26 - Avery
Avery
I’m a bitch.
A judgmental bitch who has spent months assuming the worst of the man sitting next to me.
I assumed he was polished because he wanted people to see him that way. That he was thoughtful because he wanted something in return. That it was all some big game.
And now, sitting on a blanket eating sandwiches cut into neat little triangles that he’d spent the day making, I’m forced to accept what I’ve been suspecting for a while now: absolutely none of it is an act.
In fact, he admitted to waking up early to make everything because he wasn’t sure what I liked and wanted options. When he told me, I noticed him running his tongue along his teeth, which I’m beginning to realize is a sign that he’s embarrassed.
I decided not to tease him for it.
“You’ve barely touched the fruit,” Grayson says.
The sound of his voice pulls me back into the conversation.
I glance over to find him holding the container toward me.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve already eaten my body weight.” I point at him accusingly. “You’re always feeding me.”
“Someone should make sure you eat something other than freezer pizza.”
“You really don’t like freezer pizza?”
“I guess sometimes, but I like cooking.”
I groan dramatically before falling backward onto the blanket.
The grass cushions me as I stretch out, staring up at a sky that has begun shifting from bright afternoon blue into softer shades of gold and orange.
“No one likes cooking,” I announce.
“Lots of people like cooking.”
Beside me, I hear containers closing and the rustle of bags.
When the noises stop, the blanket shifts while he lowers himself beside me, one arm tucked behind his head as he settles onto his back. His bicep flexes as he gets comfortable, reminding me that for all his softness, there’s nothing remotely fragile about him.
My body buzzes, and his shoulder is just close enough to touch if either of us moved an inch.
When I glance over, he’s already looking at me.
“Why do you like cooking?” I ask.
He turns onto his side to face me, his arm propping him up.
“My mom loves to cook. Even with a house full of kids, she always found time to cook elaborate meals. She always had new recipes to try.” His lips tilt up as he gets lost in his memory. “She said it was a labor of love.”
“She sounds sweet.”
“She’s the best. That’s why I started cooking. With three older sisters, spending any time with Mom alone was nearly impossible. But in the kitchen, cooking dinner, it was always just us.”
“I can’t imagine looking for a way to spend time with my parents.” The words slip out on impulse as envy crawls up my spine.
“I’m sorry they put you in the middle.”
“Wasn’t always bad. It usually meant I’d get to do whatever I want, both of them too afraid of being the less fun parent. It’s probably why I’m so selfish now.”
He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear.
“Is that what you think about yourself? That you’re selfish.”
“Aren’t I?” I ask, my eyes searching his.
“If you were selfish, you wouldn’t have helped some random old man take a selfie.
You wouldn’t have taken care of Harper, using your own pain to soothe hers.
You wouldn’t have pushed Wesley into dating Nathan, knowing it was best for her, regardless of the fact that it’s the last thing you probably wanted her to do. ”
I look back up at the sky, trying to hide how badly I needed to hear that from someone. But as the knot in my stomach loosens, his fingers land on my cheek, pulling my chin back to face him.
“Wanting your independence because you know what it’s like to live without it doesn’t make you selfish. It just makes you honest.”
“Honest,” I repeat as if the word itself is completely foreign to me. His face is only inches from mine, and I lean in just slightly.
“You’re surrounded by people who care about you, and you care about them too when you let yourself.”
“And you?”
“Yeah, Chaos. I care about you.”
My heart stumbles over itself. “But I’ve been kind of awful to you.”
His thumb traces gently across my cheek in slow circles, and my heart picks up pace.
“Your walls don’t scare me.” He swallows, his eyes flicking to my lips. “What now?”
It’s two simple words. To anyone else, they wouldn’t warrant a reaction, but I know what he’s asking. What he’s giving me.
A choice.
He’s letting me decide if I’m still locking him out or finally opening the door he’s been desperately knocking at for months.
It’s not much of a question, though, because I don’t have to think about it at all.
I lean in, brushing my lips across his in a slow kiss. His hand slides from my cheek into my hair, holding me while he melts against me. It’s like his entire body has released a sigh of relief from the simple contact of my lips against his.
He pulls back just slightly, eyes searching mine for some sort of permission that he doesn’t need. I brush my nose against his and kiss him again. This time, he doesn’t stop. He takes his time exploring my mouth, teasing his tongue across my lips and into my mouth, in slow circles.
Every kiss we’ve shared before this has felt like a collision. Months of frustration and attraction finally finding somewhere to go. This feels more deliberate.
His mouth moves against mine with a patience I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before, and every time I pull back to catch my breath, he follows with another kiss that somehow feels even more intimate than the last.
I lose track of time and everything except the way my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
At some point, he shifts closer until one of his arms is braced beside my head, and he’s half hovering over me on the blanket. I slide my hand into his hair, and he exhales against my mouth, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver through me.
A startled laugh from somewhere nearby finally pulls me back to reality, and I pull back from him. He groans and drops his forehead against my shoulder.
I glance around, only now realizing how dark it’s gotten.
“We should probably go.”
The drive back is quieter than the ride over, and when he slides his hand into mine, as if it’s something he’s done a million times before, I find myself holding on tighter than I should.
By the time we pull up to my apartment complex, my pulse is racing because neither of us seems eager to say goodnight.
I look over at him, and the corners of my mouth lift.
“Do you want to come inside?”
His expression softens. “I don’t have to.”
“And if I want you to?”
He grins, climbing out of the car and opening my door for me.
The entire way up the stairs to my apartment, I tell myself I’m being ridiculous.
I’ve literally already had sex with this man.
Hell, I’ve had his head between my legs in a public bathroom for fuck’s sake.
There is no reason my palms should be sweating like I’m some high schooler about to have her first kiss.
I rub my hands against my jeans in the entryway while he sets his keys on the counter. Refusing to let my nerves hold me back, I blow out a breath before crossing the space between us. His hands find my waist at the exact same moment mine find his shirt.
The kiss that follows is deeper than the ones in the park, filled with the steady certainty of two people finally admitting that this isn’t something we’re trying to get out of our systems so we can move on, but something that we might not want to move on from.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. He searches my face, giving me every opportunity to stop. I should stop. I still don’t want the things he wants. This could blow up in our faces, but with his eyes on me, everything after tonight feels so irrelevant.
My fingers lace with his as I lead him down the hallway, watching as he glances around the space, taking it in.
We don’t bother closing the door, almost as if we both realize this might be the first time we’ve actually had complete and total privacy together.
There’s no chance of someone barging in or knocking on the door.
It’s just us. Just this. For as long as we want.
I pull him against me, kissing him hungrier than before. His hands slide from my hips to my ass as he grinds into me, and I can feel just how hard he is through his jeans.
My feet walk us backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed, buckling underneath me as I sit down. It breaks our kiss, and he hovers over me, eyes searching my face for the answer I know is plainly written across it.
Yes. I want this. I want you. At least for tonight.
To prove it, I slide my jacket off, then slowly pull my shirt over my head. His eyes trail down to the hot pink bra covering my breasts, and satisfaction curls low in my stomach. The hungry look he’s giving me now is exactly why I chose it.
He reaches up, and I expect him to yank it off, but instead, he brushes his thumb across it and up my neck in a gentle caress. His eyes lock on mine, and I’m powerless to look away as he grabs the hem of his shirt, sliding it over his head.
I can’t resist sliding my hand up his chest, tracing the lines of his tattoo before reaching back to unclasp my bra and let it slide down my arms. Across from me, he shoves his jeans down his hips, and I follow suit, lifting slightly to tug my own jeans and underwear down my legs while he kicks off his boxers.
Every move is slow and unhurried. Our eyes are locked the entire time, and it feels more intimate than any other time I’ve been with him. He isn’t even touching me yet.
Sliding farther back onto the bed, I let my head sink into the pillows and finally put a little space between us.
It turns out that’s a mistake. Because with a few feet separating us, I can fully appreciate the sight in front of me.
Grayson pauses at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on mine, and my pulse stutters.
My mouth goes dry when he climbs onto the mattress, making his way up to me. Desire hums beneath my skin, but he pauses, watching me with reverence I’m not sure how I earned.
When our lips finally meet again, it’s full of heat, our mouths moving together in a consuming rhythm until I’m not sure where one kiss ends and the next begins. I’m half convinced I don’t even need air anymore, just his mouth on mine.
It feels too right and completely terrifying. Before I can disappear down that spiral, though, his hand is between my legs, brushing a soft circle across my clit. I arch up to meet him immediately, and he does it again.
“Oh my god.” I moan in a desperate plea.
“Save that for when I’m inside you.”
One of my hands grasps the sheet while he continues working me over with his fingers, lips trailing wet kisses along my neck. My other hand reaches between us, taking hold of his cock and stroking him slowly. He jerks against me, his movements becoming shaky.
I smirk, satisfied with my ability to have him balancing on the edge of his perfect control. He quirks an eyebrow when he notices, dropping a quick kiss on my lips before his fingers slide deep inside me in one swift motion, curling against the spot that drives me wild.
Even now, we’re egging each other on, seeing who will break first. But this isn’t the same game we’ve been playing for months anymore. It’s not fueled by frustration or attraction we’d rather ignore. This time, it’s not really about the sex at all.
I just want him. Closer. Everywhere.
“You’re so wet, Avery. So fucking willing and ready for me.”
“You feel pretty ready for me, too.” I stroke him again, sliding my hand up his shaft until the smirk falls off his face, his eyes darkening as his breathing turns uneven.
“You win,” he says, whimpering as I continue the motion.
“I always win.” My thumb circles the tip of him before I slide back down to the base.
“Are you going to let me inside you tonight, baby?”
Heat rushes through me at the question. Again, he’s proving that the control over this is mine. Whatever happens next is up to me.
His forehead drops briefly against my shoulder, and for the first time all night, the steady certainty I’ve come to associate with Grayson cracks just enough for me to see what’s underneath.
“I’ll do anything,” he says quietly, the words brushing against my skin. “I’ll be such a good boy for you.”
Oh. My. God.
The last of my nerves fade away, leaving me breathless beneath the weight of just how badly I want him.
“A good boy? Are you really that desperate for me?”
“Fuck yes. Don’t you know that you could have me on my knees if that’s where you wanted me?”
“Tempting,” I tease, my voice sounding hoarse. “But what I really want is for you to prove just how good you’ll be for me.”
A rough chuckle slips from deep in his throat as he reaches over, snagging a condom out of the drawer and sliding it onto his cock, all while still hovering over me.
His mouth lands back on mine as though he can’t stay away for long.
My hands latch around his neck, and everything outside of us falls away.
As he thrusts into me, my legs wrap around his waist. The sudden fullness has me gasping against his mouth, but my legs tighten, pulling him further into me anyway.
We move together slowly at first, neither of us in any rush, and every touch feels like it means something I’m not ready to feel. The slow rhythmic motions of our hips moving against each other are easy to get lost in while his hand starts toying with my nipple.
There are no words left between us, only ragged breaths and quiet moans as we move together, his thrusts picking up pace as my body relaxes around him.
Our lips hover only inches apart as we breathe the same air.
Neither of us closes the distance, our eyes locked on each other, and unable to look away.
When my eyes finally drift shut, overwhelmed by the feeling building inside me, he finally speaks.
“Look at me, Avery. I want to see you while you come for me.”
I do, focusing on the green flecks in his eyes at the exact moment he sends me over the edge, my body arching off the bed as I ride it out while he groans, coming inside me.
If this were like any other time I’ve ever had sex, this would be when he pulls out and gets off me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans in, kissing me slowly with his cock still inside me. It might be the hottest thing a man has ever done to me.
When he does finally get up, I watch him walk away, trying to make sense of the conflicting emotions at war in my head.
I should want him to leave. I always want them to leave. Distance is easier because the future can’t become a problem if no one sticks around long enough to see what it could be.
There’s got to be a part of him that expects it. He’s no stranger to me pulling away, and he promised this date came with no pressure, which is probably why he stops halfway back to my bed and slides back on his boxers.
Before he can finish getting dressed, I surprise us both.
“Can you stay?”