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My knees settle on either side of his hips, and suddenly there’s nothing between us but borrowed cotton and a rapidly disappearing sense of self-preservation.

“Fuck, Pumpkin,” he mutters against my lips.

I slide my fingers into his hair.

“Language.”

“Sweetheart, you haven’t heard anything yet.”

He kisses me again.

Deeper.

His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as I press closer.

I feel exactly how much he wants me.

And judging by the rough sound he makes when I move against him, he’s not particularly interested in hiding it.

“Gray.”

“Yeah?”

“I think we’re breaking the rules.”

“Fuck the rules.”

I laugh against his mouth.

He kisses the corner of my lips, then my jaw, then the sensitive spot beneath my ear.

My head falls back.

“Oh, God.”

“Not quite, sweetheart.”

“Arrogant bastard.”

“Still talking?”

“Unfortunately.”

He chuckles against my neck.

And for one beautiful moment, everything feels easy.

Then he stops.

His hands tighten around my waist.

“Autumn.”

I lift my head.

“What?”

“We need to slow down.”