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Soft at first, his warm lips barely moving, holding my face like I’m something worth holding carefully, and I feel it everywhere, from the place his palms are warm against my cheeks all the way down to the soles of my feet pressed against the truck bed. His thumb sweeps once along my cheekbone, slow and absentmindedly, like touching me has become as natural as breathing, and I lean into it the way I lean into all of it, completely, with nothing held back.
“So, is this the move you had for all those girls back in high school?” I murmur against his mouth, and the laugh that rumbles through his chest vibrates against my palms where I’ve pressed them flat against his t-shirt.
“No, I normally asked them if they wanted to cum during a star show.” His voice is low, rough at the edges, and my clit throbs.
“I would love to come under a star show,” I whisper against his lips.
He growls, dropping his hands from my face to my hips and he lifts me up until I’m straddling his lap with my knees pressing into the blankets on either side of his thighs. His hands slide up under the hem of my hoodie.
His palms are calloused against my ribs, and I make a sound I didn’t plan on making.
“There she is,” he breathes, and the crooked smile finally arrives, the one that makes my heart do something stupid. “Love that sound. Love making you make that sound.”
“Shut up.” But I’m already reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, already tugging it up and over his head, and then his chest is bare in the starlight, and I have to stop for a second because, after ten years of looking at him, my body still hasn’t learned to be casual about it. The broadness of his shoulders. The way his chest tapers down to a stomach that’s flat and hard and ridged with muscle, the six-pack he maintains with an almost religious devotion to his gym routine. And lower, the V-line that cuts down from his hips and disappears into the waistband of his jeans, sharp and devastating and utterly unfair.
“You’re staring,” he says, and there’s no embarrassment in his voice, just that low, pleased rumble that makes my thighs tighten around his hips.
“I’m appreciating how sexy my man looks in the moonlight.”
“I like the sound of that.”
His hands slide higher under my hoodie, and I lift my arms so he can pull it off over my head. “I like being yours, and I love you being mine.”
The night air hits my skin and I shiver. But only for a second, because Grayson’s hands are already moving, already tracing the outline of my sports bra, his fingers hooking under the band and pulling it up and off until I’m bare from the waist up and he’s looking at me the way he always looks at me, like he can’t quite believe I’m real.
“Jesus,” he says, and his voice breaks on the word. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, Sienna. You know that? Every time I look at you, I think I must’ve done something right in a past life.”
“Grayson…”
“I’m serious.” His hands cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, and I gasp and arch into his touch. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And you’re mine. You’ve been mine since we were kids climbing that stupid oak tree, and you’re going to be mine forever.”
I lean forward and kiss him hard, because if I try to say anything I might cry, and I don’t want to cry right now. I want to feel him. I want to feel everything.
His mouth opens beneath mine, and the kiss turns hungry, desperate, our teeth clicking together, and his hands gripping my waist hard enough that I might have bruises tomorrow. I don’t care. I want the evidence that this happened, that he’s real, that this night under all these stars is actually mine.
“Lie back.” I push his shoulders, and he goes willingly, settling back against the pillows with his arms behind his head like he’s getting comfortable for a show. The starlight traces silver lines along the ridges of his stomach muscles, pooling in the hollows of his collarbone, catching the pale blue of his eyes as he watches me.
“What are you going to do to me?” His voice is pure sex, low and rough and full of anticipation.
“Giving you a private show under the stars.”
I pop the button on his jeans, and he lifts his hips so I can tug them down. His boxers follow, and then he’s naked in the truck bed, his cock hard and glistening at the tip, and the sight of him like this, all muscle and want and patient hunger, makes something hot and liquid pool in my belly.
I shimmy out of my jean shorts and panties,plain black cotton, nothing special, but the way Grayson looks at me makes me feel like I’m wearing lingerie worth a thousand dollars,and then I’m straddling him again, my hands braced on his chest.
“No, tonight is about you,” he says, catching my wrist. “Turn around for me, Sienna. I want you to look at the stars as I take you.”
My body flushes hot. I do what he says, turning until I’m facing away from him, my back to his chest, and then I reach down and position him at my entrance and sink down onto his cock in one slow, steady motion.
The sound he makes is guttural, broken, his hips jerking up to meet me.
“Fuck,” I gasp, my hands finding his thighs and gripping hard. “Grayson, you’re so…you’re so…”
“Deep?” He says it like a promise. His hands find my hips and hold me there, fully seated, stretching me until I can feel every inch of him. “Because you take me so well, baby.”
I rock on him, and his hands slide up from my hips to my waist and then higher, cupping my breasts from behind, his thumbs finding my nipples and circling them in that slow, deliberate way that makes my rhythm stutter and my head fall back against his shoulder.
“Look at the sky,” he murmurs against my ear, his breath hot, and his voice thick with something that sounds like awe. “Look at the sky while you bounce on my cock with your perfect tits in my hands, and your hair all wild and blue in the starlight. You’re so fucking gorgeous.”
