Who is Granger really?
He keeps me on my toes, and I never know what he’s going to say or do next. It’s exhilarating and baffling at the same time, because he makes me feel things I thought I never could or didn’t want to. Thoughts keep running through my head—what if he regrets offering me to stay here with him? Where would I go from here if he changes his mind? I’d have to go live under my father's thumb again, with him making choices for me for the rest of my life—what I should do for a living, who I should marry, where I would live. With just a snap of his cold, hardened fingers, my life would not be my own.
With those thoughts cluttering my mind, I drop the towel and change as fast as I can before I’m caught naked. His bedroom door is closed, but who knows when he might come in. It is his room after all. I have to roll his sweats a few times and tighten the drawstring until they aren’t falling down my hips. After I’m satisfied that they won’t fall around my ankles, I’m finally able to notice my surroundings. I’m a bit surprised it’s not a stereotypical bachelor pad. Warm tones of grey and white furniture decorate the walls…he even has a headboard that matches with the rest of the room. I was picturing a typical college guy house with a bed on the floor or at least a beanbag chair. How the heck can he afford this place? I wiggle my toes on the soft grey carpet, feeling a sense of peace coming over me because it’s homey and comfortable. I haven’t felt that in a long time. Maybe he lives with his parents? That thought gets my feet moving, because no way am I staying here if he lives with them. Talk about awkwardness.
I quietly open the door, peeking my head out to see the hallway dark, but there’s a dim light at the end leading back to the front door. Moving down the hall with my stomach a ball of nerves, I follow the sound of clinking glasses and cabinets closing. My head whips left and right, taking in every detail of his home for the first time. I pass a living room with two white loveseats angled to face a fireplace with a large TV above the mantel. Outside floor to ceiling windows, the wind blows the snow against the glass from the snowstorm that came out of nowhere, and it draws me nearer to glimpse the city below. It’s mesmerizing and gorgeous to try to see through the snowflakes, making the city lights look like glowing specks. I don’t know how long I stand there, distracted by the beauty of a quiet night sky, but eventually, I feel his gaze on me like a soft caress. I glance up, and his reflection shows him behind me with his dark eyebrows drawn together as he looks me up and down. I probably look ridiculous with his larger shirt swallowing me whole, my wet, dripping hair clinging to my back, and the sweats rolled up.
“I like you in my clothes,” he rasps out behind me, and my eyes widen of their own accord. He couldn’t have just said that, I look like a drowned rat.
I turn around, taking in his appearance, and feel my breath freeze in my chest. He’s a beautiful mess. His black hair is disheveled, like he’s run his hand through it a million times. Worried green eyes roam over my face, and his wide lips are in a firm line. He’s changed clothes too. Grey sweats cling to his strong thighs, and a white shirt emphasizes his bulging arm muscles. His huge biceps lead down to muscular forearms, with his veins running down to strong hands, that can be so gentle with me. He crosses his arms over the impressive chest that I just want to snuggle into and bury myself in him. I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from, but he puts me at ease. Even when he towers over me…I feel small and protected. It’s a strange feeling that I’m not used to.
“Is this your parents home?” I blurt out without thinking when I notice his intense gaze taking in my breasts, no doubt noticing I’m not wearing a bra.
My nipples harden the longer he stares, and I feel myself straining towards him, asking for something I’m not used to. He clears his throat and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. I cross my arms over my breasts and will my stomach to stop fluttering. I look back at his hands and wonder what it would feel like to have him touch me, stroking me until I erupt with pleasure. I bet he knows his way around a woman's body, to bring her to great heights until she’s begging for it to never end. My pussy pulses as I rub my thighs together to seek some relief, and I don’t think that goes unnoticed by him. I blush a bright red, trying to command my body to get a hold of itself and look away, but my gaze keeps coming back to him. We continue to stare at one another, not saying a word. It should feel awkward, but for some reason, it doesn’t.
He’s the first to break the silence. “It’s my place, but my parents own the building. So I guess technically, it’s theirs. Are you hungry?” he asks,
