Page 35

The wrong answer.

My teeth catch her nipple through the lace, and her back arches into me, and the moan she lets out is one I have to swallow with my hand before Nicki hears it through the door.

“Is that so?” I murmur against her, my tongue dragging slowly over the lace where my teeth just were. “You haven’t missed me for one minute, Birdie?”

“Not one,” she pants behind my palm.

“I don’t believe you, I think you’re being a brat, baby,” I growl, leaning closer to her face. “You want me to remind you what a brat gets, Birdie?” My hand slides down from her mouth. My other hand finds the zipper of her jeans and pulls it down slowly, the sound louder than her breathing and filling the dressing room. “Is that what we’re doing here?”

“Please.” Her thighs are already shaking against mine. “Please remind me.”

I drag the denim open and push my hand inside.

Her underwear is soaked through. Soaked. Soaked for me. The cotton is hot under the heel of my hand, and the part of me I’ve kept on a leash for four years strains the leash so hard it snaps clean off. My fingers slip under the cotton and find her hot and slick and already clenching for me before I’ve even moved, and I groan into the side of her throat.

“Brat,” I murmur. “Look at you. Telling me you don’t miss me with this between your thighs.”

“Gray…”

“No begging now. You lost the privilege when you lied to me.” My voice in a low rasp, and I am barely holding on. I am seconds from locking her in here for the rest of the night because the animal in me doesn’t want to share her with anyone. “Hands on the couch.”

She braces both hands flat on either side of her on the couch. I slide two fingers into her in one stroke.

“Gray!” she yelps, her fingers flying to my forearm, nails biting into the muscle.

“Quiet,” I murmur, my free hand coming up to wrap around the front of her throat, my thumb pressing soft under her jaw. My other hand pumps into her, slow and deep, the heel of my palm grinding against her clit. “Quiet, Birdie. Your manager will hear.”

“Mmmm,” she moans against my palm, grinding down on me, her hips chasing the friction with a rhythm she cannot help.

“You can take it,” I whisper against the shell of her ear, dragging my tongue along the curve of it, curling my fingers inside her the way she likes, the way I haven’t forgotten in four years. Her whole body bows on a soundless gasp. “You will. You are going to come on my hand right now, because my naughty girl is going to swallow every ounce of cum she has missed for the last four years.”

Her head drops forward into the curve of my neck, and she muffles the next moan into the cotton of my shirt, her teeth catching the fabric.

“And you are going to say thank you, Gray,” I whisper against her temple, my fingers moving inside her in long, merciless strokes. “Thank you for making me cum. Say it.”

“Thank you,” she pants, her hips bouncing in my lap, riding the heel of my palm, the wig sliding further off her shoulder with every grind. “Thank you, Gray. Thank you…”

“Look at you following instructions,” I murmur, my thumb pressing harder against the bundle of nerves between her legs, watching her bottom lip catch on her teeth. “Keep going, and I may reward you, brat.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, Gray,” she gasps, the rhythm of her words matching the rhythm of her hips, her gloss already smeared at the corners of her mouth.

She is shaking. Her thighs are trembling on either side of mine. I can feel her clenching around my fingers, hot and tight and close. She is going to break in the next three strokes, and I’m not letting her until she gives me what I want.

“Birdie,” I breathe against her ear, slowing my thumb just enough to drag a whine out of her throat. “You know what a brat has to do to come for me. Tell me the truth.”

“Gray…” she whimpers, her hips chasing my hand, her nails digging crescents into my forearm.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” I murmur, my mouth dragging slowly down the cords of her throat, my hand tightening just enough that she feels it.

“I can’t…” she pants, her forehead pressing harder into my temple. “Gray, please. Please, just let me…”

“Tell. Me,” I growl, curling my fingers hard, hitting the spot inside her I know better than my own name. Her whole body jerks against me. “Did you miss me, Birdie? Use your words.”

“No,” she whimpers, stubborn and trembling and ruined, her teeth catching her own bottom lip.

I still my thumb completely.

“Grayson, don’t you dare!” she gasps, her hips bucking against my motionless hand, chasing what I just took away.