My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 61 Boyfriend Duties

Grant POV

Contrary to popular opinion and even my own stubborn beliefs people can change.

And I’ve never felt more satisfied, more grounded, more at peace than I do right now.

It’s not just because I can still taste Nova on my tongue or feel her body molded to mine soft, trembling, pliant, and wildly beautiful in her surrender. The peace is the kind that crawls through your chest and takes root there, quiet and deep.

She’s lying beside me now, bare against the sheets, her slow breathing syncing with the soft hum of the yacht drifting across calm water. A strand of hair brushes her lips, rising and falling with every breath. I watched her for a long while, memorizing every detail; the curve of her mouth, the freckles scattered across her shoulder, the faint mark I left on her collarbone.

She is My Nymph. My chaos. My calm.

I trace a finger down her spine, slow and reverent. She stirs but doesn’t wake. The arch of her back meets my touch like it recognizes me. She’s mine but not in the cruel, possessive way I used to claim things. This is different. This is a vow. A promise that I’d burn the world before I let it touch her again.

I lean closer, pressing a kiss just behind her ear. She hums softly, still half asleep.

Tempting. Always tempting.

I kiss her again from her jaw, her shoulder to the hollow of her throat. Her skin tastes of salt and heat and something dangerously addictive.

When I kiss her stomach above the duvet, she sighs. Before she can guess what I’m about to do, I yank the sheet down in one smooth move, revealing the swollen red evidence of everything we did last night. The same heat I explored in every way possible until she forgot how to breathe.

I blow gently against her skin, and she gasps, her hips twitching before I press my mouth to the temptation calling to me.

"Grant..." she breathes, voice thick with sleep.

"Morning, Nymph," I murmured against her, dragging my lips over the small nub between her folds. "Or maybe it’s still night. I lost track."

Her eyes flutter open looking hazy, soft, and unguarded. She blinks down at me like she’s trying to remember where we are, then her lips part slightly.

"Still tired?" I whisper.

Her lips curve into a lazy smile. "You don’t let anyone rest, do you?"

I chuckle low, the sound vibrating against her skin. "Not when you sound like that."

Her laugh dissolves into a sharp breath as I taste her again, slower this time, deeper, like a promise. Her fingers find my hair, tugging me closer, her thighs tightening around me.

I pull back just enough to look at her. "You know I’m never letting you go, right?"

She blinks up at me, voice barely a whisper. "You already didn’t."

And that ruins me in the best possible way.

I brace my forearms beside her and crawl up until I’m face to face with her. I kiss her, letting her taste herself on me, then kiss her harder, deeper. My hand catches hers, pinning it above her head the way I always do when I need to feel her surrender, her trust.

The yacht rocks gently beneath us, the night outside softening into gold as dawn stretches across the horizon. Everything feels suspended including the air, the ocean and the world itself.

Her breath catches against my mouth as I whisper,

"I’m done fighting the way I love you, Nova."

Her hands tremble against my jaw. "Then don’t."

I lower my head, kissing her until she forgets the world exists. Until the only thing between us is breath and heat and the echo of everything we’ve survived. When I slide back down between her thighs, it doesn’t take long before she bursts into the same beautiful, wrecked kind of pleasure that keeps me addicted to her.

Later, when she slips into the bathroom, I find myself in the kitchen, making breakfast.

Me. Grant Calloway. Making breakfast.

The same hands that once broke things now trying not to burn toast.

I left the room when she got in the shower, mostly because if I followed her, she’d faint before I was satisfied. And I’d hate to lose her now that she’s finally mine.

So here I am, in the small galley kitchen of my yacht, doing what I haven’t done in twenty years; cooking for someone who isn’t myself.

I plate the scrambled eggs carefully, making sure they look decent, then slice strawberries around the plate for color. Add toast. Simple, but good. I even make sweet creamy coffee, just the way she likes it.

When I push open the door to the room, the scent of the ocean drifts in. The sight that greets me knocks the air from my chest. Nova, wearing one of my plain shirts and nothing else. She bends over to pick something off the floor, and the shirt rides up just enough to reveal the soft pink of her skin still marked from last night.

"Oh. You brought us food," she says, meeting my stare with a knowing smile. "I was thinking we should feast on each other instead."

Her teasing wink is a spark to gunpowder.

"Say no more, baby."

I drop the tray on the nearest flat surface and stride to her, scooping her up over my shoulder like a prize. Her laughter fills the room, bright and wild, and by the time I toss her onto the bed, my shirt is barely covering her at all.

"You’re such a tease," I growl, admiring the way she sprawls out, all messy hair and wicked eyes.

"And you’re fun to tease," she shoots back, pretending to fight my hands even though we both know how this ends.

"Let me show you the real meaning of fun."

I grab her legs, pulling her closer until the V of her thighs is right in front of me. Then I flip her over, admiring the perfect curve of her ass, still red, still begging for attention.

A smack.

Then another.

And another.

Her pale skin flushes beneath my hand, and the sight alone is enough to make me lose my mind. Every time I pause, she lifts her hips higher, silently begging for more.

"Ass up," I ordered her in a rough and. unyielding voice.

She obeys instantly, exactly like I’ve taught her. The nymph in her knows how to surrender, how to tempt, how to drive me insane.

I spit into my palm, rubbing it between my fingers before pressing gently against her tight hole. She tenses.

"Relax," I murmur. "You’ll enjoy it more."

I stroke her slowly until she softens, then try again with a touch of lubricant. This time, she moans in a low and broken voice that did a lot to my already hard member.

When she starts to sway against my hand, I know she’s gone.

My little temptress. My ruin.

And as she begins to beg for more, I give it to her with every ounce of control, every dark edge I’ve been holding back, while our breakfast goes cold beside us.