Page 127 of PR Stunt

“I hate that I ever thought I could have one night and walk away unscathed.” He presses a palm to his chest, like he’s trying to steady something within himself. “I pitched that truce in Mexico for PR. Technically. But really, I just wanted your guard down. I’ve never opened up to anyone the way I did with you.”

He lets out a quiet breath, and a crooked smile tugs at his lips. “I still think about how red your face got when you caught me reading that book. Like I hadn’t already figured out you’re not nearly as innocent as you pretend to be.”

The smile fades, and his expression shifts into something honest. “But it’s never been just that. I wanted all of you. The messy. The brilliant. The fiery, impossible-to-ignore version that everyone else tries to tame. I never wanted to change a single thing.”

Something shatters inside me. And instead of letting fear win again, I tilt my head up and crash my lips to his. The second we connect, it’s everything. It’s heat and hunger, but it’s more than that. It’s the weight of rightness, of knowing. Of something deep and undeniable finally breaking free. Mexico had been fire. An explosion of something neither of us could hold back anymore. It was passion and heat, the inevitable burn of something we had been fighting for too long. But this isn’t just fire. This is the feeling of my world tilting back into place. This is safety. This is home. His hands are on my waist, pulling me in, his body slotting perfectly against mine like it was always meant to be there. I fist my hands into his shirt, dragging him closer, because distance feels unbearable now. Like I need him closer, or I’ll unravel completely.

His hands. I missed them so much.

One slides up my spine, and the other threads into my damp hair, tilting my head back so he can deepen the kiss. He kisses me like he’s making up for every second we wasted, every moment we spent pretending this wasn’t real. I melt into him, every part of me surrendering, and for the first time since this whole thing started, maybe even longer, nothing feels scary. I surrender my feelings and impulses completely to him.

He pulls back just enough to search my face. His eyes scan mine, looking for something. I exhale sharply, still breathless, my body still burning, my hands still curled into his shirt.

“I want this. You. Whatever this is, whatever we’re calling it, I want it,” I confess.

His eyes search mine again, as if he doesn’t quite believe me.

I reach for him again, my fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. “Everything you just said… No one’s ever said anything like that to me.” My voice catches, but I keep going.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear that. Not for the real me.”

His throat moves with a quiet swallow, his gaze soft but intent on mine.

“I’ve spent so long trying to be what people expect. But with you…I don’t want to perform. I just want this. You. I was scared. And stupid. And I let one moment get in the way of something I’ve wanted for longer than I’m ready to admit.” I shake my head, my voice softening. “You’re not just a headline to me, Grayson.”

Then I kiss him again, pulling him closer and pressing myself against him like I can somehow prove it with touch alone. Like I can rewrite all the ways I’ve failed to show it before. Grayson groans softly against my mouth. His hands stay at my waist, but they don’t move. He pulls away enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath coming fast.

“You just went through a lot today,” he says quietly. “We should slow down.”

I shake my head, my voice certain. “No. This is exactly what I need.”

With a low groan, he slides his hands lower, gripping the backs of my thighs with a quiet intensity that makes me gasp. Then, in one smooth motion, I’m off the ground, wrapping my legs around him.

“Upstairs,” he murmurs against my lips.

We barely make it to the bed before we’re on each other again. The backs of my knees hit the edge, and I let myself fall back, pulling him with me. His weight settles over me, his mouth never leaving mine as his body presses me into the mattress. I let out a quiet sigh when I feel him, hard and insistent, pressing against my thigh through the fabric of his dress pants.

He groans again, his lips trailing along my jaw, down my neck, breath warm against my skin. “You have no idea,” he murmurs softly against my neck, “how important you are to me.”

Heat pools low in my stomach, liquid and restless. I arch against him, tilting my head back as his mouth continues its descent down my throat, across my collarbone, lower, lower. He tugs at the tie of my robe, and I let him push the fabric off my shoulders. The cool air brushes over my newly exposed skin, making my nipples tighten. Grayson pulls back enough to look at me, his blue eyes dark, devouring.

“Charlie,” he breathes, his hands sliding over my waist, my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

I shiver under his touch, my breath hitching when his fingers skim lower, over my stomach, down my thighs, parting them with the slowest, most teasing drag. I’m already trembling when he presses a kiss to my inner thigh, his fingers gripping and spreading me wider.

Grayson looks up at me through heavy lashes, a dark glint in his eyes that sends a new rush of heat through me. “Beautiful,” he whispers, and the heat of his breath against my skin makes me shiver all over.

“Grayson,” I gasp, fisting the sheets in my hands.

He looks up at me from between my legs, ruining me with nothing but his gaze.

“Look at you,” he rasps. “Falling apart for me.”

The first brush of his tongue has me arching off the bed, a choked sound escaping my lips. He groans against me. He feels so good. Every movement, every slow, taunting stroke of his tongue sends heat curling through me, tightening and building. I can’t breathe. I can’t think.

“Grayson!” I yell.

His grip tightens on my thighs. “That’s it, baby,” he rasps. “Scream for me.”