Chapter 25 #2
“I’d call it a Savannah kink.” He leans over my back, bringing his mouth to my ear.
His hand darts out to grab my chin, twisting my neck until he can meet my eyes.
“But if having a food kink is what it takes to keep you by my side, then I’ll happily fuck you while feeding you any food your heart desires. ”
It’s simultaneously the sweetest and most fucked-up thing anyone has ever said to me.
But that’s what we are together, right? Sweet, fucked-up, combustible, insatiable, inevitable.
“No more food, Grey. I’m not a game you can play and win. You either want me for me and all my messed-up scars, or you let me go and we move forward as friends.”
He rams his giant cock into me in one go with no warning, and a shocked cry pulls from deep in my chest.
His hand instantly covers my mouth to muffle the sound.
“Does this feel like a game to you?” He growls. His thrusts border on punishing, and I love every second of it. “You think you need to punish yourself for shit, but that’s not going to happen anymore.”
Greyson fucks me as if the end of the world is coming and the only thing that will save us is an orgasm so intense we convince the universe to hold its breath.
He’s hard and unforgiving. The sound of skin against skin, his groans and grunts, my moans that go on into infinity fill the air, adding to the soundtrack of us.
We shouldn’t work.
We fight and annoy the hell out of one another. We push buttons just to see reactions.
But the way we make up? The moments in between the push and pull?
It’s magical.
“Grey. Grey. Grey.” I chant his name into his palm as though he truly is my savior, my other half. I chant his name until my voice is hoarse and barely audible. I chant his name until his fingers slide around my hip to pinch my clit.
And then he commands me with one single word. “Come.”
I detonate around him. My arms give out, and my face would have smashed to the floor, but as though he sensed my weakness, he hauled my back to his front right before I would have face-planted into the hardwood.
But he doesn’t stop fucking me. He thrusts up from the floor, hitting a new spot so deep inside me that it steals my breath. And his fingers continue to stroke and thrum against my overly sensitive clit.
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. My lungs burn from lack of oxygen, and maple syrup still coats my tongue.
I’m in sensory overload, and then he presses his mouth tightly to my ear.
“I’m going to imprint myself on every inch of you, so the next time you try to hurt yourself, I’ll feel it with every fiber of my being.
From here on out, you’re mine and I’m yours.
If you punish yourself, you’ll also be punishing me, and I won’t allow that.
If you need an outlet…” He groans, and his thrusts lose their manic tempo.
“If you need an outlet, a sounding board, someone to take your pain, then you come to me. To. Me. Do you understand?”
He slaps my pussy with his open palm, and my core tightens around him.
“Answer me, Savannah.”
“Yes. Yes.”
“Now you’re going to come again, and when you do, I want you to choke my cock with your tight little cunt. I want you to mold your walls around me. Memorize the feel of me. And know that when you’re a hundred years old, I was the one who knew you, loved you, and understood you from the inside out.”
My head thrashes against his shoulder. I hear his words, but I’m so far gone I can’t begin to comprehend them.
“Come, Monroe. Give me your orgasm, and give me your fucking heart.”
I lose touch with my senses the instant my muscles clench around him. He roars louder than a lion, but I’m no longer scared of his bite.
He’s a predator in every aspect of his life. But somewhere along the line, I stopped being his prey.
Now I’m just his, and I need to figure out how to reconcile that with the rest of my life.
“Are you okay?” He’s holding me with such confidence, I willingly go slack in his arms, and he gently lays me out on the floor. Grey stares down at me with a youthful, boyish glow I’ve never seen on him before, but I still can’t form words.
I just had an orgasm that transcended life, my body, my soul, and I’m not sure how all my pieces fit back together again just yet.
Unable to answer, I shake my head, and his features soften.
“Hold tight. Let me clean this up, and then I’ll carry you to bed.”
I’m nearly six feet tall. The idea of a man carrying me anywhere has always been laughable, but this man keeps proving all my theories wrong.
Moments later, I’m covered in a tablecloth and cradled in his arms as he takes the stairs, moving quietly as though we didn’t just wake the entire house with the most intense sex of my life.
“Did you mean what you said?” I whisper. I don’t even know what I want him to clarify, I just know he said a lot of things that nearly put me into cardiac arrest, and I need to know what’s real and what was lust-induced.
“I said a lot of shit, Monroe, but I can tell you, from the moment I said I wanted to marry you, I have meant every goddamn thing I’ve said, and I’ll never lie to you.
Whatever’s making you question what just happened down there, pack it away.
I know trust doesn’t come easy to either of us, but we have to start somewhere, and I vote for starting together.
When you fall, I’ll be there to pick you up, and you need to do the same for me.
That’s what this partnership is all about. ”
Nothing about our story has been conventional. Nothing about us will ever be easy—we’re too stubborn for our own good.
But as I study the sincerity in his eyes, I know I want to try—with him, I want to try for it all.
“Partners,” I murmur.
“By partners, I mean marriage, Monroe.” He opens our bedroom door, then silently closes it behind us before gently setting me on the bed. “I never wanted the happily ever after, but for the first time in my life, I’m seeing the outline of one—with you.”
“What if I turn out to be the evil stepsister?”
His frown changes his entire face, but he bites his bottom lip, and I can see his mind working behind his jumpy eyes.
“That’s not even a possibility, but if, by chance, it happens, then we’ll find the balance of good and evil together.”
I want to argue. I want to fight him—it’s what we do best—but then he presses a devastatingly sweet kiss to my lips. It envelops all the goodness he possesses, and he transfers it to me with the confidence of a hero in a romance novel.
It hits me then… That’s who Grey is—the wounded protector archetype who has no problem ruining anyone who gets in the way of his family, but underneath that protective layer is just a man who wants to love and be loved.
We’re more alike than I could have ever imagined.
“Go to sleep, Monroe. Our story is just beginning.”
He’s my own personal Mr. Darcy, and he’s willingly playing the part.