The Redhead Revealed (Redhead #2)(18)
Author: Alice Clayton

I looked at him for a moment, then hugged him fiercely. “Why the hell do you love me so much? Seriously, I am f**ked up and nuts,” I said into his chest, still wet from the bath. I could feel him chuckling.

“You think I don’t know you’re nuts? I’ve known that all along. Don’t fool yourself. And like I’ve been telling you, I like nuts girls,” he said, kissing the top of my head.

“Well, you sure can pick ‘em if that’s what you’re in to.” I chuckled. I couldn’t believe we’d almost had another argument over something so silly.

Except it wasn’t silly. It was part of my past, and it was something I thought about daily: when I tried to skip a run, when I thought about having an extra late-night snack. I was always potentially a bag of Chex Mix away from a full-on food free-for-all, and even though Jack helped by munching the dreaded Melba toasts, my need for careful control was always with me. I could never let down my guard, or I’d go back to exactly who I was before. And in this industry, that was as good as suicide.

“Hey, Crazy?” he asked, his voice muffled by my hair.

“Mmm-hmm?”

“You know I love your body. I mean, come on, you’re beautiful. But it’s you, my Grace, who I fell in love with—the Chex-eating, foul-mouthed, funny girl. And nothing’s going to change that.”

I felt tears prick at the back of my eyes, and I blinked them away. I leaned back to look up at him, wet hair falling in his eyes, strong arms encircling me, smelling like bubble bath and chocolate sauce.

“George, I could not love you more.”

“Mmm, me too, Gracie,” he said, leaning down to kiss me softly.

Our kisses became more urgent, and soon he was sneaking his hands inside my robe. My skin tightened, as it always did when his hands were on me, and I found myself being walked backward over to the bathroom counter.

He spun me about so we both faced the mirror, and our eyes met. He smiled gently at me, the green in his eyes beginning to darken. He slowly finished untying my robe and parted it, returning his hands to my skin. He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me back against him. I could feel him pressed against my back, and he was more than ready.

With his eyes still locked on mine, he gently removed the robe and let it fall to the ground. I watched him in the mirror as he watched his own hands travel over my body. I flinched slightly, bowing inward and reflexively trying to hide my body from him—the way I would have done years ago. He was having none of it. His hands, sure and strong on my skin, urged me to stand tall. He moved them from my hips up to my arms, then gently glided them back down from my shoulders to my elbows, finally grasping my hands and bringing them up over my head to tangle in his hair.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as he kissed my ear. I shivered.

He returned his hands to my body. Again he let his hands move across my skin, trailing his fingers down my arms and cupping my br**sts in his hands.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, kissing my other ear. I moaned softly.

He let his hands move further down my body, resting on the gentle curves of my hips, his perfect fingers splaying out to capture as much of my skin as he could hold. “Beautiful,” he groaned, his lips hovering near the base of my neck as his gaze moved from his hands back up to my eyes.

As our eyes connected, I studied him from under my eyelashes, my skin on fire from his caresses. His hands began one more trip, gently moving from my hips down to my thighs, which he nudged open with his leg. I arched my back, pressing my bottom back into him as he brought his hands between my legs and stroked me. We both moaned at the same time, feeling how ready I was for him.

“Beautiful,” he hissed, and kissed my shoulder.

I watched him in the mirror, his breath getting faster. Pressing back against him again, I watched a wicked grin creep across his face. Hmmm…I let my hands untangle from his hair and slowly placed them on the counter in front of me. Never leaving his gaze, I raised one eyebrow and leaned forward.

He got it.

He pushed my legs open further, and I leaned further forward on the counter. He winked, and I moaned. He slid himself inside me, and I struggled to keep my eyes open, it felt so wonderful. He filled me completely, and while his fingers worked my sex, he stroked that magnificent spot—that was named for him expressly—from the inside again and again.

“You. Are. Beautiful,” he whispered in my ear, punctuating each word with a thrust.

“Jack, oh, God, Jack…” I chanted as I watched the two of us in the mirror. This was new, totally new. To have him inside me like this felt totally different. And to be able to watch us together—it was amazingly erotic.

It was the closest we’d ever get to making a celebrity sex tape.

He continued to murmur the word “beautiful” over and over as he made love to me with such passion and caring. I almost couldn’t believe I would ever get enough of this man. When we were both close, I leaned back against him, feeling his warm skin against mine. I closed my eyes, feeling my insides contract as he crashed into me, bringing my orgasm, sweet and hot.

I screamed his name as he altered his stroke, hitting me in a different place and bringing a second and third in rapid succession. Then I watched his face through my own blurry eyes as he came inside me, collapsing against me, with the word “beautiful” still pouring from his perfect lips.

He leaned on me, breathing heavily as he wrapped his arms solidly around my waist, cupping my br**sts in his hands. “That was—” he started to say.

“Beautiful,” I finished, smiling at him in the mirror

We stayed up that night watching a Friends marathon, laughing uproariously. But when the episode came on with Monica in the fat suit, he clammed up.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said. “Monica in the fat suit is hilarious. I’ll be offended if you don’t laugh.” I chuckled, hitting him with a pillow.

He gave in, and we both laughed at her dancing with the sub sandwich. When we finally did go to sleep that night—me on my side, him behind me with boobies in hand—he said, “Grace, explain what rock-in-the-sock has to do with your br**sts.”

“What?”

I’d been almost asleep.

“When you were talking earlier about your boobs drooping—what do socks have to do with it?” he asked, his chin on my shoulder.

“Picture a sock, and then drop a rock in it. What happens to the sock?” I explained, rolling my eyes a little, glad he couldn’t see my rueful smile.