Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Life had become a routine. The kind that snuck up on him without him even realizing it, then suddenly felt as necessary as breathing.
Every single day since the Harvest Festival dance three weeks earlier, Grayson had seen Wren.
Every. Single. Day.
Once a week, she met him at the winery tasting room after they finished work, where they shared dinner on the patio until the light faded over the vines.
The rest of the time, he drove to her apartment, usually carrying groceries, and they cooked together in her tiny kitchen, bumping hips and arguing over recipes.
Then they ended up on the couch, watching whatever happened to be streaming, talking and laughing.
And touching.
Jesus. The touching had practically become its own language. It felt as if they’d spoken volumes without ever opening their mouths.
He loved the soft pink bloom that heated her cheeks whenever he placed his hand on her knee.
Or how that flush went to vivid red when he wrapped a hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her in for a kiss.
He loved the way she curled into him whenever she got sleepy, resting her head on his shoulder, her arm lightly resting on his stomach as if he was her own personal body pillow.
And she wasn’t the only one impacted by their touches.
Grayson spent most of his time around her sporting a serious hard-on.
All she had to do was playfully tickle his cheek with her nose or tangle her fingers with his under a blanket as they sat side by side watching a movie, and he spent the rest of the night covertly trying to adjust his suddenly too-tight jeans.
For the first week, he kept the touches innocent, because it was clear there was some trauma in Wren’s past that was holding her back.
He’d seen glimpses of that same kind of fear on Gretchen’s face when she’d first started as event coordinator at the farm. Her eyes had carried the shadows of something truly terrible, something only his brother, Theo, had been able to drive away.
Grayson had had several conversations with Gretchen in the past year about the abusive relationship she’d escaped, though he knew she held back a lot of the gorier details from him.
Probably because after a year on the farm, she’d learned all the Storm men were cut from the same cloth, and while her ex was no longer a threat, that didn’t stop Grayson, Theo, or any of their brothers from wanting to give the asshole a taste of his own medicine whenever they heard about the ways he’d physically abused Gretchen.
Gretchen had joked the last time they talked about her ex that she’d learned to temper her stories, lest she rile up an angry mob.
Given the smile that accompanied that comment, he could see how truly amazed and pleased she was to know she had an army at her back if needed.
She and Theo had dropped enough tidbits that it was obvious she hadn’t had the support of a family until she’d joined theirs.
So when Wren had shut down the night of the dance, breaking off the kiss and pushing him away in a blind panic, he moved fast, recognizing the flash of terror she thought she’d hidden from him.
He didn’t know who hurt her, but as God was his witness, there would be a day of reckoning for the asshole when she finally trusted him enough to confess her secret.
Until then, he was moving slowly.
Or at least, that had been his intention.
Things had been speeding up as of late—and not because of him. His shy librarian was slowly revealing some wildcat tendencies.
Nowadays, their glances lingered, every brush of skin felt intentional, and every goodbye kiss left them both panting for air and reluctant to part.
He never pushed, but there was no denying he wanted her. And Wren knew it.
Better yet, she shared those same intense desires.
Wren was proving to be as much of a spitfire as Lark, and he fucking loved it. She had a wicked sense of humor, a foul mouth when provoked or when discussing topics she was passionate about, and she could give his brother Maverick a run on being a true smart-ass.
However, unlike Lark, all of that was delivered in a quieter tone and reserved only for Grayson.
He loved that she felt comfortable revealing that side to him, and while there was a part of him that would love nothing more than to hoard her carefree spirit, he hoped there would be a time when she’d be at ease enough with his family to show them the same.
Not that she’d had much practice. With the exception of those dinners at the wine-tasting room, when an occasional family member would stop by to say hello, Wren hadn’t spent any time with his siblings, cousins, or parents, and she’d yet to come to Sunday dinner.
Something that he intended to change very soon.
Because as far as he was concerned, she was it for him, and Grayson was anxious to advance this thing between them.
He’d given Maverick shit all summer for rushing things with Ella, the two of them moving in together, getting engaged, and planning a wedding at the speed of light. Right now, though, he fucking got it.
If it was up to him, he’d already have Wren living with him in cabin seven, a ring on her finger, and his baby in her belly. Which he knew would freak her the fuck out. He also hadn’t told her about the legend surrounding his family. Mainly because he didn’t want her to think he was insane.
He kept telling himself that they were still in the very early days, but as he spent more time with her, the weaker that argument became. At this point, his self-control deserved some sort of goddamn award.
The movie playing on television had become background noise nearly twenty minutes ago. His hand rested on her thigh, his thumb moving in slow, absent circles. Every pass seemed to send heat spiraling between them.
She shifted closer, legs parting just a bit as her hand landed on top of his…before inching it upward.
He worked to steady his breathing, his thumb resuming its caress. Then she shifted again, scooting her ass closer to the edge of the couch—which meant his hand drifted even higher.
It was quickly becoming apparent that none of her movements were unintentional.
“Wren?”
“Hmm,” she hummed. Her eyes were glued to the television, but she wasn’t fooling him. She wasn’t watching the movie any more than he was.
“You’ve been fidgeting for ten straight minutes.”
She grinned. “Maybe I’m uncomfortable.”
He turned toward her, waiting until her gaze met his. “And what would make you more comfortable?”
She laughed softly—then did something he totally hadn’t expected. In one swift motion, she swung one leg over his thighs until she was facing him, straddling his lap.
His hands instinctively reached for her ass, cupping her tight cheeks and tugging her even closer, until they were crotch to crotch.
After tonight, he was bringing a couple pairs of lounge pants and keeping them here, because his fucking jeans were going to cause him a permanent injury. He was already in danger of wearing a tattoo on his shaft from the zipper.
“Little bird,” he murmured, his jaw clenched.
Apart from glancing touches and a fuck-ton of kissing, they hadn’t advanced as far as physical play was concerned.
Their kisses were shared while sitting next to each other on the couch, or while standing at her doorway, or against the driver’s side of her car before she drove home for the night.
She hummed her “hmm?” again.
He wasn’t sure what he’d intended to say next. Wren’s actions rendered every brain cell in his head utterly useless when she tilted her hips, grinding her denim-covered pussy against his also too-fucking-covered dick.
Her hum changed to a long “mmmm,” and he was hard-pressed not to mimic the luxurious sound.
Grayson left one hand on her ass, the other reaching behind her head, grasping a handful of her long wavy blonde hair.
His fist closed around the strands, giving them a slight tug before pulling her mouth to his so he could claim it in a kiss that was a hell of a lot hotter than the ones that had preceded it.
Their tongues danced, and he tasted the sugar from the sodas they’d had with their pizza for dinner. He’d never had a sweet tooth until her, but damn if he wasn’t addicted to her taste. As they kissed, she continued to grind against him.
He growled, the rough sound coming from low in his throat. She lifted her head, adding her own moan to the symphony they were creating.
So far, he hadn’t pushed her, hadn’t tested the waters on her turn-ons, but that ended tonight. He pulled her hair with more force. It was a total head rush when her eyes drifted closed and she whimpered with arousal, her face flushed with naked desire.
“Gray,” she said, her voice suddenly husky. She’d recently started shortening his name the same way his family did, and that casual familiarity was as much of a turn-on as her response to him pulling her hair. “I… God, I…”
They hadn’t discussed her inexperience. Honestly, it didn’t seem necessary. Given her skittishness at the beginning, it was obvious she was in uncharted waters in regards to a sexual relationship.
“Your timeline,” he reminded her, even though they’d been dancing around this line for weeks, getting closer, wanting more.
Her hands slid over his chest, not stopping until they reached his waist. Once there, she slipped them beneath the hem of his shirt, lifting it so she could stroke his bare skin.
He wanted more, so he reached behind his head, grabbing the neckline of his T-shirt. With one swift motion, he pulled it off completely.
Wren’s eyes widened. Not in fear but in pure admiration. A man would die happy if that appreciative look was the last he ever saw.
She lost no time resuming her caress, but now she added her lips to the game. Scooting down his thighs, she gave herself enough room that she could lower her head and drag her tongue over his pecs.
“You’re playing with fire,” he warned in a gruff tone.