Page 67 of The Dis-Graced

Grace

Drake leads me from the guest bathroom to his master suite, which is an extravagant display of wealth and decadence.

I stop to admire the stone and hardwood aesthetic, but Drake is having none of that, and I feel his hand on my rear, pushing me into the bathroom.

“Get your sweet ass moving,” he rasps.

The bathroom is bigger than a small house, huge, with grey walls and a chandelier coming down from the ceiling’s center.

I stand there in awe, looking over the porcelain sinks and plush sitting area.

Drake hits a few buttons on the wall and leads me to a door.

He looks down at me adoringly as I look up at him with lust-filled eyes. I want him so badly, I can barely breathe. His piercing blue eyes, his chiseled jawline, that over-the-top smirk—I want all of him.

“I’ve been wanting to see these babies ever since your little game of Truth or Dare,” he says as he masterfully unhooks my sports bra, pulls it over my breasts, and up and off my body.

His eyes bulge as he stands mesmerized, staring at my sweaty assets like a teenage boy. I chuckle as I give them a little shake to his utter fascination.

“You are genetic perfection,” he says as he cups them, pinching my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and tugging them gently.

“Oh,” I moan as my head gets light.

Seeing me weak, he follows up by taking a taut nipple into his mouth, suckling gently as I struggle to breathe. By now, my panties are soaked, and I’m about ready to say, “Fuck the shower, take me now.”

He takes the other nipple into his mouth, and I run my fingers through his hair, giving a gentle tug as I moan in delight.

“I love how soft you are,” he says, licking the nubs. “You’re like a work of art.”

He squats, pulling my shorts down over my too-many-Ho Ho’s ass, whistling with appreciation.

My breath catches in my throat. I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I know that after the deed is done, I could lose the one piece of work I can get as a journalist that doesn’t force me to show my tits, but for some reason, I don’t give a fuck.

His fingers tuck under the elastic of my panties and slowly peels them down my thighs.

He bites his lower lip, exhaling a hot breath on my mons.

“You have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

The compliment makes me blush, and I feel my body bloom.

Drake kisses my mons and says, “I’ll be back shortly,” then he rises and drops his shorts and underwear to reveal his massive member.

My pussy grows wetter, so much so that I’m almost embarrassed by how aroused I am. It’s a perfect mass of flesh that fills me with want.

Drake dips, throws me over his shoulders, and takes me into his shower, which is filled with jets and shower heads.

He sets me down, the warm water running down my flesh, invigorating me.

“Sit down,” he commands, gesturing to a curved seat.

I obey, and he takes a bar of soap into his hands and begins lathering.

It smells of eucalyptus, not strongly though, He goes to his knees, his eyes finding mine.

“I can’t wait to worship you,” he says.

My body acts as though it’s on autopilot, and my legs spread wide. I feel exposed, vulnerable, but I also feel powerful to have a man such as Drake, one I’ve been crushing on since I was a girl, so enamored.