Chapter 13
Grey
Bad idea.
Bad, bad idea.
I should not want to kiss Sabrina right now. I shouldn’t be trapping her against the table. I shouldn’t be telling her any damn thing at all about my life.
But it’s so damn good to see her. To feel her. To breathe in the coffee-and-soap scent of her and watch her bright eyes study me while her lids lower and her breathing comes faster and she darts that quick pink tongue out to lick her lower lip.
“Mistakes hurt,” she breathes.
“You don’t date.”
“You don’t miss much.”
“I don’t date.”
“You’re doing very bad math.” She clearly knows where my brain is going.
“Math is my expertise,” I tell her.
Her fingers curl into my shirt right at my breastbone. Both hands, clutching the buttons on my shirt for dear life. “Do you have any idea how much I could hate you? How much I should hate you?”
“I’m good with you hating me.”
Her lips unexpectedly curve up. “ Stop being funny .”
“I wasn’t joking.”
“You’re a disaster.”
“Welcome to the club, Duchess.”
She whimpers, and that’s the last thing I hear before she tugs my shirt and leans forward, planting those lips on mine, plump and hot and hungry.
“Don’t—call me—that,” she breathes against my mouth.
“Want you—hate me,” I breathe back.
She’s nipping and licking and sucking and I’m not in a cold silver-and-white kitchen in a snowy mountain town.
I’m surrounded by heat and humidity while waves roll to shore, my hands roaming over the soft cotton of her T-shirt down to the curve of her hips under her thick pants.
“Can’t do this,” she says.
“Why not?”
“Fuck me, I don’t know.”
Her tongue plunges into my mouth.
My cock is hard as iron. I can’t touch her enough. Feel her enough. Remember her enough.
Fuck , Hawaii was good.
When she was just a random woman having a tough night, and all of my primitive take care of her neurons fired and I felt good about myself and my own worth as a human being for what felt like the first time in forever.
I want to feel that again.
She’s not a safe choice. I know she hates what I’m doing here.
But she understands .
And she’s still kissing me.
Maybe I’m still the moron who doesn’t know she’s using sex to manipulate me.
If I am, I don’t care. I’m not changing my mind about what I’m doing merely because she’s boosting herself onto the table and wrapping her legs around my hips and arching her pussy against my aching dick.
“Oh, fuck, no,” she suddenly gasps.
“What? What? ”
“Walked in—Emma—here—move. Move .”
Is she saying—nope.
Don’t care.
I lift her, cradling her ass in my hands while she moans and threads her fingers through my hair and kisses me like I’m the missing piece to her puzzle. And in four steps, I’m shoving her against the back door while I kiss her back like she’s the missing puzzle to my lone piece.
She squeezes her legs tighter.
I knead my fingers into her strong ass muscles, pressing my erection against her center through our clothes while she moans in my mouth.
I’m not this guy.
Lust doesn’t make me lose my mind.
But I want her naked.
I want her naked and I want to take her against this door and make her eyes light up with that sparkle she had in Hawaii again, and then I want to tell her all of my secrets so I don’t have to carry them alone either.
I am so fucked.
This is not how this trip is supposed to go.
“ Oh, god, Grey ,” she pants, and my name on her lips makes me even harder. “There. There—no . Nope. Grandpa—my eyes—move. Move .”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“ My eyes . But your cock.” She flexes her hips and whimpers.
So do I.
Can’t lie here.
“I want your cock,” she whispers.
“Parking lot.”
“Cousin.”
I recoil.
“ Other cousin. Triplet. Your hair is so soft. How is your hair so soft?” She strokes me behind my ears, then around to my jaw, her fingers skimming my short beard until she’s somehow managed to draw me in to kiss her again.
“Dining room?” I murmur between kisses.
“Windows.”
Shit. “The dog house?”
“Fridge. Against the fridge.”
Done .
I spin again and almost slam her into the prep table when she shifts, rocking her pelvis against my overachieving dick and sending me spiraling toward a head rush.
Shit.
Shit fuck shit fuck not now .
I blink, breathe deep, and will it to pass.
“Grey?” Sabrina whispers.
“You’re too fucking hot,” I force out, and as the words leave me, so do the impending dots in my vision.
“That’s why we can’t do it on the stove,” she says.
Know the last time I laughed while I was kissing a woman who was unbuttoning my shirt as I carried her across a kitchen to shove her against a fridge?
Never.
But I’m in.
Maybe it’s lack of sleep.
Maybe it’s lack of regular sex in the past two years.
Maybe it’s the constant visions of her pleasuring herself with a vibrator on the other side of my bedroom wall every time I accidentally hear her brushing her teeth.
Maybe it’s reminders of Hawaii.
Maybe it’s that I like her .
She finishes with my buttons while still kissing me and shoves my shirt off my shoulders, then roams cool hands over my chest. “It’s so wrong that you’re this hot,” she breathes against my collarbone.
And then she bites it.
My dick strains harder. A tiny gasp slips from her mouth, and she rocks her hips against me once more.
I tug her shirt.
She reaches between us and pops the button on my pants, then dips her hand inside and brushes the tip of my dick.
I whimper.
Cannot help myself. “More.”
She rocks against my shaft and swirls her thumb around my head again.
My eyes cross.
My head falls to her shoulder.
I breathe in coffee and snow and warmth, her hair tickling my cheek, and thrust into her touch. “Why—you?”
“Life’s a bitch,” she replies.
And then she lurches away with a shriek.
No more Sabrina in my arms.
No more Sabrina’s thumb on my raging erection.
No more Sabrina’s legs wrapped around my hips.
Just Sabrina gripping my shirt while the whole damn refrigerator rolls backward.
“What—” I start, lunging for her.
The fridge stops with a distinct crunch of cracking plaster or drywall.
She stops.
I smush against her.
The fridge rolls again.
And then something bashes me in the head, powder exploding in my vision.
I suck in a breath and choke on— cheese ?
Is that cheese ?
Bad cheese.
“Oh, fu —” Sabrina starts, and then she coughs.
And coughs.
I suck in another breath, and I come up choking too. “What—” I start again, but I can’t finish.
An orange cloud is eating us.
It has swallowed us whole, and it is devouring us, choking both of us.
“Drop roll,” I croak. “ Drop roll .”
“Not smoke,” she gasps between coughing fits. “Outside.”
“What?”
“ Cheese .”
“I do not want to know what I just walked into,” Zen says from somewhere beyond the orange haze.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck fuck fuck .
“Fridge wall!” Sabrina shrieks, and then she doubles over coughing again.
I shove my dick back in my pants. “Mainte?—”
Can’t get it out.
Can’t say call maintenance , because I’m choking again.
It’s up my nose.
It’s in my eyeballs.
It’s all over my fingers.
“Is that powdered cheese? Like on cheese puffs?” Zen asks.
I can’t see them.
My eyes are watering too hard, and if I keep coughing like this, I’m going to send myself into the bad kind of head rush.
“Maybe take the kinky shit to Sabrina’s house next time?” Zen says.
Their hand clamps on my arm and tugs, and a moment later, I get a face full of cold, snowy air.
Sabrina’s hacking up a lung next to me.
Zen got us both.
“One of you two rapscallions wanna explain what the hell I just walked into?” my twenty-three-year-old nibling demands like they’re the adult and we’re toddlers.
“And exactly who thought orange powdered cheese belonged anywhere inside Bean & Nugget? Tell me you don’t use that shit when you’re cooking. ”
“Chandler—obsession—leftover,” Sabrina croaks out.
Her frog voice is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.
I clearly have a problem.
“Don’t—” I start, belatedly catching on to what Zen’s snicker means.
“So the Cheese Turd strikes again,” they say. “Uncle Grey, mark that down. He has one name now.”
“Make you—lattes—life—call him—to his face,” Sabrina rasps.
“If the Cheese Turd has the audacity to show his face in this place, I’mma call him a lot worse.
Sabrina, give me your keys. I’m taking Uncle Grey home, and then I’ll be back with a couple gas masks.
Mine’s for fashion. Yours is for cleaning up your mess.
Not that either one of you can clean up the hot mess that’s yourselves. ”
“Why my car?”
“It’s the Uncle Grey is coated in food car. Keys. C’mon. He’ll buy you a new one if I wreck it.”
“You drive in snow?” her voice is clearing.
Zen doesn’t answer.
I pry open my eyeballs, half expecting everything to be orange, but it’s not.
It’s a blurry white.
Snow .
“I…made it here…fine,” Zen says.
Ah, hell.
“Back inside,” Sabrina says. “You two aren’t going anywhere for a few hours.”
“You two aren’t allowed in the same room as long as I’m here.”
I don’t call them on telling me to bang her just the other night.
No point.
We all know the rules.
Just don’t do it where I have to see it .