“Maybe I haven’t kissed you because you’ve been keeping secrets from me. Because you haven’t been a good girl, huh? Maybe you haven’t earned my kiss.”
“Please, Daddy,” I say, pressing my breasts against his chest. “Give me a little time and I’ll give you all my secrets. All of me. Let me earn your trust and be your good girl. Please.”
His eyes flash silver at my plea. For one heartbeat, I think he’ll deny me, make me ache and wait longer.
Then his mouth finds mine.
Soft. Warm. Sweet in a way I didn’t expect.
My heart just—stops. My breath stutters out of me. All the wanting I’ve been carrying for months,years, pours into the kiss, and it’s better than anything I imagined.
I clutch him, arms tight around his neck, terrified he’ll pull away.
He doesn’t. He holds me closer, chest to chest, mouth moving slow and sure, like he’s memorizing me.
The taste of him floods me—heat and spice and something darker that makes my knees weak. The scrape of his stubble burns against my cheek, and every inch of me comes alive. Skin flushed, ears ringing, chest aching with the weight of it.
A noise rips out of me, too shaky to be a moan, too desperate to be anything but real. I press into him, give him every ounce of me.
We stumble away from the door, still tangled, kissing like the world’s ending. His desk hits the back of my thighs. In a blur, he lifts me onto it, big hands on my waist. My breath hitches as his body pushes between my legs, heat and strength filling every space.
His tongue teases mine. Slow at first, then sharper, a taunt that makes me shiver. When I whimper, he nips my bottom lip—firm, punishing.
“That’s for questioning me,” he mutters against my mouth.
A tremor rolls through me. I take it. I want it. My fingers clutch at his hair, pulling him closer, closer. “Never again,” I whisper, half-dizzy from the taste of him. “I’ll never doubt you again. Not for as long as I—”
“Dad?” Sophie’s voice, sharp and sudden. The door swings open. “Dad, what should I do with the guests? Uncle Zayn’s threatening to come in—”
She spots us. Her blue eyes go wide, and her hand slams over her mouth with a sharp smack.
I rip away from Mr. Grayson, pulse thundering in my ears. The faint sounds of the party—laughter, clinking glasses, the thrum of bass—spill into the study, but in here, everything freezes. My lips still tingles from his kiss. The scent of him clings to me, salt and heat, grounding and damning all at once.
Mr. Grayson shifts, his arm pressing me gently back, shielding me behind the solid wall of his body. The protective gesture twists my chest.
“Sophie, sweetheart.” His voice is calm, controlled, but I can feel the tension humming through him, sharp as electricity.
I peek around him, my breath lodged in my throat.
Sophie pushes the door closed with her hip, her hand still on her mouth. Her muffled giggle escapes anyway. “I knew it,” she blurts, lowering her hand. “You two have been acting so weird around each other. Jazz for so much longer, and it gave me the ick first. I mean, you’re like so much older than us, Dad, older than her but then I remembered how Jazz doesn’t like most boys our age and…” She sighs, dreamy, almost relieved. “Don’t worry, guys. I’m happy for you. Both.”
Relief punches through me so hard I sway against Nathan’s back. She’s not furious. She’s not horrified. She’s—accepting this.
Then Sophie claps her hands together, sudden and bright. “This means I don’t have to feel guilty that you’ll be alone when I leave. Because Jazz will be here with you. To look after you. And give you like… whatever else you need.”
Her words crash through the room like a bomb going off.
The air turns heavy, pressing against my chest. The burn of Nathan’s kiss is still on my lips, but now dread sours it, settling low in my belly.
Mr. Grayson goes utterly still. “What do you mean you’re leaving?” His voice is a rumble of thunder. His head turns slightly, eyes locked on Sophie. “To where?”
Sophie blinks, startled by his tone. “To college.” Guilt paints her cheeks pink. “I’ve been prepping all summer, and I worked with a counselor even and—”
“When the hell were you going to tell me, Soph? On a post-it note after you pack up your bedroom?”
My heart lurches. The ache in his voice is unbearable. I feel it in my bones, in the way my stomach drops.
Then his head turns fully, his storm-gray gaze pinning me. The disappointment there knocks the air from my lungs harder than a scream would. “You knew about this? Knew that she was applying to colleges?”
