CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WYNTER
I wake wrapped in warmth and immediately smile to myself.
It took at least twenty minutes of arguing to convince Ray he didn’t need to sleep on the couch.
Until I told him Lucy would absolutely mock him for sleeping downstairs, and there was barely enough room on the sofa for one fully-grown man never mind six-foot-whatever-he-is of grumpy billionaire.
Eventually, he gave in.
And now? Now, I’m curled against his chest with one of his arms wrapped possessively around my waist beneath the duvet, his warmth surrounding me completely.
Contentment settles heavily through me. The kind I haven’t felt in a very long time. My mind drifts back to last night in the pub. The way he looked at me when he said it. Like loving me wasn’t something terrifying to admit anymore.
The memory alone makes my smile widen against the pillow.
And being here—away from London, away from the casino and endless phones ringing—has changed him somehow. Or maybe it’s just revealed parts of him that were always there beneath the pressure.
He’s lighter here. Less tense. He hasn’t checked his phone every ten minutes and hasn’t disappeared into work.
Slowly, I twist slightly in his arms until I can look up at him properly. My heart picks up a beat. He’s beautiful when he sleeps. All the sharpness leaves his face completely, and there’s no tension in his jaw.
Just peace.
His dark hair falls messily across his forehead, and his lashes rest against his cheeks while the soft morning light slips through the curtains around him.I don’t think anyone’s ever looked after him properly. The thought arrives suddenly and painfully.
My fingers drift lightly over his arm beneath the duvet before I can stop myself.
His grip tightens instinctively around my waist in response.
Ray shifts slightly beside me, his brows pulling together faintly before his eyes slowly open.
The second they land on me, something softens in them instantly.
“Good morning,” he murmurs sleepily, voice rough from sleep.
Warmth rushes straight to my cheeks. “Morning.”
He stares at me for another second before his hand slides slowly up my back beneath my shirt. “You’ve been watching me sleep again, haven’t you?”
I gasp dramatically. “That’s a strong accusation.”
“You look guilty.”
“I was admiring.”
A sleepy smile tugs at his mouth. “Admiring?”
“Mmhmm.” I brush a strand of hair from his forehead lightly. “You’re much less scary unconscious.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh before pulling me closer against him again until my leg tangles with his beneath the duvet.
Ray presses a lazy kiss against my forehead before mumbling quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever slept this well in my life.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Same.”
I slide my leg further along his beneath the duvet and a knowing smirk immediately tugs at his mouth. And then, before I can overthink myself out of it, I push up onto my knees and climb over him until I’m straddling his hips.
Ray’s eyes darken instantly, his hands sliding automatically to my waist. I grin down at him, suddenly feeling bolder than I probably should.
“What are you doing?” he asks, though the amusement in his voice says he already knows exactly what I’m doing.
Instead of answering, I shift my hips slowly against him. Ray inhales sharply beneath me, his fingers tightening against my waist. “In your childhood bedroom?” he asks, arching a brow. “Really?”
Biting back a smile, I hook my fingers beneath the hem of the oversized shirt I slept in.
His gaze locks onto the movement instantly. The playful teasing fades from his expression as I pull the shirt over my head and toss it somewhere onto the floor.
Heat floods through me under the intensity of the way he’s looking at me now. Like he can’t decide whether to touch me or worship me. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters softly.
I suddenly feel shy again beneath his stare, one hand instinctively drifting towards my stomach.
Slowly, carefully, he slides his palm over my hand and lowers it away again.
His eyes drift slowly over me then, lingering on the curve of my bump with something that looks dangerously close to awe.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself.
Emotion swells thickly in my throat.
Ray’s hands slide slowly up my thighs before settling gently at my hips again, his thumbs brushing soft circles against my skin.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says quietly. Warmth spirals low through my stomach at the roughness in his voice.
I lean down slowly until our foreheads touch, his breath warm against my lips. And then I kiss him. Slow at first, and then I slip my tongue past his lips, and it suddenly becomes more urgent, more desperate.
I grind against him, feeling his erection pressing against my knickers and a throaty groan escapes him.
I sit up, panting shamelessly as I guide his hands to my breasts.
His thumbs press against my nipples, and I almost buck at the contact, they’re more sensitive these days.
He leans up slightly to take one in his mouth, and my head falls back in pleasure.
He takes his attention to the other and I can’t help the way my hips automatically move, rubbing against him.
I reach down between us and pull his cock free from his boxers.
It’s been too long since I felt him but like muscle memory, he’s still engraved in my brain, and I expertly run my hands over his shaft.
I gather the wetness from the end and rub it over his cock, lubricating my hand as I slide it back and forth.
His breaths leave in hurried pants, his eyes closing as he relaxes back into the mattress.
I hook a finger into my knickers, shifting them to one side and lining his erection up to my opening. His eyes open, watching as I sink down onto him, shuddering as he fills me up.
Christ, he feels good.
And then I rest my hands against his solid chest and gently move back and forth. Enough to cause the friction I need, but not frantic enough to make my bed groan in protest.
Ray’s hands cup my breasts, his thumb and finger gently tugging on my nipples as I rock against him, my orgasm building slowly.
And then I spiral, a noise leaving my throat as I shudder. Ray slaps a hand to my mouth, smothering the noise as I fall apart, unable to control it.
And as my nerve endings burn, he lifts his hips to match my moves, chasing his own release. The bed bangs against the wall but we’re both too far gone to care as we collapse together in a sweaty, tangled mess.
I rest my forehead against his shoulder, my eyes squeezed closed and my body shaking as the adrenaline leaves me. Ray’s hand gently strokes up and down my spine and I feel his rapid pants begin to slow.
“Thank fuck we’re going home,” he mutters. “We need to do that again but louder,” he adds.
“First we’ve got to face Lucy at the breakfast table,” I whisper, a laugh escaping me as he groans.
I can already feel my cheeks burning as we sit around the dining table.
Partly because I’m convinced Lucy knows exactly what happened upstairs, she’s could literally hear a pin drop in the busiest room.
And partly because Ray looks far too pleased with himself this morning.
Every time I glance his way, there’s this smug little look in his eyes that makes heat crawl right back up my neck.
Lucy sings along terribly to some eighty’s song playing softly on the radio while she stirs scrambled eggs at the stove. Dad sits opposite me reading the newspaper with a seriousness usually reserved for international warfare.
“Did you vote?” he suddenly asks, glancing over the top of the paper towards Ray.
“We are not discussing politics at breakfast,” Lucy snaps immediately. “Close that miserable rag you call news and get the cutlery.”
Alec rolls his eyes dramatically. “I live under a dictatorship.”
“You live because of me,” Lucy shoots back.
Ray laughs quietly beside me, and I have to fight the urge to smile too hard at how relaxed he sounds here.
Dad finally folds the newspaper shut and pushes to his feet with a muttered complaint about oppression.
The kitchen smells like toast and coffee and warm butter.
Home. I didn’t realise how much I missed this until now.
“So,” dad says a few minutes later as he drops knives and forks onto the table with absolutely no organisation whatsoever. “Any plans before you two head back to London?”
I shake my head automatically. But beside me, Ray reaches for my hand beneath the table. The contact instantly steadies something inside me.
“Actually,” he says quietly, rubbing his thumb softly across my knuckles, “I thought maybe we could go and visit your mum and Josh.”
The words hit me so unexpectedly my breath catches.
Silence settles around the kitchen and even Lucy stops singing.
I stare down at our joined hands as emotion climbs painfully into my throat.
The last time I visited Josh’s grave, I’d ended up curled beside it in the pouring rain after completely falling apart.
I hadn’t been back since, because grief is strange like that.
Ray’s grip softens slightly around my hand. “Only if you want to,” he adds gently, his brows pulling together almost immediately when he sees my expression. “We don’t have to.”
I bite down softly on my lip to stop it trembling, because somehow this doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like understanding. Like he knows Josh mattered and instead of being threatened by that . . .he’s making space for it.
Tears sting my eyes almost instantly. “Yes,” I whisper finally, nodding once. “I’d like that very much.”
Ray’s expression softens with relief. Then quietly, he lifts my hand and presses a kiss against my knuckles.
Lucy suddenly clears her throat loudly.
“Well,” she announces, blinking suspiciously fast as she turns back to the stove, “you’ll need a decent breakfast first.”