26. Alex

Chapter 26

Alex

When I walked out of that boardroom two days ago, I'd spent the cab ride fantasizing about a week with Grace.

None of those fantasies had been in a claustrophobic attic, with slanted ceilings so pitched I couldn't stand up straight. They certainly hadn't been in twin beds, several feet apart.

Without a doubt, my fantasies hadn't included walls so thin that I could my dad and sister's laughter carried from two floors below, meaning they might hear anything above a whisper.

Yet here we were. And there was nowhere else I'd rather be.

I'd driven my parents to open the cabin early, and the girls' truck arrived in time for dinner. We hadn't had a chance to speak without an audience … but when they carried in their luggage, Grace went up that extra flight.

She'd gone to bed early, claiming exhaustion. To be fair, I had woken her up two nights ago, then she'd worked all day yesterday, and who knows when she'd had time to write her answers in my notebook — I'd still been asleep when her text arrived to check the mailbox.

I'd climbed back into my bed with my coffee, reading her answers about her transitions and anecdotes about her milestones, like her first invitation to a 'Girl's Night,' and the first time somebody asked her for a spare tampon.

Every word made me marvel at her resilience.

If I'd been kicked out at nineteen, would I have finished college? Would I still have gone to law school, or instead settled for whatever job paid the bills? I contemplated the graduations and promotions I'd celebrated, imagining them without Mom and Dad to call. I thought about missing Nick's big break and meteoric rise to fame. How much I'd already missed with Mallory.

But Grace hadn't given up or gotten jaded. Every time life kicked her ass, she stood back up stronger.

Now she waited in my bedroom. After a ten-minute head start, I stretched my arms in an exaggerated yawn. Mallory and Kate rolled their eyes.

I climbed two flights of stairs to the attic I'd shared with Nick, flooded with memories of staying up late into the night talking. All afternoon I missed him like a phantom limb. Was this how Grace always felt, missing Elijah?

I hadn't been here in a decade, yet time hadn't stopped. I considered this room mine and Nick's, yet Kate and Grace had slept in it more. How had that transition gone for my parents? There had been a few years when Mallory had been traveling that none of us kids had been home for the holidays. When she'd moved home four years ago, had my parents been so thrilled to have the girls' laughter filling the house again that they hadn't felt their sons' absence?

At the very least, the room certainly smelled better.

I stood in the doorway, pausing at the sight of Grace in Nick's bed. The attic was less insulated so she wore her Vermont sweatshirt, and even under layers of blankets she looked cold. But when her head tilted up to meet mine, her gaze was hot and hungry. Nervous — always nervous when she first saw me — but she couldn't hide her desire. When that hesitation lingered, I tempered the urge to grab her face and kiss her, like I'd wanted to do for days, instead leaning against the door frame.

"How does it feel to be in the bed of the Sexiest Man Alive?" I straightened and moved to the closet, lifting another blanket from the top shelf.

She rolled her eyes. "Somebody thinks highly of himself."

"I meant my brother. The People Magazine rankings," I unfurled the blanket over her lap. "Relieved you're not thinking of him right now. "

"Are you kidding? When you're in the room, I can't even …" Her face flushed at her truncated confession.

"Goddamn, you're cute when you're nervous." I tugged off my sweater, enjoying her wandering gaze before I pulled on a Stanford Law hoodie and swapped jeans for flannel pajamas. "So the conversation went well today?"

Since she left me yesterday with the promise to talk to my sister, I'd worried she'd arrive and say, ‘Mallory spent the whole three-hour drive convincing me that you're the world's most selfish, arrogant prick.'

And she'd wouldn't be wrong.

But her presence here meant Grace went toe-to-toe with Mallory … and won.

Even I wouldn't have wanted to take on that negotiation.

"She's worried that you're going to break my heart," she said, tracing her book title, A Lady for a Duke, "but I told her about the pinkie swear."

The pinkie swear. Right. I'd forgotten that ridiculous moment when we promised not to fall in love, but I guess it helped ease Mallory's mind.

"Well now that that's out of the way …" I said. She looked so comfortable in the twin bed, tucked into the slant of the A-frame roof. Altogether too comfortable. "This is the only room Mom hasn't redecorated, so …."

I wrapped my hand around the frame below her hip and hauled her bed toward the center of the room. She squealed as it scraped the floor loud enough to wake the whole house … if anybody but Grace went to bed before 9.

I pushed my bed to close the gap, enjoying her scandalized expression. "They're going to know we —"

"They already think I'm a selfish bastard, they damn well better believe I found the prettiest girl in town to share my bed." I laid down on my back, slid my arm under her neck, and reached over for the blanket I'd put on her top layer to turn our two twins into a makeshift king. "Now get over here, woman."

She rolled her eyes and curled into my side, her head resting on my shoulder. As her soft curves pressed against my side, relief flooded my body. I wanted more with her, but I didn't need anything more than this. And as far as I was concerned, with my family in the cabin, sex was off the table. I would have to be content to hang out, then we could pick up where we left off back at her place in a few days .

"It's surreal, being here with you instead of Nick. You're a much better cuddler, but don't tell him, ok?" She laughed as I pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, sliding a hand under her sweatshirt to run circles over her lower back. "Did you share a room with Elijah?"

"My whole childhood," she said. Her fingertips fidgeted with the drawstrings of my sweatshirt. "Three-bedroom house, four kids. My parents planned to have two kids, so not only was the third pregnancy a surprise …"

"Twins."

"Levi moved into Isaac's room so Elijah and I could share. I never remember sleeping in a room without him. Side-by-side cribs, then into bunk beds."

"Top or bottom?"

"Top. Maybe the only time I liked topping." She covered her mouth with a cute giggle. "Sorry, three hours in the car with Mallory loosened up my filter. Plus your dad's overzealous wine pour at dinner …" She pushed on as if she could erase what she'd shared. "We roomed together at college, too, until he studied abroad. I don't think I slept in a room alone until …"

My fingertips trailed along her side, sliding slower and longer with each pass. It seemed to soothe her, even as the softness of her skin and the curve of her waist aroused me. Unfair.

Her hand released my drawstrings, sliding underneath to graze the bare skin of my stomach, muscles clenching against her cold fingertips. She murmured a sleepy, half-hearted apology.

"Why is it," she asked in a dreamy rasp, "that your chest hair is so sexy, but I hated mine enough to get laser hair removal?"

Obviously I liked her calling me sexy, but didn't know how to respond without sounding dismissive or offensive. When I said nothing, she laughed nervously. "Sorry, is that weird? The only person I talk to about this is Mallory."

"I know, everything's about sex with her," I scowled.

"Not just sex, she's … she's uninhibited about her body. It's a refreshing change from how I grew up," Grace said carefully. "I always heard that since we were ‘formed in the image and likeness of God,' anything self-critical was an insult to God. So imagine the feeling that you didn't belong in your God-given body." Her hand grazed high, running circles around my chest hair. "Mallory helped me see my body as a collection of muscle and bones and tissue, not an indicator of my self-worth. Her irreverence helped me to detach my identity from my anatomy."

I wished I could see her face, but didn't want to disturb the safe space she'd found. The darkness seemed to bolster her courage.

"In college, I learned that gender was a social construct, not an anatomical fact. I read about people who were transgender, or didn't fit into the gender binary … even then, I didn't instantly recognize myself. Even after starting hormones and beginning to pass as a woman, I still didn't feel ‘trans enough.' Then one day, Mal was complaining about her cramps, and I snapped that I'd take her period because then I'd be a real woman. And she said, ‘Gracie, if I choose not to have kids, would I be less of a woman? Is pregnancy the indicator?' And I replied, ‘Obviously not.' And she gave me that ‘I know I'm right' look."

"I've seen that look way too much this month."

She laughed generously, a laugh that made me feel proud for causing it. A laugh that challenged me to loosen up so I could hear it more.

"Mallory helped me embrace my femininity and sensitivity, even if growing up, society told me not to." She paused, weighing whether to continue. A laugh bubbled up against her will as she confessed, "And when I told her that I could have both types of orgasms and the one on estrogen was better, she yelled, ‘Don't tell the Republicans or there will be an estrogen shortage!'"

Her laugh filled the room, that magical sound that felt like it was coming from her toes up through her body, and I joined in, a full-bodied belly laugh. Her head bounced on my shoulder and she clung to me as our laughter blended to fill the room. She released me to wipe tears out of her eyes.

After her laughter subsided, I asked, "So about both types of orgasms …"

Her head burrowed into my shoulder. Although her fingertips were cold and I felt her chilly toes through her socks, the warmth of her face could have heated the whole cabin.

"What, Mal gets the details and I don't?" I said in mock exasperation.

"She's curious, she's not trying to get into my pants!" Her hand covered her face, but her belly shook with laughter .

"Exactly, the one who wants to give you the orgasms should be the one who knows!" I said in a hushed cry. "Is one of them more masculine, and the other more feminine?"

"Yeah, you could say that. One's more like jerking off and coming fast, like lightning. And the other," she stifled a yawn, "started after a few months on estrogen, every nerve ending lights up like fireworks."

As the moonlight peaked through the window, I saw her eyelids drooping. I kissed the top of her head. "You should sleep, tomorrow will be a long day skiing."

She tucked closer, a soft smile on her lips. "You should too, Alex."

"It might take me a while."

Her eyes blinked open in confusion, then glanced down our tented blanket.

"Holy shit," she said, and the curse word on her normally pristine mouth made my cock jerk. "Seriously?"

"You talked about topping," I shrugged.

"That's all it took?" she said in a shocked whisper. I didn't want to admit how much she affected me, or how long it had been since I had sex, so I shrugged again. Her gaze drifted down our blanket, and then she said in a petulant tone, "That's unfair. A man as hot as you shouldn't also be hung like that."

It took all my willpower to remain relaxed when my hand desperately wanted to stroke it for her, so I leaned on my ego instead. "You think I'm hot?"

"Stop fishing for compliments," she said flatly. "Everyone thinks you're hot."

"But what do you think?"

She shifted uncomfortably and I prepared to backtrack until she whispered, "When I first saw you, I thought you were the most stunning person I'd ever seen." The sincere words made my breath stop … until she poked me in the ribs. "A tiny dick would have balanced the scales. But I guess the Big Dick Energy is well-founded."

Her palm slid lower as her voice got raspy. "You need help with that?"

"That's not why I brought it up," I intercepted her hand, lifting it to my chest. "Although you said the same thing, that first time I was Santa. You meant the costume, but … let's say I was relieved when you told me to turn around."

Her voice rose in surprise. "You got hard as Santa?"

"Not hard, exactly … "

Her breath warmed my neck and I felt the vibrations of her laughter as much as I heard the melody. God, she had the world's best laugh, and it must be contagious because mine joined immediately.

Her index and middle fingers found the bottom of my sweatshirt, walking from my stomach to the top of my pants.

"Seriously, can I?" she said, tracing my waistband. "You'll sleep better …"

"I'll be fine," I said, not wanting her to feel obligated.

"I want you to be better than fine," she said, meeting my eyes. "Please?"

Was she really pleading to jerk me off?

And was I really going to say no to a gorgeous woman offering a handjob?

Mallory's loud guffaw reverberated up the stairs, reminding me of an important reason to decline. "My family might hear."

"I can stop …" her voice was a sexy rasp. "Or we can be quiet."

I couldn't believe how lucky I was. "Ok, yeah. Yes, please."

She let out a mischievous chuckle as her fingertips trailed along the thin strip of skin between my sweatshirt and waistband. She sang quietly, " Santa Baby, slip a sable under the tree … "

All my protests evaporated as a jolt ran through my groin. Her walking fingertips continued past my waistband to explore the front of my pajama pants.

" I've been an awful good girl ," her singing voice was breathy as her fingertips brushed the crown of my hard-on. " Santa baby, hurry down the chimney tonight ," she sang, lightly skimming down my length towards my balls. Her touch along the fabric was feather-light along the sides of my shaft.

"You've officially ruined that song for me," I complained.

"Be glad I chose that one instead of ‘Santa Claus is Coming to Town.'

"‘Here Comes Santa Claus.'"

"‘It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."

My eyelids fluttered shut as her soft touch trailed up my cock. "Are you enjoying torturing me?"

"Immensely." Her voice was thick with desire. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Fuck no," I moaned as her palm traced the underside of my shaft.

"Good," she said, her teasing touch matching her pouty tone. " Think of all the fun I've missed, think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed … "

I restrained my hips from pulsing and bit my lip to keep from begging. "You're killing me. Death by handjob," I said and she let out a pleased snicker. "This is why I haven't bothered with sex in years, because it's —"

"I'm sorry, did you say years ?" she repeated, incredulous, as her hand stilled.

I couldn't believe I'd confessed that. I hadn't spent time on foreplay or had a proper hand job in … god, I couldn't remember how long.

"Yeah. Sex has been …" I wiped my face, but I didn't have enough blood in my head to come up with the right word, "utilitarian."

"Well, that changes things," she sounded dazed and removed her hand.

I wanted to scream. After a week of barely touching her, she'd had her hand wrapped around my cock and I felt her loss like an ice bath.

I didn't even care about getting off. I mean, that's not true, I did. God, I wanted to come so badly that it physically hurt. I wanted her body next to mine, her warm breath on my neck, her raspy voice in my ear, her gaze on my face watching every reaction as her fingers teased my dick.

She stood, hunching into the slanted roof, and flipped on the small lamp next to our makeshift bed, bathing the room in a warm glow. She pulled the blanket down to my waist, tracking a path with a lingering touch from my shoulders across my chest to my stomach. When she landed on my waistband, her lips parted before she pulled my pants and boxers down to my ankles and let my cock spring free.

And spring it did. My cock understood that she wanted a show and was ready and willing to oblige.

"I was looking forward to teasing you. But if it's been that long …" I propped myself up against the headboard, her hair loose and eyes brimming with desire. She knelt between my spread legs. "I'll save the teasing for next time."

Next time. Not only had she been looking forward to teasing me, she was planning for the future. The Hallelujah chorus began in my head, my already enthusiastic dick leaping with joy as her fingers wrapped around the base.

Her hand was velvet around my hard shaft, and I felt her gaze like a soft caress. One hand gripped as the other slid down to the sensitive skin of my balls. My head fell back, slamming hard against the headboard .

"Alexander," she said, her top hand running competently along my hardness, the thumb of her lower hand tracing exquisite circles on my sack.

I lifted my heavy eyelids. "Hmm?"

"Do you want me to be nice right now?" Her hand paused as she tilted her head to drop her long hair to one side, tickling the inside of my thigh. "Or do you want me to use my mouth for something naughty?"

Her lips wrapped around the head of my cock, swirling her tongue around my crown and leaving me dizzy. She spoke around my shaft, the reverberations sending electricity up my spine. "Grab a pillow to stay quiet."

I pressed my mouth into the fabric, the soft texture of Grace's hair sliding along my balls, the drawstrings of her hoodie tickling my thigh.

"Shit, Grace," I whispered. "I'm not going to last if you keep —"

"Good," she murmured around my cock. "Come in my mouth."

She really did give with both hands — and her mouth — never taking anything for herself.

But what if she didn't resist what she wanted?

I needed to come so badly that it was nearly impossible to think. I looked down at her gorgeous face, her eyes anticipating my reactions, her pink lips wrapped around my cock, her hands stroking and caressing. It was the best view of my entire life … but there was something that would make it better: I wanted to watch her come while I did.

I mustered all my willpower to wrap her hair around my hand. I think she considered it a command because she sucked harder. I almost lost control before I pulled her mouth off my cock.

"You first, darling," I whispered.

When she met my gaze, her eyes were incredulous. She shook her head, then tried to take me back in her mouth.

"I want to see you," I begged. "Please."

Holding her chin affectionately in one hand, I used my other hand to pry her fingers off my cock, then squeezed the base to slow myself down. The complete disbelief on her face told me that she understood the restraint. I let my eyes join my pleading .

"It's not …" she said hesitantly, gaze rising towards the ceiling, all her confidence instantly evaporating. "It's not that easy for me to — with another …"

I tilted her chin to meet my eyes. "If you don't want to, that's ok."

"It's not that I don't want to, it's …" she released a frustrated breath.

"Can I help?" I asked. Please, if there is a God, let her say yes.

Her eyes snapped shut. She shook her head at my request.

Still hovering over my hips, she braced one hand next to my hip. Her index and middle fingers slid into her mouth, gliding back and forth. Fuck, her lips looked perfect wrapped around her fingers. I didn't miss a moment of her bringing those long, wet fingers to her pants and sliding underneath the fabric.

Her breathing changed slowly as her forearm flexed. I released her chin and stroked my cock, watching her hand move between her legs. She tried to hold my gaze, but her eyelids drooped as her panting sped.

"Holy shit," I whispered, "you're so fucking hot right now."

Stroking my cock slowly, I caressed her breast through her sweatshirt. She arched into my palm, and through the fabric, I found her nipple and pinched. Her mouth dropped open as her brows furrowed. She released a frustrated breath, then pulled her hand back out of her pants and brought it towards her mouth.

"Hey," I whispered. "Let me, please."

She paused, then lifted her fingers to my face. I leaned forward so she could press them between my lips. I sucked, still caressing and pinching her breasts, her eyes firmly locked on my mouth as I licked between her fingers.

She slid them back out, but her brows furrowed again in concern. As her hand lowered, I suddenly understood her hesitation. Why hadn't she said something? And why hadn't I figured this out already?

"Wait, hold on, I got this," I said, lurching out of bed, tripping over the pants around my ankles and falling into the bedframe. I swore at what would be a nasty bruise on my shin before reassuring her I was fine, shaking off my pant leg, and stumbling across the room to my suitcase. I rummaged until I found a small plastic container of lube. "Will this help?"

In the soft glow of the tiny moose lamp, I saw a mix of anxiety and relief on her face. Her cheeks flushed and she nodded slowly.

"You could have told me," I said as I climbed back into bed .

"I didn't … I was worried you —"

"If lube is what it takes for you to come, I'll buy it by the gallon. It's not a big deal, ok?"

"Ok," she said in a hushed exhale.

"Next time, can you talk to me?"

"But you were so close …" she glanced at my floundering erection, her face a mask of disappointment and guilt. Like she'd let me down.

"Hey," I whispered, not sure what to say but knowing I had to say something. "This isn't one-sided. I'll take a break if it means you join me. Trust me, seeing you come will help me bounce back." I gestured below my waist. "I'm recovering already."

She didn't look convinced. I leaned over to kiss her gently, wanting to reassure her I was still interested. "I still want you to come, if you want to and if you can. But I don't want you to feel pressure."

"Ok," she said, chewing her lip. "I want to try. Is that ok?"

"Of course it's ok." I held up the lube bottle and flipped open the lid with a satisfying click. "Where do you want it?"

She licked her bottom lip, shifting her hips nervously as she held open her palm. Damn, I wanted to touch her, but I'd gladly take this.

"Tell me when to stop," I said, tilting the bottle and pouring a generous amount into her hand, not wanting her to feel awkward if she needed a lot.

She waited a few seconds, then said, "Stop."

I stopped pouring into her hand but didn't stop, instead moving the bottle over my open palm and dripping into my hand. I rubbed my fingers together to warm it up and brought my hand back to my cock.

She watched me stroke with lips parted, her hips shifting slightly as she saw my cock hardening, then met my gaze and slid her hand back beneath her waistband.

Within seconds, her demeanor changed, her pupils dilating as her arm went deeper than before. I jerked myself harder, feeling the slickness of my lubed hand mixing with precum as her head tilted back and eyes dropped closed. She panted as her hips rocked in wilder, less controlled movements.

"Fuck," she swore, and the curse word almost sent me over the edge. Her lips were open, her hand losing its rhythm. To muffle her cry, I pulled that sweet bottom lip between mine and scraped my teeth in a slight bite. Her moan resonated as her hips jerked, so I palmed her tit and squeezed her nipple again. She whimpered with a final thrust of her hips and a long, aching moan into my mouth.

She pulled back a few inches, her dazed eyes blinking several times. Her body swayed slightly as her hand left her pants and her lip curled into a satisfied grin.

Then, as if her bracing arm gave out, her mouth dropped, licking from my balls up to the head and taking me deep. I came almost instantly, my hips rising and cock pulsing to empty into her warm mouth.

My fingertips reached under her chin, sliding her mouth off my cock and pulling her up. I kissed her then, greedily, desperately, gratefully, my salty taste lingering on her tongue. She pulled away and dropped her head onto my chest as her body collapsed over mine.

I mustered the last of my energy reserves for a final question. "Was that lighting or fireworks?"

She opened a confused eye, then rolled slightly to click off the small lamp as I pulled on my pajama pants. As darkness enveloped the room, her head landed heavily back on my chest.

"Lightning," she said sluggishly, followed by a quiet confession. "I've only had fireworks alone."

My last thought before nodding off was that if she gave me the chance, she'd get the fireworks she deserved.