Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SAVVY
Nerves make my hands shake as I hover in the doorway of the den. Greyson stands, shirtless, in the center of the room with a tablecloth laid out at his feet.
“Come in.” His confidence has me stepping into the room.
With the grace of a predator, he slips behind me to close the pocket doors. The snick of the lock engaging causes goosebumps to sweep my exposed skin.
His hand gently wraps around my elbow, and he guides me to the tablecloth, where he sits on the floor, motioning for me to do the same.
“What’s going on, Grey? It’s the middle of the night, and people are sleeping all around us.”
“Makes it that much more exciting, doesn’t it?”
“Makes what exciting?” I whisper. “Getting caught doing something stupid in our best friends’ home?”
“Our first date.” He leans over the plate and, with the utensils he removes from my hands, cuts the pancakes into bite-sized pieces. Then he dumps a shitload of maple syrup all over them. “It could get messy though.”
I narrow my eyes as he inches closer. He has a sick fascination with food and sex. Grey stabs a piece of blueberry pancake, swirls it around the syrup, and before I can complain, he lifts it to my lips.
Syrup drips in a heavy, sticky glob to the inside of my thigh and his gaze darkens as I open my mouth, allowing him to feed me.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” His voice is husky, and my breath catches in my throat when he leans over and licks the syrup from the inside of my thigh.
“Ah…” The second swipe of his tongue has my stomach coiling with need. “When I was ten years old, I wanted to be a librarian.”
His tongue pauses against the soft skin leading to my core, his breath adding sensations to my stimulation and nearly short-circuiting my brain.
“You’d have been one sexy librarian, Sav.” He places an open-mouthed kiss halfway up my thigh, then pulls away.
I know without a mirror that my pupils are blown wide. “This is an…unusual first date.”
“Fitting, don’t you think?” He hands me the fork. “Since we’ve done everything ass-backward, I didn’t think taking you to the diner for meatloaf was going to cut it. Plus, I didn’t want to take ten steps back and then have to wait for sex with you.”
“If this is our first date, then sex is definitely off the table,” I lie. “I’m not that kind of girl.”
“We’ll see. Your turn. Feed me, Monroe.”
Jesus, why is his commanding tone the ringmaster of intense desire?
Scooping up a piece of pancake with as much syrup as I can, I slowly lift it to his mouth, watching as a line of syrup falls from the fork to his abdomen before the bite reaches his lips.
“Did you think of me when you ran back to California?” I’m still whispering, but now it’s more about fearing answers than waking our temporary roommates.
Before he can respond, I crawl two feet closer to him, then force him to lean back on his palms while I clean up his stomach with tiny kisses.
His groan makes my kisses hungrier, more eager.
“Night and day, Monroe. You were a sickness and there was no cure. You had already embedded yourself in my DNA, and no matter how far I ran or how hard I tried to block the memory of you, you were here.” He slaps his chest. “And fucking with me here.” He taps his temple.
I continue kissing the ripples and indents of his stomach until my tongue is branded with the taste of him and syrup.
His cock bobs in his shorts, and he finally pushes me away with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“My turn.” He takes the fork from my hand. But now I’m beside him, and before he lifts the syrup-covered bite, he motions for me to lean back on my elbows.
As soon as I do, he holds the fork over my right nipple, waiting as a slow string of syrup creates a messy circle on my tank top.
“That’s going to stain,” I grumble. He shuts me up by slipping the pancake past my lips. Sweet blueberries explode in my mouth when I bite down, and I moan.
The fork hits the plate with a clatter, and then his mouth wraps around my syrup-covered nipple. He sucks on the fabric of my tank top with long pulls that send contractions through my core.
The man laps, licks, and sucks until my entire nipple is soaked and I’m a panting mess.
“You play dirty.”
The smile that Grey shoots my way says more than words ever will.
It says: I’m just getting started.
It says: Endgame.
His eyes darken as he stares up at me, then he bares his teeth, biting my nipple and pulling at the same time.
“Fuck.” It’s a moan that’s pulled from the deepest corners of my soul. His ministrations throb everywhere in me.
“Your turn.” He hands me the fork, and I blink three times to get my brain to work.
I can play dirty too though. Knowing he won’t end this game until all the food is gone, I place three pieces on the fork, then swirl it around until I’ve soaked up as much syrup as I can.
He growls when I hold the fork over his cock, and moans when I tip it sideways, watching the line of syrup that falls from the pancake onto his hard length.
“I love this game.” His words are tortured but honest, and I feed him the giant bite.
Then I use my tongue to lap at the fallen syrup. I close my lips around his fabric-covered cock and suck. Hard, long, deep pulls. My scalp prickles when he fists my hair, holding me in position as though I have anywhere else to be.
“Too. Many. Clothes.” His hips jerk as I run my open mouth along his length, soaking the shiny cotton of his shorts. “You’ll pay for this, Monroe.”
I look up to find him staring at me with so much heat, I’m shocked the room isn’t engulfed in flames. Lowering my chin, I stare up at him through thick lashes and add pressure to his cock with my tongue.
“Get up here.” His jaw is clamped so tightly, the muscles in his neck pulse in time with his heartbeat.
Easing off his cock with a smirk, I sit back and rest my palms flat on the floor behind me.
He dives for the plate of pancakes, and as he works to load up the fork, nerves settle in my chest.
The one thing I can count on with Greyson Reyes is that he’ll always come back harder, more determined than before. He stalks me now with one thing on his mind—taking control and helping me free my mind.
My eyes widen at the size of the bite he expects me to eat.
There has to be at least five pieces of pancake on it.
Syrup drips from the fork to my thigh, then—as if he’s located my clit with GPS—he dribbles a little pool of syrup onto my shorts.
The heat of it instantly warms the tingling bundle of nerves.
A piece of pancake falls into my lap, and he grins. “Dinner and dessert.”
I open my mouth to tell him I can’t take that bite, but he uses the opportunity to feed me. He holds eye contact, daring me to contradict him as he scrapes the food into my mouth by sliding the fork along my teeth.
Asshole.
My mouth is too full to complain, and he takes advantage of that too by dropping between my thighs, eating the piece of pancake, and then attacking my clit with ruthless precision right through the fabric of my clothes.
“Oh.” It’s the only sound I can manage as I scramble to chew and swallow.
“I can smell how much you want me, Sav. Do you have any idea how much that turns me on? Nothing has ever been as sweet as you, salty as you, goddamn incredible as you.”
He bypasses my sleep shorts, going straight up the leg hole to clamp his lips over my clit through my sheer panties, and stars fill my vision.
A long, low moan escapes my lips, and without breaking contact with my core, Grey somehow manages to grab a piece of bacon and then shove the entire thing into my mouth.
It’s heavenly, and my only fear is that he’s creating a new kink, a Pavlovian response to bacon and his dick. Every time I smell bacon for the rest of my life, I’ll remember how his sinfully skilled tongue tasted me.
“Have you touched yourself to thoughts of me, Sav?” I cry out when his finger slips under the band of my panties. His knuckle grazes my seam over and over again as sparks light up my entire nervous system.
“Yes.” There’s no point in lying. He knows I struggled when he left. That says more about my feelings for him than any words ever could.
He grabs the fork again, this time lifting my tank and bringing a bite of his creation to my belly, rubbing the sticky sweetness all over my skin.
His free hand drags my shorts and panties down to my thighs, and I gasp as the syrup trail dips lower, over my clit, across my lips, and back up to my other hip before he lifts the fork to my mouth.
“Taste how sweet you are, Sav.”
I don’t even hesitate to open my mouth, but the only thing I taste is syrup and blueberries. He’s created a huge mess on my skin and wastes no time cleaning it up with his tongue, his lips, his entire mouth.
His dark gaze darts from my pussy to the plate, and I whine in protest.
“No more pancakes, Grey. Please. Please just touch me.”
His expression turns feral, and I know I’ve got him.
“Do you have any idea what hearing you beg does to me? I could come in my fucking underwear just hearing you beg for me.” He lowers his shorts, and his fist wraps around his thick, pulsing cock, but his gaze darts back to the plate of food.
“You have an unhealthy food kink, you know that?”
He ignores me as he finishes removing my clothes, but his smile shines in his eyes. “I don’t have a food kink.”
I scoff, but it dies on my lips when he uses his thumbs to open my pussy lips to him. “What would you call it then?”
His mouth clamps down over my clit, and I keen like a cat in heat. Fuck. He’s too good at this. I’m so lost in sensation that he’s flipped me to my hands and knees before I even realize I’m moving.
His cock nudging my entrance causes me to arch my back and push against him.