Still between my thighs, he slowly got back up on his knees. Eyes never leaving mine, a small smile playing on his lips, he stripped. It was slow, languorous, dripping intent.

My breath sped up, and I shifted, the ache between my thighs growing.

This was the Grayson Crowne in the bedtime dreams of millions of girls, and he was staring at me. Like he wanted to devour me. Consume me. The attention was intoxicating.

He caught my wrist and dragged me to him, flesh to flesh. I still couldn’t believe this was real. This was happening. Pressed against his rigid abs, I felt unworthy. Like Leda and Zeus, a god coming down to a mortal.

I looked away because I needed to breathe, his stare stealing my oxygen.

He tilted my chin to his perfect thick eyelashes and blue eyes, the kind you should only see in oil paintings of Greek gods. I could see the worry in his eyes. I wasn’t sure how to tell him I was fine…just so nervous I wouldn’t live up to a god.

Then he smiled.

“Hey,” he said, tone soft and gentle. “Right now, you’re Story, and I’m just Gray.”

Then he kissed me. Soft at first, coaxing almost, then hard—demanding. Like he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers flexed against my flesh, pulling me closer with each breath.

Mine fumbled for his pants, the button, then the zipper. He groaned when I met his cock over his silky, tight boxer briefs.

In the outside world, I hid beneath layers. I lowered my eyes. When I was with Grayson, I became someone different. Someone who reached without reserve into his pants, stroking the ridges and veins of his powerful abs, needing to go deeper, needing—

“More,” I breathed the word, an incantation, a spell, inside me whenever I was around him.

More. More. More.

Because with Grayson, I needed to. I needed to feel his silky, hard flesh, needed to sate the unbearable ache in my stomach. He sucked in a breath when my fingers met his hot flesh. His kiss turned aggressive, biting.

He thrust me back against the blankets, still tangled in my hair, kissing me viciously and violently until I tasted copper. I rubbed my thumb on the tip of his cock, smearing wetness, grinding on his thigh.

Anything to sate that deep, growing ache.

He pulled away, stood up.

“Fuck,” he hissed, raking his hand through messy rose gold hair.

I got on my elbows, dazed. “What?” What did I do?

“You really are fucking trouble.” Grayson eyed me, rubbing his cock, up and down. “Little nun almost made me come with her hand.”