Page 97 of On the Breakaway

“Too bad you only wanted to fuck once, and then never talk about it again.” I bite the inside of my cheek.

She looks up, staring at me for a beat, then raises her mouth to my ear.

“Last time, we didn’t fuck.”

20

Avery

The door barely makes it shut before Grayson’s mouth is on mine. The slam echoes through the suite, swallowed immediately by the rough sound he makes against my lips when I fist my hands into the front of his shirt and drag him closer.

Weeks of tension. Weeks of pretending we hate each other more than we want each other. Weeks of avoiding whatever the hell this is.

Finally.

Heat sparked beneath my skin when he touched me on the dance floor, burning hotter with every step back to the hotel. Now, his hand grips my jaw, hauling me against him until I can feel exactly how badly he wants me.

“God,” he mutters against my mouth. “You’re going to kill me, looking like this all of the time.”

“Is that why you kept staring at me like you wanted to bend me over something?”

His eyes flash, and then he does exactly that.

Everything crashes to the floor as he clears the desk in a single sweep before pinning my chest against it. His thigh wedges between mine while his mouth drags down my neck. One palm settles against my lower back as the other works the zipper of my dress down. I press my ass harder against him, earning a groan so deep it shreds the rest of my control.

The moment he’s done, he spins me around. Momentum carries us across the room until his back slams into the wall beside the door hard enough to rattle the framed artwork.

“And here I was, thinking you were going to be boring,” I whisper between open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

“Don’t start pretending you want boring now.”

A laugh escapes me, turning into a moan when his teeth scrape the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

For weeks, I convinced myself that the last time meant nothing. Just one reckless lapse in judgment fueled by irritation and far too much unresolved tension. It was a mistake that we could both forget ever happened. Except nothing about the way he touches me is forgettable.

Every brush of his mouth is slow enough to make me ache and rough enough to make my pulse jump. He kisses me as if trying to brand me with a permanent reminder of him. I don’t want him to stop. I’m desperate for the tight grip of his hands on my waist and the scrape of his teeth against my throat.

There was never any real mystery about how tonight would end. Every decision I made led right here: the dress, the missing underwear, the dance floor. Avoiding him for weeks only delayed this inevitability.

Greedy hands trail down my body, bunching the fabric of my dress higher until cool air brushes my thighs. Another shove sends him harder into the wall. In response, his fingers dig into my ass before lifting me effortlessly from the floor. My legs wrap around his waist as he turns us, the wall meeting my back at the exact moment his mouth finds mine.

“Did you have fun teasing me out there?” He asks roughly against my mouth.

“You seemed to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, well, we both know how wet you were for me.” His hips drag against me deliberately.

This side of Grayson is addicting.

Composure seems woven into him. He’s the kind of person who seems incapable of losing control for even a second. If anyone had told me a few months ago that he’d slide his hand under my dress in the middle of a club, I wouldn’t have believed it, which makes it even hotter. Grayson may be restrained with everyone else, but it’s so damn tempting to see all the ways I can make his restraint crack.

I yank his shirt off impatiently while he pins me to the wall with his hips. The sight of his bare chest makes my mouth water. Dark ink stretches across one side, drawing my eyes lower as I take in every inch of him.

“Are you done staring?” He asks, an arrogant smirk tugging at his mouth.

Rather than deny it, I lift an eyebrow. “Definitely not.”

A low chuckle vibrates through him, creating the most delicious friction between us. I grind against him, his belt buckle pressing against my clit. The amusement vanishes from his expression, replaced by something darker.