Chapter 12 #2
Gray’s gaze dropped to my mouth.
“That’s not enough information for one of your plans,” I said.
“I’m not planning.”
“Are you ill?”
“Possibly.”
I touched his shirt.
His hands settled on my hips, careful for half a second.
Then I pulled him closer and careful became irrelevant.
He kissed me like a man who had spent an entire week proving he could stop when he wanted to and had decided stopping was no longer the useful skill.
My back hit the edge of the desk.
Not hard.
Gray’s hand went behind me automatically, protecting my spine while his mouth stayed on mine.
I laughed into the kiss.
“What?” he asked.
“You safety-checked my desk while kissing me.”
“It’s a sharp edge.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You said you want me in April.”
“I said I want to be here in April.”
“Different sentence.”
I grabbed the front of his shirt.
“Do you want me to clarify?”
“Yes.”
I kissed him.
Then, against his mouth, I said, “I want you in April.”
His breathing changed.
“May?” he asked.
“Greedy.”
“June?”
“Gray.”
“I prefer complete data.”
I slid my hands under his shirt.
“I want you for longer than I know how to promise yet.”
That did it.
Whatever humor had been protecting him disappeared.
He kissed me again, slower and somehow more dangerous.
His hands moved over my waist, my back, the curve of my hips. No hurry. No performance. Gray touched like he built things, paying attention to what actually happened under his hands instead of what he expected to happen.
I pulled his shirt over his head.
He reached for mine.
I lifted my arms.
The shirt landed beside the camera bag.
Gray looked at me.
Not at my bra.
At me.
“Door,” I said.
He turned, locked the deadbolt, and came back.
I laughed.
“Tradition.”
“Useful hardware.”
His mouth found my neck.
My laugh dissolved.
By the time my shorts reached the floor, the sandwich had become an abandoned historical artifact and I was sitting on the edge of the desk with Gray between my knees.
He kissed down my throat, over my chest, then stopped long enough to pull my bra off with more competence than a man who claimed not to plan should possess.
“Research?” I asked.
“Basic mechanics.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
His mouth closed over one nipple.
My head tipped back.
“Currently revising my position.”
His hand moved between my thighs through my underwear.
I grabbed his shoulder.
He watched my face while his fingers pressed exactly where he already knew I liked them.
No improvisation for ego.
No changing pace because he wanted applause.
Gray had learned me once and apparently filed the information under permanent records.
“Take those off,” I said.
He did.
Then he dropped to his knees.
I caught his hair before his mouth reached me.
“Wait.”
Gray looked up immediately.
Not disappointed. Attentive.
“Condoms?”
His mouth moved.
“Top drawer of the kitchenette.”
I stared at him.
“You stocked the cottage.”
“After last time.”
“Of course you did.”
“You criticized my planning.”
“I created a monster.”
He stood, crossed two steps, opened the drawer, and held up the box.
“Unopened.”
“Very reassuring, Inspector Bennett.”
He brought one back and set it beside me.
Then he put his hands on my thighs.
“Still want this?”
There was real uncertainty now, so I answered it directly.
“Yes. I want you to fuck me.”
Gray’s eyes closed for one second.
“Useful clarification.”
I laughed.
He kissed me hard enough to end it.
His shorts hit the floor.
I wrapped my hand around him and enjoyed the way his precision briefly left the building.
“Piper.”
“Yes?”
“If you keep doing that, this becomes a shorter project.”
“Scope reduction?”
“Hostile contractor.”
I kissed him again.
He rolled on the condom, then stepped between my knees.
The first press of him made both of us stop joking.
Gray’s forehead touched mine.
He entered me slowly, watching my face, one hand firm at my hip.
I opened around him with a breath that sounded embarrassingly close to his name.
He went still when he was fully inside.
“Okay?”
“Yes. Move.”
He did.
Deep, controlled strokes at first, as if his body had decided predictability was a virtue even while naked.
I wrapped my legs around him.
The angle changed.
Gray made a rough sound against my shoulder.
“Better,” I said.
“I know.”
“Arrogant.”
He thrust harder.
My fingers dug into his back.
“Accurate.”
The desk shifted half an inch against the wall.
Gray glanced at it.
I grabbed his jaw and turned his face back to mine.
“Do not inspect the furniture while you’re inside me.”
“It moved.”
“So did I. Focus.”
That finally broke him.
He laughed once, low and breathless, then kissed me and stopped rationing the force of his body.
The next thrust drove a sound out of me.
His hand slid between us.
“Yes,” I said immediately.
Gray’s thumb moved where I needed it.
The combination turned the room narrow and bright.
His mouth stayed against mine. My hands moved over his shoulders, his back, anything solid enough to hold while my body tightened around him.
“Gray.”
“I know.”
“Do not say you know right now.”
He kissed me.
“Come for me.”
Apparently direct communication was unfairly effective.
I came hard enough to lose the next breath completely.
Gray held me through it, his rhythm breaking at last. He buried his face against my neck, thrust twice more, and came with a sound that felt dragged out of somewhere he usually kept locked.
For a while, neither of us said anything.
The air conditioner hummed.
A gull screamed outside like it had been personally excluded.