He didn’t take his eyes off me, until he was right before me, knotting my hair and yanking my head so I could see the pain and feral desire burning in his eyes. “What’s your safe word, little wife?”
I looked around the hall. “Shouldn’t we go back?” Somewhere…private.
“We’re not leaving this wing.”
I knew then what he meant. Sonnet might not be able to watch, but ever protective Grayson Crowne wouldn’t let Gemma’s door out of his sight—wouldn’t let Sonnet out of his sight.
I wet my lips, and his eyes darted to the motion.
“Story,” he gritted, licking his own lips. “Safe word.”
“Mr. Crowne,” I breathed.
“Do you trust me?”
“Completely.”
His lips were hot on my ear when he hissed, “Run, Snitch.”
Seventy-Four
STORY
Grayson’s footsteps pounded behind me.
As I ran, I passed the memories of our love. This wing was where I first confessed to Grayson, and I could almost see our ghosts dotted on the walls, see him caging me, his blue eyes burning and demanding my truth.
You’re the only friend I have, Story. With you, I don’t have to lie. You see me. I can’t lose that. I can’t lose you.
Now, in the present, he closed in. I knew the only reason he hadn’t caught me yet was because he needed the chase.
I needed it.
There was something so hot about running away from him when he was so fucking desperate not to let me go. I could feel the desperation and primal lust like a wire pulling at my gut. Grayson Crowne, the thing that had been haunting Crowne Hall, hot on my heels.
I think he needed to chase me as much as I needed to be caught.
To affirm that missing piece inside him that I was real—I’m here.
I could see the entrance to Gemma’s wing as Grayson rounded on me, his breath all but fanning my neck. We were nearly at the stairs, the past surrounding us, our love bright and burning in the shadows.
I love you, Grayson Crowne—
SLAM.
Grayson gripped my ankle, and I went down. Hard. I grasped the bannister to keep from slamming fully into the stairs. He was on top of me in an instant.
With two hands he ripped my pretty, white feathered dress down to my navel.
Bare.
In the fucking foyer.
I looked around. “Grayson—”
He slammed inside me and I broke off on a cry. I arched my back off the steps, opening for his invasion, grasping anything—his back, his neck, his hair. I was ready, our foreplay had taken place over the course of months.
He pounded into me like he wanted me to feel him in my heart.
“You own this house.” Slam. “I own the beach it’s on and the town it’s in.” Slam. “If I want to fuck you on the steps, the floor, in the middle of a fucking party, you won’t tell me no.” Slam.
I groaned long and ragged at the image.
The steps burned into my back—a good burn. Grayson is all-consuming.
With each thrust, white gossamer and feathers bunched around my body. He hadn’t taken his tux off, only pulled his black pants down enough to pound into me. I don’t know why, but that burned me up so much I could barely breathe. Having Grayson in his perfectly tailored tux, caging me, knowing he barely had enough willpower to rip down his fly to get at me.
“I thought you died. I thought you were gone.” He growled the words with each thrust, like each thrust cemented my personhood.
It wasn’t sorrow coming off him, it was animal. A living, breathing feral desire, tugging at my own chest. Hot, untamed, until I was aching and wet and needy with it.
“I thought you fucking died.”
I took gasping, gulping breaths. His hand gripped my bare breast, massaging it, kneading it, bruising it. My blood was goose bumps and shivers.
I’d give him everything he needed.
Anything. Forever.
“I thought I’d lost you forever.”
He scythed his teeth into the soft flesh above my breast, thrusting, pounding—hammering, until I saw stars.
Everything I needed, everything he’d deprived me of because of that constant contradiction inside of him—to protect or to take—was unleashed in a constant, ruthless rhythm.
Hard. Rough. Savage.
The need in my gut twisted and I cried out. He refocused on me, teeth still locked on my flesh. His predatory, diamond blue eyes focused on my orgasm. His rhythm turned ruthless.
I gasped and he shoved his fingers into my mouth. I want to bite him, I want to—
His eyes narrowed, wet mouth lifting off my breast enough to growl, “Don’t you fucking hold back.”
I bit down and, fuck, the change in him. His dick throbbed inside me, unleashing a new flurry of aching between my legs. His eyes darkened to navy blue-black slits, and I was catapulted over the edge.
I come.
Fast and devastating, without any finesse. Months of bottled up desire, need, desperation exploded from me. He fucked me harder—ruthless—and I bit and slobbered my moans around his fingers. I disappeared into it. All I could see through the haze was him—his eyes.
A monster’s in the dark. Hungry. Ravenous.
I don’t know how long it lasted, but when it was over, no inch of my chest was left unblemished or unravaged by his teeth.
He looked at his fingers, and I got a flash of a grin, but it was gone too quickly.
It wasn’t enough, he wasn’t finished. I could still feel him inside me—hot and hard. And I could still feel it inside him—the unquenched thirst in his chest. Breathing, beating—a living thing.
He needed blood from the soul.
Slowly he slid out of me, still hard.
He stood to his feet and took sweet, deliberate minutes to undo his tux and tuxedo pants, but his eyes were just as desperate as before—if not more so.
When the last item of clothing lay on the steps, he growled, “Get up.”
Godlike.
That was the adjective I always used to describe him—because it was the only one I could use. As he palmed his cock, he eyed me from his ridged nose and clear blue eyes, and once again I felt like a mortal graced with the presence of something greater. Golden light from the skylight above set his abs aglow, the perfect chiaroscuro for the deep ridges.
I licked my lips. He looked like he belonged in the statuary, not standing above me.
“Get up,” he repeated, still fisting his cock.
“I can’t move my legs,” I admitted. I was jelly. I was loose.
“I’m not done with you.”
I mumbled something about being done.
He bent down, pushing the hair out of my face, lips at my ear. “Little wife.” His voice was sweet and gentle. “Do you want me to stop?”
His sweet words and cruel actions spun me undone into heat.
I shook my head.
No.
Please never stop.
His lips lower to my jaw, voice darker, vibrating with intent. “Then fucking move.”
But I couldn’t move. I was jelly.
He stood, studying me with his head tilted slightly, neck veins throbbing. Eyes edged with that crackling blue gleam they’d had all night, as if he was barely holding himself back.
He flipped me like a rag doll, the steps biting into my stomach. He kicked my legs apart with his foot, palm coming between my legs.