Melanie. We drive to an apartment in a high-end neighborhood so pricey and coveted that everyone where I work would whore themselves out for a decorating gig in this

We drive to an apartment in a high-end neighborhood so pricey and coveted that everyone where I work would whore themselves out for a decorating gig in this zip code. It’s got a gated entry and high-level security on every entrance and exit. The apartment itself is covered in wall-to-wall windows, with limestone floors and stone fireplaces.

I take in the spacious, mostly empty space with one wide-eyed sweep, jaw hanging. “Did you just get a place in the city?” I hand him his coat, his gaze a delicious, palpable thing on me as I walk inside.

“You like it?” His voice holds no inflection, but something in his eyes tells me he wants me to like it.

I notice that the only furniture is one massive king mattress in the middle of the room, and the sight of those paperwhite sheets and plump pillows gives me tingles. Both of us. In that bed. Touching, kissing, groping.

The windows closest to the bed face toward my building and for a moment I wonder if he’s noticed that, even if somewhat distant, my apartment faces this way.

“It’s such a stunning space but so very empty!” I spread out my arms. “I can already visualize exactly what could go where. Dare I say you came to the right woman?”

“Dare I admit I’m not hiring your design services? I don’t like clutter.” And yet he looks amused by my offer—that almost grin I’ve come to really, really dig hovering on that full, dirty-talking mouth of his.

Oh god, I’m still so turned on by what a sexy asshole he is. He makes me want to slap him and fuck him; no man has ever pushed my buttons like this!

“How’d you know I was a designer?”

Arms crossed, plus that almost grin equals to me almost panting. “You’re not the only one who can work Google.”

“Pandora Googled you, not me.”

“Right,” he agrees.

I laugh because he’s clearly on to me, then admit, “There was nothing on you. Nothing.”

“And there’s quite a bit on you.”

“Well, I can make this place come to life with a flick of my fingers! I’m like a Mary Poppins of decorating!”

“Princess, it’s already alive with you in it.”

Surprised by the compliment, I slide my eyes back to him, and the very way he stands there screams at me that he’s someone, someone strong, someone you don’t mess with, someone you want on your side. His dark clothes can’t hide the muscles beneath, or the grace and virility with which he moves.

I can hardly stand looking at him without launching myself at him like a rocket—a haywire rocket on a permanent, pretty worrisome detour. I restlessly walk around the place, wondering if he’s watching my ass as I move.

I let my hips sway even harder on purpose and head down the hall; he whistles to call me back.

“That room is off-limits.”

“What? What do you mean?” He comes over and sets a hand on the small of my back, the very rough touch filling me with a sense of safety. “Do you realize that telling me that was an invitation to just try to pick this lock and find out?” I ask him.

“You won’t be able to open it. I’ve got a mess of stuff there, nothing for a girl.”

My interest piqued by this, I steer away from his hand and turn back to jiggle the doorknob. The door is steel, almost like a bank vault.

“Melanie,” Greyson warns.

I laugh and back off. “Okay. That’s your man cave, I won’t go in. Don’t look so worried.”

“I’m not worried. You couldn’t open that door with a chainsaw. What concerns me is your determination to do exactly what I told you not to.”

“I’m curious!” I say, laughing again. My laugh, I can’t explain it, but it seems to get to him. He looks hungry to quiet me with his mouth. When he licks his lips and scowls down at my mouth, the sudden memory of his mouth on mine zips through me, of my nipples against his tongue, and a shiver of anticipation bolts down my spine.

“Do you mind if I freshen up?” I blurt out.

“Babe, you’re spring incarnate, but go ahead.”

I shut the bathroom door behind me and lean against the sink. I can hardly breathe, the flutters are everywhere in me, from my head to my toes. He’s a fucking asshole who openly admitted to probably just wanting to use me and I should’ve slapped him but instead, I’m going to fuck him because he makes me mad. Because he’s responsible for an awful, insistent throbbing between my legs. All these weeks wondering what he wants from me, if he was coming tonight.

No matter what he says, he still looks at me the way he does—and the way he looks at me says other things. That he wants me. That he desperately wants, craves, maybe even needs me, like he said in my apartment that day.

I have never worn anything a man has given me. Now my throat is adorned with a line of sparkly white diamonds and I’d never imagined a gesture like this could stimulate my mind, my heart, and my body so much.

He wants to use me for sex tonight? Then I will use him back because it’s killing me. The way he looks at me kills me. The way he smells, walks, the sound of his voice.

Tonight I’m not sleeping home alone no matter what happens.

Quickly, I wash my hands, under my armpits, and then I lift my dress and glance sadly at the bruises on my thighs. I pull out my makeup kit from my clutch bag and start covering the purple stains with my concealer, one by one.

When I’m done, I notice a towel with streaks of red and wonder if he cut himself. Shaving perhaps? A wave of protectiveness takes me over. Is he all right? Of course he is, Melanie. That man is about as penetrable as his steel door.

As I grip the doorknob, the steady pulse between my legs continues to throb. By the time I pull the door open and quietly cross the room toward the bed, my heart races at full speed.

I’ve never been to such a luxurious or empty apartment. He’s like some Spartan, with no belongings. I glimpsed his closet and he has the same three shirts, the same three jackets, same three style of shoes. Like some sort of methodical superhero—and as if he doesn’t plan to stay long?

A pang hits me at the thought, but it’s quickly replaced with the bolt of lust I feel at the sight of him. He’s leaning back in bed, one lean arm folded behind his head as he stares out the window.

Oh god, why do I like that so much? Because he’s staring at your building.

The fact that he can see me from here might make me feel protected even when he never calls. Even if he will never look me up again. I need that little feeling of safety and I cling to it.

“Can you see my apartment from here?” I ask. I start pulling down the side zipper of my dress. He turns to me, and a twinkle of moonlight catches in his eyes as he watches me approach. My heart thuds. He has a massive, self-confident presence, and an air of authority that makes my knees wobbly. He’s strong. Magnetizing. Vital. And he fills my whole being with crazy, wild wanting.

“Yeah, that’s why I got this place.”

I know he’s joking, but the words are sober—he’s looking straight into my eyes. “You’d think a player like you would have something better to do than stare out the window trying to get a glimpse of me,” I tease.

“I do more than stare out the window, princess. It involves me taking off my gloves.”

Bastard.

Fucking delicious bastard.

He’s like riding a motorcycle at full speed. He feels like the engine, the ride . . . the wind . . .

I stop by the foot of the bed and I feel a ripple of excitement when I notice the way he watches me, his eyes shimmering like lightning.

“Strip me, or strip for me. Lady’s pick.” He speaks calmly and succinctly, making no move to yank me down on him.

Really now? So confident of this magnetic, electric pull, tugging me to him?

My gaze greedily runs up and down his thick legs, the bulge I’m mad over, up to his chest, which stretches the material of his snowy white shirt in the best possible way. Feeling heavy and warm, my pulse thundering in my veins, I crawl over him, his gaze boring into me with silent expectation.

“I think you’re a bastard. But you’re so sexy in this suit . . .” I whisper as I start working his belt off his slacks, straddling him so that if I wanted to, I could drop my hips and rub the most painful spot in my body against that big, delicious bulge on his lap. “And I want to fuck you hard because you made me think you were better, you made me think you wanted me for more than this,” I add. “Asshole.”

He grabs his belt when I pull it free, tosses it aside with a clatter, and then moves like lightning, rolling me to my back, and whipping out my arms to pin them over my head. I gasp, and he smiles. “Caught you,” he rasps, sliding a hand down the inside of my arm. Starting to pant from the delicious weight of his body pressing down on mine, I wiggle my hand free, pull his shirt out of the waistband of his slacks, and start unbuttoning his shirt from the very bottom, hurrying to the top.

He releases my wrist and slowly pushes my dress up to my hips. “You have a filthy mouth, Melanie. Did you know that I can fill it with come, just like that, so the next sound you make is that of you swallowing?”

“Maybe the next sound is you yelling when I bite the head of your thick pink cock,” I breathe and my thoughts scatter when he growls, “Shut up now,” and kisses me. Hard and deliciously.

The actual next sound in the room is nothing but wet, slippery tongues meshing, rasping of fabric as he pulls my dress higher. I melt beneath his mouth, hot and powerful and more ravenous than any mouth that’s ever fitted itself to mine . . . and it truly feels like all we’ve said means nothing, that this means everything.

His scent fills me like a warmth curling in my tummy as he hikes my skirt up to my waist to expose my lacy black thong. The air caresses my bare ass cheeks, and the next second, he’s palming them in his warm hands.

“Are you happy to see me now, Melanie?” he murmurs, his voice low and textured as he uses my ass to draw me flat up against him.

I whimper, I’m so turned on. “Not yet,” I lie.

He brushes his lips across mine, teasing me. “You sure?”

Once again, his lips make a pass over mine, warm, velvety.

My blood feels thick and hot in my veins. Suddenly I can’t think of anything that I want more than this one, one kiss. But I can never let a man like him know it or he’ll break me.

“I’m sure,” I lie again, holding on to the back of his strong neck as I flick my tongue out to run it along the seam of his lips.

That lick proves to be our undoing.

He groans and comes out to play with my tongue with his, his lips closing over mine at the most perfect angle. A shudder runs through us both. It even feels like we groan at the same time, our kiss degrading from slow and sensual to fast and raw. I unbutton the rest of his shirt, my hands trembling from the rush. He grabs the top of my strapless dress and yanks it down to my waist, exposing every part of my body except for where the silk of my dress circles my hips.

When he edges back to look at my not-so-large breasts, but my rather outspoken nipples, I’m almost drowning with a sudden shyness.

It doesn’t last long, for he cups the mounds, as if he were holding diamonds in his hands, paying extra attention to the beaded, hard little points at the tip. His thumbs pay extra attention to them, rubbing, stroking.

“You might not be happy yet,” he rasps in my ear, “but these little beauties are thrilled to see me. Thrilled . . . to see me.” When he sucks one into his mouth, an exquisite pleasure curls my toes. My head falls back into his pillow as I moan, low in my throat. He rocks his hips to tease me with his erection. I’m teased, tortured, consumed, throbbing. I shudder and start rocking up to him too. God, he’s going to torture me and I know it.

He tugs my dress over my head, then his hands explore my thighs and move onto my taut stomach, then up to tweak my nipples. My pussy burns and clutches as I slide my fingers through the parting of his shirt, running my hands up his warm, sculpted chest.

I stroke his scar, then use my thumb and forefinger to tug on his nipple ring. His body contracts with pleasure and I see it. I see how he responds to my touch, so I greedily run my hands up and down his chest, every possible muscle in existence bulging under my fingers.

“You like that?” I whisper.

I don’t even let him answer because my mouth blends into his again as I push him around and straddle him. Lowering my body, I can feel his erection settled perfectly between my legs, straining hot and large against his zipper. God. Edging his shirt aside, I bend over and start licking his piercing, shivering when he slides the tips of his fingers into the elastic of my G string . . . dipping into the lace V.

“Come here, you hot little thing you,” he murmurs as he holds the back of my head and forces my lips to come over his again. The moment his mouth is on mine, his finger is in me. My sex clenches as a moan escapes me and I rock my hips, needing the friction of his hardness against my clit as he rubs his finger in me.

He thrusts back like he needs the contact too while the scar on the center of his palm rasps over my nipples as he cups one. “Juicy cunt, juicy tits, juicy blonde princess.”

When he licks one nipple, I arch and throw my head back, gasping in sweet agony. I grind my hips instinctively, wanting more, craving more as we both strain to get closer. He bites and sucks me, then shoves his tongue against the tip of my nipple, making it poke back. I run my hands over his hair, then try to shove his shirt off his massively muscular shoulders.

He pulls his finger out of me and stops me with both hands. “Leave it on,” he murmurs, then he rolls me onto my back and yanks my arms up over my head.

“But I want to touch you,” I breathe, undulating my body against the weight of his.

He pins my arms up in one hand and pulls off his tie with the other, then he wraps it tightly around my wrists. “Tonight, only I touch.”

“Why?”

“Because I say so.”

I can’t suppress my shudder of excitement as he peels off my panties. He ducks his head and flames lick across my body with each open kiss he places on me, and I tilt my hips upward as he dips his tongue inside my belly button. I gasp, my body craving him like sugar, like chocolate, like sex. “Please, oh . . .”

He murmurs shhh and opens my pussy with his fingers, eating me with his mouth. My head falls back and a noise of pleasure purls out of my throat as he starts thrusting his tongue into my channel, rubbing in a way that has me thrashing in absolute pleasure. “God, you make me lose it,” he breathes, tasting me again.

I quiver under him, spine arched, thighs spread open, aching for his touch, his tongue, his closeness. “Greyson,” I say, breathing in deep, soul-drenching drafts. He’s like every boy I made out with under the bleachers, every boy I’ve ever wanted who didn’t want me, everything that was forbidden to me. I groan as he licks a circle around my clit. “Oh god! Grey . . . Greyson . . . please . . . You’re—”

My breaths rasp in my throat when he lifts his head and I see the unmistakable possessiveness in his eyes. He kisses my taut nipples, then studies me, bound for him, in his bed. Using my legs, I curl my thighs around his hips, urging him closer. “I’ve never begged before, but I’m begging you to touch me.”

“What is it that you beg for, Melanie? I should be the one begging to touch you.”

His hands start dragging up my sides. Sensations so intense, every touch of his fingers crackles over me like burning fingertips. My muscles tense and knot as my body once again heads to that place where only he takes me, where he’s not only fulfilling a physical ache, but he gets access to a place where he can rip my soul open.

Closing my eyes as I feel some moisture burn inside them, I keep my arms over my head, bound by his tie, as he uses his thumb to play with my clit.

He does it harder, deeper, expertly. Our eyes meet, he crushes my mouth and whispers, “I’m the one who doesn’t fucking beg, but I’ll beg for this pussy,” he rasps as his fingers prepare me, because he’s so big I need to be wet and ready and oh god, I’m so ready.

“Yes . . .” I say, the nearness of my orgasm audible in my voice, then his mouth is on mine again, our tongues making out, slick as he keeps rubbing me, his palm burning hot as he cups me and slides one finger in so deep. I tilt my pelvis, desperate for every inch. When he’s got me lathered up to explosion, he eases back to unzip his slacks.

My vision is blurry from wanting this. He doesn’t even kick his pants off. He shoves them down to his knees, baring his erection, his thick, powerful thighs.

Our mouths roam over each other as he aligns our bodies. “Hard!” I plead as I hook my bound wrists around his neck to keep him close, my lips raining kisses on his jaw. Last night, afraid and dirty and vulnerable, he was all I wanted. All I wanted. “I want you so much. HARD,” I gasp, suddenly vulnerable, shaking, needing.

Hungrily, I nibble on his nipple ring, and he responds with a growling noise and forces me down on my back. “Impatient, hungry little girl.” He grabs his cock and rolls on the rubber, and he looks as desperate as I am as he starts feeding the head to me. “Is this what you want?”

My eyes roll back from the pleasure and I cry, “Yes, all of it.” He groans when he sees my first tear fall, and when he cups his hands on my face as though to catch them and starts fucking me for real, my body melts into his as the world becomes full of him. Just him. Only him.

He impales himself deeper, and I soar higher and higher. I can feel my nipples brushing his shirt, his hot breath on my face, his body in mine—and that’s all I know as my world careens on its axis. His hands won’t let go of my face, holding me for his every hard, fast, expert thrust. “That’s right, that’s exactly right, let go for me, let go for me, Melanie, I got you,” he murmurs, kissing my throat.

My breasts are budded pink at the tips from the scrape of his shirt; I love it. I love his smell, his hands, his voice. “Yes,” I gasp as he thrusts harder, my rhythm completely clumsy now. All I want is more of him, more of him, ALL OF HIM. “Yes, yes.”

He roars, head falling back, veins popping out in pleasure as he starts jetting off and I spread my legs wider apart as he grabs my hips and thrusts in harder, watching me lose it.

I moan and start to thrash, somehow aware that his eyes are devouring me as I shatter into a million glowing stars.

Moments later, I stir from my dazed stupor to notice he’s caressing one hand across my wet face, the other on my thighs where I was bruised. The touch melts me deep where it hurts me to remember, but right now, in his arms, a contentment and peace wash between us. I can feel it in his body too. As if he likes wiping my tears.

Sighing in relaxation when he kisses my temple and dries the rest of my face, I hook my bound hands around his neck and press myself into his chest.

“Nobody pushes me as far as you do,” I explain, my voice cottony.

“That’s because I’m bad,” he says. He slides one hand up my arm, to where my hands are linked at his nape.

“I’m fucking”—he kisses one eyelid—“bad for you.” He kisses another eyelid, then he kisses my mouth, and his fingers begin playing with my pussy again. My body surprises me, responding even when I didn’t think it possible.

“Ready for more?”

I nod.

I can’t put a name to what I feel when he’s inside me, so maybe I won’t try to. Does it even have a name? This connection between human beings. Between a woman, and a man; a fucking asshole.

I look at him, and he doesn’t scare me.

He lures me.

He tempts me, exhilarates me. He makes me want to claim him as if I’m claiming back a part of me that was once lost.

Makes me want to tame him. Let him tame me.

He rolls another condom on his thick cock and comes up to his knees, and I feel vulnerable and open but I don’t feel like hiding right now. I openly show him my hunger and lick and kiss his thick throat as he grabs my waist and pushes into me. I shudder uncontrollably when he’s all the way in, biting a tendon that juts out on his throat, close to my mouth.

The rumble of the sound he makes tells me he likes it. You like it when I’m feisty? My eyes flutter open, and he looks down at me with a look of wild, hungry, proprietary lust, but also strangely reverent and gentle. We fuck lazily this time, without the initial rush, our bodies moving in synchronicity until I see stars as another climax builds and builds.

“Go on, bite me all you want, little kitten.” He prods into my mouth, his eyes on mine as I comply, licking him, tasting him. “Do you want that to be my cock in your mouth?” his husky murmur taunts in my ear, breath hot. “Do you want to be sucking on this cock? Biting on it?”

I gasp with renewed hunger. “When I bite it I’m going to bite hard.” With my arms hooked around his neck, I rake my nails into a part of his scalp, my hips tilting faster to keep up with his increasing rhythm.

His laugh, once again dark, sensual, intimate as he brushes his wet thumb along my lips, the bed squeaking beneath us. “If you think I’m afraid of a little bit of teeth, you need to get to know me better, princess.” Just like that, he bites my lower lip and sucks it into his mouth, thrusting harder so I moan.

I bite back, and he groans such sexy sounds it only makes the sex that much more intense. My wet, snug body grips him greedily because I want him in me for as long as I can have him, but the pleasure is too absolute to last as long as I want to, even though we both seem to be trying to last.

The mattress squeaks beneath us, harder and harder with his thrusts. I’m being just as noisy, and Greyson? He’s releasing low, male noises of pleasure too. “Get ready, princess, I’m coming so hard,” he rasps.

“Come,” I beg. He has no idea how much I’m aching to feel him go off inside me, go off with me.

He waits to feel me clench around him. Then, the moment it starts for me, he lets go. He comes full force, his body tightening like a bow, and when I feel him jerk in me, his hands clenching on my hips, my pleasure explodes inside me until I’m convulsing so totally I can’t keep my eyes open.

Oh.

My.

God.

I lay in breathless silence for a moment, realizing Greyson is untying me. He rubs my wrists with the pads of his thumbs, then plops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling, his chest heaving, his nipple ring glinting with the little rays of sunlight peeking through the window.

The sun is rising already. I really didn’t want it to rise yet because I don’t want to leave yet.

In silence, I go to the bathroom and when I come back to bed, he’s staring out at the city looking satisfied and exhausted, his shirt all wrinkled, his hair all mussed, his beautiful mouth swollen from me. I should get going. Probably, I should. Instead I stare at him and that mouth and I wonder how many women kissed those lips.

Many, Melanie.

He’s warned me off, but I don’t feel like being warned off. I feel as though somewhere, deep down, he’s bullshitting me. Why would he give me this necklace otherwise? Why would he give me, over and over, THE LOOK?

Even so, I’ve gotta go, so I walk back to that big bed, my eyes scanning the floor for my dress even though the thought of going home alone to my apartment makes my stomach churn. I could call Pandora, but I’ll have to be prepared for her drilling the shit out of me, I guess.

“Do you see my dress?” I whisper to him.

His voice is gruff with tiredness, his eyes hooded as he pulls open the bedsheet for me.

“Yeah, I set it aside to avoid the clutter. Come here and get some sleep.”

Oh, god, I really didn’t want to leave, but I don’t want him to know how much I want to sleep here tonight either.

So I stand there, naked and unsure for a moment.

“I don’t have to stay,” I say, but there’s this way he has of looking at you—as if he’s commanding you. It’s very odd. I’ve never encountered anyone who could have such control with a single look.

Caving in to it, I find myself quietly heading over. His lips curl as he lifts the sheet higher and I see his naked body under the cover.

I feel strangely awkward as I slide into bed with him, first sitting on the corner of the bed and quickly braiding my hair; I wouldn’t fall asleep otherwise, I simply can’t stand waking up and feeling it on my face.

I sense his curious gaze watching my every move, and when I sigh and lie down on my side, facing a stone fireplace on the far side of the room, he laughs behind me. “You really plan to sleep way over there?”

“I don’t want to intrude!” I laugh nervously. “I don’t stay over usually.”

“You just like to fuck and get away, that’s fine, princess. Except for the fact that I’m not done with you.”

He reaches out and guides me toward him by my braid, and when I don’t protest the maneuver and actually feel like tucking myself closer to his warmth, he exhales softly. “You’re something, aren’t you,” he murmurs, taking my braid in his fist and forcing me to roll over and face him. Then he pins my head against his, forehead to forehead. “Maybe I’ll sleep tonight; you wear a man out.”

“What do you mean?” I peer up at him, notice the hard set of his jaw. “You don’t sleep?”

“Not well, but I’ll go for it if you will,” he softly teases me.

“Then let’s go for it,” I say, grinning.

It feels like, for several minutes, we stay as we are, him with the merest curve of his lips while I’m smiling completely, both of us looking into each other’s eyes. I have no idea what he sees in my eyes that holds him so intently engrossed, but I can’t look away from his gaze either. It’s so closed and mysterious while, at the same time, I can see a fiery rawness in his gaze, as if he desperately wants something from me.

Not something: all of me.

“Come here,” he rasps. He makes the first move, easing one of his arms around me, pulling me against his side. I cuddle into his large body, a little tense at first, but at the same time, achingly aware of every spot where our naked bodies are touching. Where my breasts press into his ribs, my cheek on his chest, one of my legs hooking in between his.

God, this is as intimate as it gets with a man and I cannot relax, I cannot oxygenate, I cannot formulate a thought.

His breathing begins to deepen and . . . oh, wow. He’s asleep.

He fell asleep holding me, with his arm locked around my shoulders, and I don’t understand why I get butterflies over this.

There’s a little blood on his shirt, on the sleeve of the arm curved around me. I touch the red stain, wondering if I scratched him. Then I stare up into his beautiful, masculine face, wondering about him. For the first time in my life, I want to lie in bed next to a guy and listen to him breathe, slow and deep, like he’s breathing. I don’t understand my visceral reactions to him.

This hot man with a secret room. Who in the world has a secret room?

This man does. And I’m so curious about him, I study his features and tell myself I can sleep when I’m alone . . . so I touch his nipple ring and watch him lie in his big lonely apartment, deep asleep with one arm around me, wondering what other secrets he keeps from me.

♥ ♥ ♥

A PHONE IS beeping, and beeping, and beeping. I moan and twist around, feeling something against my body that’s so hot and so hard it’s definitely not a pillow. “What is that sound?”

Sleepy hazel eyes open and meet mine, and my lungs tighten in the most delicious way. Did I really sleep in this man’s arms? This man who told me he was going to be my worst nightmare? He sits up in bed and works the kinks out of his neck, stretching out his arms until every muscle is tight and flexed, then he curses as the beeping continues, grabs the offending machine and stalks out of bed and steps, buck naked, out onto the balcony of his apartment. I survey his butt with a tingly feeling in the pit of my stomach. What day is today? Saturday? Sunday?

Brooke. Remy. Wedding, I remind myself. You and Greyson.

Melting.

I shake off my sleep and realize I’ve been here over thirty-six hours. All of Saturday early morning and now, today, is it already Sunday?

I stretch and my body is sore all over. I remember yesterday. Eating with him on the floor, picnic style. Lounging in bed. Teasing him. Watching Blow. God. I haven’t had a weekend this amazing in my dreams.

He asked about my fantasies last night.

I laughed. “Well . . . I might have one, but I’m not going to tell you,” I whispered in mischief as I peered up into his face. “What’s one of yours?”

“Fantasies are for people who don’t do what they want.”

“So you’ve done everything then?”

“Everything that I’ve wanted to do.”

“Including me?”

He laughed, a delicious sound. “Including you. Now a handful of times.”

“Including a threesome?” I teased.

“Of course.”

“Really?” Perking up with curiosity, I propped my chin on his chest. “Is it fun?”

He ran his thumb down the dents of my spine, glancing at my smile with a smile of his own. “For the guy, yes. The girls don’t seem to be able to forget it’s not a competition.”

“You only do threesomes with two girls?” I prodded. “That’s very asshole of you.”

“Baby, I don’t share my girls with other men, that’s not how I roll.”

“Well, I couldn’t share with another girl either. I’d kick the bitch out of bed right now. I’d want both your hands on me, not just one. Pfft!”

He laughed and threw his head back a bit, his voice rumbly and rough, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You’re enough for any guy, trust me.”

Sensuality oozed off him so bad I want to lick him. The way he’s been fucking me is so . . . I can’t even explain it. I’ve never felt such a strong connection, such a primal awareness of him as a man, and me as a . . . woman. “What about anal?”

Lord, his next laugh was so dark and sexy. “Of course. That’s always fun.” He looked at me, then understanding dawned in his eyes, and they started shining brightly, almost too brightly as he cupped my ass in one warm, long-fingered hand. “Come here, Melanie.”

My heart sped up at the lust thickening his voice. I love sex. Sex is the only way I’ve ever connected with the opposite gender, but never like this. Never with anything risky. Anything where I had to trust the man being with me not to hurt me.

“Do you want to get ass-fingered, princess?” he whispered in my ear, and my blood rushed hot in my veins as he dipped his thumb along the fissure between the curves of my buttocks. All my body squeezed in reaction as he headed for that spot.

“Grey!” I said, my cheeks burning a vivid scarlet when his thumb grazed me, like the brush of a feather.

“Does that feel good, princess?” He watched me with liquid whiskey eyes, his eyelashes seeming heavy as I caught my lip between my teeth to keep from making an embarrassingly wanton sound. I became so wet I heard the slick sound of his thumb brushing over my folds before he started dragging his hand backward again, passing over every nerve on my backside, soft and languorous.

“I’d like to be taken that way,” I confessed, looking deep into his eyes. “But only with someone I trusted. Who’d care for me and my safety.”

“Come up here,” he said, spreading me over him. “I’m only going to use my finger. You’re already quivering so much.”

“I do like it, it feels exciting, but I don’t know . . . Greyson . . .”

“Shh.” He brushed his lips over mine to quiet me. He was hard under me. He liked touching me, whispering at me as he kissed me and slowly I relaxed as he dipped his thumb into my ass, and when I moaned, he tipped my head back and slowly kissed me some more. “Just relax, let me in.” He teased me with his thumb moving, ever so slowly, in and out, and I began shivering more, moving over him until I felt the wetness seeping from the tip of his cock against my abdomen.

He rolled me to my stomach. In silence, he bent over and bit one ass cheek, cupping the other in his hand as he slid his thumb up my ass again.

“Fold to your knees, Melanie.” He ran his hand down my spine as I did what he said, whimpering softly.

“Greyson, it feels intense . . .”

“Let it take you, princess. Give me this. Fuck, let me watch you come apart like this.”

He stroked his hand up my back while the other kept fingering me. Sensations took over. I whimpered, closing my eyes as his intoxicating touch did new and profound things to me. He nibbled my other ass cheek and fucked his thumb in three more times, and when he slipped his middle finger into my pussy, I started coming. And coming. And coming.

He pressed his cock against me as I came, so I could feel it close, tempting me, hard, pulsing, his voice gruff with arousal close to my nape, exposed as he shoved my braid aside.

“Thatta girl,” he purred, pinching my nipples, rubbing the outer rim of my little ass as the contractions eased.

“It was . . . incredible.”

I turned, and he rolled to his back and folded his arms behind his head as I tried to catch my breath. But it was hard to breathe when the air was thick with it—with lust, with want, with this animal, chemical attraction I have never, ever felt. I wanted his cock in me, I wanted to do it all with him, but would he be careful with me?

His body oozed tension, muscles tight with it, cock up at full mast again.

“You’ve had a lot of lovers?” I whispered, gripping him in my hand, strangely jealous.

“Lovers, not really. Fucks, yeah.” He grabbed my face in one hand and gave a firm squeeze to my cheeks. “But I’ve never fucked a little mouth like yours. Now open up, princess.”

I was wet again as he came up on his knees, pulling me up by the braid. When he filled me, I made eye contact, he didn’t take his eyes off me, watching every swipe of my tongue, every inch I licked, every breath I let caress the length of him. “Fuck,” he rasped, pumping and drawing out his pleasure. I ran my tongue over him, our eyes connected like magnets. “You like that, don’t you?” he cooed. The way he talked to me excited me. If he’d touched me again, I’d have come. I almost slipped my hand between my legs and touched myself. Instead I grabbed the base of him because I wanted him to fantasize about this one blow job whenever it is he plans to leave. . . .

He jetted off and, usually, I pull away when men do, but when I felt him tense up and I was about to pull back, he cooed, “Every last drop of come is yours, Melanie.” He fisted my braid, his eyes demanding and commanding, and suddenly I wanted to please him, taste him, and I did.

I close my eyes briefly and exhale out the memories of yesterday. When I open my eyes, he’s out on the balcony, still on his phone. His legs, thick like tree trunks, are braced apart, long, muscular, and just dusted with hair. His calves are shapely and powerful, his tan golden, his ass perfection, as perfectly molded as the muscled, upside-down triangle of his broad shoulders and narrow hips. And he’s just out there for anyone with binoculars to see, buck naked. Standing right there.

A fucking sex god.

When Greyson rolls the glass door open, he’s still on the phone. As he comes back into the room and hangs up, I notice he’s got a thick bandage wrapped around his upper arm.

As he approaches, I lift the sheets because I crave his heat, his nearness, the smell of him on my skin.

“Work?” I ask.

“You could say that,” he says as he gets under the covers with me. I hold my breath because his hard cock tells me he craves me too. I kiss his throat and curl my fingers around most of his girth, loving how hard he got, so fast. His cock had turned semihard by the time he took the call, but it’s fully swelled again. Oh, fuck, I really dig this guy. What he whispers when we fuck?

My skin tingles everywhere, remembering.

He looks down at me with sleepy eyes and my toes are curling full force. When he smiles that sensual smile, I die.

Unexpectedly, he slowly pulls the sheet off my body. Full sunlight streams through the window, and when he tosses the covers aside to look at me, I squirm on the bed.

“Don’t,” I protest, attempting to pull up the sheets, squeaking in embarrassment.

“Yes,” he sternly counters. He grabs the sheets in a fist and tosses them aside again, pressing me down on my back.

Immediately I think of my kidney scars. “I’m not used to being seen like this.”

“Get used to being seen like this by me,” he says gently.

Though I’ve turned bright red, he’s got me mesmerized enough that I’ve fallen utterly still, on the bed, my breasts heaving up and down as he looks at me. THE LOOK he gives me feels like a live, physical touch. It travels every inch of my body, from the top of my head down to my toes, like a tremor.

I never thought a look could be this powerful.

It makes me forget my scars, my every hurt.

You’d think that because I had the kidney transplant when I was a baby, the scar would be tiny. It’s not. It’s a slash on the lower right of my abdomen, and it’s grown with the rest of my body. It’s faded a very light pink and makeup does wonders for it, but the makeup is gone by now.

And Greyson sees it.

He traces the scar with one finger and sets my hand on his own scar. The gesture only endears him to me. Because he’s scarred too, but he’s not embarrassed about it.

As he bends over and presses his lips to my scar, my eyes well up.

“What happened here?” he murmurs.

I don’t know why he makes me emotional, but I blink back the tears and slide my hand down his chest over his own scar. “What happened here?” I counter, my voice thick with emotion.

“Ladies first,” he says gently, easing back and watching me with eyes that are no longer sleepy, but dark and patient.

I’m not sure I want him to know that one of my kidneys is not mine. That I’m a transplant patient. That I need to take pills to make sure my body doesn’t reject my donor’s organ. That maybe in a couple of years, I’ll need to exchange this one for a new one yet again, if it starts giving up.

These are not things you tell a man when you’re starting to date, or just fuck, or whatever we’re doing. There’s this show called the Millionaire Matchmaker, and I will never forget how the expert Patti went all over a girl who’d dumped some serious issues on a poor bachelor’s lap.

You do not do that!

Guys do not care about it unless they genuinely care about you first!

Quietly, I touch Greyson’s nipple ring instead, and hearing him hold his breath when I tug it playfully, I grin into his suddenly very dark, hungry eyes and say, “I should get a nipple ring.”

He laughs, then sobers up and shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“Why not?”

He rubs my butt. “That’s not fucking happening. No one’s getting anywhere near my business.”

I realize the thick bandage on his right arm is stained with blood, so I sit up with a start. “What happened here? Did I scratch you?”

He merely smiles to himself as he tightens the bandage. “It takes a little more than a kitten’s claw to make me bleed.”

“Let me help.”

Shifting closer, I take the bandage and carefully wrap it around his bulging arm. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m good,” he says dismissively.

When I finish wrapping it up, I impulsively set a kiss on it, slowly setting my lips on him and closing my eyes as a tenderness sweeps through me. A man making me feel this tenderness is so alien to me. Usually men are just . . . guys to me. Not even human. More like enemies that must be handled with care. Used, on occasion. But what I feel for this one is the most powerful thing I’ve ever in my life felt. Almost as if I know him from before. In some past life . . . in my dreams . . .

Before I can lift my head, his nose finds my ear, making me smile against his bandage and squirm when his breath tickles me.

He trails his hand lightly down my spine and settles it at the small of my back. This man gets my lower body on overdrive, but my upper body is getting the same workout, just ask my heart, which hasn’t beaten right for over thiry-six hours. And is he giving me the look too? I raise my head, and I’m tingling from my fingers to my toes. His smile is lazy, sleepy, and it melts me.

“That’s nice,” he says in a rumbly voice.

“What?”

“Nurse Melanie,” he whispers.

Something inside me buzzes and zings and I groan at my body’s stupid, instant reaction, then I tip my head up to kiss him while holding his head and pulling him down to mine. He brushes my lips, teasing me with a smile.

I groan in protest when my phone alarm starts screaming like mad, and I realize it’s Sunday—for a fact.

“Uffff, I’ve got brunch with my parents.” When he doesn’t seem too willing to let go of my waist, I push at his thick wrists. “Mister, I have to go.”

“I propose you cancel,” he says lazily.

“I can’t. I’m the only one who comes to brunch, and we always do brunch on Sunday.” I start gathering my undergarments and hunting down my dress. “You can come if you want to,” I blurt out, and when I notice his closed expression, I add, “No strings. I mean, it’s just breakfast. Not even that, brunch.”

“Nah, don’t think so.”

He’s still sleepy and in bed, stretching as he checks his phone, first one, then he pulls out another. “Can I use your shower, real quick?” I nervously ask.

“Use anything you like.”

Once again I feel strangely shy . . . I don’t know why he does that to me. Normally in a fling I’m uninhibited and can boss a poor boy around, if I want to. But clearly there’s no bossing this one around. Aware of his eyes on my ass as I retreat, I walk to the bathroom and turn on the warm water, easing inside the stall. I slowly exhale as the water runs over my head.

Greyson stalks into the bathroom just as I’m coming out of the shower stall, and while I wrap my hair in one towel and my body in the other, he flips on the water and showers in about a minute flat.

This is completely alien, being with a man in the bathroom. Brooke has mentioned that after Remy works out, they take a shower together, and fuck like mad. I’m finding it terribly distracting. In a mind-fuck sort of way. Hell, in a let’s-fuck sort of way too.

In fact, I end up losing my brains and just stand there, ogling him as he towel-dries his hair in the nude, shoulders working, abs clenching, the V dipping to his beautiful cock which I swear is so big that even in its normal state . . .

“Just gave you some of that. But it seems like the lady still craves a little more?”

His voice jerks my eyes up to his and to that heart-tugging smile he wears as he pulls off a plastic wrap that he put around his bandage to keep it dry.

“Like you’re not tempting me on purpose,” I say with a smirk, drooling as I watch his muscled ass walk into his closet.

“Sure you don’t want to come?” I ask.

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He comes back with some clothes wadded in one arm and stops before me with a smile. “I’ve done enough coming for a while.”

“Asshole. But we knew that about you, didn’t we?”

I lean over the counter and start applying my morning makeup.

“You didn’t mean it. Inviting me over? Did you, princess?” he asks, looking seriously perturbed.

I scowl. “We just talk and have breakfast. It’s not like we plot a world takeover or anything top secret you couldn’t listen in on. It’s not a ‘meet the parents’ thing. Urgh, but forget it, you’re looking at me all weird.”

I’ve start brushing my fingers through my hair when he comes and hugs me from behind, holding my gaze in the mirror. He cups my face and turns it around, then his mouth is near my ear, his voice as thick as the feel of his cock against my tummy. “All I want lately is to drag you to bed and fuck you from behind, sideways, then several angles from up front, so every muscle in your body will remember me when you move today. Every breath will hurt, every step you take. I want to feed you, and spread my next meal all over you. I want to lick up my meal, head to toe, clean you up in the shower next, then I want to soap you up and fondle every inch of your sleek little body as I feed you my dick. When I take you out of the shower, I want to towel you dry, massage your sweet tits, flip you around, and give you that long, sweet fuck in the ass you’ve been waiting for.”

The blood has left my other organs only to concentrate fiercely on my sexual ones. I try to push him away and not get excited over his attentions. “Please not now.”

“Do you want me there, Melanie?” He nips my earlobe and sends a rush of desire down my watery thighs as he cups my ass like it belongs to him, his longest finger grazing me there. There. Again. “Here, baby. Do you want me big and hard, thicker than ever, right here? I want to be the man you let loose with.”

“You’re going to make me late for brunch, and I’m going to be mad!” I cry, slapping his hand away and quickly whirling back to the mirror to add some lip gloss.

“You’ll be mad?” His laughing whisper shivers down my skin as he holds me by the hips and looks into my eyes over the top of my head. “You know, I have a thing for mad princesses. It turns me on.”

“Move to Europe then.”

He massages my buttocks in his hands. “You getting angry, showing me that little fire, really turns me on,” he continues in that gruff morning voice.

“Oh, you haven’t seen angry,” I assure him, pivoting around. “It takes a lot to make me angry but when it happens, it’s a sight to behold. Not many nearby articles survive me.”

“Oh?”

“Any shoes around or . . . lamps . . . could find themselves flying . . . crashing . . . and dying.”

“Is that right?” he asks, a mocking light in his eyes.

“So right. I’m a slow boil but when I boil, I BOIL!”

As I force myself to slip into my clothes, he’s still in the nude, and before I can zip up my dress, he’s cornered me against a mirrored wall, my breasts squished against him.

My nerves crackle at the brush of his lips. I set my hand on his chest to push away again, but my fingers just seem to lie there instead, absorbing him, spreading over thick, hard, delicious muscled pec.

“I have to go,” I whisper, rubbing his nipple ring with my thumb.

Mischief glitters all across his eyes as he brushes his mouth against mine. “You know where the door is.”

He licks into the seam of my lips. “I really, really have to go.” I loop my arms around his neck, intending a quick kiss, but he seems to have a different, slower, headier kiss in mind.

He makes it happen.

His hand eases into my wet hair and cups me by the scalp as he angles his head and kisses me, deeply, our mouths tasting of toothpaste and heat, my body arching to get closer to him while he seems to stand there, hot and hard, supporting us both as I melt under his mouth.

“Greyson . . .” I protest.

He runs his fingers through my hair and takes a kiss from another angle. “Nobody’s stopping you, Melanie.”

I turn my head to get more access into his mouth too, rubbing my tongue against his, my nipples to his chest. “God, you’re danger, Grey.”

“You have no idea, princess.” He tongues me hard and unapologetically. More kissing, deep and slow, the kind of kiss that makes me hear our breathing, our slow, slick sounds.

“I think you do plan to tie me up and make me pick out safe words,” I breathe in between lazy, hungry sucks of his tongue.

“Just pick one.”

A soft moan leaves me when his lips trail my throat as I think of my word. “Dickhead.”

His chuckle vibrates right between my legs, where my clit feels extra sensitive this morning, and suddenly very, very achy. “That filthy fucking mouth just begging to be quieted,” he rasps. “But FYI, the word I want to hear the next time that I’m in you is Greyson. That’s the word I want to hear when I’m behind you . . .”

“We won’t . . . we won’t be doing that.” I can almost hear the flutters in my stomach in my voice as I try to escape.

He trails his hands up the small of my back, locking me to him. “Soon, we will,” he softly promises me.

“We won’t. I don’t trust you!”

He seizes my chin and looks me directly in the eye, speaking with deliberate slowness, as if I’m an idiot. “You can trust . . . that I won’t let any other asshole . . . into your sweet, tight little asshole—you sure as fuck can trust that.”

I groan. “Your mouth is filthier than mine. Why are you even after me?”

“The same reason you go out there, bang the brains off some dude, get hurt and keep looking for what you want. There are three things I’m not big on. Trust. Being ordered the fuck around—I get enough of that from my father. And denying myself what I want.”

“And you want me?”

I fall still under the hot feel of his lips suddenly pressing into my throat, trailing up to my ear, where he whispers, a warning, “That’s an understatement, but yes. I want you.” He steps back. “I want this in a way I have no business wanting, Melanie. Just don’t confuse me with your prince charming.”

The words, they hit me. Straight and true.

They hit me so hard, they knock the wind out of me.

“If I did, you just ruined it,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Bye, Greyson.”

I hate the silence that follows me out of there.