Grayson kisses me again, cutting me off mid-complaint. When he pulls back, his eyes are darker than they were a few seconds ago.
“Youcoulddistract me,” he says, voice low, carrying a hint of a challenge.
I blink. “Gray?—”
He shrugs like he doesn’t care that his world has rules, a far too cocky smirk taking over his face. “I can be late.”
My stomach flips, and I swallow hard, suddenly too aware of my own body, the sheets, the way his hand is still at my waist like it never left.
“Are you sure?” I whisper, and I hate that my brain still asks that question like I’m not allowed.
Grayson’s gaze holds mine.
“Positive,” he says simply. “I’d skip anything for more time with you.”
My pulse kicks hard. Heat blooms everywhere, fast and insistent, and it’s not just want—it’s the intimacy of him choosing me over routine, even for ten minutes. I slide my hand up his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the solidness. He shivers like it hits him deep. His eyes flutter shut for half a second. Then he opens them again and looks at me like I’m the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.
“How are you going to keep me here, Harlow?” he murmurs.
I make a sound that is absolutely not dignified.
Grayson’s mouth curves, wicked and soft at the same time.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “That.”
I grab his sweater from the chair and smack him with it weakly. “Stop.”
He catches it with one hand like it’s nothing, then uses the other to pull me closer.
“No,” he says into my mouth.
And the way he says it—low, sure, warm—makes my entire body go liquid. I press my lips to his again, and he kisses me like he has nowhere else to be. Like the world can wait. Like I’m not something he’s afraid to want. His hand slides up my back, palm spreading like he’s memorizing me again, and my brain goes hazy at the edges.
I’m aware, distantly, of the time.
Of his practice.
Of consequences.
But Grayson’s mouth finds that spot under my ear again, and I forget every single one of them.
He groans, and the sound goes straight to my clit. I gasp, and he smiles against my skin like he likes how easy it is to get a reaction out of me. His mouth is on mine again, and the kiss turns into something that promises more than it gives—slow, hungry, pointed.
He breaks it just long enough to breathe in my ear. My face goes hot. My whole body does, honestly, and two can play that game. I shift closer, moving right into his hand, which hits at the perfect height between my legs, letting him feel exactly what he’s doing to me without having to say it out loud.
Grayson’s breath stutters. His hand tightens at my hip like he’s holding on by a thread.
“Jesus,” he whispers, like a prayer and a problem.
I bite my lip, and he lifts his head and looks at me, really looks. And there’s something in his eyes that turns my insides molten.
“I’m trying to be a gentleman,” he says quietly. “Are you sure you’re not sore or anything? We don’t have to do anything this morning.”
“I’m good, Gray. More than good, as you can tell.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth again, and he brushes his lips against mine. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
I press my body into his as I kiss him again. He mutters a curse, which makes me laugh, and within seconds, thoughts of leaving my bed are forgotten.
