His words send me over the edge. I come with a guttural cry, spilling over Gray’s fist, my body clenching around his length. It goes on forever, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me as Gray continues to stroke me, his cock swelling impossibly larger inside me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants above me, his hips jerking erratically before he freezes, buried to the hilt inside me. I feel him pulsing, the hot rush of his release filling me as he groans my name.
We collapse onto the bed in a boneless heap, Gray careful not to crush me with his weight. For a long moment, we just lie there, panting, connected in the most intimate way possible. Then Gray gently pulls out, making me wince at the sudden emptiness.
He shifts, turning me over to face him, his hands moving to untie my wrists. The silk falls away, and Gray gently massages the red marks. He doesn’t let go, maintaining contact as he leans down to press a soft kiss to each wrist.
His expression has shifted, the raw hunger replaced by something protective and tender. He tucks a strand of sweat-dampened hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice rough but gentle.
I nod, not trusting my voice yet. I feel cut open, vulnerable and raw, but in the best possible way. Like I’ve been taken apart and put back together as something more whole than I was before.
Gray keeps me close, one arm wrapped around me, the other hand still tracing patterns on my skin—my shoulder, my chest, my hip. His touch is steady, grounding me as I float in the aftermath of what just happened between us.
“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmurs, his lips against my temple. “I’m the only one who gets to ruin you, Wyatt.” His arm tightens around me protectively. “But I’ll always put you back together.”
I close my eyes, letting his words wash over me, pressing them deep into my memory where I can protect them. I’m under no illusions about what happens next. This is our beginning and our ending, all wrapped into one night. There’s no after for us.But right now, with Gray’s arms around me and his promise still vibrating in my chest, I choose to stay here, in this moment, for as long as I can.
17
Gray
I wake before the sun rises, my body still keeping military time no matter how many years of civilian life I rack up. Wyatt’s sprawled across the mattress beside me, one arm flung over his head, lips parted in sleep. My first instinct is to slide out of bed, dress silently, and disappear before he wakes. Clean break, no awkward morning after. But I can’t make myself move. Instead, I lie there watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, and for the first time in my life, I let myself want something I shouldn’t have.
Something about the pale morning light filtering through the blinds makes everything clearer. Or maybe it’s just that I’m too tired to lie to myself anymore. I’ve spent my entire adult life making the responsible choice and putting duty above desire. What has it gotten me? A lonely apartment. A job protecting people who mostly don’t deserve it. And a constant, gnawing emptiness that no amount of physical exertion or professional accomplishment can fill.
I slide out of bed as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him yet. A pleasant soreness in my body reminds me of last night.
Carson Kingsley’s job offer hangs in my mind as I pad into the bathroom. Head of security for Kingsley Industries. More money than I’ve ever made. Real responsibility, real impact. Everything I’m supposed to want.
I turn on the shower, stepping under the spray before it’s fully heated. The cold shock feels right, wakes me up and clears my head. Steam begins to rise as I reach for Wyatt’s ridiculously expensive body wash, something that could pay for my weekly groceries. It smells like him—like pine and something spicy.
By the time I shut off the water, I’ve made my decision. It feels less like choosing and more like acknowledging something that was already decided the moment Wyatt dropped to his knees in this very penthouse. Some choices aren’t really choices at all.
I find an unopened toothbrush in his drawer—of course he has a stockpile of them, probably for overnight guests who don’t plan to stay. The thought makes something ugly twist in my gut, and I push it away. What matters is that I’m here, and so is he, and I’m not running anymore.
Towel wrapped around my waist, I step back into the bedroom just as Wyatt stirs. He blinks sleepily, stretching like a cat, then freezes when he sees me.
“You’re still here,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“I’m still here.”
He sits up, wincing as he shifts position, the sheet pooling around his waist. The morning light catches on the marks I left on his collarbone, his shoulders, the faint bruises on his sides shaped like my fingertips. Something possessive flares in my chest at the sight.
“You showered,” he says, stating the obvious, eyes tracking a water droplet as it slides down my chest and disappears into the towel.
“Hope that’s okay. I took one of your toothbrushes too.”
Wyatt shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Mi casa es su casa and all that.” His eyes roam over my body with undisguised hunger. “Besides, I kind of like the idea of you using my stuff.”
His honesty makes my chest tighten. No mask, no bratty behavior, just Wyatt looking at me like I’m something he wants to keep.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, moving closer to the bed.
He stretches again, testing his limits. “Sore. But in the best fucking way.” A flush creeps up his neck. “It was worth it.”
I can’t resist him, don’t even try to. I drop the towel and slide under the covers beside him, skin to skin. He makes a small, surprised sound as I pull him against me.
