Things had been speeding up as of late—and not because of him. His shy librarian was slowly revealing some wildcat tendencies.
Nowadays, their glances lingered, every brush of skin felt intentional, and every goodbye kiss left them both panting for air and reluctant to part.
He never pushed, but there was no denying he wanted her. And Wren knew it.
Better yet, she shared those same intense desires.
Wren was proving to be as much of a spitfire as Lark, and he fucking loved it. She had a wicked sense of humor, a foul mouth when provoked or when discussing topics she was passionate about, and she could give his brother Maverick a run on being a true smart-ass.
However, unlike Lark, all of that was delivered in a quieter tone and reserved only for Grayson. He loved that she felt comfortable revealing that side to him, and while there was a part of him that would love nothing more than to hoard her carefree spirit, he hoped there would be a time when she’d be at ease enough with his family to show them the same.
Not that she’d had much practice. With the exception of those dinners at the wine-tasting room, when an occasional family member would stop by to say hello, Wren hadn’t spent any time with his siblings, cousins, or parents, and she’d yet to come to Sunday dinner. Something that he intended to change very soon.
Because as far as he was concerned, she was it for him, and Grayson was anxious to advance this thing between them. He’d given Maverick shit all summer for rushing things with Ella, the two of them moving in together, getting engaged, and planning a wedding at the speed of light. Right now, though, he fucking got it.
If it was up to him, he’d already have Wren living with him in cabin seven, a ring on her finger, and his baby in her belly. Which he knew would freak her the fuck out. He also hadn’t told her about the legend surrounding his family. Mainly because he didn’t want her to think he was insane.
He kept telling himself that they were still in the very early days, but as he spent more time with her, the weaker that argument became. At this point, his self-control deserved some sort of goddamn award.
The movie playing on television had become background noise nearly twenty minutes ago. His hand rested on her thigh, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles. Every pass seemed to send heat spiraling between them.
She shifted closer, legs parting just a bit as her hand landed on top of his…before inching it upward.
He worked to steady his breathing, his thumb resuming its caress. Then she shifted again, scooting her ass closer to the edge of the couch—which meant his hand drifted even higher.
It was quickly becoming apparent that none of her movements were unintentional.
“Wren?”
“Hmm,” she hummed. Her eyes were glued to the television, but she wasn’t fooling him. She wasn’t watching the movie any more than he was.
“You’ve been fidgeting for ten straight minutes.”
She grinned. “Maybe I’m uncomfortable.”
He turned toward her, waiting until her gaze met his. “And what would make you more comfortable?”
She laughed softly—then did something he totally hadn’t expected. In one swift motion, she swung one leg over his thighs until she was facing him, straddling his lap.
His hands instinctively reached for her ass, cupping her tight cheeks and tugging her even closer, until they were crotch to crotch.
After tonight, he was bringing a couple pairs of lounge pants and keeping them here, because his fucking jeans were going to cause him a permanent injury. He was already in danger of wearing a tattoo on his shaft from the zipper.
“Little bird,” he murmured, his jaw clenched. Apart from glancing touches and a fuck-ton of kissing, they hadn’t advanced as far as physical play was concerned. Their kisses were shared while sitting next to each other on the couch, or while standing at her doorway, or against the driver’s side of her car before she drove home for the night.
She hummed her “hmm?” again.
He wasn’t sure what he’d intended to say next. Wren’s actions rendered every brain cell in his head utterly useless when she tilted her hips, grinding her denim-covered pussy against his also too-fucking-covered dick.
Her hum changed to a long “mmmm,” and he was hard-pressed not to mimic the luxurious sound.
Grayson left one hand on her ass, the other reaching behind her head, grasping a handful of her long wavy blonde hair. His fist closed around the strands, giving them a slight tug before pulling her mouth to his so he could claim it in a kiss that was a hell of a lot hotter than the ones that had preceded it.
Their tongues danced, and he tasted the sugar from the sodas they’d had with their pizza for dinner. He’d never had a sweet tooth until her, but damn if he wasn’t addicted to her taste. As they kissed, she continued to grind against him.
He growled, the rough sound coming from low in his throat. She lifted her head, adding her own moan to the symphony they were creating.
So far, he hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t tested the waters on her turn-ons, but that ended tonight. He pulled her hair with more force. It was a total head rush when her eyes drifted closed and she whimpered with arousal, her face flushed with naked desire.
