Page 34 of Those Heartbreak Scars

Gray’s being overly cautious. Or he’s worried about his job. Or his heartbreak is coloring his opinion, because Everett hasn’t done anything to make me think he’s toying with me.

Of course Everett has a history. I do too. The only difference is that his is plastered all over social media. I’m sure it’s not as bad as Gray is making out.

Unless Gray is seeking me out and starting fights on purpose, knowing they will end with us in a tangle of limbs. Is he warning me away from Everett because he wants me for himself?

No, that’s wishful thinking. Daydreams. Pure fantasy on my part.

Wouldn’t he just say that instead of making a hullabaloo about Everett? It would be so much better than tracking me down to tell me that I shouldn’t be offended that he would never date me.

Except, he also gave me this hickey. I finger the mark on my throat. How does it make me feel?

Confused. Scared. Possessive. Yes, all three, jumbled together.

Could Gray be experiencing those same emotions? Could he be into me despite his denials? He’s not over Indy, but two rival emotions can exist in the same space at the same time. He could be into me and not over her. Just like I’m into Everett but can’t stop this thing between Gray and I.

He’s worried about my being hurt because of his heartbreak. He’s said as much. So how am I supposed to act around him now?

It’s much easier to be mad than vulnerable. It’s easier to have no hope than this thrum in my chest that feels like it could as effortlessly become tortuous as it could become giddy.

Either way, I best cover up the bite. It takes some concealing, but I manage to make it blend in a way that I can pass off as any old bruise if anyone else notices it.

Gray is standing on the other side of the bathroom door when I open it. He has the sugar bowl in his hand, and he blinks hard like he was lost in thought. “I was going to make coffee.”

“Okay.” I tuck the end of my towel more securely at my boobs while he blocks the exit. He looks out of sorts.

“I know how you like your coffee. With that creamer. The almond one with the vanilla.”

“Right.”

“But then you didn’t have any in your fridge, and it made me think that maybe you’d changed the way you take your coffee.”

I have no idea where this is leading. “I—”

“Because people go from two sugars in their coffee to one. They switch the type of milk they like. They change.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m scared I’m too broken to change.” He drops the sugar container to reach for me. His hand slides around my waist; he tugs me to him and steps in. His lips caress mine. “But I’m starting to want to.”

I yelp when he lifts me off my feet and presses my back to the wall while his tongue is in my mouth.

“Gray?” Coffee? Change? I don’t know what he’s thinking. He tugs at the towel, pulling it apart to expose my breasts. I’m not going to ask when he takes a nipple between his teeth and flicks the tip of his tongue over the metal piercing it.

My head thuds against the wall, a moan slipping out of me as he loves on my breasts. My clit throbs, my pussy growing wetter the more time he spends on my nipples.

“Everett? He your boyfriend yet?” he asks, lifting his lips from one nipple only to suck the other one between them.

“Mmm. No.” I haven’t seen him since we agreed to slow things down. How could I when Gray has preoccupied my time and almost all of my thoughts?

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I’m going to take you to bed, Rica. And you’re going to ride my face. If he was your boyfriend then we couldn’t do that.” He carries me out of the bathroom and into my bedroom. That answers the question of whether he snooped. He tosses himself backward onto the bed with me still in his arms. “Climb up on my face now. Be a good girl and give me what I need. Your sweet pussy, dripping on my tongue.”

I scramble up until my knees are next to his ears. I’ve put on weight since I’ve been in the UK. Stress coupled with being homesick added some pounds. I have a flat tummy but my thighs are as meaty as my ass and as juicy as my breasts. I’m not the tiny, slender type he was used to.

“I said sit.” He wraps his hands around my waist and pulls me down firmly. “Don’t hover.”

---