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A heavy sigh makes his back rise and fall. “No,” he says. “No way. I’m finished with them.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to abandon them because of me. And I don’t want you to regret this later on either. It seems they’re opening their arms to you, and maybe you want to take the opportunity? I know how happy you were with the Club for many years.”
But my husband snorts then, turning back to me.
“The only thing I regret is not leaving them sooner. They’re fucking losers.” Grayson pulls me close and laces our fingers together and lays them on his chest. His skin is warm under the expensive gray cotton shirt, and his heartbeat is strong and even. “I want you to be happy. The last thing you need is for me to drag you to some stud party.”
“We almost did lose each other because of the Club,” I tell him softly, “but it didn’t happen. We’re here together now, and that’s the only thing that’s important. And maybe the Club knows that.”
And it’s true. In the year since Grayson and I have been together, I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been in my entire life. I moved into his penthouse in Manhattan, and Gray made sure to move Nana and Mickey into an apartment nearby. I’m now pursuing a program in botany, and to my surprise, Gray proposed last month. We were married in a small ceremony at City Hall, with just Nana and Mickey as witnesses. But everything was perfect, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“No sweetheart,” he growls softly. “I don’t care what those douchebags get up to anymore. Everything I care about is in this apartment with me right here right now.” His face relaxes even as those sapphire eyes continue to burn.
“Is that right?” I tease him with a smile. At the back of my mind, a small knot of tension I didn’t realize I was holding loosens and floats away. Because I wasn’t sure what he was going to say. I was anxious that maybe, just maybe, he wanted back into the Club. And if he had, then I would have said yes.
But to my relief, Grayson wants nothing to do with them, and as the anxiety spills from my frame, I sway into his space, tucking my big tits into his chest and rubbing against him. “Does what you care about include food? You mentioned dinner earlier but I don’t see a thing in here,” is my teasing voice.
“Well, I didn’t say anything about us eating in the kitchen.” His sexy five o’clock shadow rubs my cheeks deliciously as he nuzzles my throat. Then he steps away with a smile and grabs three bottles of champagne from the fridge. He takes my hand and pulls me from the bright room.
Barefooted and happy, I follow him, practically floating along, attached to his fingers like a helium-filled balloon. God, I’m so ecstatic I could sing. I start to hum, and he laughs deep in his throat.
“Keep singing, little girl, because soon I’m gonna make you scream.”
I giggle, my cheeks flushing red. The apartment is huge, but eventually we end up in front of a door.
“But this isn’t our bedroom?” I say before Gray cuts me off with a finger to my lips.
“I think you forgot, but I didn’t,” he says, pushing the door open. “Enjoy sweetheart.”
My eyes grow round as an involuntary gasp escapes my lips. Because when I moved my stuff into this apartment, one of the first things Gray did to make me feel welcome was to give me a room of my own to use as a study. He told me that he already had his office—a masculine place with his massive mahogany desk, shelves of business books, and a thick leather couch and chair—so I deserved to have my own space, too.
My study only had a guest bed when I moved in. But soon, I replaced the boring double bed with a cozy convertible couch. There, I can curl up and watch the rain drip down the wide window glass, listen to music, or even do my homework.
But now, Gray’s added hundreds of plants. Floating shelves on nearly every wall hold vined plants, some with blossoms but most just green and vibrant. Thick and thriving topiaries as tall as my husband occupy the corners of the space. The room is green and glowing and smells like a rain forest, crisp and fresh. Plus, Grayson’s added hundreds of tiny, flickering tea lights, so that my indoor garden glows a magical garden lit by dozens of fireflies.
My heart beats happily, ready to thrum straight out of my chest.
He leans in to kiss my cheek, and then my neck. “Exactly a year ago, I woke from a nightmare and found you in my kitchen, ready to start our life together. I’m a lucky man, sweetheart. I almost lost you, but found you again in the nick of time. And you deserve beauty in your life, pretty girl. Only the most beautiful things for my beauty,” he says before closing the door behind us. The hinge shuts with a snap, and suddenly the space fills with a purposeful heaviness. Sensual. Perfect.
