Play It Safe(90)

This was hot.

“Gray,” I gasped then I came again, harder, stronger, overwhelming. So much I didn’t feel his arms leave my knees or his weight hit me or his face bury itself in my neck until I started coming down.

My arms and legs circled him then his h*ps started bucking in a way I knew.

“Honey, give it to me,” I whispered, his head came up, his h*ps drove deep, he stayed planted and I watched as he gave it to me.

When he finished his face went back into my neck. One of my legs slid down to curl around his thigh, the other one slid from around him, sole of my foot to the bed but I pressed my inner thigh to his hip. My hands moved along the contours of his back, feeling his skin, his muscle, his heat and memorizing it as I did his weight, his c**k still inside me, his smell.

God, he smelled good. I forgot that. He smelled like outdoors and man.

His head moved, his lips came to my ear and he whispered, “Welcome back to Mustang, dollface.”

I blinked at the ceiling. Then I burst out laughing.

His head came up and his grinning eyes came to me and, lucky for me, his lips were grinning too so I also got the dimple.

I controlled my hilarity and remarked, “I hope you’re not Mustang’s welcome wagon, honey, and that was all just for me.”

His grin slightly faded, his head dropped and his lips touched mine before he pulled back and said quietly, “It’s all for you, Ivey.”

All for me. All of him was all for me.

I sighed.

Then I smiled.

Gray’s eyes took in my smile then they moved to mine and he ordered gently, “Say you love me, Ivey.”

My body eased under his and I whispered, “I love you, Gray.”

“Welcome home, dollface.”

My hand moved to cup his jaw as my lips whispered, “Thank you, baby.”

His eyes got lazy before he gave me the dimple again.

* * * * *

Six hours later…

Makeup refreshed, a spritz of perfume, having run my fingers through my hair, re-donning my fitted, fabulous black halter top sundress and strappy, spiked-heeled black sandals, my hand in Gray’s, we were walking across the porch.

And I was trying not to hyperventilate.

Because it was Friday.

And being Friday, we were heading to his truck to go to town for VFW steaks.

I was not ready for this.

Not at all.

“Maybe I should change,” I suggested as Gray walked us down the porch steps.

“You look beautiful, darlin’,” Gray replied on a hand squeeze, leading me around the porch and toward his truck.

The rusted out wreck grew closer and closer as my anxiety grew more and more.

“I have a lot of unpacking to do. Maybe I should get started on that,” I tried.

“Ivey, you don’t have a job. You have plenty of time to unpack,” Gray pointed out, walking me to the passenger side of his truck.

Okay, shit.

Okay, shit.

I didn’t want to face down Mustang, not now. They knew I was a burlesque dancer. They knew I was shacked up with a hotshot who they would never know was g*y. These people went to church. They lived in a small town. They were not hardened, seen it all, done it all residents of Vegas.

They would think things about me.

They already thought things about me.

I knew it.

I could handle this if I had time to prepare. But a day full of ha**ng s*x with Gray broken up to eat turkey and swiss sandwiches and have whispered conversations as we lay na**d in his bed, fingers trailing, bodies seeking and gaining contact, legs tangling, lips brushing did not prepare me for dinner at the VFW where most everyone in the town of Mustang would be.

Shit.

Gray stopped me at the passenger side door of his truck, he pulled it open and it creaked loudly. My thoughts of everyone in Mustang judging me fled and my eyes shot down to the door.

Then a smile slowly rose on my lips.

“Get in, honey,” Gray muttered and I looked up at him.

“Same truck?” I asked softly and he focused on me.

Then he grinned.

God, that grin. All the shit that went down, it still came easy.

“It runs, so yeah,” he answered.

“How much do you have to work on it to make it run?” I asked.

“Dollface, it’s American made so not much.”

He was totally lying. This thing was still running on a wing and a prayer.

Whatever.

“It’s twenty years old, Gray,” I told him.

“It’s fifteen years old, Ivey.”

I felt my brows draw together and I asked, “Is it?”

His lips twitched and he answered, “Yeah.”

“Looks older,” I muttered.

“Get in, Ivey.”

“Way older.”

“Get in, Ivey.”

“Way, way older.”

Gray burst out laughing, hooked an arm around my waist, pulled me into his body and kissed me, hard and closed mouthed.

Then he lifted his head and ordered, “Get…in, Ivey.”

“All right, all right,” I muttered, turned and climbed in.

The door creaked loudly when Gray slammed it.

I smiled again.

Then I looked around the interior.

Candy bar wrappers. Gum wrappers. Chip bags. Receipts. Empty pop cans. The ashtray open and filled to overflowing with change that had fallen down and therefore was also on the floor.