“Gray,” she screams. “I’m going to come. Fuck, it feels too good!”
She pulses around me, screaming and moaning in a blubbering mess, but I don’t let up, fucking her through her orgasm.
“Ea prima venit,”I rasp into her ear, slamming into her. “She. Comes. First.”It takes two more pumps of my hips before I’m spilling inside her.
“Fuck,” I scream, holding her hips to me so I’m deep inside her. It feels like I’m coming forever before I finally stop throbbing inside her. I think I may have blacked out for a few seconds; when I come to, I see Maisie laid out beneath me like a Picasso painting. I’ve never experienced sex like that. I didn’t know itcould be that life changing, and now, I don’t know how I ever went without her.
“That was?—”
“Perfect,” I whisper, cutting her off to capture her lips with mine. She moans into my mouth, kissing me back with equal burning passion.
“I was going to say exhausting,” she replies. “I need a snack now.” The mischief in her eyes has me planting kisses on every inch of skin I can find. I don’t care that my cum is dripping out of her. The thought of it has me wanting to push it back in and fill her with more until she’s swollen with my child.
We spend the rest of the night wrapped in blankets together, chasing shooting stars with our eyes and filling our stomachs with snacks. It’s the perfect night spent with the perfect girl. I’m not sure how life could get any better than this. This woman is everything to me, and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep her.
I’ve had a single taste, and now, I’m addicted.
maisie
. . .
THIRTY-FIVE
Just as theleaves have fallen, so have the days. It’s hard to believe another month has come and gone, which means I only have one month left here. With my family, withhim. The thought of staying used to give me anxiety, but now, the thought of going back to my old life is having the same effect.
Life has been everything I never knew it could be. Somehow, love has crept back into my heart like it always belonged there.
Evie and I have taken up permanent residence in Grayson's bed. Yes, there is a dedicated room in his house for me, but why would I want to sleep in a cold bed alone when I could be snuggled up next to a Greek god? A verygivingGreek god, may I add. We work all day together, come back to his house to cook dinner, and then spend the rest of our night cuddled up on his couch or rolling around in his bed.
After breaking the dam that night in Grayson’s truck, the floodgates haven’t slowed. If anything, they’ve rushed harder, pushing us towards a cliffside that will have us both free-falling if we aren't careful. Yes, things have kicked up a notch physically, but I’m scared to admit my heart might be in the tangle as well.
As a little girl, I always dreamed of a knight swooping me off my feet. After the car accident, all those dreams died.
With writing, though, I can’t seem to stop the words from pouring out of me. It seems my writing has been mirroring my life in that aspect. This story has been flowing from my fingers to the point of pain, and Gray, the gentleman he is, massages them each night. He’s asked on multiple occasions if he could read any of it, but, for now, I want to keep it a secret.
I wrote until the early hours of the morning, so wrapped up in my story, I didn’t realize how late it was. Usually, I would have Gray to drag me away from my keyboard and into bed, but he never came home last night.
The sheets were still cold this morning when I woke up. That tingling ball of anxiety has sat low in my stomach all morning, waiting for him to at least pick up his phone and let me know he’s okay. I knowtheyhave him. He wouldn’t just disappear. I saw the way his face dropped during dinner when a text came though.
They summoned him.
As each hour passes, my anxiety grows until I’m a jittery mess, pacing the kitchen with a second energy drink. The front door creeks open, and I’m racing for it before he even enters.
“Grayson, is that you?” I call.
He stumbles in, bruised and bleeding, and my suspicions are confirmed. He fought last night. I know I should be happy he’s home and safe, but I can’t be, not when the thoughts of his death playing out in my head could have been a very real reality.
“Hi, honey,” he rasps, kicking his shoes off.
“Jesus Christ, Grayson. You’re hurt.”
“I’ll be okay. Just a few cuts and bruises. Nothing worth writing home about,” he jokes, but it falls flat.
“This has to stop. You were gone all night. I was worried sick, thinking you were laying in some run-down building drowning in a puddle of your own blood.” My voice wobbles, coming out a whisper. “You didn’t even call or text.”
His face drops immediately, his palms caressing my cheeks to pull me in for a kiss. “I’m so sorry, Maisie. It was never my intentionto make you worry. My phone died, and I swear, I’m doing everything in my power to get out of this mess. That’s why I was out all night, working on a plan of sorts.”
My face crumples. “Of sorts? What does that mean?”
