Chapter Twenty-Two
TWENTY-TWO
“Look at that,” Faye said. “I can see wood.”
Greg glanced up from the bag of trash he was taking out to see that the closet—once overrun by boxes of wine—was now nearly empty. Only a single box, and a few bottles, remained. Jackets hung neatly from a rack. Scarves and mittens were piled up on a shelf.
“I’m proud of you, Faye.”
She twisted in her spot to face him. “You know what?” she said. “I’m proud of me, too.”
With that, she swung the door to her closet shut.
Greg nodded solemnly, and took out the trash. Tossing it in the bin outside, he tried to come up with reasons for leaving her behind at night to go track down The Paper Boys with Nelly. But everything he landed on—like getting kidnapped by pirates in The Rogue Prince —wouldn’t work with Faye.
Returning to the foyer, he found Faye locking the front door.
“Is that the last of it?” she said.
Greg examined the space. The tables had been put back in both the studio and the garage. The glass wine bottles had been cleaned and loaded into recycling. “I think so.”
They were alone. The quiet spread out across the foyer, and her eyes caught on his. Her hips, like her breasts, were angled in his direction. And she looked so free in that moment. So happy, too. He loved seeing her like this, full up with all the joy she deserved. He fell into her gaze, her swinging, shifting angles, until all reason was lost.
A heat flushed in his chest...and loins. A feeling so intense, a craving, sprang from the deepest well of him, because the way she was looking at him...also felt like hunger.
He swallowed, unable to form words, his body responding. And Faye closed the distance. All the desire he had been pushing down, squelching nightly because it was wrong, because he didn’t know who he was, because he didn’t want to hurt her...disappeared under the spell of his own throbbing need.
Faye met him with her own frenzied hunger. Her words disappeared into moans, her hands reaching behind his neck, greedy fingers pulling at his hair, while she kissed his mouth. Gentle kisses were followed by forceful ones, swirling tongues like these swirling feelings, because he shouldn’t be doing this. They shouldn’t be doing this.
And yet he kissed her, and kissed, and kissed her...drowning out the noise inside his head, forgetting all about his past and his future, softening like clay beneath her touch, because hearing those soft moans of pleasure escaping her mouth, his instinct as a man fully took over.
“Faye.” He groaned her name.
“Yes,” she whispered back.
“We should stop.”
“We should,” she said, wrapping her legs around his waist.
His erection grew, because she was magnificent. He pulled at the buttons of her dress—a reminder that he didn’t know who he was, that he should stop this—and yet he tore open her dress all the same. Nuzzling his lips into the space between her breasts, he felt her weight, her heft, the splendor of this one brilliant creature, bucking beneath his grip.
“You’re magnificent,” Greg whispered.
“Yes,” Faye moaned.
“Perfection.”
“Greg.”
The name brought him back to reality. “But we shouldn’t...”
His tongue found her nipple, and he covered her bare skin with his mouth. She shivered— he felt her shiver —and so he drew her closer to his body, two tectonic plates shifting towards an earthquake.
“You have no idea...how badly...”
“Greg,” she whispered, meeting his eyes. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”
His heart ached. A thousand reasons why he shouldn’t, why he couldn’t , floated through his brain...before he obeyed, lifting her up, angling those thick thighs around his waist, his manhood engorged with blood, pressing against her, pressing into her, desperate for the wet heat that was lingering there—for some release, craven and preternatural. While she kept kissing him, tearing at him, the heat of his need meeting her own arousal. He carried her up the stairs, careful not to trip over Hillel, and kicked her bedroom door open.
There was no hesitation anymore. No fear shared between them. He released her, placing her feet carefully upon the ground. And she tore at his shirt. Her hands reached into his waistband—not even bothering with his buttons anymore—her fingertips grazing the tip of his desire, causing him to melt, before she lifted up his shirt, taking it off and throwing it to the side, where it landed on the ground in one crumpled lump. Her eyes rolled over his form, his naked chest, the painfully obvious bulge in his pants.
He moved to step forward, touch her once more, when her gaze shifted upwards, over his shoulder, towards the mirror that was situated behind them. Faye squinted, her chin jutting out, before she stumbled back.
And just like that, the spell was broken.