Rm W/a Vu (21 page)

My heart is pounding so hard it’s all I hear behind the echo of his confession. Needing him closer, I wrap my arms around his neck. I break eye contact with him and run my lips over his stubbled jaw, stopping when I reach his mouth. “Kiss me.”

I barely have a chance to take a breath before Greyston’s lips collide with mine. One of his hands remains in my hair while his other arm snakes itself around my waist and picks me up so our faces are level. I thread my fingers through his soft hair, refusing to let him pull away like he did last night.

Kissing Greyston now, sober, is definitely better than it was last night. Maybe because now I know that the feelings I have for him aren’t unrequited at all. The arm that’s around my back shifts until he’s palming my backside, and I remove one of my own hands from his hair, placing it flat on the counter behind me to hoist myself onto it.

Before setting me down completely, Greyston’s hand moves down my ass, over my thigh, and his fingers hook under my knee, pulling it up and hitching it tightly around his waist before it slooooowly glides back up and slips into the leg of my sleep shorts.

Needing him closer, my other leg tightens around him, my heel resting just above the back of his knee, and I pull him forward a step until he’s tucked firmly between my thighs. The fingers of his right hand curl into the soft flesh of my ass beneath my shorts, pulling me forward, and I moan into his mouth when I feel a firm bulge behind his jeans.

I’m not overly experienced in sex or anything that might go along with it; I’ve never initiated it, and I never really cared if I got it one way or another. Of course, if I had felt half the things I am right now—the warmth that covers my body, the toe-curling, sensual tingle that’s coursing through me, the manic racing of my heart, and the deep pulsing between my legs—I might have been a little more excited by the idea.

Greyston takes his time, almost like he’s trying to memorize every part of me. He’s sweet and sensual, his hands soft as the glide over my body. Ben always seemed to be in a rush.

It’s intense and foreign to me. Plain and simple. And I want more.

I remove my hand from his hair and slip both arms between us, curving my back so I can keep kissing him and undo the button on his jeans. He moves to pull his lips from mine, but I react instantly, one of my hands returning to his hair now that it’s finished aiding and abetting the other’s dastardly mission.

Thankfully, he doesn’t resist, his tongue gently massaging mine. I’ll be honest; I never used to like kissing like this and avoided it entirely when I could. Ben was like a wild dog, salivating all over my mouth and chin.

But Greyston?
Oh, god.
His lips are soft, the pressure alternating between gentle and firm and bringing a delightful pulse to the surface of my own. Then there’s his tongue… well, it’s like he’s teasing me, giving me just the smallest taste of him for seconds at a time before robbing me of the sensation entirely. It’s maddening, but in the best possible way.

Confident that Greyston isn’t going to stop kissing me, I release my hold on his hair slightly while my other hand slowly lowers his zipper. He groans, and the hand that he’s had tangled in my hair since we began kissing unweaves itself and moves down my neck. His thumb presses firm against the skin along my jaw, pushing my head back and breaking our kiss. His lips press down just below my jaw, following the hard trail his thumb is leaving down the length of my neck. The minute he reaches my collarbone, his hand leaves my body, but his mouth remains focused on the hollow of my throat—kissing, licking, nipping, and driving me crazy with desire.

I move to protest the loss of his hand, but before I can, I feel the backs of his knuckles against my ribs as he works to undo my flannel top. His agile fingers have it open in seconds, and soon his hand is hovering above my breast. I’ve still got my tank top on, but it’s so thin that I can feel absolutely everything.

He’s
barely
touching me, and yet I’ve never felt so much pleasure. The palm of his hand ghosts over the peak of my breast, both of my nipples hardening at the barely-there sensation, and I thrust my chest forward in hopes of forcing his touch.

He chuckles against my neck, his warm breath against my skin causing an uprising of gooseflesh. “Easy,” he whispers, tightening his hold on my ass and pulling me toward him again, giving me just a small tease of what my body so desperately wants.

I whimper and plead with him, but he continues to drive me wild with whatever devilish plot he’s cooked up to prolong my pleasure. He doesn’t give in no matter how much I tell him to, and I decide that I’ll just have to convince him another way.

I bring my feet up, hook them into the waist of his jeans, and try to work them down. He lifts his face, his gaze burning into my own, and he shakes his head. “Juliette…”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I want to.”

“So do I,” he assures me firmly. “But I won’t have my way with you on the kitchen counter…yet.”

I pull his face back to mine and kiss him harder than before. When I press my body closer to his, his hand finally makes contact with my breast, and I moan shamelessly against his busy lips when he squeezes firmly.

“Please,” I plead, a tremor working through my body when his fingers curl over the top of my shirt, preparing to pull it down.

I’m lost to everything but the two of us. All I smell is Greyston’s cologne. All I taste is the coffee he had to drink this morning. All I see is the blue of his eyes. All I hear is our collective moans filling the kitchen. All I feel are his soft lips, his strong hands, his hard—

“Oh my!” My mother’s shrill voice burns through my perfect little bubble like a meteor, forcing Greyston and I to frantically scramble apart as we try to cover any exposed parts; thankfully we hadn’t gone as far as I was hoping to, so there wasn’t a lot to be seen. “I’ll, uh…we’ll…”

We
. I don’t have to turn around to know what
that
means—but I do, because apparently I’m masochistic.

I turn to find my mom pushing my wide-eyed father from the kitchen. “We knocked,” she’s saying, probably to me. “No one answered. The door was unlocked. We’re
so
sorry.”

I’m petrified. Embarrassed.
Horrified
that they saw me in a less than innocent position. With Greyston. My landlord. Who my father
used
to like.

 “I’m so sorry,” I say, burying my face in my hands. “I knew they were coming over to take me to lunch. I didn’t think… Oh, god.”

Greyston doesn’t say anything, but I feel his warm hands wrap around my wrists and pull them down. “You keep doing that.” I look up at him through my lashes, my eyebrows pulled together. “Apologizing,” he clarifies.

I laugh dryly and drop my eyes to the floor. However, on their descent, I catch a glimpse of the top of his underwear and smirk. He must know what’s caught my attention, because he reaches for his jeans and moves quickly to do them up.

“Ooooh no,” I tell him, grabbing for his jeans and pulling them open again. I glance up at him once more before looping my index finger into the elastic waist of his underwear…his
pink
underwear. With a giggle, I pull him back to me before doing his pants up for him.

Smiling sheepishly, he reaches out and returns the favor, slowly buttoning my flannel top. “While I would love to come up with some clever quip about why I kept these, anything I come up with only makes me sound completely head over heels for the girl that ruined them.”

I inhale a shuddering breath; I want to kiss him again, but the hushed voices of my parents in the other room keeps me from doing so. “Juliette?” my mother’s voice calls out from the foyer. “Would Greyston like to join us for lunch?”

I look up at him, and his eyes widen. “I’ll find out,” I tell her. “Well, would you?”

He looks terribly uncertain. “You do realize that your father has guns, right?”

I laugh and back toward the doorway. “I do. But there’s only a forty percent chance he’s carrying. Besides, it’s my mother you should be afraid of.” He still hasn’t given me an answer one way or the other. “You’re going to have to face them sooner or later, you know. You can either do it with me, or wait until my dad shows up here one day while I’m in class.”

He tries to say something—probably that my dad would never do that—but then thinks better of it, and nods. “All right, I’ll tag along.”

Smiling, I back out of the room. “Great. I’ll let them know on my way upstairs to change.”

Chapter 16

“
S
o,” Mom says, turning around in the passenger seat of her SUV to look at Greyston and me. This conversation can go one of several ways, and I really hope it’s headed in the direction of food.

“Where did you want to go for lunch?”

I breathe a sigh of relief and smile. “Um, IHOP?” Mom gives me a very knowing smile; there’s no hiding a hangover from her. Not ever.

We’ve just pulled off our street, and no one says a thing. Greyston is sitting behind my mom, and I’m behind my dad, both of us sitting as close to our doors as possible to avoid any accidental—or on purpose—touching that could get any one of Greyston’s appendages ripped off. I’ve only just begun to sample what he’s got to offer, so there’s no way I can risk anything bad happening now…or ever, really.

I’m about ninety-eight percent sure Greyston is safe from bullets because there were no noticeable protuberances in Dad’s civilian clothes when we walked out to the car. I would have asked to frisk him, but, well that would have made an already awkward situation about five million times worse.

Every once in a while, I’ll look toward the front of the vehicle and catch my dad’s reflection in the mirror. Sometimes he’s looking at me, other times he’s looking at Greyston. While he’s not angry, I can tell he’s not exactly pleased—which is ridiculous if you keep in mind just how many times I’ve walked in on them doing way
more than Greyston and me.

Okay, so not
too
much more, but it was still more. I begin to wonder if Greyston played the football ticket-card too soon.

We arrive at the restaurant and exit the vehicle. My fingers twitch to reach out and take Greyston’s hand since we’re walking with less than a foot between us, but with Dad right behind us, it’s probably not wise. Or safe. So, to control the urge, I tuck my hands into my jacket pockets and carry on.

I know Dad can’t be too angry with us, but I know he and Mom are going to start questioning us at some point. Things like the nature of our relationship are bound to come up, as well as how long we’ve been together. Mom’s always been pretty open-minded about a lot of things, but if Dad hears that Greyston and I hadn’t even discussed becoming a couple and yet were caught getting down and dirty in the kitchen…suffice it to say he probably won’t be too thrilled.

Our hostess seats us in a booth, Mom and I slide in on opposite sides of each other, and I look up at Greyston, who I fully expect to join me. However, before he can, Dad slips in next to me, forcing Greyston next to my mother.

So much for some stolen moments of hand-holding, finger-grazing, and maybe footsie under the table. Though, I suppose footsie isn’t entirely out of the question, but with Greyston sitting diagonally from me, I’d probably wind up touching my mom’s foot, who would think it was my dad. It would open up a whole new can of awkward that I’m not prepared to wrap my head around.

As I pick up my menu to look it over—even though I’m pretty sure I already know what I’m getting—Dad nudges me with his elbow. “Looking a little green around the gills there, Jules.”

“Am I?” I look across the table at Greyston, who shakes his head subtly and offers me a reassuring smile. While I’m sure he’s just placating me, it does make me feel better.

My dad hums, his tone telling me he knows more than he’s letting on. “If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say you had one too many to drink last night.” His eyebrow arches, and he meets my apologetic stare. “IHOP, Jules? Come on, give your old man a little credit.”

“Never could fool you,” I quip, picking my menu back up and shooting a quick smirk Greyston’s way.

The table falls silent for a moment while we all decide what to eat before our server arrives. She’s a chipper little thing, but I guarantee she makes decent tips because of it.

“Hi there,” she greets. “I’m Mel, and I’ll be your server today. Can I get you all something to drink?”

We all order coffee, and my parents ask for a few more minutes with the menus. Since I know what I’m having already, I put my menu down and notice that Greyston has done the same.

“You know what you’re having?” I ask him, drawing over-the-menu glances from my parents.

“I do,” he replies with a smile and leans on the table. “And you?”