“You do that.” I pull back reluctantly. “Go on. Water's waiting.” I give her a playful smack on that irresistible backside, earning a surprised yelp and a poor attempt at a glare.
She eyes me suspiciously one more time, before heading to her room to change. I watch her go, a mix of excitement and anxiety churning in my stomach.
***
Five minutes later, I'm trying my damndest to read a cattle report at my desk in my study, when I hear the back door fly open and bang shut, like someone’s running from a crime scene. Heavy, purposeful footsteps follow down the hallway—wet, fast. My heart jumps at the shaky way she calls out, “Grant?”
I’m already on my feet when she storms into the study. Her hair’s soaked, sticking to her skin, water dripping onto the hardwood floor. She’s still in her swimsuit, her chest heaving as though she’d run a marathon and her eyes—hell, her eyes are wild. Shining. Red-rimmed. Wet from more than just river water.
My gut twists. I might’ve gone too far. I knew the river setup was bold, but I just wanted her to feel like she had a place here. That she belonged. That someone saw what she needed and cared enough to build it from scratch.
“Hey,” I say, voice lower than I expect. “You okay?”
She doesn’t answer right away.
She walks toward me fast, water dripping, with her arms wrapped around herself, like she’s holding herself together by sheer will. I take a step forward, heart thudding, ready to apologize if that’s what she needs.
But she shakes her head—hard—and before I can say another word, her hands are in my shirt, fisting the fabric, and then I’m pinned back against my own damn desk.
Mia—”
“Don’t,” she whispers, breath hitching. “Don’t you dare say anything rational right now.”
I don’t.
Because before I know it, her mouth is on mine, wet and desperate, tongue sweeping into me like she’s starving and I’m the only thing that’ll ever feed her again. Her body trembles against mine, soaked from the river, cold and hot all at once.
My hands cup her face, thumbs brushing the tears on her cheeks even as she pulls back, breathless.
“You did that for me,” she says, like it hurts to admit. “The signs, the setup, the platform, the resistance bands… you laminated things, Grant.”
“I wanted you to have everything you needed,” I rasp. “I wanted you to know you matter here.”
Something breaks in her expression—a dam cracking wide open—and the next second she’s pushing me back into my chair, tugging at my belt like it’s trying to offend her.
“I need you,” she chokes out. “Right now.” Her tongue darts out wetting her lower lip. “Please.”
My heart stutters.
Not because I don’t want this—I do. God, I do—but because there’s something in her voice that levels me. Something that sounds like awe. Like maybe, for the first time, someone’s done something for her she didn’t have to earn.
“Mia,” I breathe, pressing my forehead to hers. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know,” she whispers, leaning over and kissing the corner of my mouth. “But I want to show you what that meant to me.”
She drops to her knees in front of me, fingers going straight for my jeans like a woman on a mission. I lean back against the chair, lift my hips and shove both denim and briefs down in one impatient move.
And there it is—my cock, standing proud and ready, no shame and certainly no mistakin’ in how damn eager I am for her.
Her eyes widen. Like she forgot what I’m packing.
Like she hasno ideahow she’s gonna fit all of it in that pretty little mouth of hers.
Well, princess, consider this your reminder.
The corner of my mouth kicks up, because yeah—I see the moment her expression shifts. From surprise to something a hell of a lot darker. Fierce. Focused. Like she just took it personally that I’m this hard for her, and now she’s about todo something about it. That look alone could undo a lesser man.
The sight of Mia kneeling before me, water still beaded on her naked shoulders, is almost enough to finish me right there.
