Chapter 12 #2
“Goddamn, London, you make me lost it.” His dark groan encases us, the agony unbearable as my muscles clench to offset the achy need to feel him inside me.
He endures the torturously slow tease only a few seconds more before he meets the roll of my hips with an eager slam of his, stealing my breath and carving a blistering path right up the center of my body.
A pleasurable shiver skitters down my back, replacing the spike of pain, and I’m lost—giving in completely as he guides my body to his brutal rhythm.
“Fuck…” He curses with a harsh growl as he thrusts deeper, gripping me harder to him, making us one.
When the need becomes too much, Grayson kisses me passionately, and his arms anchor around my lower back. He lifts us off the chair and moves to the floor, spreading me out so he can drive inside me once more, his hips heavy between my thighs as he elicits a throaty moan.
My nails sink into his shoulders as he hooks an arm beneath my knee, positioning me where he can fuck me as hard and as deep as he wants. Every time he pulls out, my body rebels, a fiery spasm rolling through my muscles, my veins liquefying with the pulse of adrenaline pumping through my heart.
“Don’t stop,” I beg, my breaths ragged around my shaky voice.
The impending climax grips me, the pain all-consuming until he fills me again. Every single thrust sends me spiraling. I arch off the floor, my body tensing, and the feel of him hard against my flesh, following in my wake, detonates a resounding orgasm.
Sounds mute as the tightness pulls everywhere, then the rush. My skin prickles, and still he drives in, harder, faster, claiming every shudder for himself.
“God—fuck…no one…no one but you—you fucking ruin me, mo anam cara,” Grayson groans, his words dark and broken and tearing through me like fire.
He stares into my eyes, the blue ablaze in his, as he rocks into me one last time, hard and throbbing against my walls. So fucking hot—I wrap myself around him as he drops heavy against me and groans into my neck.
Our breaths are heavy, merging together in the sudden stillness. The cool air is a relief to my flushed skin. The weight of his body resting on top of mine feels solid. Comforting. Then I feel the wet trickle from the corners of my eyes. Shock snatches the air from my lungs.
I dab my temple, coming away with a trace of tears.
Grayson pushes onto his elbows, his gaze fierce.
“Adrenaline,” I say in way of explanation.
But the deep groove between his brows reveals his disbelief. He feathers my dampened hair away from my eyes, his finger tracing the tear track. I hold his gaze, trying to read his thoughts. He says nothing as he presses his lips tenderly to my temple.
The action is so vulnerable, baring his wonder at my emotional state, that I’m awed by his perception. I desperately try to bank my introspective anxieties and place my palm to his cheek, questioning whether this sudden insight is true connection, or curated sentiment.
“What do you feel?” I ask him.
His glacial blue eyes flick over my face. “Fascinated.”
It’s an honest answer. Most men would either downplay the moment, terrified, or overblow it, seeped in insecurities. Grayson can’t experience the emotional pull, but he’s aware of it—he knows it exists between us.
I let my hand drift to his back, run my fingers over the tattooed keyhole between his shoulder blades, tracing the patterns and numbers. I’m fascinated by him, too. I was the first moment I saw him.
I skim my nails through his hair, feeling the scars that are now hidden. “How did it happen?” The question slips out, thoughtless.
And just as quickly, Grayson’s open expression shutters. I read the pain behind his eyes before he shifts his gaze to the wall clock. “That’s another session, doc.”
Then his comforting weight is gone. He grabs the T-shirt from the floor and offers it to me. I use it to drape myself as I head to the office bathroom, snatching my blouse along the way. When I reemerge, Grayson is again dressed in the security uniform and standing in front of the filing cabinet.
A thought flickers through my mind; a question of whether this is the first time Grayson sneaked into my office.
Doubt is a terrible affliction.
“Is there something you need?” I ask as I gather my skirt and underwear from their discarded location. I finish dressing, forcefully pushing doubts aside.
“Yes, I need you inside Nelson’s head,” he says, his accented voice still rough from before as he turns to face me. “You’re already close to him. I can handle Foster.”
“Fine, but I should go.” I check my phone. “If agents are watching, anything longer than two hours is questionable.”
Grayson inclines his head, watching me closely. He stalks toward me, the darkened office concealing his features until he’s right before me. “Stay close to him, but if he gives you any proof that he’s the copycat and that he’s becoming unhinged, leave, London. Get far away.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you can, love. I’m not worried about you handling yourself.” He takes the phone from me and sets it aside on the desk. “I’m worried about what I’ll do.”
I squint up at him. I hadn’t considered Grayson’s reaction to a threat against me personally. He’s never confronted something like this, for a person he cares for. If Nelson hurt me…what would Grayson be capable of? What would that do to him?
“I understand,” I tell him sincerely.
He grasps my neck, his thumb searching out the pulse of my heartbeat. “Sometimes the past is just the past, London. It doesn’t have any bearing on us now.”
This is in response to my question earlier, and my distant behavior now. Grayson may only be able to mimic emotions, to blend into society, but that intense study into it makes him a master at deciphering others’ emotions.
But I’ve invested countless hours into the study, also. I know that what I glimpsed in the therapy room signifies importance—some tie to his past that he’s desperate to sever.
For now, I nod against his hand, then move into his arms, savoring the last seconds I have with him.
We all have secrets, and I can’t judge too harshly. I’m keeping certain truths from him. Some variations on our trap, and my research into his past. I’ve made a decision that could crumble our already unstable foundation.
As his significant other, my actions are considered a betrayal. As his psychologist, that betrayal is far more offensive. This could do irrevocable damage not only to him—but to us.
Yet if he won’t give me the answers, I now know where I need to go to find them.
To his homeland. To the one woman who gave Grayson this dark life.
His mother.