He whips back around so fast, I think he might’ve given himself whiplash.
“NOPE! Nope, nope, nope. I didn’t see anything! God, Grayson, have you ever heard of, I don’t know, locking the fucking door?!”
“Oh my god,” I gasp, scrambling for something—anything—to cover myself, burying my ever-reddening face in Grayson’s chest, completely mortified.
“I didn’t think we’d need a damn bouncer,” Grayson replies, somehow unfazed.
“Well,clearly, you were wrong!” Eric shouts, still shielding his eyes and refusing to look at us as if we were still mounted on each other.
“I’ll be out in a few,” Grayson says calmly as I shake against him to keep my laughter to myself.
“Might be more than a few,” I whisper, not daring to look up.
Eric groans loudly. “I’ll let Jake know that we have to burn the couch.”
The door finally slams shut behind him. I peek up at Grayson, who’s grinning like an idiot.
“Think he’s going to go tell everyone now?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
He looks down at me, kissing the top of my nose. “Definitely.”
We had the luxury of staying in a hotel after the show last night, granting us what should have been a good night’s sleep. A reprieve from the adrenaline of the show and the high we never really came down from. But in reality, it just gave us the privacy to continue what started in the dressing room.
By the time we get to our room, I can barely keep my hands off him. Even with the embarrassing interruption, I want more—need it—and I want it now. The second the door shuts behind us, I’m already pressed against it with a possessive groan. His mouth finds mine like he’s been starving for it all night, like we hadn’t already given in to each other just hours before.
“Still not done with you, baby,” he whispers. “Not even close.”
I barely get a breath in before he’s leading me to the bed, shedding his clothes and mine like they’re just an unnecessary annoyance. It’s like he can’t stand the thought of not being able to touch me for another second, and I’m already aching for him again. I’m still soaked and breathless even though I’m also still half-wrecked, sore, and throbbing from earlier.
None of that matters. It’ll never be enough with him.
Grayson doesn’t rush. Not this time.
He lays me down on the edge of the bed like I’m something precious—something he can’t believe he gets to touch. My legs dangle off the side and he pushes them up to my chest and spreads apart my thighs with his hands before settling himself between them. He leans over and kisses me like he owns me, like every move I make belongs to him as he drags the tip of his cock against my heat. It’s just enough contact to make me start writhing beneath him, craving more.
“Grayson,please—”
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs against my ear, a hand wrapping gently around my neck. “I need you, too. I just want to savor it.”
When he does slide inside me again, it’s deeper, slower, and more intentional. Almost agonizing. His forehead presses against mine like he needs this as much as I do. Maybe even more. Every inch of him stretches me open, filling me until I’m gasping his name like a prayer as I dig my nails into his shoulders.
Round two is slower. Rougher, but in a way that isn’t hurried—not frantic with need and desperation to close the distance like before.
It’s focused.
Intense.
It’s about me.
Because now there’s no audience outside of the door and no time limit. He has all the time in the world to make me fall apart again and again and leave me wanting more every single time—and he knows it.
“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moans, his voice trembling. “You have no idea what you do to me, sweetheart.”
I cling to him as he rocks into me, slow and relentless, every thrust bringing me closer to the edge. One of his hands remains on my neck—a gentle grip, commanding without fear—while the other laces his fingers with mine above my head, pinning me to the bed like he has no intention of ever letting me go. He grinds deeper, harder, his rhythm now relentless, priced, and focused. His hips rock with devastating control at just the right angle with just the right amount of pressure—and I shatter beneath him.
“Look at me, Mia,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “I want to watch you come.”
And I do—with him inside me, above me, surrounding me—holding on like I’m the only thing that’s ever made sense. The orgasm rips through me like lightning, intense and electric. It makes my toes curl and steals my breath away. I cry out his name again like it’s the only word I know.
