“I’m willing to beg,” I tell her quietly into her hair. “If that’s what it takes, I will beg.”
“Why?” Her voice is muffled and wrecked against my shirt. “Why me? You could have anyone.”
“Because you are so easy to love, Miranda.” My throat is closing up. “Even when you’re mad at me. Even when you’re being snarky. Even when you’re standing in a parking lot threatening to break my ribs. I love every side of you. Even the parts of you that you hate.”
She lifts her face to look at me. Her eyes are red. Her cheeks are wet. She has never been more beautiful.
I take her face in both hands.
“If you give me a chance,” I murmur, “I will make you so confident in my love that you will never doubt me again. Not once. Not ever.”
She stares up at me. Her lips part.
“Grayson.”
“Say yes.” My voice is barely a whisper. “I’m asking. Please. Say yes.”
For a long second, she doesn’t move.
Then she whispers, “Yes.”
I take her mouth before the word has fully left it.
She kisses me back, hard this time, with everything she’s been holding in for months. Her arms slide up around my neck. I pull her into my lap so the pine needles aren’t grinding into her knees, my arms wrapping around her, every careful piece of restraint I’ve been building crumbling in slow motion.
I lift my head once. “Are you sure?”
“Don’t ask me again.”
I lift her in my arms and stand. The clearing opens farther through the trees, where a smaller mossy patch of ground sits in a fall of warm afternoon light. I lay her down on my coat where the moss is thickest, and I follow her down, careful with her bandaged arm.
She pulls me into her, her fingers gripping the back of my neck.
“I want to be careful with you,” I murmur against her throat. My hand slides under the hem of her sweater, and her skin is hot under my palm. “Your arm—”
“Grayson.” Her breath catches as my mouth moves to her collarbone. “If you’re careful right now, I will actually kill you.”
A low laugh shakes out of me against her skin.
I lift her sweater over her head slowly, then unhook her bra and toss it aside. Her nipples are already tight and flushed. I take one into my mouth, sucking gently while my tongue flicks over the sensitive peak. Miranda arches sharply, a soft whimper escaping her as her hand fists in my hair.
My hand trails lower, unbuttoning her jeans and sliding them down her legs along with her panties. When I part her thighs, I can see how wet she already is, her folds slick and glistening. I run two fingers slowly up her slit, spreading her arousal.
“You’re drenched,” I murmur against her neck, voice rough with desire. “All of this, just for me.”
She jerks at the contact, a needy sound escaping her throat as I circle her swollen clit with my thumb. I push one thick finger inside her, then a second, curling them against that spot that makes her hips buck. Her inner walls are hot, silky, and clenching rhythmically around my fingers as I pump them in and out. Her wetness coats my hand with every stroke.
“Grayson—oh God—” Her head falls back, lips parted, chest heaving.
I keep working her with my fingers while my mouth moves between her breasts, licking and sucking at her nipples until they’re glistening and even harder. When I press my thumb harder against her clit, her thighs start trembling. She comes hard, crying out as her pussy pulses and gushes around my fingers. I groan at the sight, stroking her through every wave until she’s panting and flushed beneath me.
“Easy, baby,” I murmur, kissing her inner thigh.
“Get up here,” she rasps, tugging at my shoulders.
I strip off the rest of my clothes. My cock is heavy and aching, the thick head already leaking. I settle between her spread thighs and rub myself along her drenched folds, teasing her entrance with slow, deliberate strokes.
I lean down and capture one of her nipples again, licking and sucking it slowly while I continue teasing her slit with the head of my cock. Miranda writhes underneath me, her fingers digging into my back.
