Chapter 24
Greyson
She’s stretched out on my bed in sheer yellow lace, firelight brushing over her skin, turning her into something almost unreal.
The color makes her glow—warm and golden and alive against the dark wood of the cabin.
My chest rises and falls hard.
I’ve faced down storms. I’ve stared down wild animals.
Nothing prepares me for this.
For her.
I strip out of my clothes without taking my eyes off her. No performance. No swagger.
Just hunger and something softer underneath it.
Something that feels dangerously close to awe.
She watches me like I’m the miracle.
Like I’m the art.
And that undoes me.
When I climb over her, I don’t rush.
I press my mouth to her slowly—her shoulder first, then the delicate line of her collarbone.
She shivers beneath me, fingers sliding into my hair, holding me there.
“Greyson,” she breathes.
It’s not a plea.
It’s a surrender.
I trace my hands down her sides, memorizing the curve of her waist, the softness of her hips.
She arches into me like she trusts me.
That trust feels heavier than any expectation ever has.
But I can handle it. I won’t—no, I can’t stop now.
I need her.
Desire wells inside me like an insurmountable hunger, and the only thing that’ll quench it is her.
So, I lower my mouth along her body, reverent. Slow.
Listening to every hitch of her breath, every quiet sound she makes.
She reacts to my touch like she’s been waiting for it.
Like her body knows it’s mine already.
No one has ever made me feel like this.
Not just aroused.
Unraveled.
I’m restless for her in a way that feels almost primal. Like something in me has been asleep for years and she just pressed her palm to it and woke it up.
As I trail my mouth down the curve of her body, slow and deliberate, a new feeling creeps in—dark and sharp and possessive.
It startles me.
I told her I’d go slow.
That we didn’t need to name this.
That it didn’t have to be anything more than two people choosing each other for a night.
But I think I might be a liar.
Because the more I taste her skin, breathe in her soft floral scent, feel her hands tighten in my hair—the more something inside me shifts.
Deepens.
It’s not just hunger.
It’s fixation.
I want to know her.
Not just the way her body responds to my touch—but the rhythm of her thoughts.
The sound she makes when she laughs without trying to be charming. The way she looks at the mountain when she thinks no one is watching.
I want to memorize her.
The rise and fall of her breath. The shiver in her thighs. The way her voice breaks when she says my name.
And yeah—there’s something territorial in it.
Not ownership.
Not control.
But a fierce, aching desire to be the one she chooses.
To be the one she comes back to.
I’ve never felt the need to claim someone.
Never cared if I was anyone’s first call in the morning or last thought at night.
But with her breathy gasps filling the air and her fingers curling into my shoulders like she’s anchoring herself to me—I want to matter.
I want her to look at me tomorrow the way she does right now.
Like I’m not a legend.
Not a project.
Not a cautionary tale.
Just a man she wants.
And when she arches beneath me, when her eyes open and lock onto mine instead of drifting closed—it hits me.
This isn’t just about possession.
It’s about presence.
About staying.
About choosing her in the light of day, not just in the dark.
The thought terrifies me. Intoxicates me.
And I don’t pull away.
I press my forehead to her skin, breathing her in, steadying myself in the heat of her body and the softness of her touch.
And somewhere between her whispering my name and the fire crackling low in the hearth—
I realize I don’t just want her.
I want the risk.
I want the fall.
I want whatever this becomes.
By the time my lips find her center, she is hot, and so fucking wet. I groan as I press my face into her sweet pussy—inhaling her at her core.
“Greyson,” she whimpers, flexing her hips.
“Hold on, Trouble,” I murmur against her skin. “I got you.”
And I mean it in every possible way.
She gasps softly at the nickname, then harder when I draw her closer, when I focus on her fully, when I make her the center of everything.
Her fingers tighten in my hair.
Her legs tremble against my shoulders.
The sounds she makes are raw and unfiltered and absolutely wreck me.
I don’t rush her.
I don’t chase down her release.
I earn it by learning her.
By giving her what she craves.
The way she arches when I graze just right. The way she says my name like it’s both a question and an answer.
“You’re soaked for me, Clara. Did you miss me? Did you miss my touch?” I growl, sliding my fingers through her slick and rubbing circles over her hard little clit.
“Yes, God, yes! I need you so bad,” she moans.
“What do you need? Do you want to come?” I ask, licking inside her, feeling her walls clench around my tongue.
“Please,” she begs, and that’s my undoing.
I shove two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and I flatten my tongue over her clit, groaning at how fucking good she tastes.
“I-I’m coming,” she moans, letting go of all worry and embarrassment.
Her back arches off the bed as her sugar sweet explosion fills my mouth.
Her thighs shake, and I keep on licking.
Wave after wave, listening to her suck in air, gasping for breath.
She tugs on my hair when the sensation grows too strong.
But I don’t relent.
Not yet.
Instead, I lick her lazily, tongue swiping through her folds, I keep on eating her through every last tremble and aftershock.
I’m like a beast. Hungry for her. Only her. And I feast on her pleasure like a wild thing.
And when she finally pulls me back up to her, breathless and flushed, her eyes are different.
Open.
Bright.
Pupils blown.
But she’s not shying away from it. From me.
No, she just cups my face with both hands.
“Don’t disappear on me,” she whispers.
I press my forehead to hers.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell her.
And this time—I believe it.
I kneel between her legs.
“Keep them open for me, Baby. That’s it. Show me that pretty pussy,” I growl, rubbing my cock through her folds.
“Fuck. Condom.”
I close my eyes, angry at myself for not being prepared. I make to move, but she stops me.
“I-I’m clean, and I have an IUD. Please, Greyson. I want you,” she whispers.
My eyes go even wider.
“You mean it. I can take you bare?”
She nods. And a deep wave of possession rolls through me.
Pre-cum is leaking from my tip as I fit my cock to her entrance.
I’m so fucking hard for her right now.
I push in. It’s tight. Almost too tight, and she moans.
I don’t want to hurt her. That’s the last fucking thing on my mind, so I kiss her. I touch her. I wait until her body relaxes.
Then I finally bottom out inside her—and it feels like destiny.
She’s everywhere. Her soft skin, her warm sex, her sweet sounds—they fill me like I fill her. And I know—I know with zero uncertainty—I will take this moment with me to the grave.
I hold her hip with one hand and bring the other to her face. I cup her cheek, and I look at her face—she is so fucking pretty. Beautiful really.
Every bit of this moment feels incredible. But I can’t wait any longer.
“You ready for me, Trouble?”
She nods.
And in my soul, I thank God.
Then, when we finally do move it’s together.
And it’s not frantic.
Not desperate.
It’s so much more than that.
It’s deliberate.
My gaze is locked on her hazel gold eyes—her pupils fucking blown.
She’s so goddamn pretty. Sexy. Gorgeous.
Her body sucks mine deeper inside.
Like her pussy is drowning me.
Like her flesh can’t bear to let mine go.
Heat builds slow and steady.
Like the fire in a hearth.
Her nails drag down my back.
My name breaks from her lips as I pump my hips in an age old rhythm, in and out, again and again.
She’s so good.
Her sweet body pulses around mine, and I feel everything.
Every quiver and quake.
I bury my face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in like I’ll need the memory later.
But I don’t want later.
I want now.
And maybe I want always.
Fuck, my balls tighten.
I swear to God, my whole body aches with the need to keep her.
To make her mine.
“Look at me, Trouble. I wanna see you when you come this time,” I growl my demand and her mouth drops open in a silent scream as her pussy tightens its grip.
And it’s not just her sex. It’s her entire body squeezing around mine.
“So fucking good,” I groan.
Then, when she shatters beneath me, it takes everything I have not to follow immediately.
The way she clings to me, the way she laughs and cries at the same time—it wrecks me.
I move slower then.
Deeper.
Letting it stretch out.
Letting it mean something.
“I want another, Baby. Gimme one more.”
She shakes her head. Such beautiful defiance.
“I can’t.”
“You can. I know you can,” I growl and swivel, keeping my thrusts shallow as I grind into her.
I don’t stop until I feel her lose control all over again.
“Oh God, Greyson!” Clara shouts my name, and I swear, I feel the victory of it to my marrow.
And when I finally let go, it’s not just release—it’s total and complete surrender.
Nothing’s ever felt like this.
So right. So perfect.
Like we’re completely in sync.
And I don’t know what to do with that, so I just hold on to the moment. To the feeling. And I hope it doesn’t drown me.
Afterwards, I don’t roll away.
I stay.
I gather her against my chest, her yellow lace tangled between us, her breath warm against my skin.
Outside, the mountain is quiet.
No thunder.
No warnings.
Just wind in the trees.
Clara traces idle circles over my ribs.
“Tonight seems different,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
I press a kiss into her hair.
“Maybe it’s cause I’m done hiding,” I say softly.
And in the darkness of my cabin, with her wrapped around me and the faint scent of wood smoke in the air, I let myself imagine something I haven’t allowed in years.
Not solitude.
Not survival.
Just living.
With her.