“Mr. Crowne,” I said.
His grip lingered on the hem of my panties. “Are you using it?”
I hesitated but shook my head. “No.”
He ripped my panties down, my ass bare in his hallway, and then his lips were on me, hot and sure and igniting a need I wasn’t sure could be quenched.
I held on to the wall for dear life.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You taste so fucking good.”
Teeth. Tongue.
Grayson Crowne was wicked with his mouth and teeth. He bit my thigh hard, then returned to my lips, sucking, twisting wicking spirals of heat into my gut, bleeding down into my thighs. My vision warped. My forehead fell against the carved flowers molded into the wall.
“You need bruises on your thighs,” he said. “You need them on your cunt. You need to see who fucking owns you.”
His words vibrated with possession, and I wanted that. I wanted to be owned, even though I shouldn’t. Even though I knew he didn’t want to keep me.
“Someday I’m gonna eat your little ass, but today…” He trailed off, sucking on my clit, hard enough to draw a sharp gasp. His groan vibrated against my flesh and it was too much, too much pleasure.
“Come for me, Story.”
Story.
Millions of butterflies fluttered and exploded in my gut.
He was using my name, breathing it against my pussy as he sucked and tongued and bit me into a pleasure coma. I couldn’t stand. I slipped, and he wrapped his arm around my thigh, keeping me upright.
“Grayso
n,” I breathed, impending orgasm blurring my vision.
“Yes, fuck,” he groaned, tongue diving deeper. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Come on my fucking tongue, Story.”
“Gray?” a faint voice called into the hallway.
Grayson stopped, and my dream shattered. I knew the voice but didn’t want to think about the person it belonged to. Not with her fiancé tonguing me into oblivion. With my name on his lips, breathing it hot against my pussy, as he bit me and marked me.
“Gray, I can’t get into your wing…” Lottie called out. “They won’t let me. But I need to talk to you.”
And like it meant nothing, Grayson stood up. Fixed the back of my dress. Then he wiped me off with the back of his hand and went to find his real girl, Lottie.
Thirty
GRAY
* * *
Lottie stared down the hallway of my wing, a wrinkle between her brows. “Do you want to talk in your room?”
“Here’s fine,” I said.
“You still don’t let anyone in there?” She kept fucking staring.
Had we been too loud?
Shit, I’ll never get the sound of Snitch coming out of my head.