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“Please,” he heard himself begging. Wanting her to do what he could not. “Step back, Olivia.”
“Do you want me to?” she asked, remaining exactly where she was.
He groaned. “You know the answer to that.”
He thrust against her helplessly, and she let go of his hand and reached up to palm his nape instead.
“If we do this, we do it on the understanding that it’s just sex. Simple, uncomplicated sex.”
He swallowed, not sure how to respond to that. But she seemed to take his silence as enough of a response and went onto her toes to kiss him. Her other hand joined the first on his nape, the fingers of both hands burrowing into his hair and drawing him closer.
Greyson’s arms swept around her slender waist, and his hands flattened against her back as he dragged her even nearer, wanting her as close as he could get her. She pulled her head back, and he protested the separation. Her pupils were fully dilated, only the tiniest sliver of amber remaining around them. Her lips were swollen from their hard kiss.
“And we don’t do this without a condom.”
He had condoms; he always had condoms. He used to carry them before his marriage and had never removed them from his wallet. They were pretty old by now, but he was sure they were good. They had to be good because he had nothing else. He used to keep the condoms as precaution against disease. Now there was the added risk of pregnancy.
He nearly laughed at that thought. Idiot. There had always been the risk of pregnancy. But he had never trusted a partner enough to have condom-free sex before Olivia. He was so fucking lucky he was health conscious, or who knew how many other kids he’d have scattered around the world by now.
“I have condoms,” he confirmed out loud, and she smiled.
“Good,” she said before lifting her mouth for another kiss.
Libby didn’t know why she was doing this, why she wanted this. She just knew that when she had come home tonight, she’d been tired and tense and bracing herself for an exhausting night trying to soothe Clara to sleep. But she had come home to peace and silence. And Greyson . . . looking so damned disheveled and approachable and dependable. The latter was an illusion, she knew. Reinforced by the fact that he’d fed and clothed their baby and managed to get her to sleep.
Her concerns about the tiring night ahead had evaporated, but the tension remained. And there he stood, a six-foot-one, gorgeous, tried-and-tested remedy to stress. And Libby wanted what he could give her. She wanted the sweet oblivion and the powerful release. She craved it.
And she didn’t see why she couldn’t have it. Not if they were clear about the boundaries. This could be uncomplicated, and it was just a one-off thing. Almost exes with benefits, so to speak.
That was a thing, right?
Well, if it wasn’t, it should be.
Greyson’s shock seemed to be wearing off, and he was beginning to assert himself a bit. His tongue was finally joining the party, and his hands were starting to do more than just hold her close. They were on the move, reacquainting themselves with all his favorite spots on her body before moving on to Libby’s erogenous zones. His mouth began to roam, nip, suck, bite . . . and she opened herself up to him.
His hands tugged at her clothing, and she happily helped him drag her long-sleeved lacy top up and over her head. The top fell to the floor at their feet, but neither paid any attention. Greyson was too busy staring at the flesh he’d revealed, and Libby was too busy staring at his face. He looked hungry.
No . . . ravenous.
And it made her so much hotter.
His hands went to her bare shoulders, and they both inhaled sharply when his flesh met hers. Libby arched into his touch, wanting his hands to do so much more. He growled, the sound shockingly primal. It was like nothing she had ever heard from her usually civilized husband before. And it was a huge turn-on.
His hands curled around her shoulders, and he turned her so that her back was to his front. He yanked her against him, one arm wrapped around her waist while his uninjured hand lifted her skirt. Before she knew it, that hand had found her panties, had burrowed beneath them. And while he ground his hard crotch up against her behind and panted heavily into her neck, his fingers found her sopping core.
Libby cried out, and her thighs instinctively clamped around his audacious hand, but that didn’t stop him. He maneuvered her toward the sofa, and before she knew it, he had her bent over the back of it. Her hair tumbled around her face, and she felt an overwhelming sense of anticipation and mystery because she couldn’t see what he was doing.
