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“You get this cute little pink face,” he said, removing his hand from inside her to run his thumbs over her cheeks. “But now I know of better ways to make your face pink.”

And oh, did he.

With a wave of her hands, the break sign went up on the door, and she followed him to the storeroom, locking it behind her and putting up the soundproof spell that was pretty much a permanent fixture in there at this point.

He sat on the soft rug she had gotten for this exact purpose, resting back on his hands and watching as she undid the clasp at the top of her skirt, letting it fall. His eyes went dark.

She peeled her damp underwear off slowly, dragging the fabric down her legs inch by inch, until it arrived at her ankles. She kicked the underwear away, then went to Grayson, lowering herself above his head, knees spread wide on either side of his shoulders as he leaned back fully.

She hovered above his mouth, already throbbing at the proximity. He blew air up, teasing her, before grabbing her hips and holding her there.

Then he stuck his tongue between her legs.

Lucy swore, grabbing the locked drawer of the filing cabinet in front of her.

She held on tight, riding his face as he held on to her hips. His fingers dug into her skin as he moved her faster over his mouth, his tongue stroking deeper and deeper. She held on tighter, the filing cabinet banging against the wall as they moved.

He sucked her folds between his teeth, making her cry out, her chest heaving. She continued to fuck his face until white-hot sparks exploded through her, and she came in his mouth. Grayson licked up every last bit.

Lucy moved off his face, and he slid out from under her, grabbing her waist from behind and bringing them both up to standing. Her legs had gone to jelly, and he held her up firmly.

Grayson turned their bodies so they could see the clock, his erection pressed against her ass.

“More than enough time,” he rasped into her neck. Her blood pounded.

“And our break isn’t over just yet,” she said, turning and undoing his zipper. She took him in her hand, and he made a choking sound.

She moved her hand up and down the length of him, fingers tight as she made him pant, her blood burning at the pleasure mounting on his face. She kept working him until he finally swore out loud, coming in her palm.

As rough as Grayson could be before and during sex, he was so sweet after, cuddling with her like a man leaving for war the next morning. He would massage her where she was sore, press little kisses to her cheek, hold her tight.

He was kind, tender.

And his actions showed it every day.

Since her parents were away often, Grayson would come and cook with her. The first time he did, her house felt like a home, a place warm and lived in. He was infused everywhere, and even when he was gone, she didn’t feel so alone anymore. She thought it would be so lovely to have a home with him, just for the two of them.

But Lucy always reminded herself not to get carried away. They hadn’t spoken about his plans to return to Ireland, but Grayson’s sabbatical would be up soon, and it was inevitable. She just didn’t want to think about it; it hurt too much.

Everything was getting more and more difficult by the day.

It was only a few days after their storeroom interlude that he gave her a bookmark while they were working, something pretty he had seen online. It was painted with watercolors and inscribed with an Elizabeth Bishop quote in beautiful calligraphy.

“I love it,” she said, touching it. “Thank you!”

He was pleased. He gave her little gifts like this often, but today he paused, seeming to consider something. She could feel him thinking sometimes.

“What?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“Do you remember the first thing I gave you?” he asked.

“You mean a headache?”

He gave her a dark look.

“An orgasm?” She giggled.

He glared. “You are the worst person in the world. Forget it.”