Sweet Surrender (Sweet #1)(26)

Why did she hand over so much power to her mother? Why did she give Celia the capability to hurt her so easily?

A firm hand gripped her shoulder, and she stiffened.

“Faith, what’s wrong?” Gray’s urgent entreaty cut through the red haze circling her mind.

Slowly, she pulled her head up, suddenly feeling foolish for her undisciplined emotional outburst. What if Pop or Connor had been the one to walk in? She’d have a devil of a time explaining why she was sobbing her eyes out at her desk.

She scrubbed impatiently at her eyes and looked away, determined for him not to see her tears. Her chair moved slightly, and she glanced over out of the corner of her eye to see him kneel beside her.

Gentle fingers curled around her chin and tugged, forcing her to look directly at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Another quiet sob whispered from her mouth, and she clamped her lips shut to prevent any more from escaping.

“No, you’re not all right. That’s obvious.” He stroked the back of his knuckles over her cheek then tucked her hair behind her ear. “What’s wrong?” he asked again.

“It’s nothing,” she said shakily. “Really. I feel like such an idiot. I just got upset and overreacted.”

“It’s obviously not nothing. You’re not the type to overreact. What upset you so badly, Faith?”

No, he wasn’t stupid, and she was insulting his intelligence by denying her upset.

“All right, it wasn’t nothing, but it’s not something I want to discuss. Can you understand that?” She silently pleaded with him not to push any further.

He stared at her for a long moment. “Yeah. I can.”

He thumbed a tear from the corner of her eye. Their gazes met and hung, suspended in a timeless echo.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and edgy.

“Do what?” she murmured back.

“Kiss you.”

“Are you?”

Instead of responding, he edged closer to her, his lips hovering precariously close to hers. Her sudden intake of breath was all she had time for before their mouths met.

His hands framed her face as he pressed hot and hard against her. Their tongues met and tangled. She gasped for air but wouldn’t pull away. It consumed her. He consumed her.

His mouth inched upward until his teeth nipped and caught at her upper lip. He pulled outward then sucked it farther into his mouth. His tongue licked and laved before he released her lip and moved to the corner of her mouth.

Forgotten were her tears, her anguish. All that existed in this moment was the man in front of her. His touch, his kiss, his very essence wound around her, filling her until everything else vanished.

She reached for him, sliding her hands over his broad shoulders. Her fingers inched toward his neck until one hand cupped the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. She nibbled back at his lips. Kiss for kiss, bite for bite, lick for lick.

A moan built deep in her chest, welled in her throat, until it escaped in a sound of sweet agony. The tension between them that had, over the last few days, built into an enormous entity, exploded in a rush of molten lava.

She moved her hands in front, down his chest until she tugged at his shirt. She wanted to feel his bare flesh. Impatiently, she yanked until it came free from his jeans. Then she slid her fingers under the hem and pressed her hands to his stomach.

He flinched, his mouth stilling over hers. Her hands worked higher, gliding over the muscles of his chest, shoving his shirt upward.

His fingers dug into her head, and his thumbs brushed over her cheeks. There was strength in his touch. A strength she craved, needed, wanted so badly she ached.

She whimpered against his lips when they didn’t resume the passionate kiss but instead remained still. His body tensed underneath her fingers, the muscles rippling across his chest.

“Gray,” she whispered.

He pulled away and closed his eyes. A harsh expletive danced in the air between them, souring the moment. His hands fell away from her, and he pushed himself upward, tension rolling off of him like sand pouring from a bucket.

His palm crept to the back of his neck, and he rubbed up and down in agitation. “God, Faith, I’m sorry. That should have never happened.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Sorry? I wanted it to happen. You wanted it to happen. I don’t see what you have to be sorry about.”

He stalked around the desk, pausing in the middle of the floor, his movements jerky and indecisive. Then he turned to look at her. His eyes blazed with a multitude of emotions. Desire still flamed brightly, so she knew it wasn’t a matter of him not wanting what had happened. But there was also regret, and—self-loathing?

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said with a shake of his head. “I took advantage of you in a weak moment. What kind of ass**le does that make me?”

She rose from her seat. Her knees trembled, and she placed her palms down on the desk to steady herself. “We’ve been working up to this point for the last several days. You know it, and I know it. It was as inevitable as breathing. Don’t tell me it shouldn’t have happened when I know damn well you wanted it as much as I did.”

“Wanted it?” He gave a short, barking laugh. “Hell, Faith, I want you so bad, I ache. But it shouldn’t have happened. I never should have let it.”