Evan
As I drop Grace off at her apartment, her lingering presence in the car leaves a residual tension in the air. She steps out, and I nod curtly, maintaining the mask of indifference. But as I drive away, my mind can't shake the memory of her attempted seduction. Her leg brushing against mine, her provocative gaze-she knows how to turn me on, and she did it with a finesse I didn't expect.
Damn it.
The bulge in my trousers is a reminder of just how effective her efforts were, despite my outward control. The image of her seductive smile flashes in my mind, and I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles whitening. This is a complication I hadn't anticipated.
I arrive at my apartment, slamming the door behind me. The silence inside feels oppressive, filled with unspoken thoughts and frustrations. I pour myself a drink, needing something to steady my nerves. The amber liquid burns as it goes down, but it doesn't erase the memory of Grace's touch.
What is she playing at?
I sink into the leather armchair, my mind replaying the dinner. Grace, with her defiant spirit and bold moves, is a far cry from the docile bride I expected. There's fire in her, and while part of me admires that, it's also a threat to my carefully laid plans.
Her words come back to me, her voice tinged with sarcasm and irritation. "Sure, but don't expect me to love you either." She matched my coldness with her own, refusing to give an inch. It's a dangerous game we're playing, and she's proven she's willing to challenge me.
As much as I want to dismiss her as a mere pawn in this arrangement, I can't ignore the way she got under my skin tonight. I down the rest of my drink and head to the bedroom, hoping sleep will provide some clarity.
But as I lie in bed, the sheets cool against my skin, my mind refuses to settle. I can still feel the ghost of her touch, the heat of her body close to mine. I can't afford to be distracted, yet here I am, my thoughts consumed by her.
Damn it, Grace.
I strip off my clothes and sit on the edge of the bed, my thoughts racing. The ache between my legs demands attention, and I know there's only one way to relieve it. With a sigh, I wrap my hand around my erection, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through my body.
I close my eyes, picturing Grace's face, the way she looked at me with that mix of challenge and allure. My hand moves faster, my breaths coming in shallow gasps as I imagine her touch, her lips, her body pressed against mine.
The memory of her leg sliding up my thigh, her eyes burning with intensity, fuels my arousal. I imagine her whispering my name, her voice low and seductive. My hand moves more urgently, the pressure building as I picture her beneath me, her body writhing in pleasure.
With a final stroke, I climax, the tension releasing in a wave of pleasure. I sit there for a moment, breathing heavily, the aftermath of my release leaving me feeling both relieved and frustrated. This isn't how I wanted it to be. Grace has gotten under my skin, and I can't let her have that kind of power over me.
I clean myself up and lie back in bed, the sheets cool against my skin. As I stare at the ceiling, I make a decision. I need to regain control. This marriage is a strategic move, a way to secure my future and consolidate power. Letting emotions get in the way is a luxury I can't afford. Yet, I can't deny the primal reaction she elicited from me. It's been a long time since anyone affected me this way, and I hate that she has this power over me.
Morning arrives too soon, and I wake with a sense of determination. Today, I need to reassert my dominance, to remind both Grace and myself of the boundaries of our relationship. But as I prepare for the day, I catch a glimpse of my reflection, and the doubt lingers.
Who is this woman that she can unsettle me so easily?
The day drags on with meetings and paperwork, my mind never fully escaping the thoughts of Grace. I find myself wondering what she's doing, how she's processing last night. Is she plotting her next move, just as I am?
As evening falls, just as I'm about to leave from, my phone rings. It's my father. I answer, curiosity piqued.
"Evan, your mother and I want to meet Grace," he says, his tone firm yet expectant.
I pause, my mind racing. "When?"
"Tomorrow evening. We're having a family dinner at the estate. Make sure she's there."
I nod, though he can't see it. "Alright. We'll be there."
The call ends, leaving me with another layer to this already complicated situation.
The clock ticks closer to eight, and I head to the restaurant, my resolve firm. This time, I won't let her get the upper hand. As
I take a deep breath and sit on my armchair, thoughts are lingering in my mind. Whatever happened last night, one thing is clear: Grace is not the type of woman I expect. And maybe, just maybe, that's what makes this all the more intriguing.
To be continued...