Grip is an enthralling story of interracial romance between a music artist and the passionate woman who manages his career. Grip and does not shy away from any of the ideals and prejudices that many are too politically correct to acknowledge – head on- amidst one of the sexiest, and provocative true love romances Ryan has penned to date. It’s pretty fantastic folks.
Resisting an irresistible force wears you down and turns you out. I know. I’ve been doing it for years.
I may not have a musical gift of my own, but I’ve got a nose for talent and an eye for the extraordinary. And Marlon James – Grip to his fans – is nothing short of extraordinary.
Years ago, we strung together a few magical nights, but I keep those memories in a locked drawer and I’ve thrown away the key. All that’s left is friendship and work.
He’s on the verge of unimaginable fame, all his dreams poised to come true. I manage his career, but I can’t seem to manage my heart.
It’s wild, reckless, disobedient. And it remembers all the things I want to forget.
Waiting to Exhale…
I can’t take my eyes off him. He thought I watched him before. Now that he’s mine, now that we’re together, it’s even worse. He rivets me, and it doesn’t scare me anymore. Maybe I do love him too much and don’t have boundaries. I don’t care. This love is the stuff of magic, of fantasy, but so raw and real I can touch it. I can taste it. If for some reason I fall, how many can say they soared this high?
I look over my shoulder to find that sober look back in his eyes, tightening the skin over his high cheekbones, making me nervous. “I love you.” He says it to me every day, several times a day, and it never gets old, never frays around the edges or fails to palpitate my susceptible heart. “I love you, too.”
To Gasping for Air…
“This pretty pussy.” I gather her wrists in my hand over her head and ease her knee back to her chest, opening her up. “It’s mine, right?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
With dry sobs, she strains up to my lips, leaving kisses wherever she can. “You know it’s yours. Please take it. Just take it.”
Her submission, her admission unleashes an unquenchable thirst, an inexhaustible hunger. I need some part of her in my mouth. I bite down on her shoulder and push inside, my breath hissing between my lips at the wet, tight fit. She meets every thrust, and we are fervent, fevered. Pleasure excruciating. Twined together, her heel digging into my ass, my arm hooked under her knee, urging her open to the compulsion of my body pistoning into hers. I cannot possibly in this life be deep enough inside her. I want so much more than her body. She has thieved my soul, and I need to feel the reciprocity, the exchange. To know I’ve pilfered her and taken everything that she would offer and anything she meant to hold. Because that’s what she’s done to me. I loose her wrists to grab her ass, angling her. Both legs wrap around my back, and she works her hips up eager to meet every hard thrust. I sit up, bringing her with me, and she hooks her ankles behind me.
Her eyes, possessive, there’s no doubt I’m hers. Her hands, urgent and everywhere at once. Our breaths heave raggedly between our lips. Our bodies are lock and key, and we’re transfixed on each other. Inseparable. Insoluble. I seize her tongue, pulling her in, sucking her, wringing every drop of sweetness from the kiss. She whimpers, her hands clawing at my shoulders, my neck, scraping over my scalp.
“I love you.”
Her words drop hot in my ear with her breasts flattened to my chest and her thighs clenching at my hips. She tightens her pussy around my cock, a deliberate, hungry grasp and release. “Bris.” My eyes roll back. I’m at the mercy of those muscles.
“I love you, too.”