He looked up at me, sultry and heavy lidded, then grazed his teeth along my collarbone. Goose bumps followed after them, tingling in my teeth. Between my thighs ached and throbbed. I threw my head back and sucked in a sharp breath.

“Yeah, give me those sounds,” he said. His voice was rough like sandpaper, abrading my blood and making me squirm. He bit harder, and this time I gasped. “Fuck, those are mine. You don’t make those noises for anyone else.”

Another bite, this one at the juncture between my neck and collarbone. A whimper escaped as my vision twirled into a kaleidoscope of pleasure.

“You like that. Fuck.” He groaned. “Of course you do.”

The room became only him. Grayson. Tongue. Teeth. Hands.

“Your dresses are perfect,” he said. “My little nun. Do you wear them just for me?” He pulled a bit of the giving material aside, biting my shoulder, then laving his tongue over the wound. “A taunting, teasing, torturous nun.”

He tugged on the sheer neckline, exposing my cleavage, paused. His blue eyes searched mine, waiting for me to tell him to stop. I licked my lips, his eyes dropped to them, then he tugged harder, exposing my breast.

I was exposed.

My heart must have pounded at three times the speed.

Obscene.

Raw.

That was how I felt.

It was a tight fit, the material barely had enough give, and my breast pushed out farther. The dress dug into my ribs. Gray’s jaw clenched so tight the muscle twerked, and his eyes hardened.

“I don’t like sharing you, Story,” he said, voice rocky and deep. “Any part of you.”

He took my nipple into his mouth. I arched my back. Swam in a sea of new sensations. Tongue, lips, sparks shooting and catching fire in my abdomen, lighting a blaze in my gut.

Teeth.

I gasped, opening my eyes and catching his at the same time. A hot, burning question in them. He took my nipple between his teeth, and I grasped the collar of his shirt, his bow tie, anything, and he bit harder. I was wickedly burning, a pain twisted and set fires inside me I couldn’t ever hope to put out.

Then I saw just beneath my thumb, a lipstick stain, a pale plum color.

I don’t like sharing you…

“I don’t like him talking to you.” His lips vibrated against my flesh. “I really don’t like him touching you.”

He stood up, pressing his clothed chest to my half-naked one. My nipple was bruised and marked. And so was he.

Just not by me.

He grasped my chin, pulling my eyes to his. “This is mine.” He pressed down my chin for emphasis. My eyes wandered again, to his collar.

Pale plum.

A pretty color that matched Lottie’s dress so well.