Page 5 of Property of Gray

“I have plenty of fun.” I grab the joint and my lighter.

“Never with me. At least not anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I see the way you look at me sometimes. Like it hurts to. Either that or like you hate me. I just can’t figure out why or what I did.”

“How much of you had to drink?” I take a hard draw.

“Not nearly enough.”

“I could never hate you.” I reach around her and snuff out the joint, putting it in my pocket with her ribbon. I pull the ribbon out and shove it into the front pocket of her shorts.

“Why, Braxton Gray, you’ve got your hand in my pants.” She giggles, and I look down. I’m more fucked up than I thought I was. My palm flattens against the lace of her undies. She shifts, and my fingers touch a wet spot.

Goddamn. I groan as she flutters them long dark lashes, pouting her perfectly kissable lips. I’m going to hell. I’m practically palming her pussy. I can’t help but wonder if she’s bare, has a landing strip, or goes all natural. I’m a man and Willow Woods is all woman now.

The way she curves against my touch, wanting something I can’t give her, is evidence of that.

She’s no longer my best friend’s bratty little sister. She’s a woman I want to fucking taste.

“Um, Gray.”

“Yeah, pipsqueak?”

“Are you going to just stand here with your hand in my pants, or are you going to touch me?”

“Shit. Sorry.” I jerk my hand out of her pants and take a step back. I don’t know which of us is more disappointed, but I can’t go there. Not with her.

Never with her.

No matter how damn bad I want it. And, fuck me, do I want her. To touch her. Taste her. Consume her. Own her. The thought of having her is painful. My cock strains against my jeans. The idea of her coming undone at my touch has me rock hard. Has me saying Kaylene, who? The woman I’ve been off and on again with is the farthest thing from my mind.

“We should get back to the party before someone notices you’re gone and comes looking. I’d hate for them to get the wrong idea.”

“No one is coming out here looking for me.”

“I need another beer,” I mutter. I’m a fucking coward.

“What about what I need?” she huffs.

I back her into the tree, leaning in close. The sweet scent of her perfume invades my senses. I put my forearm over her head. The rough bark grating against my skin. Willow stares up at me, her lips parted, eyes full of wonder. I tuck her sandy brown hair behind her ear, trailing the rough pad of my finger along her jaw and down her neck. Goosebumps pebbles along her skin as I continue tracing down her chest and between the valley of her breasts.

“What is it that you think you need?”

“A real man.” Her lips press to mine, the sweetest of sins. The most forbidden of troubles.

“Can’t be me, babe.” I pull back chock-full of regret.

“Can’t or won’t?” her voice comes out in a hoarse whisper that caresses my cock.

I breathe in deep, scrubbing a palm over my face, closing my eyes. “Both,” I confess. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could.” I open my eyes, but she’s gone.

I watch her stomp through the woods, hating her walking away, but knowing it’s for the best. I’m not the man she needs or should want. Hell, no one in this club is good enough for Willow. My chest squeezes tight at the thought of her with another brother of the club. Hell, the thought of her with anyone damn near kills me. It shouldn’t. But fuck me. Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Willow Woods is under my fucking skin and in my veins. I only know of one way to bleed her out. I can’t do that. Not to her.

Not only would Woods kill me. Hurting her would fucking gut me.

She can’t be another notch on my bedpost.