Chapter 19 Grayson
GRAYSON
As I pace the living room, the silence is only broken by the hum of the overworked refrigerator and the soft, cadenced whistles of Macy’s breaths from behind her bedroom door.
I should feel victorious. Only an hour ago, I was the better man.
Despite what I am confident were flirtatious insinuations firing from Macy, I didn’t cross any lines.
I said goodnight, ensured she knew the purpose of the oil a DoorDash driver delivered earlier today, and then left her to navigate toward a peaceful slumber without interference.
However, I stomped over the truce I drew in the sand when I lowered the handle of Macy’s bedroom door instead of leaving it shut, as I found it.
With my hands shoved in my running shorts and my jaw tight, I pace the living room.
I keep replaying the moment I saw the bottle of massage oil on Macy’s nightstand, and how it confirmed my suspicion that Macy wasn’t asleep this time when I heard her moan.
The cap of the oil was twisted off, and the air smelled of lavender and something sweeter.
I know what that means. I know what she was doing and who she was thinking about while doing it. Hell, I heard my name leave her lips. The erotic noise was muffled by the ruffling of the sheets barely concealing the stimulating visual playing out before my eyes, but it couldn’t be mistaken.
I try to shake off how her moan of my name while conscious makes me feel.
I’m not that guy. I would never exploit a vulnerable woman, especially Macy.
She’s my friend and coworker and, if I were honest, the only person who’s made me feel alive in years.
Yet, I can’t disregard how my body responds to her and how my heart races when she’s nearby.
I also can’t stop thinking about the sound of her moans.
I need to escape and clear my head, but I’ve already been for a run, so instead of reaching for the shoes I toed off in silence, like I knew my quiet would greatly reward me, I head to the bathroom.
Determined to wash away the sins clinging to my skin, I don’t notch the faucet anywhere near the hot. The water is icy, and it pounds against my back, numbing the ache my chest hasn’t been without for a second today.
With a scratchy loofah, I scour my skin raw, striving to erase the memory of Macy’s flushed cheeks, parted lips, and the way her body arched beneath the sheets.
It’s useless. The harder I fight, the more vivid the images become. Before I know it, I fist my cock and stroke it to the beat of the frantic quiver of my jaw.
Unlike the first time I masturbated in this shower, I don’t turn my back to the unlocked bathroom door. I face it while punishing my cock with long, hard jerks.
I want Macy to walk in on me, to burst my privacy bubble as dishonorably as I did hers.
Christ, the thought of her standing in the doorway of the bathroom, watching me, doubles the throbs of my dick. I want her to watch me. I want to show her what she does to me.
To show her what I want her to do to me.
The wish to come burns through me just thinking about how she would peer at me, wide-eyed and needy. I stroke my cock faster, my tugs almost violent. A vibration rumbles up my chest. It is a half-groan slash half-moan that proves without doubt that I’m so hard it hurts.
After flattening my back against the tiled wall, needing its sturdiness to hold me up, I keep my eyes peeled on the bathroom door.
I swear the shadow under the lip wasn’t there seconds ago.
The hallway’s bulb blew weeks ago, and Macy’s bedroom light was switched off when I returned home from my run, but now small parcels of light slot on each side of a foot-like shadow.
Confident it is Macy’s shadow, I work my dick harder, faster, sliding it in and out of my hand at a steady but tormenting pace.
I’m close, so close, that the faintest whiff of a familiar scent shunts me over the line.
I come with a moan, Macy’s name shooting from my throat as quickly as strings of cum shoot from my dick.
After waiting for my thighs to stop shaking enough that I’m confident neither Macy nor I will slip, I switch off the faucet and step out of the shower.
As I sling a towel low on my hips, I catch my reflection in the fogged mirror.
I look like hell. My eyes are bloodshot, stubble shadows my jaw, and my shoulders are tense.
I’m meant to be the golden boy of the bureau, the agent who always does the right thing.
Tonight, I feel like a fraud.
Tossing the towel aside, I pull on a pair of sweats and run my fingers through my hair. I know the perfect way to put some distance between myself and a temptation I’d give anything not to steer toward a fiery wreck.
I’ll work on Cameron’s case, burn off some of the guilt on my chest, and maybe, just maybe, find some clarity.
As I reach for Cameron’s file, where Macy left it hours ago, the soft creak of Macy’s bedroom door hinges trickles into the living room. While braced, it’s silent, but when left to its own devices, it’s as loud as the building’s pipes.
I freeze when Macy’s shadow moves toward the living room instead of the bathroom, my heart in my throat. We’ve tiptoed around situations like this previously, but not right after I blew my load while imagining her sultry face.
Macy enters the living room. Her hair is tousled, and her eyes appear wide and uncertain.
The oversized shirt she’s wearing as sleepwear skims her luscious thighs.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are fleeting.
She won’t make eye contact with me. She stares at the floor as if it holds all the answers to our inability to deny the tension bristling between us this time around, and I hate how often her lower lip rolls between her teeth.
“Grayson.” Her voice is barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”
I balk, caught off guard by the shame in her voice. “For what?”
She fidgets, her fingers twisting in her shirt. “For earlier.” Her eyes shift to the wall separating the living room from the bedroom. “I didn’t mean for you to hear any of that. You were supposed to be on a run.”
In two strides, I cross the room, stopping short of touching her. “You have nothing to be sorry about. Nothing at all.” I opened her door without knocking when I heard her moaning. If anyone deserves an apology, it is her. “I shouldn’t have—”
Her eyes cloud with shame, cutting me off.
“I feel so stupid.” She swallows hard, her voice cracking.
“I haven’t craved anything like… that for so long.
Not since Kendall disappeared. But with hormones running rampant through my body and…
”—she gives me a look that announces I am the catalyst of her issues—“it was like everything rushed back in at once, and I don’t know how to handle any of it. ”
“I think you handled it pretty well, freckles.” I’m a fucking ass for making fun of her, but if I don’t ease her guilt with playfulness, I’ll use my tongue. “There are worse ways to burn off tension.”
Macy laughs nervously, then she flashes me a skeptical look. “Not all of us can go for a run.” She battles with herself for almost ten seconds before blurting out, “And from what I overheard earlier, sometimes even that isn’t always effective.”
So she did hear me?
The knowledge makes me hard, as if I hadn’t achieved release only minutes ago, and it adds to the tension cracking in the air.
Silence whistles between us as we instinctively draw nearer. It’s a fight not to brush my fingers down her heated cheeks before ensuring that she knows she’s not alone, that this is as hard on me as it is on her, but I hold back. I vowed to be a better man and not to exploit her vulnerability.
Stepping back, I put space between us, even though it feels like I’m tearing off a piece of my skin.
Macy’s eyes show a mix of disappointment and unease, yet they’re hidden by determination.
Nodding as if she hears my silent bidding for her to make a move, she bridges the gap I placed between us, bringing us chest to chest, stomach to stomach.
We stand in silence for the next several minutes, the air thick with everything unsaid but with a hint of playfulness from the excessive movements of her stomach.
I want to tell her that tonight wasn’t the first time I’ve thought about her while bringing myself to climax, and that earlier this week wasn’t either.
How her laugh is the only thing that’s made me feel alive in years, and that only her touch can calm the furious storm inside me.
Her hooded glances both condemn and absolve me, but instead of telling her any of those things, I bite my tongue, afraid that if I start spilling secrets, I won’t stop.
As the tension reaches its boiling point, a sharp knock hits the door, shattering what should be an unbreakable bond.
I don’t take my eyes off Macy until our caller knocks again, louder this time.
Cursing under my breath, I cross the room to answer the wordless demand for assistance. With her legs bare and her eyes wary, Macy retreats to the kitchen. She wraps her arms around herself as if suddenly self-conscious and once again chews nervously on her lower lip.
Upon opening the door, I find Agent Cartwright on the stoop. A bulky satchel dwarfs her petite frame, and a determined scowl sets her jaw in a hard, firm line.
“Hey…” Her eyes dance as the suspicion in them grows with each passing second. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just emailed a revised itinerary for the stings tomorrow, and I thought you’d want to be updated ASAP.”
Adeline enters the apartment, not waiting for an invitation. Macy forces a smile before asking her if she would like a coffee.
When Adeline’s eyes gleam, I shoot Macy a warning stare. She glances upward, a subtle, restrained smile forming at the edges of her mouth. “Coffee first. Then my backside won’t leave the couch until either I’m going to bed or you are. Scout’s honor.”
Adeline’s smile announces she loves Macy’s sass as much as I do when Macy rolls her eyes again before she flicks her amused gaze up to me. “We don’t have to do this now. If you’ve got more important matters to attend to, we can go over it in the morning.”
I nearly accept her offer, but then recall how imperative tomorrow’s stings are to bringing home women like Cameron and Kendall. Instead of walking Agent Cartwright to the door, I gesture to the couch, inviting her into my office slash bedroom.
After dumping a stack of files on the coffee table, she sinks into an armchair opposite my “bed.” Once Macy joins us with a freshly brewed pot of coffee and three mugs, Adeline begins an in-depth briefing.
Her update provides a distraction from the electricity still hissing between Macy and me, but it does nothing to weaken the ferocious bolts.
I concentrate on the details, on the case, on anything but the memory of Macy’s moans and the scent of lavender lingering in the air, but even as I listen, my mind drifts.
Never have I been more distracted, and Macy and Adeline showcase precisely how bad it is when they stare at me, awaiting a reply.
I missed everything Adeline said after Macy joined me on the couch and her knee brushed my thigh.
I scan the files Adeline concealed Cameron’s file with, seeking evidence of what we’ve been discussing, when Macy saves the day.
“It shouldn’t be too much of an issue to add a handful more locations to tomorrow’s timetable.
” She pulls up a list showing the location and time of each Lamaze class tomorrow.
“We just need to shuffle around a few lunch breaks.”
While she works on that, I ask, “How were these classes missed?”
“They weren’t missed exactly,” Adeline starts.
“I broadened the net when a quick scan of a local mommy-to-be Reddit page added half a dozen more classes to the itinerary. Here, San Diego is more than just San Diego. It includes the suburbs surrounding it as well.” When I nod, happy that she doesn’t immediately clock out after her shift, she slings her eyes to Macy.
“With a handful of adjustments, we can attend almost all the Lamaze classes—”
“Except one,” Macy intuits.
Again, Adeline takes the lead. “Yeah. There are agents in this area, but not in the age frame we’re seeking, and even after bumping a handful of agents onto earlier flights, they’ll never arrive on time.” When Macy and I remain quiet, she murmurs, “We could miss it and attend it next month.”
“No,” Macy and I shout at the same time.
We don’t have time to tiptoe around the urgency of these stings.
Macy’s breath catches in her throat when I say, “Place me on the signup sheet for the 6 a.m. class.” The relief in her eyes shifts to disappointment when I lock eyes with Agent Cartwright.
“You should head to bed. You won’t fool anyone with a first-time mother-to-be ruse if you look like you’ve already cut your teeth with a newborn. ”
“Grayson—”
I cut Macy off as I did earlier tonight—with a stern glare.
She doesn’t back down this time.
“I can do this.”
“I said no.”
Ignoring Macy’s rant that she’s the lead agent on this case so she can ignore my directive, I gather Adeline’s files, hand them to her, and then walk her to the door.
I’ve barely closed said door when Macy comes at me with words like she wishes they were her fists.