Chapter 23 #2
Grayson’s nostrils flare, and I know he can smell it. His eyes darken, but he says nothing, returning his attention to the screen with a discipline that must have served him well in the military.
As Kai returns, I have to shove an entire slice of pizza in my mouth before I say something I might regret.
By the time we reach the Death Star trench run, Kai has fallen asleep, sprawled across his section of pillows with one arm flung dramatically over his eyes. His soft snores provide a counterpoint to the movie’s soundtrack.
“Always does this,” Grayson murmurs, his voice low enough not to wake our sleeping companion. “He never makes it to the end.”
I smile, watching Kai’s chest rise and fall peacefully. “He must have spent hours in the kitchen. It’s been a long day.”
“‘Specially for you.” Grayson shifts closer, his heat radiating against my side. “How you feeling? Physically, I mean.”
The question catches me off guard. I can’t help but notice that Grayson has spoken more words in the last five minutes than I’ve heard since we met. “Fine, I guess. A little achy.”
“Muscle soreness is common after a heat ends,” he says matter-of-factly. “Your body was in overdrive for a few days.”
I nod, suddenly aware of the tension in my shoulders and back. “I’ve read the literature, but this was my first...”
“I could help,” Grayson offers, his voice carefully neutral. “If you want.”
“Help?”
“Massage.” He gestures to my shoulders. “Hands were made this big for a reason.”
I should say no. I should thank him politely and maintain appropriate boundaries. I should remember that I’ve already made a mess of things by bonding myself to Noah, and this situation is complicated enough without adding more confusing intimacy.
Instead, I hear myself agree before my mind has caught up. “That would be nice.”
Grayson adjusts his position, creating a space for me between his legs. I hesitate for only a moment before crawling over and settling with my back to his chest. His hands come to rest on my shoulders, warm and strong through the thin fabric of my t-shirt.
“Tense,” he observes, his thumbs finding knots I didn’t know existed.
I gasp as he applies pressure to a particularly tight spot, pain and relief mingling in equal measure. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” His fingers work methodically, breaking down the tension with practiced precision. “Breathe through it.”
I follow his instruction, inhaling deeply as he works. His scent envelops me—pine and earth, smoke and leather—and I find myself leaning into it, into him. The pressure of his hands changes, becoming less clinical and more exploratory, tracing the curve of my neck, the line of my spine.
Without conscious decision, I shift in his lap, pushing back against him. The movement brings me directly over his groin, and I feel the unmistakable hardness growing beneath me. My omega responds instantly, a fresh wave of slick dampening my already ruined underwear.
I don’t realize I’m grinding against him until his hands grip my hips, stilling my movement.
“Holly,” he says, my name a warning and a question.
“I’m sorry,” I gasp, turning to face him. God, what is wrong with me. “I didn’t mean…”
His eyes darken, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of gray remains. “I do owe you a knot.”
The words send a shiver through me, memory flashing to our encounter during my heat—his hands, his control, his refusal to take advantage.
“But we’ll start slower,” he continues, his voice dropping to a register that vibrates through my core.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. My fingers find the edge of his bandanna, playing with the fabric as I wait for him to stop me. When he remains still, watching me with those intense eyes, I slowly lift the material, just enough to reveal his lips.
A knotted scar begins at his chin, disappearing upward beneath the fabric. But it’s his mouth that captures my attention—full lips, surprisingly soft-looking against the harshness of the scar tissue. A mouth made for sin.
I lean forward, giving him every opportunity to pull away.
He doesn’t move, his breath warm against my face as I close the distance between us.
When our lips finally meet, it’s gentle at first—a question, an exploration.
Then his hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, and the kiss deepens, becoming something hungry and primal.
He tastes like coffee and spice, like wilderness and want.
I melt against him, my hands finding purchase on his bare shoulders as his tongue slides against mine.
The kiss is nothing like the frantic, heat-driven encounters we’ve shared before.
This is deliberate, controlled, and somehow more intimate for it.
When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, I realize Kai is still asleep just feet away, oblivious to what’s transpiring. The thought should embarrass me, but instead it adds a thrill of forbidden excitement.
Grayson’s eyes hold mine, asking a silent question. In answer, I press my hips down against his erection, feeling it pulse beneath the thin barrier of our clothing.
“Kai’ll be out like a light until the morning,” he murmurs against my lips. “But tell me to stop and I will.”
I nod, understanding. Whatever is happening between us deserves privacy, deserves intention. I start to move again on his lap, but his hands tighten on my hips, holding me in place for one more moment.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his voice rough with restraint. “No heat to blame this time.”
I distantly wonder if this will make things better or worse, but the thought floats away on a wave of desire. I guess the question of whether or not they’re a pack has been answered. Grayson and Kai wouldn’t have created what might be the nicest date night I’ve ever had otherwise.
I touch his face, tracing the edge of the scar visible beneath his bandana. “I’m sure.”
Something shifts in his expression—relief, hunger, a deeper emotion I can’t name.
“Come with me,” he says, lifting me effortlessly as he rises to his feet.
I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders as he carries me out of the fort, past our sleeping friend, and through the house. We move silently, a shared conspiracy, until we reach his bedroom—a space I’ve never entered before.
It’s surprisingly spartan—a large bed with simple dark sheets, a wooden dresser, a chair in the corner with clothes draped over it. No pictures on the walls, no personal touches beyond a knife displayed on the bedside table and a stack of books beside it.
He sets me down gently on the edge of the bed, stepping back to look at me. “Last chance to change your mind.”
Feeling bold, I tug gently on the hem of his bandanna. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
His eyebrows go up. “You can see whatever you want, but I don’t know how much you’ll like it.”
In answer, I pull my t-shirt over my head, revealing my simple cotton bra underneath.
It’s nothing fancy—certainly not lingerie designed to seduce—but the way Grayson’s eyes darken makes me feel like I’m wearing the finest silk.
Taking a deep breath, I undo the clasp and toss aside the lacy scrap of fabric. “Your turn.”
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, reaching for the bandanna still covering his face.
I hold my breath as he pulls it down completely for the first time, revealing the full extent of his scars. They cover the lower half of his face in a web of healed tissue, twisting his features in places but somehow enhancing rather than diminishing his raw masculinity.
“Now you know,” he says, his voice vulnerable despite its strength.
I reach for him, pulling him down until our faces are level. “Beautiful.”
His kiss is fiercer this time, as if removing the bandanna has unleashed something primal in him. His hands roam my body, learning its contours as I arch into his touch. When his fingers find the waistband of my yoga pants, I lift my hips in silent permission.
He strips me efficiently, too fixated on unwrapping me like a present to tease. Soon I’m naked before him, my skin pebbling in the cool air of his bedroom. He stands back, drinking in the sight of me with a hunger that makes me squirm.
“You’ve been driving me crazy,” he admits, his voice rough. “Since the moment you arrived in town.”
“Is that why you were following me?” I ask, bold in my nakedness.
A ghost of a smile crosses his scarred lips. “Partly. Mostly I was making sure you were safe.”
“And now?” I spread my legs slightly, an invitation.
“Now I’m making sure you’re satisfied.” He drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders pushing my thighs further apart. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you since I found you in that cabin.”
Before I can respond, his mouth is on me—hot and demanding against my core.
I gasp, my hands flying to his hair, uncertain whether to pull him closer or push him away from the overwhelming sensation.
He makes the decision for me, gripping my thighs and holding me in place as his tongue explores my folds.
He’s as methodical in this as in all things, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my back arch off the bed. When he finds my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking gently, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
“Don’t hold back,” he murmurs against my sensitive flesh. “I want to hear you.”
“Kai—“ I begin, but he cuts me off with a clever flick of his tongue.
“Is still asleep on the other side of the house.” His fingers join his mouth, one thick digit sliding inside me with ease. “And I wouldn’t even if he walked in right now.”
The thought of Kai hearing us, of him knowing exactly what we’re doing, sends an unexpected thrill through me. I moan, louder this time, as Grayson adds a second finger, stretching me in preparation for something much larger.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice vibrating against my clit. “Let me hear how good it feels.”