Beyond What is Given(33)

He cupped the back of my neck with the hand that wasn’t cradling my ass, and brought my mouth to his in a consuming kiss. I responded instantly, opening to him as he swept inside with sure strokes of his tongue. He tasted like chocolate, and sin…and sex. Really good sex.

He growled, his hand fisting my hair to hold me to him. I sure as hell wasn’t going anywhere, not if I could get another sound like that out of him. Heat radiated from his skin to my hands as I stroked his neck to wind my fingers around the back of his head. I arched into him, pressing my breasts into his chest as our tongues rubbed and danced, setting fire to every nerve ending in my body. There was nothing else in the world for me, just the feel of Grayson under my hands, the taste of him filling me. He eclipsed everything else until kissing him was my existence.

He moved backward until he settled onto one of the tall dining room chairs and held me in his lap. My feet slipped from his waist to brace myself on the chair’s supports. I rolled my hips over him, and he hissed as I brushed against his erection.

Holy shit. He was hard. Already. For me.

I broke the kiss, pausing a breath away from his lips as we both took gasping breaths. “Grayson,” I whispered.

“More.” His eyes shone nearly silver and cut through any protest I might have managed, if I’d been thinking logically enough to even contemplate stopping.

His answer sent a spiral of pure lust streaking through my body, and I whimpered as he pulled me back to him, using his tongue and lips to caress every inch of my mouth, then biting my lower lip gently. I clung to whatever shred of sanity I had left, but it fled when he ran kisses down my neck, sucking at little patches of skin and then licking to soothe the burn. I shamelessly rocked against him, then ran my fingers down the carved muscles of his back. There wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on him. He was perfectly cut, honed, and strong enough to do whatever I asked him to.

The thought sent another surge of heat through my stomach, pooling lower.

A low rumble started in his chest as he gripped my ass, his hands squeezing and shaping me with the perfect amount of pressure. “Samantha.”

My name sounded like a prayer on his lips, like I was something worthy of worship. Worthy of him. “Say it again.”

His eyes turned hazy, and one hand drifted up my back to tighten in my hair. “Samantha.” He dragged out the syllables until it sounded like a personal request to climb him like a freaking tree and use him as my personal playground.

He tugged, arching my neck, and I gasped as he set his mouth to it, kissing lower to my collarbone. The muscles in his arms bulged as he lifted me higher, running his tongue just under the neckline of my tank top. Could he hear my heart pounding? Beating out a rhythm that was demanding—

“Hey, are you ready to head to the airpor—Oh. OH!” Mia exclaimed.

My head jerked down, slamming my chin into the top of Grayson’s head and rattling my mouth. To his credit, he didn’t drop me. This is so not happening. Heat fled from my stomach and lodged in my face. What were we? Sixteen and getting caught making out in his parents’ basement?

“Knocking, Mia.” He growled against my skin, lowering me until I was sitting in his lap again.

“It’s a kitchen, Gray.”

He rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. Then he leveled a look on his sister that had her backing up. She got the point. Or I think she did. I couldn’t exactly see out of my peripheral vision, and there was no way I was going to glance in her direction. Not when she’d just caught me dry-humping her brother.

“I’ll just…um…make sure I got everything out of your room? Right.” She practically ran.

Grayson turned to stone beneath me and slowly turned his gaze to mine. “Grayson? What does this mean?” Oh great, ask him the ultimate girl question. Good job, Sam. “Not that it has to mean anything, right? I mean, we’re both adults…”

“Stop, please, Sam.” His hands were strong but gentle on my waist as he lifted me off him, waiting until I was steady to release me.

He stood slowly, then put the dining room table between us, just like he had the first morning we met. Did he need to protect himself from me? Wait. He kissed me first. My fingers skimmed across my swollen lips.

He swallowed, examining the table. “I don’t know what it means, and I know if I try to figure it out this second I’m going to end up saying something we’ll both regret, one way or another.”

“What the hell does that mean?” It was suddenly hard to swallow the lump in my throat. “That you shouldn’t have kissed me?” My jumping-Grayson high was quickly plummeting to a he-regrets-me low. You should be used to it. Sam, the quick-fix-regret-later gal.

“I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I never act on impulse. I just… God, I don’t know. I have to go, our flight is in a couple hours.”

I nodded, locking my jaw, trying to trade the ache in my heart for anger. “Yeah. You should go.” Do not cry. Don’t do it.

He came around the table, and I kept my eyes trained on a large splatter of brownie batter on his shirt. “Samantha.”

I shook my head. “Just go.”

He tilted my chin up, and my rage died. His eyes said everything he didn’t, or couldn’t, and were filled with a kind of pain I couldn’t fathom but illogically needed to soothe immediately. His cheeks scratched my palms with his five o’clock shadow as I cupped them and forced a smile. “Hey. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I’m a big girl.”