Seconds ticked on, too long, marked by the waves and wind. Nerves clawed at my neck
. I was naked in front of Grayson Crowne. Naked, and he was giving nothing away. No words, nothing but the tightness in his muscles and pinch in his eyes.
Then he fell to his knees—his knees.
“Fucking perfect,” he groaned, crawling up to my legs. I gasped at the sudden warmth of his lips, on the curve of my knee, my inner thigh. His hands dragged and gripped my flesh.
He just kept saying that over and over again—fucking perfect.
He raised his head, looking up at me from between my thighs. My heart rate stuttered and spazzed.
“You’ve waited so long…don’t you want it to be special?” I whispered. “I’m not going to be good.”
“We’re both virgins—it’s not supposed to be good, Story.” He kissed the inside of my groin, never taking his eyes from mine. “But it won’t be bad. It can’t be.”
My breath caught on the realization I was still lying. I should tell him. This was the time to tell him.
He climbed atop me, until his lips were so close I could see the gloss of our earlier kiss, and he said something that stole all my words.
“I never wanted to share this with anyone until you. It was always just another thing to dread, another piece of control I was going to have to give up, power that they would hold over the Grayson Crowne. But you? I don’t fucking care if you have it. I want you to have it. Take it. Own it.”
“But Lottie…How?” Abigail’s tear-stricken face was still too fresh in my mind.
“That’s tomorrow’s problem. I’m Grayson Crowne, Story. The world only turns because I allow it.” He pressed deep into me. I sucked in a breath at the hard pressure on my sensitive flesh. “Right now, I want to fuck you.”
“Don’t you need to like…” I licked my lips. “To get naked first?” I was stunningly aware of the disparity in our clothing situation. He was rock hard and pressing against me, but he still had pants on. Even his shirt was still on his arms.
Still between my thighs, he slowly got back up on his knees. Eyes never leaving mine, a small smile playing on his lips, he stripped. It was slow, languorous, dripping intent.
My breath sped up, and I shifted, the ache between my thighs growing.
This was the Grayson Crowne in the bedtime dreams of millions of girls, and he was staring at me. Like he wanted to devour me. Consume me. The attention was intoxicating.
He caught my wrist and dragged me to him, flesh to flesh. I still couldn’t believe this was real. This was happening. Pressed against his rigid abs, I felt unworthy. Like Leda and Zeus, a god coming down to a mortal.
I looked away because I needed to breathe, his stare stealing my oxygen.
He tilted my chin to his perfect thick eyelashes and blue eyes, the kind you should only see in oil paintings of Greek gods. I could see the worry in his eyes. I wasn’t sure how to tell him I was fine…just so nervous I wouldn’t live up to a god.
Then he smiled.
“Hey,” he said, tone soft and gentle. “Right now, you’re Story, and I’m just Gray.”
Then he kissed me. Soft at first, coaxing almost, then hard—demanding. Like he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers flexed against my flesh, pulling me closer with each breath.
Mine fumbled for his pants, the button, then the zipper. He groaned when I met his cock over his silky, tight boxer briefs.
In the outside world, I hid beneath layers. I lowered my eyes. When I was with Grayson, I became someone different. Someone who reached without reserve into his pants, stroking the ridges and veins of his powerful abs, needing to go deeper, needing—
“More,” I breathed the word, an incantation, a spell, inside me whenever I was around him.
More. More. More.
Because with Grayson, I needed to. I needed to feel his silky, hard flesh, needed to sate the unbearable ache in my stomach. He sucked in a breath when my fingers met his hot flesh. His kiss turned aggressive, biting.
He thrust me back against the blankets, still tangled in my hair, kissing me viciously and violently until I tasted copper. I rubbed my thumb on the tip of his cock, smearing wetness, grinding on his thigh.
Anything to sate that deep, growing ache.