Page 65 of Her Captivated Hero

Gray went blank for a moment, then he gave her a wicked smile. “Damn right I am, let me take you upstairs and prove it.”

He stepped backwards, and she grabbed his shirt with both hands. “No,” she cried. “I said that wrong.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I’m your lover.”

“My love. You’re my love, is what I meant to say.”

Gray stopped, his sapphire blue eyes blazed. He covered her hands with his. “Honey—”

“I think I love you.” The words burst out of her. They still weren’t right. Dammit. Her fingers pressed into his chest through his sweatshirt. “I love you so much. You’re my love. You’re so much my love.”

It was like the roof of her house had been ripped off, night turned to day and the sun was shining. She got it right. She loved Gray Tyler.

“Ah, Honey, that’s what I meant when I claimed you as mine. I love you too.”

* * *

Riya’s eyesshimmered like black diamonds in the dim hallway light. He needed her in the most elemental way. He needed to stake his claim. Letting go of her hands he bent to pick her up, but she laughed and darted out from under him and made a run for it up the stairs. “Come and get me, Lover.”

Oh, he was going to get her. Gray slowly made his way up the stairs. He saw that Riya had pulled back the comforter.

“Glad to see you hadn’t taken off your clothes.”

She pointed to her sneakers in the corner. Then she grinned. “I left my socks on, though. I’ve kind of figured out you like my feet.”

The woman was right.

Scratch that, his woman was right.

Gray closed the bedroom door, and came to stand in front of her.

“Why’d you do that?”

“No company until sleepy time. Einstein puts me off my game.”

“Gray, I have never complained. You have blown me away.

“Every.

“Single.

“Time.”

That was actually great to hear, because she made him so crazy. He sometimes wondered if he was fucking things up when she was blowing his mind. He reached up and touched the strands of hair that covered her breasts. He gathered up the dark mass into a fist and enjoyed how she wet her lips in anticipation of what he would do next.

Pulling her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head, he tugged so that her face was tilted upwards. She gave a soft pant.

“You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The word wasn’t a sigh, it was a hiss.

He tugged harder. Her eyes dilated, and her face flushed. It still wasn’t enough. He pulled just a little harder, and he exalted when he saw her squirm and squeeze her thighs together.

“You’re wet for me, aren’t you?”

She closed her eyes, then opened them. He couldn’t tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. “I need you so bad. I’m so ready for you.”

She couldn’t say it. The woman who worked on a sex study couldn’t admit she was wet. He swooped in for a kiss. It was hot and needy. She sent him close to the edge. No woman ever excited him more. He’d always thought love was going to be a soft and warm emotion, not this elemental, explosive craving.