling brightly. I feel like I’m playing hostess, and until Evie gets here tonight, I guess I am.
“Thank you,” Sloane mouths, trying her best to downplay the bizarreness of the situation. But Sloane is up to something, and my stomach flips when I consider what it could be.