Chapter 31
Clara
If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
Greyson is here.
In the spare room I’m borrowing from Kelly.
Gloriously bare-chested.
Long hair carelessly tousled.
Eyes dark and serious and somehow vulnerable all at once.
And he’s saying impossible things.
Things I’ve imagined in quiet, dangerous corners of my mind.
Things I’ve never dared to say out loud.
“You love me?” I ask because I need to hear it again.
I need to make sure I’m not still half asleep and inventing this.
“I love you,” he repeats.
And my entire soul lifts.
The way he says it—no bravado, no hesitation—just truth.
He kisses me then.
Soft.
Slow.
Almost reverent.
It’s sweet, and it’s beautiful, and it is absolutely not enough.
I slide my fingers into his hair—thick and long and accidentally soft in that way women everywhere wish they could mimic—and pull him closer.
My leg hooks around his waist instinctively, drawing him against me.
He inhales sharply when our bodies press together.
“Trouble,” he murmurs, voice dropping low, dangerous, “you keep doing that and I’m going to fuck you right here.”
The heat between us ignites instantly.
Because I don’t want him to behave.
I just want him.
All of him.
Not the careful version.
Not the restrained one.
All of him.
I kiss him harder this time. Deeper.
I taste morning, and tea, and him.
My hands roam over his shoulders, down his back, learning the lines of him like they’re sacred text.
He responds in kind, palms sliding over my hips, my waist, my ribs.
His touch is warm and possessive but never claiming—like he’s asking permission with every breath.
I push him back, and I keep going until he’s flat against the pillow.
His eyes are dark now.
Hungry.
But there’s something else there too.
Wonder.
I trail my mouth along his jaw, down the strong column of his neck, feeling the pulse beneath his skin. He exhales slowly, hands tightening on me.
“Clara,” he warns softly.
But I’m not stopping.
No way.
I press kisses down his chest, over the planes of muscle shaped by work and solitude.
My fingers trace the lines of him, the scars, the ridges, the warmth.
He shudders under my touch.
The power of that—of making this strong, guarded man tremble—goes straight to my core.
When I look up at him again, his head is tilted back, throat exposed, breath uneven.
And I realize something.
This isn’t just desire.
Not just a declaration either.
It’s complete surrender.
And I am awed by it. By him.
He lets me explore him the way he explored me.
He lets me see him like this—open, wanting, undone.
Before he can move, I slide my hand between us and pull his boxers down, freeing his cock from its confines.
He’s hard and thick and heavy.
Greyson hisses, eyes on me as I squeeze his length.
God, he feels perfect in the palm of my hand.
His eyes are on my mouth, and I lick my lips and slide down his body, making a space for myself between his thick thighs.
“Trouble, what are you doing?” he growls.
“You know what I’m doing,” I murmur and I dip my head.
He hisses when I reach my prize.
And there is definitely no stopping me now.
He leans up on his shoulders to watch, and I lock onto his gaze as I open my mouth and take him inside.
Fuck, he tastes so good—like heat and desire and man. My man.
I can’t say I’ve ever been enthusiastic about giving a man a blow job, but for some reason I can’t explain, I want Greyson’s cock in my mouth.
I need it.
He’s so big and thick, and I lick my way from his base to his tip, then back to his balls.
Exploring, tasting, savoring, learning.
Then I take him in, sucking him inside as far as he can go. I moan softly around his shaft as I slide my mouth up and down, gagging a little.
His eyes are wide open, and he’s watching me, mouth agape.
I slide down again, and one hand reaches for my hair.
He’s not forcing, he’s cradling—and fuck me, that’s so hot.
“Fuck, Trouble, you’re gonna make me come,” he murmurs, and my pussy clenches on air in response.
I’ve never been the siren. Never the fantasy girl. But with him, I feel like maybe I am.
Maybe he wants this as much as I do.
“Stop now, Baby, or I won’t be able to,” he growls, but I suck him back down, reaching between my legs with one hand and he hisses.
“Fuck, you want that? Want my cum down your throat?”
I nod, tapping my clit and sucking him harder because yes, I want that.
I really do.
“Goddamn, you’re perfect. Whatever you want, you can have. You want my cum? It’s yours,” he groans, and I feel it.
The first pulse—hot and thick—fills my mouth before I’m ready, but I swallow it down.
The second and third pulses follow quickly. They roll through him, into me, and I moan as I swallow, letting it all slide down my throat.
Then he’s tugging my lips from his dick and pulling me up his body. And now he’s kissing me, his fingers replacing mine between my legs.
It’s frantic, desperate, but also purposeful.
Intentional.
I come in seconds. So turned on I can’t help it—and honestly? Why would I even try?
“Can you be quiet for me, Baby?” he whispers.
I nod, still breathing heavy from the first explosion of pleasure, but still I gasp when I feel his cock—hard and ready—pressing into me.
“So fucking wet,” he whispers, and kisses me harder.
He’s so strong, so big. Greyson moves us both until we’re facing each other on our sides.
Then he starts the rhythm and I follow him as if it is the only thing in the world I’m supposed to do.
Our bodies move together in slow, building heat.
Every brush of skin sends sparks up my spine.
Every murmur he makes feels like a victory and a promise all at once.
“I love you,” I whisper against his mouth this time.
His answer is not words.
It’s the way he gathers me closer.
The way he moves with me like we are not two separate people but something aligned.
Outside, the town is waking.
Inside this room, it’s just us.
Breath.
Heat.
Heartbeats colliding.
So, yeah, if this is a dream—I never want to wake up.