“I see through you, Grayson Crowne. You’re not ashamed. You’re not saving yourself for someone better. You’re scared.”

His eyes sharpened on a glare, but then I lowered his sweats a fraction of an inch, and he released a rocky breath.

“You were the little boy whose nose was broken because he dared to care; now you’re the man who refuses to let that happen to his heart. I understand what my uncle meant now. You have the biggest heart of anyone, so you wrap it in thorns.”

“You think I care about you?” he gritted. “Don’t read into this, Story. I’m just another person in your life who doesn’t want you.”

His words ripped into my chest, tore jagged, irreparable lines down my soul. But I wouldn’t let him see that. He’d already taken too much.

I stared back, unflinching. “The thorns make you bleed the most.”

His eyes burned raw emotion.

There he was again, my Grayson.

I tore down his pants, exposing his iron-hard cock.

“Can I look you in the eyes like this?” I asked, finding his eyes. “Can I kiss you like this?” I wrapped my lips around his cock.

“Fuck.” He threw his head against the carved wood headboard, still watching me.

I followed his lead, swallowed, sucked, licked him, anything to get his jaw tighter, the look in his eyes burning darker. He pulled the hair out of my face, fisting it, like he wanted a clearer look at me.

I think two kisses shouldn’t be enough for me to love him. I kept thinking that, even as the days wove into weeks. I kept waiting for something inside me to snap. I’d worked for the Crownes for years. I knew humiliation. But the thing inside me grew.

Maybe it isn’t love.

Maybe it’s obsession. Maybe I’m obsessed.

“I’m going to come,” he gritted. “Stop right now if you don’t want me in your fucking mouth.”

I kept going. Going until hot, wet spurts laved my tongue and hit the back of my throat while he groaned my name. My name.

Story.

His eyes burned with something that looked a lot like love.

Moments afterward were still. Unaffected. Tender.

“Get up here,” he growled.

I crawled up him, and when I was in reach he dragged me the rest of the way by the waist. He stroked his thumb across my lip, pushing the rest of his come in my mouth. Then he kissed my jaw. He kissed my chin, my nose, my cheek, my forehead. Everywhere but my lips.

I pushed him away, a knot in my chest.

He still won’t kiss me.

Because I don’t mean anything.

He dragged me back.

“Mr. Crowne,” I whispered.

He rolled off me. I was cold, so cold.