Chapter 33 Grayson
GRAYSON
I’m not supposed to want things like this.
My pulse spikes, but I don’t move. “Tell me what that means.”
Her breath shakes out. “It means I want you. Just you.”
I nod, slow. “Okay.”
She hesitates, then adds, even quieter, “But I want the lights off.”
The request lands like a sudden change in gravity. It isn’t inconvenient. It’s vulnerable. It tells me exactly where the soft spots are without her having to name them. My chest tightens with something protective and aching, but I don’t let my face change in a way that makes her regret saying it.
“Okay.”
Her eyes search mine—waiting for the catch. There isn’t one. But I do need one thing.
“Do you trust me?” I ask softly.
Her lips part, but her gaze doesn’t waver.
“Yes.”
The word is steady, and my heart rate instantly kicks up a notch.
“Good,” I murmur. “Then I’m going to do this right.”
I move to the light switch, turning it off, and the room drops into shadow.
I glance around—one desk lamp, fairy lights along the wall beside her bed, hanging from the ceiling.
The bathroom door cracked. My eyes catch the mirror on her closet door, then I flick on the bathroom light and leave the door barely open so it spills into the room like a low glow.
I look back at her. “This okay?”
Harlow nods slowly. “Yeah.”
I take off my sweater, set it on her desk chair, then I step closer again. I stop in front of her, and my body reacts instantly, heat pooling low and fast.
I lift my hand and brush my knuckles along her cheek again.
Her eyes flutter shut for half a second like her body can’t decide whether to melt or bolt.
When they open again, they’re brighter. Brave.
“You’re allowed to change your mind at any time,” I remind her.
“I won’t,” she repeats.
It makes something inside me pull tight. I lean in slowly and stop just before my lips reach hers. Close enough for her to feel my breath. Close enough for her to decide. Her eyes drop to my mouth. Then her hand slides up my chest, and my whole body goes electric.
“Harlow,” I whisper.
She tips her chin up. “Stop thinking so much.”
A laugh almost breaks out of me, but it dies in my throat because her voice isn’t teasing. It’s pleading. So I give her what she’s asking for.
I kiss her.
The first kiss is slow—barely there—like a test. Like I’m letting her nervous system catch up.
Her mouth parts on a shaky breath, and I feel it everywhere.
The second kiss goes deeper. Tongues colliding against each other like they’re trying to fight for the limited space.
Her fingers clutch the front of my shirt like she needs something solid.
A low sound tears out of me—rough, ruined—and her whole body trembles like it hits her right where she lives.
My hands settle at her waist, gentle but sure.
Not gripping.
Anchoring.
She leans into me like she’s been fighting gravity all day and finally stopped. The kiss turns hungry, and my control starts to fray at the edges. Harlow pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead pressing to mine, voice wrecked.
I lead her gently toward the mirror I noticed earlier on her closet door. The slightly open bathroom door gives the room just enough light that I can make us both out in the mirror, without freaking her out.
When she stands in front of the closet mirror, she crosses her arms automatically like armor. I step behind her, close but not touching yet. I meet her eyes in the reflection.
“You’re safe,” I say.
Her throat moves. “Okay.”
I lift my hands to the hem of her shirt and pause.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I murmur.
Harlow shakes her head once. “Don’t stop.”
My chest tightens. I lift slowly, and as the fabric rises, her breaths turn shallow.
So I slow down even more, kissing her shoulder through the material, keeping her grounded in sensation instead of spiraling thought.
When I pull the shirt over her head, I don’t rush to look.
I don’t act like I’ve been starving. I keep my gaze on her eyes in the mirror.
Because I want her to know I’m not here to judge her body. I’m here to worship it.
She’s in a tank top now, skin warm in the low light, and she looks like she’s braced for impact anyway.
I lean in and speak where she can’t miss it.
“You’re beautiful,” I say.
Her mouth opens on an instinctive protest.
I shake my head, soft. “No. Let me.”
Her eyes flick to mine. I slide my hands down her arms, slow. “You’re beautiful because you show up even when everything in you wants to disappear.”
My fingers trace her waist over the fabric. “You’re beautiful because you feel everything, and you still keep your heart in your chest.”
I kiss the side of her neck, and she shivers. “You’re beautiful because you don’t weaponize your softness. You survive with it.”
Harlow’s breath hitches.
I pause.
Look at her again, steady, in the mirror. “Still okay?”
Her voice is barely there. “Yes.”
So I keep going. I peel the tank top up, inch by inch, and as more skin appears, I name it like it’s sacred.
Not cheesy.
True.
I kiss her shoulder. “This is beautiful.”
The curve of her collarbone. “And this.”
The soft rise and fall of her breath. “This.”
Her mouth trembles.
I catch her gaze once more in the mirror and keep my voice low. “Look at yourself.”
Her eyes flicker with panic.
I slide my hands to her hips—warm, steady. “God just look at you, Harlow.”
Her throat bobs, and she slowly looks at herself. And I watch the moment her brain tries to argue with her reflection. I don’t let it win.
“You’re not too much,” I murmur near her ear. “You’re exactly enough. And you’re mine to be gentle with, not to fix.”
Harlow turns her head like she wants to swallow the words right out of my mouth. She kisses me—harder this time, impatient, her hands fisting in my T-shirt. I groan against her lips, and the sound is embarrassingly wrecked, like she just pulled something loose in me that I can’t put back.
I wouldn’t want to anyway.
She smiles against my mouth like she felt the effect.
Dangerous girl.
I tug my shirt over my head and toss it onto her desk chair with my sweater. Her eyes track the movement—heat and nerves warring in the same space. I step in behind her again, chest to her back, and she inhales like she’s surprised by how good it feels to be held without being trapped.
Moving her hair to one side, I move my lips along her jaw. “Tell me what you want.”
Harlow’s voice cracks. “You.”
“I know,” I breathe. “But tell me how.”
Her hands come up to my wrists, guiding them like she’s giving herself permission. My fingers slide to the waistband of her leggings and stop. I wait. Harlow meets my eyes in the mirror, pupils blown wide. She nods once.
That’s my yes.
I peel them down slowly, keeping my hands warm and steady, not yanking, not rushing.
She steps out of them like she’s stepping into a different version of herself.
One that doesn’t have to fight so hard. She’s in her underwear now, the light soft across her skin, and she’s shaking, but not from the cold.
I press a kiss to her shoulder. “Still with me?”
Her answer is a breath. “Yes.”
I turn her gently to face me, and the sight hits harder than it should. She’s flushed. Eyes bright. Mouth parted like she keeps forgetting how to breathe.
My hands frame her waist. “Can I take this off too?” Gesturing toward her bra.
Harlow swallows. “Yes. But…don’t—”
“I won’t,” I say immediately. “I’m not turning this into something you have to survive. This is all about you.”
Her eyes flicker, relieved and terrified at the same time.
I guide her back until her shoulders meet the closet door beside the mirror—not pinning, just placing, giving her something solid behind her. Then I move slowly, sliding the straps down her shoulders like I’m unwrapping something precious.
I keep talking the whole time—not to fill space, but to hold her there.
“Your shoulders,” I murmur, kissing the skin I just exposed. “I love these.”
Her breath hitches.
“The way you hold yourself like you’re always worried the worst is about to happen,” I add, my mouth at her throat. “And the way you still show up anyway.”
Her eyes flutter. I tug the straps the rest of the way and let it fall to the floor. Harlow sucks in a breath like she’s bracing for my gaze to judge what I see.
It’s impossible to find anything but perfection in the woman before me. I hope she can see the gratitude in my eyes, because the universe just handed me something I don’t deserve, and I’m trying my best to be worthy of it.
“You’re perfect,” I say, my voice rough. “So fucking perfect.”
She trembles, and I kiss her again. Slow, deep, completely unhurried, letting myself get lost in her once again.
She makes a sound in my mouth, and I swallow it like it’s holy. My hands move over her back, her waist, staying gentle, staying sure, and when her hips press into mine, both of our bodies react like the same instinct lives in us.
I break the kiss to breathe in her ear.
“I want to taste you,” I whisper, moving my hand to cup her through her panties. “Here. Can I?”
Her eyes are blown wide, but she nods, giving me permission.
I don’t waste a second. I kiss her once more before dropping to one knee in front of her. I take my time, leaving a trail of kisses from her neck to her collarbone, pausing when I reach her perfect breasts.
I keep my eyes locked on hers as I flick her nipple with my tongue, before pulling it into my mouth, sucking on the already hardened peak. She arches into the contact, and I repeat the same treatment to the other side, using my free hand to squeeze the other.
I continue my path down her beautiful body, and when I place a kiss under her belly button, she sucks in a breath. I hook my fingers into both sides of her underwear and pull them down, baring her to me.
So fucking perfect.
I lean in, my tongue stroking her, and I can’t stop the groan that leaves me.