The Legacy (Off-Campus Book 5)
The Legacy: Part 1 – Chapter 8

Six hours. The roadside assistance dispatcher managed to reduce our wait time from twelve hours to six. Which is fantastic, except six hours still means we’re stuck here until about three a.m.

Looks like we’re ringing in the New Year in our car.

We don’t have another choice, though. We’re stranded, and there’s no way we’re leaving this vehicle. I’ve seen movies. Nothing good ever comes from leaving your car in a storm. Outside sucks. Inside the Mercedes is nice and toasty. For now, anyway.

Although we have more than half a tank of gas, I don’t want to take any chances, so I turn to Grace and say, “Let’s turn it off for now.”

“You mean the heat?” She looks horrified. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Nah. I’ll keep you warm, I promise.”

Her eyes twinkle. “Ooooh. How are you gonna do that?”

I gesture to the back seat. “Get back there and make yourself comfy. I’ve got some goodies in the trunk for us.”

As she climbs over the center console, I hop outside and once again endure the frigid night air. Snowflakes dance around my head and stick to my cheeks as I walk into the wind and round the SUV. I’ve kept an emergency kit in every vehicle I’ve ever driven, and this one is no different. I grew up in New England—I know the drill. Blanket, candles, water, the usual survival gear. But I also brought some extra treats for our New Year’s Eve getaway.

“Incoming,” I call, tossing a thick fleece blanket over the partition between the trunk and the back seat.

“Thank you!” she calls back.

I grab the canvas bag and close the trunk, then suffer four more seconds of snow and wind before sliding in next to Grace. “Fuck, it’s cold,” I gripe.

She’s already under the blanket, lifting it so I can join her. I’m too big for the blanket, so my boots stick out the bottom, but I don’t care. Cuddling with my girl is all I care about.

“What’s in the bag?” she asks curiously.

“First of all—this.” I pull out a bottle of cheap champagne. “It’s a twist top,” I say with a rueful grin. “You know I’d normally spring for the good bubbly, but I didn’t want to be blowing corks into the B&B walls.”

Grace snickers. “Blowing corks? That sounds so dirty.”

“Also, I didn’t pack any glasses because I assumed we’d have some in our room. So I guess we’re drinking straight out of the bottle.”

“Classy!”

“Hey, I’m the son of a mechanic. I grew up with grease and oil on my hands and face and—actually.” I shrug. “It was all over me, all the time.”

“Hot.”

I arch a brow. “Is that so?”

“Are you kidding me? I’d pay you to let me rub oil all over you. All those glistening muscles…” She shivers, and I know it’s not from the cold.

I make a mental note—Grace wants to see me all oiled up. I bet I could make that happen next time I have a night off. I mean, I’m all about making her feel good. Whatever it takes to get her off, I’m up to the task.

“Should we open this baby now or wait till midnight?”

She mulls it over. “Let’s wait. It’ll be a little less depressing if we’re at least drinking champagne when the clock strikes twelve.”

“Whatcha calling depressing? This is romantic.” I pull her toward me. “C’mere.”

A second later we’re snuggled up, my arm wrapped around her shoulders, her cheek pressed against my chest. The car’s still warm, and we have our combined body heat, but the warmth only lasts about fifteen minutes. As Grace chats about the news show she’s producing for Briar, I notice her breath starting to escape in white puffs.

“One sec,” I interrupt, stretching toward the front seat. “Let’s turn on the heat for a bit.”

We do this for the next hour—let the heat build up, turn it off to conserve it, and then blast hot air again when we start shivering.

“I feel like there’s got to be a better way to stay warm,” Grace says after I shut the heat for the billionth time.

“Mmm-hmmm?” I give her a wolfish grin.

“That’s not what I meant, but…” She grins back. “It’s not a bad idea.”

“Not a bad idea at all,” I agree, and then I thread my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back, and cover her mouth with mine.

I love kissing her. Sometimes when I’m on the team jet trying to sleep or when my mind wanders in the locker room, I think about the first time Grace and I kissed. I’d accidentally shown up at her dorm room thinking it was my buddy’s. Instead, I found a freshman watching Die Hard movies and eating candy. I joined her, because, why not? She was cute and I was bored. But somehow it went from a movie night to a make-out session. My hand down her pants and her hand down mine.

Man, that was such a good night. When I mistakenly knocked on that door, I never in a million years thought I’d fall in love with the girl behind it. Or that we’d be sharing an apartment, a bed. Building a life together. And now here we are in the back seat of our roomy Mercedes, and she’s falling backward onto her elbows while my body lowers onto hers. Her hands tangle in my hair, eager tongue slipping into my mouth.

“Fuck,” I groan against her lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She eases our lips apart. “What do I do to you?” she whispers.

“You turn me on something fierce, obviously. But you also…” I trail off. It’s so hard to put it into words. “You make me feel…”

I stop, groaning in frustration, because I’ve never been skilled at expressing myself. Putting emotions to words.

“You make me feel everything,” I finally reveal. “You make me smile. You make me hard. You drive me crazy.” My voice breaks slightly. “You make me feel safe.”

“I make you feel safe? You know you’re like a thousand times bigger and stronger than me, right?”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” I say roughly.

And then I kiss her again.

When I unzip her coat and slide my palms underneath her cable-knit sweater, she shudders hard enough to still my roving hands.

“Too cold?” I ask in concern.

“No, too good.” She’s a tad breathless. “I love it when you touch me.”

“Good, because I love touching you.”

My palms slide up to cup her breasts, and I toy with her nipples using my thumbs. The puckered buds summon a groan from my throat. I yank her sweater up and hungrily bring one nipple in my mouth. Grace moans when I suckle it. She holds the back of my head, pressing me against her soft flesh. I can’t help grinding my aching dick against her belly while I suck on her tit. Meanwhile, my hand travels south toward the waistband of her thick leggings.

I lift my head from her breast and say, “I want to fuck you.”

Grace just moans in response.

“Is that a yes?” I ask with a dark chuckle.

“It’s always a yes.”

I know exactly what she means. I could be in the most foul mood ever, could be having the worst day of my life, and one smile from Grace, one breathy yes, would turn it all around. All she has to say is, “I want your dick,” and I’d give it to her.

I slip my hand inside her panties to replace her warm and wet and ready for me. She bucks her hips, rocking into me, and the sexy movements get my palm slick.

“Jesus,” I choke out. I withdraw my hand and undo my pants, shoving them down to release my dick. It springs up against Grace’s hip, and instantly she curls her fingers around the shaft.

“Love this,” she breathes, giving me a hard squeeze.

“Fuck yes,” I growl back.

Then I grab my cock out of her hand and guide it between her legs. Her pants aren’t even off—they’re trapped around her knees. But luckily they’re stretchy. Mine are just low enough to expose my bare ass.

We both gasp when I plunge inside her. Since we’re completely monogamous and she’s on the pill, we stopped using condoms a long time ago, and there’s no greater feeling than going bare with Grace. Her pussy is tight and welcoming, my favorite place in the whole world.

“You feel good,” I groan into her neck.

She tugs my head up by the hair and our mouths crash together again. My tongue’s in her mouth as I thrust my hips, plunging into her as deep as I can go. But the awkward position only allows for quick, shallow thrusts.

My cock aches to be deeper, but this still feels incredible. And when Grace starts moaning and restlessly rising up to meet each thrust, I know my shallow strokes are hitting the right spot. The G-spot. Nice. Her orgasms are always more intense when the G-spot’s in play. I angle my hips so I can hit that sweet spot even harder, and her eyes roll to the top of her head.

“Oh my God,” she pleads. “Keep doing that. Keep doing it.”

And I do, hammering into her tight heat as her expression becomes more and more blissed-out. The warmth of her pussy surrounds me. Her mouth is slack, choppy breaths slipping out. Her eyes close briefly, then flutter open and lock with mine. The raw pleasure I see steals my breath.

“That’s it,” I urge. “Come for me.”

I keep fucking her, watching her eyes grow hazier and hazier. When she moans, I swallow the sound with a blistering kiss, feeling her orgasm squeezing and rippling around me. Hot shivers race through my body. Making her feel good is the best feeling in the world. It triggers my own release, and I come with a strangled groan, my balls tingling and chest heaving.

Our recovery time is comically long. We lie there stupidly, still nearly fully dressed, my dick lodged inside her, her arms wrapped around me, as we struggle for breath.

“Okay,” Grace says sleepily. “Now we can freeze to death.”