Page 71 of Hold Me Before You Go

“How are your feet?” he pressed gruffly, his hand with the red snake balled into a fist at his side now, the other holding his sunshades.

I bit the inside of my cheek. “They’re okay,” I answered weakly. “Just a few blisters. Mags gave me some bandages to wrap them up in last night.”

“Are you hurting anywhere else?”

Only my heart, if you shatter it right here and now.

I held my tongue, shaking my head for an answer.

Grayson let out a breath and tossed the shades onto the couch. “Thank fucking Christ for that, baby,” he pushed out, coming for me then.

My eyes widened, and before I could even get a word out, my face was in his hands and his lips were crashing down onto mine.

Chapter Seventeen

Carrie

Grayson’s lips moved against mine as we blended together, driven by an all-consuming need fueled by love.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

“I’m finally fucking home,” he pushed out against me, groaning as his fingers stretched into my hair.

Home.

I was his home.

He kissed me hard then, holding me in place, pouring everything he had into this kiss. I took it all, never wanting to stop. A sound escaped me, somewhere between a cry and a moan, as his tongue invaded my mouth, drinking from me as he pressed his body against mine. I felt his hard length against my soft midsection then, and instantly, my nipples hardened, desire fluttering inside me, heading straight for my core. I waswet.So, so wet for him. His teeth scraped against my lips as he tilted his head to the side, his hand on the bruised side of my face gentler than the other.

My hands snaked up to his sides, fisting his thermal, not wanting to stop.

“Grayson,” I whimpered against his lips, needing more of him—all of him.

He pulled back then, his eyes wild, lips swollen, his forehead against mine. “Mine, Sunshine,” he growled, the sound curling low in my belly. “You’re all fucking mine, you got that? I'll always fucking find you. Understand?”

All his. Forever. All the thoughts that had been driven by anxiety faded then. “Yes,” I whispered, holding his gaze and pressing up on my toes, ignoring the pain of my blisters so I could kiss him again.

Suddenly, Grayson’s rough hands left my face, dropping down to the hem of my shirt. He ripped it off me and over my head in awhoosh,and then his hands were working my bra clasp at the back. He flicked it open and pulled back from me, yanking the fabric off my body and down my arms with a snarl.

My eyes shot to the door, and I covered myself as he tossed my bra to the side, clearly not giving a fuck. “We can’t—”

Grayson cut me off harshly. “Why the fuck did you think I told them to leave?” His hands pushed the sweatpants over my hips and ass. A groan came from him when he discovered I didn’t have any underwear on, the pants pooled around my anklesnow. “Sweet fucking Christ,” he murmured roughly, watching me step out of the pants. The heat of the fire was behind me, but a different kind of heat was radiating from him.

That was the only kind of heat I would ever need.

I stood before him completely naked now aside from the socks, and he stepped back, his dark eyes trailing down the length of my body. A shadow fell over his face as his eyes landed on the bruise on my side, just below my rib cage.

His eyes flashed, his nostrils flaring as he glared at the bruise, hating its existence.

“He kicked me,” I told him softly when he looked into my eyes again. Heat bloomed in my cheeks, and that fear was back once more.

What if I was too damaged for him now?

Grayson’s throat worked. “Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion—mainly need and anger.

I shook my head. “No.”

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