Page 128 of PR Stunt

The words crack something open in me. I break apart beneath him, and a sharp cry escapes my lips as pleasure shatters me. And he doesn’t stop. Not until I’m spent, gasping, trembling beneath him. Not until he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure from me with his wicked tongue. Only then does he crawl back up my body, pressing his mouth to mine and letting me taste myself on his.

His forehead rests against mine as we catch our breath. “You have a condom?” he murmurs, voice rough with want.

I nod, tilting my chin toward the nightstand. “In there.”

He leans over, opens the drawer, and grabs one. Rising to his full height, he strips off the rest of his clothes, never breaking eye contact. The foil tears with a quick rip, and he rolls it on with deliberate movements.

Then he’s back on top of me, settling between my legs, forearms braced on either side of my face, his body hovering just above mine. He kisses me, soft at first, almost reverent. He lines himself up against me, teasing for half a breath before he moves, one deep, claiming motion. I gasp, my back arching, hands reaching for his shoulders, but his hand catches mine, dragging them above my head and holding me there. His other hand grips my hip. His hold is strong and unyielding, a command wrapped in heat. It only makes me ache more.

A guttural groan escapes him as he sinks deeper inside me. “You’re mine.” he says against my mouth.

And I am. Completely. Shamelessly. His.

Then he moves, unhurried but unrelenting, like he’s memorizing the way I respond to every inch of him. My body clings to him, hips rising to meet each thrust, desperate to get closer. My nipples graze his chest, sending sparks of pleasure through me.

He then releases my wrists, and his hands roam. One slides to the base of my throat. The other grips my thigh. Our mouths crash together in a kiss that’s messy and hot and full of everything we have missed out on.

He leans in, his voice a sinful rasp against my ear. “You’re everything, Charlie. Everything.”

I wrap my arms around his neck as the pace builds. Each thrust comes harder, faster, until I’m drowning in the pressure and the pleasure and the sound of our bodies moving together.

“Keep taking it, baby. Just like that.”

The words wreck me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper, and whatever hold he had on himself snaps. His hands find my hips, pinning me down beneath him. “Charlie…” His voice is wrecked and full of need. His mouth finds mine, hungry and raw, as he drives into me, chasing the edge. I break first. Pleasure crashes over me again, fast and blinding. My body shudders beneath him as I fall apart. Grayson groans into my mouth, his rhythm faltering as he follows, spilling into me with a low, desperate sound. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing. Nothing but tangled limbs, warm skin, And the aftershock of something that felt world-altering.

His hands find my face, cupping it gently. He presses his forehead to mine. His lips brush my cheek and then my jaw, like he can’t stop touching me.

Then, quiet but certain, he says, “I’m never letting you go.”

A soft breath escapes me. My heart pounds. My skin still tingles. I blink up at him, completely unraveled and somehow more whole than I’ve ever been.

“You don’t have to. I’m already yours.” I reach for him again. This kiss is slower, as if we’re soaking up the moment and know there’s many more to come. When I finally pull back, I trace my thumb along his jaw and murmur, “Are buttered noodles still on the menu?”

Grayson laughs, quiet and rough, eyes sparking with something that looks a lot like love. “Only if you’re dessert, baby.”

He bites my neck, playful but hard enough to make me gasp. And then his hands are on me again for round three.

Chapter 39

I wake slowly, my body heavy in the best possible way.

For a moment, I don’t open my eyes. I lie there, suspended in warmth, aware of the softness beneath me and the faint ache in my muscles—the kind that pulls memory back in pieces until everything from last night returns at once and heat spreads low through my stomach. The kitchen. His voice. The way he looked at me like there was nowhere left to hide. A quiet breath leaves me before my eyes fully open. Sunlight already spills across the room, soft and gold, warming the sheets tangled around my legs. Bright enough that I know the morning has already moved on without me.

I turn my head.

Grayson is still asleep beside me.

His hair is a mess, dark strands falling across his forehead, his mouth slightly parted, his face stripped of every sharp edge he carries when he’s awake. His lashes rest against his cheeks, unfairly long, and there’s something almost disarming about him like this. Less impossible movie star. More boy. My Gray.

The sheet sits low around his waist, exposing the steady rise and fall of his chest, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the small scatter of hair across his chest that catches the light every time he breathes. One of his fingers twitches against the mattress like he’s dreaming about something just out of reach. And absurdly, my chest tightens at that, too.

Last night feels suspended all around us, still clinging to the room. In the rumpled sheets. The discarded clothes near the chair. The silence that no longer feels sharp or uncertain. For the first time in what feels like forever, nothing inside me is bracing for impact. No second-guessing. No rehearsed distance. No carefully constructed version of myself trying to stay in control. Just this strange, unfamiliar fullness under my ribs.

Carefully, I slip from the bed and reach for my robe crumpled near the floor, but my hand pauses halfway there. Instead, I pick up Grayson’s discarded dress shirt from where it hangs half off the chair, the fabric still faintly carrying his cologne, and slide it over my shoulders. The hem brushes high against my thighs as I fasten a few buttons, leaving the rest undone. I move quietly around the bed, careful not to disturb him.

At the bedroom door, I stop.

One hand rests against the frame as I glance back over my shoulder. He hasn’t moved. Still asleep exactly where I left him. A small smile pulls at my mouth. Then I slip out into the hallway and pull the door mostly closed behind me. Downstairs, the ocean catches my eye through the glass before I even reach the kitchen, silver light dancing across the room like the whole house is still waking up too. I head straight for the espresso machine first, because whatever version of myself exists this morning still requires caffeine before functioning. By the time the first warm sip hits my tongue, I’m already crossing to the pantry, pulling open cupboards with one hand while holding my mug in the other.