Twenty-three
Greyson
O n Sunday morning, I wake to the sensation of warmth enveloping me, a pleasure so intense it borders on the surreal. Trinity is sliding down onto me, her movements a hypnotic rhythm that draws a low groan from my throat. My eyes flutter open to the sight of her breasts bouncing in time with her slow, steady pace, the best method to prolong the ecstasy that’s building within me. We’ve spent the better part of the last three days in bed in my condo—with just a few quick breaks here and there for basketball and visiting her mother—and it seems we’re both insatiable.
“Good morning,” she purrs, a wicked glint in her eye.
“Morning,” I manage. “You should wake me up like this every day.”
She smiles at that, and the way she rides me—controlled and deliberate—tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. My hands find their way to her hips, but she quickly captures them, her fingers interlocking with mine. “Keep those hands to yourself, or I might have to tie you up.”
But restraint isn’t something I’m good at, not when it comes to her. As she leans forward, I seize the opportunity, my mouth latching onto her nipple with an eagerness that borders on desperation. She gasps as I suck her deep into my mouth. When she attempts to rise, I refuse to release her, keeping her nipple taut between my lips. Her response is immediate and intense. Her pussy clamps down hard. God, I love how responsive she is.
The connection between us is electric, each movement and countermovement drawing us deeper into a shared space where only we exist. It’s moments like these, where the world outside our embrace ceases to matter, that I’m reminded just how much I need her in my life.
My muscles tighten with anticipation, and I lock my knees around Trinity’s hips as I shift. In one fluid motion, she’s beneath me, her back pressed to the sheets that still hold the warmth of our slumber. The transition from rider to ridden doesn’t faze her. Her eyes are alight with the thrill of it.
I hoist one of her legs over my shoulder, granting myself deeper access as my fingertips find her clit, circling with a practiced touch that elicits a chorus of breathy moans.
She reaches for the piercing that seems to serve as a conduit for our electric connection. Her fingers tweak it just as my control frays at the edges, and I’m gone, spilling into her as she clenches around me, following me over the edge into blissful oblivion.
We’re panting, out of breath, and clinging to the remnants of ecstasy. She rolls away, a sly smile curving her lips. “My plan was to finish you off with my mouth.”
The mere suggestion sends an eager pulse through me, and I can feel myself stirring again. But after a moment she bounds out of bed, and soon, the steam from the shower clouds the room, wrapping around Trinity like a shroud as she steps in. I linger on the edge of the bed, watching her silhouette through the frosted glass, admiring the efficiency with which she moves. Even on a Sunday, Trinity is all about precision.
“Need help with those hard-to-reach spots?” I call as I push myself off the bed and pad across the cool tile floor.
Trinity’s laugh rings out above the patter of water. “I fell for that line once, Greyson Paradise,” she retorts. “And all you did was play with me.”
Her accusation is nothing short of inviting, but I hold back a chuckle, leaning against the door frame. “And here I thought you enjoyed my hands-on approach.”
“Very nice, but I need to get some work done today.” She turns slightly, the movement casting ripples through the water cascading down her body.
“Of course,” I say, though I can’t resist slipping into the shower behind her. Droplets cling to my skin instantly, merging with the remnants of our early morning activities. Her dedication to her work is one of the many things I admire about her, even if it means resisting the urge to pull her back into a world where only we exist.
“Let me at least make sure you’re thoroughly rinsed off,” I offer, my voice pitched low, a compromise between my desire and her determination.
After a few minutes we trade places, and she leaves the bathroom while I finish in the shower. Wrapping a towel around my waist, a conversation begins to form in my mind. We’ve talked a bit this weekend about Trinity’s mother, but she only gave me a quick update. She’d been disappointed by her encounter with Dr. Dunham, which wasn’t surprising to me. Luke is the best bet for helping her mom, but I probably should have warned her. As a neurologist, he doesn’t always have the best bedside manner. I don’t want her to think his lack of reassurance means there’s no hope for improvement. But I also don’t want to steer her mind to worry about her mom if she needs to focus on the last phase of her migration project today.
Then all my thoughts are cut short by unexpected voices in the kitchen, where Trinity went to make coffee. My heart lurches into my throat. This can’t be happening . Not now.
With a burst of adrenaline, I yank on a pair of sweatpants and race toward the source of the commotion. The scene unfolding before me is like a car crash in slow motion, impossible to look away from yet filled with impending doom.
“You need to leave. Greyson doesn’t do repeats or breakfast with anyone but me.” Anita’s voice is sharp, her attitude entirely out of place.
“Who do you think you are?” Trinity’s reply is incredulous, her stance defiant, her wet hair a dark curtain around her shoulders.
“He’s my fiancé,” Anita states, attempting to lay claim to territory long abandoned and never entirely hers.
Trinity’s face falls, her eyes wide with disbelief and hurt. My heart lurches, and I spring forward. This is a moment I can’t afford to lose control of.
“Stay where you are,” I tell Trinity. I turn to Anita, striving to keep my tone even. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you I’d be here this morning,” she reminds me, her words a punch to the gut. She’s right. She did say that, in an email I skimmed and promptly ignored. But she’s been back in town before and never showed up at my condo like this.
“Anita…” The name sits heavy on my tongue, weighted with a history that is long in my rearview mirror. My gaze flickers between the two women, the past and the present colliding in a storm I never saw coming. “You should’ve called,” I insist, but it’s too late.
Trinity’s eyes, once filled with warmth and intimacy, are now cold with betrayal. For a moment, I think she’s going to say something, but instead, she presses the elevator button. The doors open, and she steps inside without a word, her shoulders squared as if bracing herself for the blow that’s already landed .
“Trinity, wait!” But the doors close on my plea, sealing her from my sight. I can’t believe she just left, not that she deserves any of this. I don’t blame her one bit for getting out of here. But I can’t leave things this way.
I move to go after her, but I’m ensnared by Anita’s sudden embrace. “I’ve missed you so much,” she murmurs into my chest. The scent of her perfume, once familiar, now strikes me as invasive, a reminder of a world I no longer inhabit.
“Anita, you should’ve called before letting yourself in,” I repeat. She pulls back, her gaze searching mine, but there’s no mention of Trinity. No acknowledgment of the storm she’s stepped into. It’s as if Trinity were nothing more than a wisp of smoke, easily dispersed and forgotten.
My heart beats a frantic rhythm, each thud echoing Trinity’s name. I have to go after her. I have to make this right. I clear my throat. “Anita, this isn’t a good time. You need to go.”
“Greyson, we’ve been in touch this whole time,” Anita insists, her eyes wide. She seems undeterred by my words and by the absence of warmth in my tone. “I’m back now, and we can start planning our wedding.”
Her assumption hits like a punch to the gut. Confusion races through me as I meet her gaze. “We’re not getting married, Anita.” I don’t understand why she would think that. I never proposed, even before she left town.
Anita and I were high school sweethearts, and for a while, we talked about getting married, but that’s all it ever was. We stayed together through university and my medical school in Vancouver, and even into my residency, but then she moved east to Toronto, chasing her own aspirations. I’ve heard from her now and again over the past few years. Whenever she visited her parents, we’d catch up, and we still exchange birthday calls. But we haven’t been in a relationship since she left. Toronto seemed to be where she wanted to stay, and she didn’t seem to care what I thought about that.
She blinks, taken aback. “But we never broke off our engagement.”
My eyes widen. “We weren’t engaged, Anita. And it’s been nearly three years,” I remind her. How can she believe we still had a relationship? “You chose to leave everything behind.”
“Greyson, you can’t mean that.” Her voice is soft, pleading. “We’ve always loved each other. I waited for you—to finish college, medical school. We had plans.”
“Plans that changed when you left,” I counter. The memory stings, sharp and fresh. “You were gone without a goodbye.”
“Left?” She recoils as if struck, anger flaring in her eyes. “I needed to follow my dreams and know that Paradise is what I always thought it was.”
“You’ve been alone because you chose to be,” I reply, my voice rising. “Text messages don’t count as being there for each other.”
“Greyson—” she starts.
But I’ve heard enough. “I’m glad you’re home,” I interject. “Your parents must be thrilled, but I…” My voice trails off. I’ve moved on from what we had, and I thought she had too. How could I have missed this?
“Please,” she whispers, reaching out as if to bridge the gulf between us. “Don’t do this. Don’t throw away what we had.”
“Anita,” I begin, steadying my resolve. “What we had was beautiful, but it’s in the past. I’ve moved on.” The words are a quiet declaration of independence, a release from the ghosts that have haunted me.
“Moved on to where? To who?”
But I owe her no answers, not anymore. My heart is elsewhere, racing away in an elevator I didn’t catch in time. I step back, putting distance between the past and my present.
“Anita.” Her name feels foreign on my tongue now, like it belongs to someone I used to know. “We loved each other once, but that was a long time ago. We haven’t been part of each other’s lives for years now. I’ve fallen in love with someone else.” As I say them, I know those words are truth. I’m now connected only to the woman who’s taught me what it means to feel alive again. “There’s nothing between us anymore.”
Her face crumples, tears welling up. It’s a familiar sight, one that once would’ve unraveled me, had me scrambling to comfort her. But not now. “You used to manipulate me with those tears,” I note. “You will always be an important part of my path, but the past is where you belong.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I turn away, urgency propelling me toward the elevator. I can hear her following, her voice escalating as she tries to reason with me. “Greyson, you’re wrong! I’m here now, ready to work through everything with you.”
The ding of the elevator arriving cuts through her pleas. I step inside, making a clear choice. Her words fade into the background, muffled by the closing doors. All that matters now is reaching Trinity.
But what if I’m too late? What if Anita’s presence has already undone everything we’ve built? I can’t think that way. I have to believe in what we have, what we know about each other. And I know I can’t let her turn away, not without a fight.