#professor!grace

Let Go A Little

The Inevitable pt.3 | pt.1 is here | pt.2 is here

Summary: It’s been two weeks since that day in his classroom, since Grace fucked you over his desk and then asked to take you out. The plans are made. He intends to take you on a real date. The problem? Grace is feeling impatient before it can show up.

tw: m/f, (18+), professor/student relationship, needy Grace, jealous Grace, fantasizing, masturbation, sexting/phone sex, Grace is a secret freak and is ashamed but gets off to it, orgasm denial, intense bj, dirty talk, begging, probably more I’m forgetting.

Note: I am so so sorry this took so long. Pls enjoy.

—

Grace had been staring at the same page of his book for the past half hour, having read the same paragraph six times already. He still couldn’t tell you what the author had said.

He wanted to care. For goodness sake, he was one hundred and eighty pages invested, but his brain just wouldn’t work tonight. How could it?

When you flashed through his mind, behind his open eyes. It was like reels of old film. Clips and snapshots of you, repeating and rolling on a loop. Your laugh, your smile. Your mouth.

Grace groaned out loud, slumping further down into the covers of his bed. The book was tossed. It landed somewhere with a thump, the too boring pages snapping shut.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him.

He looked to the ceiling, and not that he felt like he really had a choice anymore, his mind started to drift. To you.

To this morning in the assembly hall. There was a ceremony held for the college’s debate team. Ribbons and a small carved plaque, honoring the regional win.

The memory of you grinning so wide, and waving to your friends in the audience played through his mind. Grace had watched as they placed the ribbon on your shirt, and draped the team’s banner across your shoulders. The bright flash of a high tech camera taking your picture. One Grace was sure was already published on the school’s website.

He’d done his best not to stare too intently, but not too little either. He didn’t want to seem uninterested because that was never Grace before. Before you’d slept together.

Truth is, Grace wasn’t sure how to act now, like he would have before. It was different.

Like this morning, in one of the moments Grace allowed his eyes to linger on you the team, and your eyes caught his in return. All Grace could see was you, spread out on his desk. His mouth devouring your pussy. The way you felt beneath his lips, his tongue. The way you begged him to help you come.

“Uggghh,” Grace groans, squeezing his eyes shut and flopping back onto his pillow. He feels his cock twitch. Feels the weight of it growing heavier where it’s resting against his thigh, still tucked inside his pajama pants.

This wasn’t like Grace. He was respectful, and polite. He was the guy that woman would place in the category ranked farthest away from bad boy, and he’d like to think, dog.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t a man, and didn’t have needs, but it had never felt like this. He had already done things out of order by fucking you first, in his classroom nonetheless.

He should be thinking about your future date, planning it. Imagining the flowers he’ll buy and the dish he’ll prepare.

Not you…bent over…your ass cheeks spread and his—

“Alright, okay.” Grace speaks to no one, to himself, out loud, trying to physically shake the thoughts away.

It wasn’t like jerking off was out of the question. Grace wasn’t against it by any means. It was a regular and healthy part of his routine. Something about tonight felt different though. Like something had its teeth in Grace, and wouldn’t let go.

His fingers itched for his phone. The screen lit up brightly, reflecting back into his glasses. He lazily thumbed through until he pulled up your text thread.

You’d exchanged numbers that day, obviously. There wasn’t much in the thread. A few dorky memes you shared back and forth, and a sweet message confirming the future date.

Grace lays there, staring at the screen.

How could he follow that up with what he wanted to say right now? How was Grace even considering this? Sexting you. Cheese and crackers, he’d never even sent a sorta dirty text, let alone a dick pic.

He wanted to though. He wanted to take his cock out, and stroke it. He wanted to take a video and let you hear what he sounds like when he’s alone and fucking his fist.

Grace looked to the numbers at the top of his phone. They show it’s almost eleven. He wonders if you’re still out celebrating.

After the ceremony this morning, a commingling of students, faculty and families were littered throughout the halls. Grace hadn’t planned on it. Seeing you. If anything, he was sure to miss you in the chaos of the crowd. You hadn’t.

You ended up dwindling closer and closer together, passing through groups of people who stopped to speak and give their congratulations. Eventually, the both of you had ended up in a nook by one of the auditorium doors.

“Congratulations. You guys did amazing,” Grace said, giving a little awkward dip of his head towards your trophies. It wasn’t like you were any better. He watched the blush spread to your cheeks almost instantly. The quiet shuffling of your shoes as you whispered thank you.

“I had a lot of great professors, you know. Mrs. Calloway. Professor Xavier. Dr. Elle…”

You said this with a shrug of your shoulders, your eyes cast to the floor, but there was a teasing, playful lilt to your voice. Grace narrowed his eyes and smirked as you continued with your little list. Naming every one of your professors but him.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer, your smile and giggle spilling over when your eyes finally catch his again.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go fudge myself then,” Grace laughs.

Your laughter tapers away then, and it’s instant. That spark. Something feline and dark. Something dangerous. Your voice slips lower, just for him. “Only if I can watch.”

It catches Grace off guard, and before he can find his footing to respond, you’re not alone anymore. Another professor saddles up beside Grace, and one of your…teammates?

“Hey, ready to go soon?”

This guy steps in close, his voice light and directed to you. Grace watches as his hand settles near the small of your back. David? Devin? Grace doesn’t remember, but yeah, he’s on the debate team. He’s wearing the same ribbon.

“Going out to celebrate?” The professor to Grace’s left ask with pride and amusement, and that awe only reserved for the youth and the idea of their young antics.

David or Devin or whatever, smiles with all thirty-two of his perfect teeth, this Tom Welling looking motherfucker, and nods. “Yes, sir. Nothing crazy of course. It’s just the team and some friends going out to celebrate the season.”

He actually does slip his arm around you this time, around your shoulder. He pulls you inward, in a playful jest kind of way and you both laugh. The other professor does too. Grace realizes he hasn’t said or done anything.

It’s the last thing he remembers from this morning. The sight of you walking away into the throng of the crowd with that guy. That, and what you said before.

Grace stares at the phone and wonders if you’re still out, with what’s his name especially.

He wonders if you really would like to watch him fuck himself.

Grace finally reaches down and palms his hard dick through his pants. He lets his fingers curl and give a semi stroke.

His eyes flutter shut and he knows he’s losing control already, all the blood rushing from his brain to his cock, because Grace isn’t smart about it. No. He types out the first thing he thinks and hits send before he can think at all.

Do you still want to watch?

He groans to himself. In embarrassment and pleasure, his fingers tightening. What the fuck was he actually doing? Grace had never done this before.

Just before the panic could soak into his body, your number flashes across the screen. He sucks in a sharp, cold breath at the words you sent back.

Oh fuck. Please???

They read desperate. Insistent. Grace’s mind feels sluggish and heated. He’s trying to calculate if there’s any way you could’ve misunderstood him, what he wants.

You seem so sure.

Before he can even think of what to say next, his phone vibrates. Again, and again.

Grace???

Let me see. Can you send a picture??

Wait wait no a video

“What the fuck,” he whispers to himself. His dick throbs, bouncing and pushing against the fabric of his pjs.

They’re shoved off the sharp, lean points of his hip bones and down his thighs before Grace even realizes what he’s doing. He immediately grips his cock and picks his phone back up from where he laid it on his chest. He reads your messages again.

You’d never texted like this before. Persistent. Repeatedly. Given you hadn’t exchanged very many, maybe he was wrong, but something felt different. Your tone. The multiple punctuations. The speed, like you were firing them off.

Regardless, his cock leaks.

Grace successfully late night sexted you, like some horn-dog douchebag frat bro, but you answered, almost immediately, and those second and third messages erased any doubt that you were confused. You typed his name for cryin’ out loud.

No, you weren’t confused. Those messages, they sounded like you were begging, and that thought alone has Grace spreading the pre from his tip to the thick base. He strokes himself fully for the first time.

His other hand holds the phone as he thumbs open the camera app. Grace may have not sexted anybody else before, but he has recorded himself plenty of times. For his own pleasure. Videos of himself jerking off, using toys, fingering himself…

Getting the right angle is easy. Grace knows how and where to hold the phone, but his hand shakes anyway. With the knowledge that this going to you. That you’ll get a video of his hard dick on your screen and watch it, maybe touch yourself to it.

He hits record and focuses back on his other hand, fisting his cock a little slower than what his body is demanding. Grace keeps his grip tight, letting the camera catch the way the head pushes through and peaks out. The light from his bedside lamp is low but it’s enough to catch the shine, the sparkle of how wet he already is.

With labored breath Grace hits send, watching the bar at the top of the screen race across and then vanish. Delivered.

He waits. He teases himself in the meantime, his fingers slipping down to play with his balls. They’re so incredibly sensitive. You barely touched them last time before Grace had snapped. He thinks of your mouth on them.

The second your phone vibrates again, you don’t dare look at it until you’re standing in the bathroom stall. The latch slides closed with a metal on metal click.

There’s an unsteady stream of girls coming and going, laughing too loudly and reapplying makeup in the mirror. It’s a bar after all. If you’d been anywhere else, somewhere a little fancier, you’d second this decision for sure. Afraid of standing out and disrupting the flow of available stalls.

That wasn’t the case here. This was a dive bar and half of them were drunk. If anything, they’d assume you were too, locking yourself in here sick.

You weren’t though. Sick or drunk. That’s not to say you weren’t heavily buzzed. Beer was safe. You’d stuck to that for the majority of the night, until your group lined up the shot glasses on that sticky bar top. It was flowing through you now. Warm and gentle. The burn and the salt sitting in your belly.

You lean against one of the walls, sliding one of your headphones in, thankful they’d been left in the pocket of your jacket. Extremely thankful, as the first second of Grace’s video is filled with a soft whine.

Spit pools across your tongue, flooding your mouth at the sight of Grace stroking his cock. It’s pink and slick, and big. It’s like your body has its own physical reaction too. Your pussy clenching around nothing, whining herself, and remembering exactly what it felt like to have that buried inside.

Your entire body flushes too hot. You watch the video back once more, before flipping to your camera app and propping it up on the toilet paper dispenser.

The angle is atrocious but it works. You lift your shirt, bunching it beneath your armpits, and pulling your bra down.

When Grace’s phone goes off again, he swears he could come from the thumbnail alone. It’s blurry and full of movement, but your tits are out and you’re playing with them.

He mindlessly strokes himself as he presses play. Almost immediately, Grace’s grip is tightening as he realizes just where you are and that you’re doing that, there.

Your back is to some wall that’s decorated with numbers and names and suggestive doodles, overlapping and messy. It’s the noise surrounding you that sends a deep pulse through Grace. There’s voices. They’re muffled but ranging in volume, and completely separate from the show you’re putting on.

You’re still out.

You’re in public, and they’re completely unaware of what you’re doing on the other side of what Grace deduces is just a flimsy bathroom stall door. He chokes out a whine and uses his thumb to rewind the video, his eyes refocusing on you.

The video is at an angle, pointed upwards. You’re taller than whatever you have your phone sitting on and Grace fucking loves it. It gives the illusion of you in his lap again, your chest just slightly higher than his mouth.

He gets the most insane underside view of your tits. The shape and the weight of them and how they sit. His palms ache to feel them again. He gives himself a single tentative stroke, refusing to rush.

Grace watches as you bring your hands to your chest, groping yourself gently and then rougher. He can’t see your face. The frame cuts off just by your mouth, but good grief, he can see your neck and the way it extends back.

You’re either really into this or putting on one hell of a show, leaning back against the dirty wall without a care, thrusting your bare chest towards the camera.

Just in the way you have yourself exposed has sparks popping off in Grace’s veins. It’s haphazard and reckless and it’s exactly what Grace has wanted to do. What he would do to you if he was there.

You pinch your nipples, twisting them and tugging and Grace’s mouth waters. He imagines sucking on them again, soft and lazy, and unhurried. He thinks about waking up first and taking his time to suckle each one slowly, until you wake up that way, crying for him but letting him continue. You let him until they’re raw and puffy and you’re crying for him to fuck you.

“Oh, ffuck…” Grace whimpers, his eyes glued to his phone screen, fantasies racing wild. He barely registers that his hand is moving again. Faster than he’s let himself all night. Too fast. He’s gonna come from the first damn thing you sent him if he’s not careful.

The last thing Grace sees before he flips back to his own camera is you lifting your tits higher, and instead of wetting your fingers, he watches the spit drop from your mouth, right onto your abused nipple. You do the same to the other and start rubbing it in. They’re shiny and wet and ruined.

The next video Grace takes is far less calm and collected. His fist is a slight blur on the screen, and he’s so far from quiet. He recalls your video and the way you couldn’t say anything. In a way, it made it hotter, watching you touch yourself but hearing those other women in the background. Grace’s words start to get away from him but it’s still only a fraction of what he’s truly thinking.

His voice shakes, splintered and husky and mixing with the wet squelching of his strokes. “Are you trying to kill me? You look so pretty baby, so…so..oh fuck.”

Grace wanted to call you filthy, dirty. To call you those things because you were, half stripped and desperate for him in a public bathroom stall. He doesn’t even remember where he ends the video but he sends it and tries to slow down, to hang on until the next thing you send at least.

When Grace’s phone goes off again though, it’s not a video or a picture. It’s not a text at all. You’re calling.

His breath gets stuck in his chest but he’s answering anyway, before he’s even figured out how to breathe again. It’s why his voice comes out like a croak, throat clicking, like a panting, horny deranged frog. “Hel-clk-Hello?”

The first few seconds of the call is pure noise. There’s countless voices, the shuffling sounds of bodies and shoes moving, glasses clinking and music in the background. It’s becoming softer though.

Grace hears the squeak of hinges and the sound of what he could only assume is an incredibly heavy door slamming shut. You’ve gone outside.

Everything is instantly quieter. The background noise is still there, though muted. New sounds lingers. Tires on asphalt, the clicking of a street light changing color, and a dog barking in the distance. Grace can practically see it.

“Hey. Hi,” you breathe into the phone, right into Grace’s ear. Your voice sounds light and airy, a little raspy, like maybe you’ve lost it partly.

“Hey,” Grace says, softer this time to match, and a little awkward. He cringes at the way he’s repeated himself.

It’s chased by the sound of your laugh though, and Grace’s heart skips even in its racing, pounding state. If sounding like a dork makes you sound like that, maybe Grace is okay with it.

“Grace?”

The sound of his name in your mouth, in that hushed tone, it undoes something in him. The video of you is still playing on a loop in his mind. Grace’s hand had never fully left his cock, only coming to a gentle rest when you called. He strokes himself once again though, the feeling tenfold now that you’re on the phone. He takes a ragged breath in. “Mmngh. Y-yeah?”

“Have you…?”

Your voice is tentative. Soft. There’s a million things you could be asking him right now but Grace can imagine that to be difficult, given the topic and your location.

He can picture it. The way you’re mindlessly pacing the sidewalk, back and forth, just outside the bar. The red bricks behind you, one hand in the pocket of your jacket, phone tucked close to your face. Shoulders drawn. There’s neon string lights from the nearby restaurants and car headlights that every so often cast over you.

Grace licks his lips and plays lazily with the tip of his cock, torturing himself. “Have I…what?”

He hears the way your breath hitches. Your voice drops even lower, barely a soft mumble, your glossy lips brushing the edge of your phone because you have it pressed so close. “Have you come yet?”

Grace doesn’t even bother to hold back his whimper. He squeezes his eyes shut, shame and guilt and arousal flooding his body. His tummy burns with it. Those words coming out of your mouth should be illegal.

“N-No. No, I haven’t,” he whispers.

Your response slams into Grace like a train. “Good. Don’t.”

It takes a minute for the words to reach his brain. Even then, Grace isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders here. He barely and very caveman-like mummers half a word. “Wha—?”

You cut him off. “Give me your address. Please?”

That has Grace fully pausing, his hand falling to his sweaty thigh as he sits up a little in bed. He ask again. Clearly this time. “What?”

What Grace doesn’t expect to hear is your laugh.

Soft and sweet, and a little evil. Like a siren’s song in his ear. “Would you rather come in your own hand tonight or in me?”

Grace stops breathing. He’s choking, stuttering. “Wh—?”

“Or on me. Either one,” you cut in again, the smirk evident through your voice.

Grace finally finds his, the rare explicit dragging and scrapping over his vocal cords. “Fffuccck.”

He pants into the phone, cock temporarily forgotten, cheeks blood red. There’s a hint of shyness to his own voice now. “That’s not…you don’t…that’s not why I messaged you.”

“It wasn’t?” You snicker softy, teasingly. “You didn’t text me because you were hard for me? It was for me, wasn’t it?”

There’s a blunt edge to your voice. Grace doesn’t expect it. For you to say all that, so plainly and that forward, standing out on the street for goodness sake. It makes his head spin and his dick throb. The way you seesaw back and forth between sweetly alluring and slightly harsh, like there’s a grain of humiliation in how you accuse him of being hard and texting you in the first place.

Grace whines softly, giving into the whiplash but still feeling the need to explain himself. The guilt and the shame still burning hot. “Of course it’s for you. I just - it wasn’t my intention to get you to come over.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?”

He shakes his head quickly even though Grace knows you can’t see him. His messy bed hair falls even more across his forehead, into his eyes. “No! No, it’s not. I just don’t want you thinking I texted just for that. To get you here.”

You laugh again. “So phone sex is excusable but an actual booty call is where you draw the line, Dr. Grace?”

His cock twitches where it lays on his belly. Hearing his name, his title, on your tongue again, and without any nerves this time. The way you’re playing a dangerous game saying it out loud in public, in a college town, where anyone could overhear. It only makes Grace feel like he’s losing more and more of his grip. “N-no. That’s not…I just don’t want you to think I’m—.”

You cut him off again. Your voice is steady and solid but with a soft plea layered beneath. “Grace? Your address.”

And Grace gives it. He leans into it. You. The feelings. He gives you his address and it’s not but a moment before he hears tires and a car door, and his address being recited to the driver. Who in return, offers simple pleasantries and a list of his uber accommodations. Water, snacks, music or no music?

The interaction, though brief, still leaves a gap of momentary silence between the two of you. Grace’s mind starts to swirl, and it hits him suddenly. You’re coming here. Here.

It hadn’t really sunken in yet, and frankly still hasn’t, and now everything suddenly feels like it’s dialed up to eleven. Rushed. Frantic. Grace has never felt this turned on this fast before, especially given the last ten minutes of cool down. His cock had never gone completely soft, but Grace wasn’t anywhere close to the edge either.

Until now.

Like the snap of two fingers, or flipping a light switch. That quick and Grace feels like he’s right there again. The thought of you on your way to his place. That all the things he was imagining, he could have again. Tonight.

Without thought or care, Grace spits into his palm and reaches for his dick. The pace he sets isn’t for teasing or drawing this out while he waits. It’s fast and desperate with the intent to make himself come before you get here. It’s audible, even through the phone. Not that that matters because Grace lets out one needy whimper after another.

There’s silence and then your voice again. That sharp edge is back, but almost inquisitive this time, rhetorical, like you can’t quite believe what you’re hearing, and that he’s disobeying what you said before. “Grace?”

A soft cry. An actual cry. Grace doesn’t stop. His cock throbs in his hand, his heels dig into the mattress. He can feel his ball sac drawing up tightly, and a sweet phantom pressure around his asshole, twitching and begging too. For a second, Grace wonders if you would touch him there as well and he cries out again. He hiccups, “I’m - I’m sorry, I can’t help it…”

“I thought I told you to stop?” Your tone is so casual, almost upbeat. Humorous but not really. It’s only for show, to not draw attention from the driver.

Grace starts begging immediately. His voice cracking. “You have to let me come first. I won’t - fuck, I’m too close. I won’t last when you get here.”

“You will, just not before I get there.”

But it’s like Grace didn’t even hear you. He’s babbling at this point, thigh muscles burning, shaking. His brain is fuzzy and warm, his mouth and words flowing free and fast. Maybe a little too free. “I can’t believe you’re on your way. I didn’t plan…I didn’t mean to…are you sure you wouldn’t rather st-stay and hang out with your friend?”

Oh. Uh oh.

Grace didn’t mean to bring that up. Truly. Honestly.

Silence follows but Grace can hear it, the leather snap of your attention, zeroing in and picking up on the cadence of how Grace said it.

Your next words are slow. Intrigued. “And who might that be?”

Fuck it, Grace thinks to himself and he lets his mouth keep moving. “David or whatever the fuck his name is.”

It lands heavy between you, but your response blows even harder. “When I get there, you’ll realize just how ridiculous that statement is. Now wait for me.”

Grace actually yells, something incomprehensible, voice ripping from his throat as he simultaneously rips his hand away from his cock.

He physically rolls over in bed in attempt to prevent himself from touching again, and regrets it instantly. The sheets are a dry rough drag against his dick. Grace’s entire body, every muscle from his head to his toes lock up. Oh no.

He feels the very start of his orgasm breaking, rising up the base of his cock. He grabs himself, squeezing until there’s tears in his eyes and his orgasm is stopped. Just barely.

As Grace’s senses reload from the denial, all he hears on the other end is your smug laugh and the words, “Good boy.”

“Oh, fuck you…”

Grace says it without thinking. He sounds half dead, throat scratchy. You laugh at him again. “Promise?”

He replies weakly, “mmhn, yeah.”

“Good, ‘m here.”

Oh fuck.

Grace gets out of bed on shaky legs, but not before he has a dilemma on how the fuck he should answer the door. Does he just pull his pjs back up and have them ridiculously tented and goofy looking? Does he forgo them all together?

No. Absolutely not. Grace might be a slut, and more kinky than he wanted to admit, but he’s not answering the door with his dick out. 

And by this point, his phone is back on the nightstand. You ended the call, promising to be up in a few minutes. You were. The elevator ride was short and finding his apartment number was easy.

Grace’s heart pounds when he hears the soft sound of your knuckles against his door. He tries to adjust himself one last time, running his fingers through his messy hair and pulling down his sleep shirt in a half attempt to look less ruined.

The door is only halfway open before you’re on him, and in his arms. No words. No hi or hello. Just your lips and your arms around his neck, and then your warm, soft tongue in his mouth. Grace sighs, sinking into it.

Only for it to be ripped away.

He groans. Your warmth evades him, snatched away faster than Grace can reach for you and pull you back. He tries but he feels sluggish and you’re moving desperately. Dropping hard. You’re falling to your knees.

Grace groans for a different reason this time. The sight of you on your knees, and the way you yank his pants down, the cool air washing over his skin. You’re pulling and pushing at him, even on your knees and Grace’s back eventually meets the wall by the front door.

It shoves the air from his body, stealing his breath, and before Grace can inhale again, you lean in, swallowing his cock completely.

It punches Grace in the gut. He gasps.

It’s not like before, like how you were in the classroom, where Grace had shallowly fucked your warm mouth two weeks ago. He couldn’t move his hips at all this time. You had them pinned to the wall, insistently pressing your body’s weight into him.

You bury your face into his pubes, the bridge of your nose digging in and poking his bladder. You stay like that. No bobbing or sucking. Just your throat. Tight and hot and constricting around his dick every time you swallow.

Purely unintelligent noises pour from Grace’s mouth. “Agggnughmf.”

And it was over before it started really. Grace had been so close before and seeing you so hungry for it now. Yeah, Grace was coming. You eventually pull back once, sucking and licking at him as he slides out of your throat. Only for you to fall right back down.

A true single thrust straight down your throat, and Grace sees white. His balls pulsing, pumping.

You pull back just enough to collect some in your mouth and Grace apparently has one last brain cell left to slur, “Don’t swallow. Don’t swallow, baby, please. C’mere.”

He’s already sliding down the wall, part his own volition, partly not. His legs are giving out. You knew what he was asking for though, pulling off and bringing your full mouth to his.

Full of his own come, still warm. You push it from your mouth into his by the sweep your tongue. Some leaks out, smearing, but you both audibly swallow, drinking it down.

The pure filth of it all sends a second wave. Grace whimpers, grabbing at his cock as he comes again. It splashes between you, painting your shirt and jeans a little and the floor too.

Which Grace falls to almost immediately. His bare ass hitting the cold floorboards. You right there with him. Both gasping and catching your breath.

When Grace finally comes back, you’re already looking at him, eyes dark and starry. Your lips are puffy and wet, his come actively drying down your chin. He reaches up and swipes his thumb through the mess, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “For what?”

All of Grace’s fears come back. His voice is soft as he explains. “I don’t know…I haven’t even taken you on our date yet and here I am sexting you and now, now you’re here…”

“So? I wanna be here. I wouldn’t be if I didn’t want to.”

He nods quickly but gently, “I know. I just don’t want you to think I’m a—.”

“What? A freak, Grace?” You laugh sweetly, though your voice is wrecked, undeniably sounding like you were just deep throating cock. Sweet, Grace’s ass.

You shake your head at him and roll your eyes. “You think sexting me or us hooking up is wrong but it’s not. You are and you aren’t like every other dude on the planet. You’re just as horny and disgusting as the rest and that’s okay, because I know it’s different with you. I like the dirty stuff because I know the sweet stuff will follow.”

And just like that Grace feels lighter. He blushes almost bashfully, which is ridiculous after everything you’ve done tonight. “Y-yeah.”

You lean in close, brushing his nose with yours. You whisper against his lips, “I want everything with you. I wanna see all the sides of Dr. Ryland Grace. Especially the ones you keep so locked up. So…let go a little, yeah?”

That last part, it carries differently. Weighted. Like a challenge. A dare. You raise both eyebrows and smirk, and it moves something in Grace. His voice drops into a tone you’ve never once heard come from him, and with it, a single command.

“Strip.”

—

(GUYS, I’m so sorry again that this took so long. But we’re back baby!! One of my favorite things about writing for Grace is finding the balance. He’s really a mix of everything. Sweet and submissive but also far from innocent, and we see him grapple with that. I hope you guys like this part. Next part? Grace let’s go lmaoooo. 🫶🏼 if there’s any mistakes, I’ll catch them later. I just really wanted to post this already lol.)