Rm W/a Vu (46 page)

After he’s finished, he leans down and kisses me softly. “I’ll bring you a glass of wine and then start on dinner. You just sit back and relax.”

Greyston leaves me alone in the living room, the smell and crackle of the fire relaxing me even more than I already was, and I dial my parents’ number. It rings twice before Dad answers.

“Hey, Dad,” I say happily. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, kiddo. How was your flight?”

I pause for a quick second, thinking about just how “good” the flight really was, and I smile. “It was great. Over before we knew it.”

“And the drive to the cabin?” he asks, sounding excited to hear about my trip. “Greyston drove safely, I gather?”

Once a cop, always a cop. I laugh. “Yes, Daddy. We drove very carefully.”

I talk to Dad a few minutes more before Greyston reappears with my wine and then retreats to the kitchen again to start dinner. I tell Dad all about the cabin and the weather before he tells me he has to let me go so he can get ready for work.

“Okay. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, Jules. Here’s your mother,” he says, handing the phone off.

Mom and I talk for a bit while the air around me is infused with the smell of dinner. My stomach rumbles several times before I tell my mom that I should go help Geyston. After saying our goodbyes, I hang up the phone and set it on the end table, grabbing my half-full glass of wine and joining Greyston in the kitchen.

Making my way for the stove where Greyston is hard at work, I set the glass down on the counter next to his and wind my arms around his waist. I stretch up onto my tiptoes to peer over his shoulder at what he’s cooking, but it’s futile; he’s too darn tall, so I settle for kissing the skin above the neckline of his sweater. He seems to appreciate this, because he groans and reaches behind him with one hand to run it over my hip and ass.

“Careful,” he warns playfully. “Wouldn’t want me to burn dinner because you’ve distracted me, now would you?” He turns his head to look at me, and I push my bottom lip out into a mock-pout. This makes him laugh as he pats my backside lightly and returns his attention to dinner.

When he declares the meal done, I help add the finishing touches before we plate the chicken, steamed vegetables, and potatoes and sit next to each other at the dining room table. Greyston lights a couple of tall pillared candles and refills our wine glasses before pulling the shades back from the window so we can watch the fresh snow falling from the sky. Once again, I’m rendered speechless as I watch the already-thick blanket of snow growing, and a big part of me can’t wait to get outside tomorrow.

“I know I’m going to start sounding like a broken record,” I say, reaching over and placing my hand over his, “but this is so amazing. Thank you again for such a wonderful gift. You really are perfect.”

Greyston chuckles, giving my hand a squeeze. “While I appreciate that you think so, I’m far from perfect,” he tries to tell me, even though I have yet to see one thing that would tell me otherwise.

“If you say so,” I reply with an over-exaggerated eye-roll.

Dinner is phenomenal—which is no real surprise—and when we’re finished eating and cleaning up the kitchen together, Greyston suggests we relax in front of the fire. Now, I had snuggling on the couch in mind, but Greyston’s idea was, admittedly, much more romantic: he suggested we sit on the white faux-fur rug right in front of the fire with our wine while he showed me photos from past vacations. Originally, I thought it odd that there’d be pictures in their vacation home, but Greyston tells me that one of his favorite things to do as a kid before bed was to sit in front of the fire with his parents and a mug of hot cocoa and go through them. I’ve painted a sweet image in my head of a pint-sized, and very dark-haired, Greyston in his plaid flannel jammies, a hot chocolate moustache staining his upper lip, and a photo album nestled in his lap.

The temperature in the living room is rising, and I know that part of it is from being so close to the fireplace, but another factor is the proximity of my body to Greyston’s. I’m sitting facing the fire, with my right leg bent out to the side and my left bent in front of me, my foot flat on the ground, and Greyston is sidled up to my left side, running his fingers through the lengths of my hair. I shiver every time his fingers ghost through the strands, and he leans forward to kiss the spot below my ear.

Smiling, I take another sip of my wine; I’ve had a few glasses now, and am beginning to feel the effects of it as it makes my limbs tingle and feel weightless. “You’re distracting me,” I tell him, flipping another page in the album that rests on the floor in front of me. “Tell me about this one.”

Greyston laughs softly, rubbing his hand up and down my back as he peers at the picture I’m pointing at. In it, Greyston looks about ten, and he’s outside, covered in snow, with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen plastered on his face. His brown hair peeks out from beneath his winter hat, and his eyes are alight with happiness and excitement.

“That would be from…oh, about eighteen years ago,” he explains, scooting a little closer until his chest is pressed against my side. “We’d just gotten back from the resort, Mom was inside making some hot apple cider, and my dad and I were making a snowman out in the front yard.” Greyston reaches behind him and grabs the bottle of wine, filling both of our glasses again. “One thing led to another, and before I knew it, a snowball fight had broken out.” He laughs again as he recalls this memory. “Naturally, I excelled in sports at an early age.”

“So modest,” I tease, interrupting and nudging him lightly.

Laughing, Greyston shakes his head. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

I glance down at the picture again and smirk, tapping my finger on it and pointing out all the snow that covers him. “Looks like you might have gotten hit a few times, too.”

Greyston scoffs, reaching over my leg and flipping to the next page. “I had to let him think he at least stood a chance.”

“Oh, okay,” I say, prodding him a little. “You tell yourself whatever you have to to help you sleep at night.”

We go through the rest of the album, and Greyston tells me stories of his youth. Every story he tells me has me feeling closer to him than I ever thought possible, but it also makes me wish we’d met sooner. Of course, then I begin to think a bit more logically, and I realize that when he was nine, I’d have been two, and when he’d had his first real girlfriend at fifteen, I’d have been eight. This is not the recipe for romance, so I quickly derail that train of thought and thank the heavens that we met at this point in our lives—you know, when the age difference isn’t quite so…well, gross.

“What about your childhood?” Greyston asks, setting the finished album aside.

“What about it?” I quip, finishing the last of my wine.

Smirking, Greyston slips one of his arms beneath my left leg, wraps the other around my waist, and pulls me onto his lap. “Well, where did you and your family go on vacations? What was your favorite thing to do?”

“Well,” I begin, pushing a few strands of Greyston’s slightly disheveled hair back off his forehead, “we used to spend a few weeks every summer in Florida. My mom loves the ocean, and we’d rent a house on the beach every year.”

“Used to? Why don’t you anymore?”

I shrug. “Time, I suppose. It’s hard to coordinate our schedules during the summer.”

“So what were your favorite things to do while in Florida?”

“Dad was pretty into boating, and while I wasn’t particularly skilled at it, I enjoyed water skiing,” I tell him, gaining a big smile from Greyston.

“Water skiing,” he repeats. “So you are a little more adventurous than you’ve led me to believe.”

I snicker. “I don’t know about
adventurous
, but—”

Greyston’s barking laughter interrupts me. “Oh, I think that the flight attendants would probably agree with me that you’re a thrill-seeker.”

Feeling the need to remind him that our initiation into the mile high club was just as much his adventurous side as it was mine, I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, pressing his forehead to mine and curling his fingers into my lower back. “Honestly, it’s one of the things I admire most about you. You’re not easy to read like most other girls.”

“You say that like you know what every other girl on the planet is thinking,” I reply cockily.

“Most are terribly transparent.” He sighs before ghosting his lips over mine, teasing me and making my longing for him swell. “But you…you’re always keeping me on my toes, Juliette.”

Greyston’s hands continue to move over my back, slowly lifting my shirt and setting the entire surface of my skin ablaze. I hum, brushing my nose over his and teasing his lips with mine. “Well, I think I’d much rather have you on your back than on your toes right now.”

“See,” he says with a breathy chuckle as he slips his hands beneath my sweater and removes it, “always surprising me.”

I make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, push it off his shoulders, and throw it behind me—careful to avoid the fireplace. Our lips crash together in a frenzy of lust and need as Greyston’s hands move down my body and come to rest between my legs. He strokes the inner seam of my jeans, making me whimper and writhe against him, before popping the button and slipping his hand behind the denim.

He hisses when he comes into contact with my bare skin, pulling his lips from mine and looking deep into my eyes. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about this,” he says, his voice low and raspy with desire as he moves his fingers back and forth over the smooth skin. When he moves his hand again, my eyes close, and I moan in appreciation. “We were so rushed earlier that I think I need to take things a little slower—appreciate your little surprise for me properly.”

“Yes,” I pant, “
please.
”

Seeming a little reluctant at first, Greyston removes his hand from my jeans and lays me down on the floor. He positions himself between my legs and hooks his fingers into the waist of my pants, working them down my thighs. Once he reaches my knees, I lift my legs straight in the air, and he pulls my jeans off the rest of the way, taking my socks with them as he sets them off to the side with our shirts. The warmth of the fire washes over my naked body as Greyston slips his own jeans off and kneels before me in his boxers, running his hands up the smooth flesh of my calves.

My fingers twitch with the urge to grab his wrists, pull him down onto me, and wrap my legs around him…but before I can follow through, he leans forward and kisses my abdomen, making my stomach flutter as he slowly works his way south.

“Oh, god,” I breathe, lifting my head to watch as he kisses and nips at my hip bones before focusing solely on the warm, needy flesh between my legs. My pulse begins to race, my hands curling into the soft rug beneath me, and I’m no longer able to keep my head up the second he flicks his tongue over my clit. Instinctively, my hips rise up off the floor, seeking even more pleasure, and Greyston grips the tops of my thighs, holding me as still as possible while driving me completely insane with want.

The pressure of his tongue alternates between soft and firm, fast and slow, and I continue to shift my hips beneath him as much as possible as my orgasm builds. The rough stubble that’s scattered along his chiseled jaw brushes against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending a rush of arousal through my veins like electricity. My mind becomes muddled with every languid stroke of his tongue, and I’m seconds away from begging for him to fuck me. He crawls up my body and I feel his stiff erection—still hidden behind his boxers—against my very needy flesh.

His mouth meets mine in a searing kiss that renders me unable to think of anything other than how his lips feel, how I can taste nothing but wine and sex on his tongue, and how his hard cock keeps hitting me in almost all the right ways. Unable to take the waiting any more, I bring my legs up his body and attempt to work his boxers down with my toes; I’m unsuccessful, but he gets the hint, grabbing a condom. He breaks our kiss to roughly push his pants down his hips before putting the condom on and thrusting into me.

The sensation of him inside me makes us both cry out with fulfillment, and soon our hips are undulating in tandem as we both work toward our mutual release. Every time he thrusts his hips, the muscles in my body tense a little bit more, the coil tightens in the depths of my stomach, threatening to spring free at any moment.

“Jesus, Juliette,” Greyston breathes against my lips, moving one of his hands down my body and gripping my ass hard, pulling me against him. 

Soon enough, I’m lost in the moment, reveling in the way he feels moving above me, and how he holds my gaze. My climax quickly builds back up to where it was only moments before, and just as the first ripple of pleasure passes through me, Greyston’s hand ventures further until he’s very gently massaging the area just below our joined bodies.

“Oh, god!” I cry out, my back arching up off the ground when my orgasm rips through me. I claw at Greyston’s back, his hips jerking through his own release, and my vision goes slightly dark and cloudy as every muscle in my body tenses and then relaxes. My arms and legs tremble as they fall back to the floor, and Greyston rolls off of me and onto his back, but pulls me against him while we try to catch our breath.

Chapter 30