Full of Grace (2 page)

“Good evening, Mr. Grace,” he says, resting one hand on the two-way radio attached to his belt.

“Hey Saul,” I say, holding out my hand with my empty champagne glass still in it.  I’m not letting go of Sher.  The guard just takes the stem of the glass and then shakes my hand.  “Miss...uh, Sher and I are going to sit out back, in the garden, if that’s alright.”

“We’re going hobbit hunting,” Sher giggles, but it doesn’t derail Saul in the least.  He nods, stepping out of our way.

“Certainly, Mr. Grace, Miss Wright.  Mr. Maree has already informed us that both of you have full clearance on the grounds.”

“Thanks,” I say, opening the gate.  Sher hands Saul her glass to, before gliding past the guard.  Saul accepts it with an accommodating smile.  Sher doesn’t say anything, at least, I don’t think she does.  It could be obscured beneath the crazy avalanche of giggles she’s letting loose.

We climb the steps to the front door, but I take a right at the top, following the porch around the side of the house, until we reach the back porch.  The second we turn the corner to the back side of the house, I just can’t wait anymore.  I round on her, pushing her flat against the siding so I can bury my tongue in her mouth. 

Her muscles tense for a split second, but then her hands are in my hair, pulling me to her.  I laugh against her mouth.  Her kiss is all over the place, and all over my face, but it’s not like I care.  Her tight little body is squirming around in my hands and it feels like Christmas.

“You taste like booze,” she mumbles against my cheek.

“You taste like...great,” I tell her and she giggles.  That damn giggle.

I brush my fingertips from her earlobe to her chest and she shudders, with a giggle of course, but we’re both startled by the sound of footsteps traveling up the front steps.  Saul’s voice follows almost instantly.  He apologizes, but tells the guests that the porch and house are off limits.  We hear the grumbled acceptance, the footsteps moving back down the steps, and then I’m sure we are alone again.

I go back to kissing Sher.  We’re working up to a nice, breathless pace, but just as I let my touch drift down to her chest again, there are more footsteps and Saul’s voice again, apologizing and getting rid of some more guests. 

I know the Maree’s lawn is decked out to look like the most romantic place on earth, but the way people keep popping up, it’s like the bar’s pushing Viagra Shooters.  If Sher and I want privacy, Grand Central Porch wasn’t the place to come.

“Let’s go inside,” I murmur to her.

“I’m sure Ocker’s got it all locked up,” she giggles.  I try to think of the giggling as something as involuntary as hiccups.  I take her hand and retrieve the backdoor key from where it always is, on the ledge over the back window.  I pop open the door and Sher giggles some more.  I pull her inside and then drag her to the bedroom with a trail of her god-forsaken-giggles spraying behind me like buckshot.  The moment I get her into the bedroom, my mouth is on hers.  With my hand behind her head, I don’t let up on the kiss as I lay her back on the guest house bed.

I pull off my jacket and unbuckle my belt.  She giggles wildly, throwing an arm over her eyes as I strip off my pants.  I’m so damn hard I could cut a mirror into a glass chandelier with my junk. 

I lean over the top of Sher, taking her hand from her face and placing it on my neck.  Her fingers weave into my hair as I simultaneously kiss her and slide up her dress.  My brain is spinning in an awesome free-fall from the alcohol and Sher’s mouth and the way her hips wriggle a little beneath mine.

Oh, hell yes.  A soft bed beats a wood porch any day of the week.

But even with our tongues twisting, she still manages a giggle.  I pull away from her with a smile.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” she says, suddenly straight-faced.  Ahhh.  That one was a pressure-valve giggle, letting off the steam of excitement.

“Okay,” I chuckle, moving back in for her lips.  She grabs my hair and pulls me to her, but her kiss changes.  It’s a little intense, more hurried, and a whole lot sloppier.  She crams her tongue into my cheek and when the probe is done, she clamps down on my lip.  A few more seconds, and her kiss takes on the wild desperation of a frightened wolverine.  I pull away from her again.

“You alright?” I ask.  She nods, but she’s gone so stiff, she’s almost planking.  “You sure?  We don’t have to...”

“No, I want to,” she says, shaking out her hands at the wrists. “I want to.”

She reaches for me again and this time, when I kiss her, her mouth is soft.  She places her hands on my shoulders, like she’s holding me to her.  As if I’d want to get away.

Her tongue tastes like alcohol.  I realize I’ve got to be closer to five or even six bananas drunk, because when I shut my eyes to kiss her, it feels like we’re free-falling off a building and spinning in the air, except that our bodies are touching in most of the right places.  And her body is so damn
soft
, I can’t get enough of it.  I tug her earlobe into my mouth, or maybe it’s her lip…I don’t have a clue.  It’s just soft and warm and makes me think of nipples.  I open my eyes to scout around for those instead and the free fall comes to an abrupt halt.  I’m back on Oscar’s guest house bed, but lucky for me, this incredible little girl is still beneath me. 

The music from the wedding tent barely whispers through the walls, but I hear Saul talking to guests outside.  He gives someone directions to the bathroom, and it occurs to me that someone could still walk in on us.  Sher seems just as nervous and urgent to get things moving, which totally turns me on.  I step up my game.

I pull up her dress and hook my fingers into her panties, slipping them down over her silky legs.

“We’re going to have to hurry,” I whisper in her ear, “before somebody gets by Saul.”

“Then stop talking,” she whispers back, her lips growing a little firmer against mine. “Just do it.”

Not exactly romantic, but romantic enough for me.

“You’re amazing,” I tell her, leaning back to rub my thumb against her opening.  It’s not just sweet talk.  In the dim light from the window, I can see she’s a gorgeous, slippery pink.  She makes my mouth water.  I glance up at her and the edge of her lip is caught between her teeth. Sexy.  Saul’s voice mumbles outside again, and it reminds me that this bedroom could go public with the twist of the door knob. 

I slide my knee between hers and she stiffens up.  I’m sure Saul’s voice is throwing her off too, so I kiss her and murmur, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.  If anybody comes in, I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” she says and she squeezes her eyes shut.  I chuckle.

“Seriously, it’ll be fine,” I tell her, lowering my mouth to hers.  She takes my kiss as if she’s desperate for it and it makes me swell so much that it’s almost painful.  She gives me one of those deep,
do me
kisses that I prefer to interpret as
shut up and fuck me
.  So I do.

She’s so tight and hot and wet that I almost explode the second my tip makes contact.  But I can’t get in.

“Oh my God,” I moan,  “You’re so tight...spread a little wider for me, baby.”

I’ve got a good package and Sher is tighter than a welfare Christmas.  She grips my forearms and I take it as a signal of all-systems-go.  But she grunts as I push into her.  I was kind of looking for a
fuck me harder
moan, but with each thrust, what I get instead is a throbbing kind of grunt.  It’s not real sexy.  In fact, it sounds more like she’s trying to heave a car off a relative.  I stop moving.

“You okay?” I pant.  Her eyes are squeezed shut and she pops them open the second I stop, releasing her lip from her teeth at the same time.

“Yeah,” she nods. Her thighs quiver against the sides of my hips.  She slides her hands beneath my shirt and grips my shoulders. “Let’s just do it, okay?”

Maybe I’m going too fast.  I thrust into her again, soft and slow, but she still sucks in a breath.  Her fingernails dig into my skin.  I try to relax her by taking the soft, fleshy rise of her breast in my mouth.  I roll my tongue around her nipple and the muscles in her back soften slightly.  I’m on the right track.

I move rhythmically and her body grips me so tightly that it feels like she’s about to come.  Her eyes are open, but the edge of her lip is in her teeth again and the swell it creates on the opposite side of her mouth makes me groan.  My hips take over with one solid thrust, and I’m repaid with her fingernails slicing into my shoulders. Between the pain of her nails and the suicide-grip of her velvet skin wrapped around me, I can’t hold back.  I haven’t come this fast since high school and the release is like punching a hole in the Hoover Dam.

Sher squeals, her hips seizing up and sucking me in a little more. I cover her mouth with my hand, so she doesn’t bring Saul running.  I whisper in her ear, “That’s right, baby, come with me.”

And she bites me.  Hard.  I curse, pulling my hand away.

“Get your hand off my mouth, porn star,” she murmurs.  I do what she asks and she pushes herself up against my chest, her nipples two little points of warmth against me.  She rewards me with a long, slow kiss that makes me feel like we’re flying.

CHAPTER TWO

THE PROBLEM WITH FIVE or six bananas is that you feel perfect.  It’s that seductive mix of happy and loose, almost like your bones aren’t connected.  You’re still with it, but you feel like you could take on the world and win. 

And that’s the problem, right there. 

At the five or six bananas mark, it always feels so perfect, it seems like one more drink might make it that much closer to achieving nirvana.  Then one more drink turns into two or three or ten, and you blast right past the eight bananas mark.  And that’s when things always take a sharp turn away from perfection and end with you kneeling on the bathroom tiles, shouting down into the shameful abyss of the porcelain megaphone.

I was not going to ruin this night by skipping over the ultimate seven banana threshold.  Sher insisted we take the most leisurely stroll back from the guest house to the wedding tent.  I don’t know if she wanted to enjoy the ambience or if I really wore her out that quickly.  She tugged my arm to slow me down and I obliged, but almost immediately we ran into Hale, who whisked Sher away from me.  I was stuck, well, more like left, to make my way to the bar alone so the girls could go off and talk shop.  I watched the two of them disappear into the gardens, leaning close to one another.  The last thing I heard was their giggling. 

And then I got to worrying.

And ordering rounds.

Hale’s dad comes and pounds me on the back and insists we raise glasses in honor of his daughter’s wedding.  I doubt he even knows who I am at that point, but he is filling his tank and I am happy to do it with him.  Mr. Maree shows up and we toast the happy couple again.  Then one of the Maree’s biggest clients, Jack Pound, orders us cognac and we talk politics a bit.  I’m not sure I’m even making sense anymore.  Mrs. Hammond, who was once Mr. Maree’s ‘companion’, claims the spot right next to me, rubbing against my thigh as she laughs and dangles her diamond earlobes nearly into my mouth, until Oscar shows up and pulls me away from the bar.

“Ten bananas, buddy,” he says. 

“No!” I laugh, shooing him away like it’s impossible.

“How many fingers, then?”  Oscar asks, but I catch sight of the garden path and then all I can think of is what Sher and Hale might be saying to one another.  If Sher enjoyed it, if she didn’t, if it was too fast, if it wasn’t romantic enough, if my breath was too boozy, if she can’t stand the way I talk during sex, if she didn’t like who the hell knows what...the million things that girls can come up with not to like.  My brain is just an alcohol-soaked question mark at this point and generally speaking, I wouldn’t care, but for some crazy reason, all of my heads keep looking for Sher to return from that garden path.  The more she doesn’t, the more I want to go back to the bar for another drink.  Oscar’s laughter draws me back, momentarily, from the garden path to his face.

“Fingers, buddy.  You have no idea, do you?” He laughs again.  He’s my best friend, but he’s annoying the ever-loving-shit out of me, by insisting I look at him instead of watch-dogging the garden.

“Nope,” I say.  Oscar follows my stare this time.

“You and Sher?” he asks. 

A grin spreads across my face.

“She’s a good girl,” Oscar says.

“Very good.”

“No, I mean
good
,” Oscar repeats with a pointed stare.  It’s not just the booze that makes me look at him the way I do.  Good.  He can’t mean
good. 
His words must’ve gone cross-eyed.

“Not good as in
good,
”  I shake my head slowly, thinking of how Sher’s eyes were squeezed shut, how she kept biting down on her lip, how my shoulders are probably bleeding through the dress shirt beneath my jacket from the way her fingernails shredded my skin.  I think of how she seemed so nerved-up afterward, how she insisted on walking so ridiculously slow all the way back to the wedding tent.  Oh shit.  “Not that kind of good.  Tell me you don’t mean that kind of good.”

But Oscar shakes his head sadly.  “I mean
exactly
that kind of good, my friend.”

“Shit,” I say.  I want to bash my own head against the bar.  I want to scream at her. 

That
kind of good and I just jack-hammered her with a quickie?  Why didn’t she tell me?  Now, I’m a part of this girl’s life history.  I’m not just some ‘good time’ she did at a wedding; I’m
her first. 
That’s an epic load of responsibility.

“Shit,” I say again, dragging my hand down my face.  A guest tags Oscar on the arm with congrats. Oscar thanks the guy before turning back to me.

“You lost some bananas on that epiphany, huh?” he says.

“All of ‘em, I think.”

“So, they’re still out in the gardens for sure.  I haven’t been able to find Hale either.”

“Yeah.  She’s still off talking to your wife.”  Just saying it makes me gloomy.

“So they’re talking about you,” Oscar laughs.