“Just look at you, takin’ all of me, like you were made for me.”
He presses a kiss to my neck, breath hot against my skin.“Let me make you feel good, baby… just breathe.”
Amongst the pleasure haze I take a deep breath in and on my exhale, he pushes the rest of the way in, and the feeling of him hittingthat spotsends me into orbit as I shatter around him—full, stretched, ruined—my release so intense, I swear I feel it down to my ravaged soul.
He pulls out completely, spins me around, my back to the desk as he pulls my legs closer to him, locking them around his waist, his hands cage me in on either side, his forearms taut, muscles flexed and trembling. His eyes lock onto mine like he’s watching every reaction, every gasp, every ripple of pleasure that crashes through me. My fingers dig into his arms, clutching for something to anchor me, but he’s already everything I’m holding onto. Then he drives back into me. The new angle tears a ragged cry from my throat, my nails clawing at his forearms caging me in.
“You’re such a good girl for me” He pants. “Such a good,” thrust “fucking,” thrust “girl.” Thrust. He growls against my ear.
The sound I make isn’t even human. It’s pure feeling—raw and blinding. The heat between us tightens, builds, curls in my belly like a storm.
Each thrust deeper, making me cry out with pleasure and somehow I feel the tightness of another orgasm getting closer. His filthy words spiraling me into pure bliss.
“Grant—” I choke out, barely holding on.
“Let go for me. I want to feel you fall.”
And I do.
I come apart with his name on my lips, shaking in his arms, vision white-hot as everything crashes through me—relief, release, and something terrifyingly close to a deeper emotion.
He thrusts deeper, harder, each movement precise, every roll of his hips a promise, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, my cries of pleasure making his hips move like a man possessed.
“Fuck, baby,Fuuuck”
He buries himself to the hilt, groaning my name as his release detonates inside me. It’s not just pleasure—it’s raw and brutal, a full-body surrender that leaves us both shaking.
We stay like this for a long moment, both of us struggling to catch our breath as he presses a gentle kiss to my shoulder. Carefully, he eases out of me, the sensation drawing a shiver from both of us, before helping me to sit up on the desk and cradle me back into his defined arms.
“So,” I murmur, my voice coming out dazed and hoarse, “was that in the training plan too?”
He grins against my shoulder. “Yup, a brand new category: extensive daily cardio.”
“I like it.” I giggle then get off his desk and I slip on my swimsuit.
“Now, Mr. Taylor, I might not be able to walk properly, but at least I can float, and I really need to finish my swim.”
He laughs, letting me go. “Go on, then. I'll be here when you're done.”
My eyes search his, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
“Why, though? Why go to this trouble?”
His voice is quiet, but sounds like the loudest truth I’ve heard in a long time.
“Because you’re not just passing through. Not to me.”
The words knock the air from my lungs as I inhale sharply, and I bring my hand to rest on his chest. I feel his warmth, feel his heartbeat accelerate under my palm.
“Grant...” I start, then stop, feeling completely at a loss for words.
He takes my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing across my cheeks.
“You don't have to say anything. Just use it. Enjoy it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper against his mouth.
As I turn to leave, I pause at the door. “The quote about water being home—that's Phelps. Did you know that?”
