“Thanks, Henry.”
The sound of the bathroom door opening was loud. Henry leaped into action, bounding off the bed with legs like springs. Damn him. He’d always been quicker than me, hence having to resort to more subtle ways of subterfuge when we were growing up.
Mac strolled into my room in a short satin robe with her wet hair wrapped up in a towel. Henry paused, his eyes narrowing as he took in the shower taps in her hand. She tossed them towards me with a wink. “Shower’s all yours, Grace.”
I caught them at the same time my phone beeped a message from the bedside table. Sliding on a pair of black-framed reading glasses, I hugged the taps to my chest and picked up the phone with my free hand. The screen highlighted a message originating from Batman. Considering I wasn’t acquainted with the real Bruce Wayne, it knew it could only be his imposter.
I swiped the screen, squinting a little because there were two deep cracks in it, and read the message.
Sorry about last night, Slim.
Damn straight he should be sorry after—
“Who the fuck is Batman and why is he sorry about last night?”
“Huh?” I glanced up at Henry’s livid tone, realising he was reading over my shoulder. I moved the phone away from his prying eyes.
“That’s not from Casey, is it?”
My brows flew up. “How did you know it was Casey?”
“Slim. He’s the only one I’ve heard call you that.” Henry set his jaw. “Stay away from him, Grace.”
I suspected Henry’s warning stemmed from Casey’s volatile behaviour so I didn’t question it. Standing up, I replied with, “Whatever you say, Henry,” as I headed for the bathroom with the shower taps.
After messaging Grace, I pocketed my phone and walked through the entrance of our Darlinghurst office. It was late. Midday already. I was usually the only partner who worked Mondays, but if I did security on a Sunday night, which wasn’t often, I usually slept in and only worked half a day.
Today I hadn’t slept in at all, yet I was late anyway. I’d woken at five a.m. with morning wood that was painful. Knowing it wouldn’t go away, I pushed my boxer-briefs down and wrapped a fist around my hard cock, giving a couple of hard, purposeful tugs.
Wild, stormy eyes flooded my mind, forcing a rush of blood that had my hips arching upwards. I groaned audibly as my fist moved up and down, stroking in rough movements that I knew would get me off quickly. My thumb slipped over the head, imagining it was Grace touching me, her tits brushing against my legs as she gripped me with firm hands. My stroke sped up at the image of me gripping her dark tangle of hair in my fist, forcing her head back to look at me while I thrust in and out of that smart, luscious mouth of hers.
There was no denying I wanted my hands all over her. Just the simple thought of trailing my fingers over her belly, down between her thighs, and inside made my pulse leap. Even better was imagining my mouth between her thighs, tasting her on my tongue as I rubbed it over her clit while she whimpered and clawed at my hair. The thought of her coming against my tongue was enough to set off my own orgasm. My cock pulsed heavily and my balls grew tight as I moaned, my fist pumping as I shot all over my belly.
I lay on my back for a few minutes, catching my breath before I got up and walked naked to the bathroom to clean up. After wiping off my stomach, I brushed my teeth and washed my face to wake myself up. Done, I decided to head out for an early morning surf. The air was cool and the morning dark when I padded out to the back deck. I pulled my wetsuit from the little outdoor clothesline and tugged it up my legs, leaving the top half hanging around my waist as I grabbed my board and headed out for a surf.
The ocean was smooth like glass, which meant only the diehard surfers were out. Plunging into the icy water jumpstarted my system. The days I didn’t get to the beach in the morning were the ones where I felt sluggish and tired. Paddling past the breakers, I reached the other surfers and sat up. A few short nods were enough to acknowledge those I knew. We all sat quietly, taking in the sunrise as we drifted gently on the tide. The only sound was the lapping water and a few lone seagulls as my mind wandered back to Grace and last night.
“You’re right,” she told me. My eyes fell to her fisted hands and I realised she was distressed. “Dalton is my … was,” she corrected, “my boyfriend. He did something really shitty and I’m just not ready to deal with it, or him, just yet.”
“Grace! Where’s Dalton tonight? Are the rumours of him and British model Selena true? Is this your new boyfriend?” I shook my head, cursing under my breath. Her sudden change in demeanour made it clear these so-called rumours held a grain of truth. Had Dalton cheated on her? Clenching my jaw, I unlocked the screen of Grace’s phone and jabbed in the year of her birth, unsurprised when I received immediate access. Let him ring. I’ll deal with him instead.