“I have to go,” I whisper, rubbing his nipple ring with my thumb.
Mischief glitters all across his eyes as he brushes his mouth against mine. “You know where the door is.”
He licks into the seam of my lips. “I really, really have to go.” I loop my arms around his neck, intending a quick kiss, but he seems to have a different, slower, headier kiss in mind.
He makes it happen.
His hand eases into my wet hair and cups me by the scalp as he angles his head and kisses me, deeply, our mouths tasting of toothpaste and heat, my body arching to get closer to him while he seems to stand there, hot and hard, supporting us both as I melt under his mouth.
“Greyson . . .” I protest.
He runs his fingers through my hair and takes a kiss from another angle. “Nobody’s stopping you, Melanie.”
I turn my head to get more access into his mouth too, rubbing my tongue against his, my nipples to his chest. “God, you’re danger, Grey.”
“You have no idea, princess.” He tongues me hard and unapologetically. More kissing, deep and slow, the kind of kiss that makes me hear our breathing, our slow, slick sounds.
“I think you do plan to tie me up and make me pick out safe words,” I breathe in between lazy, hungry sucks of his tongue.
“Just pick one.”
A soft moan leaves me when his lips trail my throat as I think of my word. “Dickhead.”
His chuckle vibrates right between my legs, where my clit feels extra sensitive this morning, and suddenly very, very achy. “That filthy fucking mouth just begging to be quieted,” he rasps. “But FYI, the word I want to hear the next time that I’m in you is Greyson. That’s the word I want to hear when I’m behind you . . .”
“We won’t . . . we won’t be doing that.” I can almost hear the flutters in my stomach in my voice as I try to escape.
He trails his hands up the small of my back, locking me to him. “Soon, we will,” he softly promises me.
“We won’t. I don’t trust you!”
He seizes my chin and looks me directly in the eye, speaking with deliberate slowness, as if I’m an idiot. “You can trust . . . that I won’t let any other asshole . . . into your sweet, tight little asshole—you sure as fuck can trust that.”
I groan. “Your mouth is filthier than mine. Why are you even after me?”
“The same reason you go out there, bang the brains off some dude, get hurt and keep looking for what you want. There are three things I’m not big on. Trust. Being ordered the fuck around—I get enough of that from my father. And denying myself what I want.”
“And you want me?”
I fall still under the hot feel of his lips suddenly pressing into my throat, trailing up to my ear, where he whispers, a warning, “That’s an understatement, but yes. I want you.” He steps back. “I want this in a way I have no business wanting, Melanie. Just don’t confuse me with your prince charming.”
The words, they hit me. Straight and true.
They hit me so hard, they knock the wind out of me.
“If I did, you just ruined it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Bye, Greyson.”
I hate the silence that follows me out of there.
FIFTEEN
* * *
WHERE I’M HEADED
Greyson
“Next thing you know, you’ll be going to fucking church on Sunday to sing choir,” Derek cackles as he drives me over to Melanie’s parents’ house.
Why is he driving me to her parents’ house, you wonder?
Because it looks like I’m doing brunch today.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl.
Derek chuckles and shakes his head, and I stare morosely out the window.
“Aaaaahhhhhh, god, I can’t believe this,” I tell myself as I rub my face and look down at my clean clothes. I took the risk of not wearing any weapons and I feel beyond naked—I feel stupid. Like some prom boy about to pick up his date.
There are some things that you just know are right or wrong. And I know that sitting at a Sunday brunch with a woman’s parents is not where I belong.
My crewneck itches. I angrily tug it as I walk up to their townhome. I know exactly where their home is because I’ve hacked Melanie’s every system, read every page, receipt, and article with her name on it. I could be a plague on legs approaching the two-story home, that’s how out of place I feel as I rap my knuckles on the door. There are flower beds nearby. It smells . . . of freshly mowed lawn. I almost remember helping my mother mow our lawn thirteen years ago. In a home like this. It’s been thirteen years since I stepped through doors like these, in a neighborhood like this. I don’t fucking belong here anymore.
Derek waves at me from the car and I flip him off, then call, “I’ll bring out a doggie bag for you.”
He flips me back. “I chomped on a burrito at the gas station but you sure are the epitome of kindness this morning, boss.”
Ignoring the jibe—because of course I wasn’t my sunniest on our drive here, hell, I never am—I knock on the door a third time.
I’m not really certain how Melanie will react to my being here but I’m going to give her a little help and act like I already know she’s going to be fucking delighted to see me. Period.
A servant opens the door. “Yes?”
She runs her gaze over me as if she can’t help herself, then I hear a voice, similar to Melanie’s. “Who is it, Maria?”
“Thank you, I’ll find my way.” I ease into the house and head to the noise, bursting into the dining room with ease.