“Aw, baby,” he says, voice still gravely with sleep. “Aw, Jules, I like this, but I think I’d like to make love to you more. Up, sweetheart.”

He gently guides me up from his dick. Then he’s reaching for his nightstand.

“Make love to me? That’s new.”

“It’s what I want. That gonna be a problem?”

I’m grinning so hard my eyes start to water. “Not at all.”

Open wrapper. Quick hands.

He curls one hand around my hips and the other around his cock. I lift up onto my knees, helping him settle himself between my legs.

I sink down onto him slowly. Quietly. Both of us rocking into one another. I’m sore and I’m tired and I probably have terrible morning breath, but this feels so nice. No rush, no madness.

His hands trail up my sides to cup my breasts, and he rubs the pads of his thumbs over my nipples.

I moan at the bolts of sensation that move between there and my clit. Reaching down, I play with myself, and Greyson’s eyebrows come together. Like he’s in pain.

“You take what you want,” he says. “You know what you want. I love that about you. I can’t—I can’t fucking stand how much I want you, sweetheart. Let me—”

And then he’s flipping me onto my back. Guiding one of my legs over his shoulder as he rolls on top of me, the weight of his body delicious and warm.

His smell is all over me, that masculine, clean scent I can’t get enough of. I want to bite him. Devour him whole. Crawl inside his skin and live there for a week.

I reach between us and wrap my fingers around him. I guide him to my center and roll my hips a little. He sinks into me easily. This new angle with my leg over his shoulder allows me to take him deeper. He hits me right there, and my mouth falls open. Shit I’m sore.

Shit this feels lovely.

His eyes are locked on mine as he strokes into me. Slow, deep, muscular thrusts that I feel in every corner of my being. We watch each other, breathing softly. My hands marvel at the way the muscles along the sides of his torso ripple and bunch as he moves. I glide my fingers up his arms, catching on the nicotine patch on his shoulder. His brows curve upward, his gaze steady. Same as his thrusts.

He sees me.

I see him.

The soft, almost sticky sound of our bodies moving together fills the space between us. It smells like sex now. Sex and sheets and shared everything.

The wiry hair on his chest grazes my nipples. They’re sore, too, but when he leans into me a little more, the heat of his skin feels nice pressed against them.

He reaches between us and thumbs my clit. I gasp. He replies with a low rumble that echoes in the barrel-sized cavity of his chest.