Page 48 of Scoring Grey

Her eyes snap open, my voice breaking through the trance that settled over her, and I have the answer to my earlier question. The massage relaxed her. It opened her heart, and she shut out her mind, listening instead to what feels right rather than giving in to whatever poison holds her back. She wants this but only this.

Her tongue quickly moistens her lips. “Yes.” She attempts to keep her voice even, which doesn’t sit right with me. She might need this guise to reconcile her reasons for allowing this to happen, but I don’t.

I shove in a third digit, the resounding moan it rips out of her chest undeniable. This isn’t fake. I’m behind her, giving her what she wants and making her feel good as promised. She doesn’t get to act like this is only a massage. “Who’s making you feel good, blondie?”

“You are,” she gasps as her pussy starts to contract around my fingers.

“Say it, say my name,” I bite out.

“You are, Callum,” she breathlessly pants as her pending orgasm starts to dig its claws in.

A bead of pre-cum leaks from my tip. My fingers are soaked, and my girl is panting my name. I’m so fucking turned on. I could come with her if only my lust could conquer the annoyance that’s built inside of me from only giving her this much. I want everything. I only get a taste because she’s still holding onto her secrets, and while I might be getting closer to bringing down her walls, swallowing the fact that they still exist at all, even after all we’ve revealed, isn’t easy.

“What’s next, Eloise? When does it get to be me?” I growl the torment I feel inside, unable to stay quiet any longer.

I shove my fingers deep and curl them, remembering her body as though it were mine.

“It’s you now,” she gulps as her legs go rigid.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“Cal…” she cries my name as her walls spasm around my fingers.

Fuck. This is supposed to feel different. Her speaking my name as she falls into a beautiful oblivion is a dream come true, but she didn’t say yes. She didn’t say I want you. I bitterly pull out my fingers and get off the bed, unable to spend another second in the only place I want to be. I can’t breathe her in. I can’t look at her. I don’t want to be mad. I just want her, and because that’s not on the table, I have to leave.

“Ten minutes on the heating pad,” I say hoarsely before closing the door to the en suite harder than intended. Chest heaving, I slide down the back of the door and unbutton my pants, back to old habits since love is a savage bitch.

14

ELOISE

Whatever oils Cal rubbed all over me last night, coupled with the pills and the massage that turned into more than just a back rub, have me feeling better than expected. I think he was right, and I didn’t fall on my tailbone. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sore but not as bad as I expected. However, I almost wish I were. The physical pain might distract me from the mental anguish I currently feel after how things ended last night. Sure, I had a mind-blowing happy ending, but the echo of the door slamming as he retreated to the bathroom is still ringing in my ears. My words say no, I’m not ready, and then I go and blur the lines. I know I’m a fucking mess, but I’m trying. I told him what I think about Blair and my thoughts about his dad. I didn’t tell him everything, but I told him enough, or at least enough for now.

When I get out of the bath, I’m surprised to see Cal still asleep in bed. I’m not sure what time he came out of the bathroom. All I know is that I was fast asleep because I didn’t feel him join me. He said he was sleeping in the bed with me from here on out, and my response was feeble at best, and that’s because where he’s at now is exactly where I want him to be. My eyes flash to the clock on the bedside table, and I see it’s 7:00 a.m. He sets his alarm for seven forty-five every day to make sure he has enough time to eat and shower before driving to practice, which gives me an idea. I’m going to make him breakfast. Not wanting to waste any more time, I think quickly and snag my robe off the back of the bathroom door. If I hurry up, I have enough time to cook some eggs and bacon. Isn’t apology bacon a thing?

“You’re making me breakfast?”

His words startle me as I pull the last piece of bacon out of the pan.

“Yeah, why not?” I answer coyly before turning to see him leaning shirtless against the refrigerator, his arms crossed. My insides tingle when my eyes land on his big hands and the fingers that brought me delicious pleasure last night.

“I assumed you went next door when I woke, and you were no longer in the bed.”

I roll my lips. “About last night… actually, why don’t you have a shirt on?” Without a shirt, focusing on words is going to be hard. The arms, the tattoo, the hands. I open a cabinet for plates before my mind gets carried away.

“This is my kitchen, but I could ask you the same question. That number you have on barely covers your ass.”

I roll my eyes as I set the plates on the counter before turning back to him a little flustered. “That’s because I was trying to sneak out here and do something nice for you. Whether you’ve been here or not, you’ve managed to get me breakfast every morning since I arrived. I was just trying to return the favor and apologize.”

His eyes narrow and I see the muscles in his arms flex when he says, “Apologize for what exactly?”

“Last night. That wasn’t fair of me to put you in that position.”

He opens a drawer and pulls out two forks as he steps closer. “And what position exactly is that?”

“One where I shut you out with my words and tell you no, only to turn around and use you, selfishly taking what you’ll give me while giving you nothing in return.”

His eyes stay locked on mine, and he takes another step forward as I take one back. “I’m a big boy.” His hand reaches for my hip, and he pulls me into him. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to, and last night wasn’t about me. It was about you.” He tilts my chin up. “I’ll gladly let you use my fingers until you’re ready for more.” His mood feels different than the one that slammed the door last night, and I internally scold myself. I hate being the reason we run so hot and cold. His amber eyes latch onto mine, and I see his unspoken forgiveness as his mouth closes the distance and covers mine. I can taste the mint of his toothpaste on his lips before his tongue dips in, gently caressing mine and tenderly teasing me with the promise of more, should I say the word. Right before I fall under his spell, he’s pulling away. I know exactly what he’s doing. He’s edging me to the point where I cave, unable to resist what he knows I want. HIM. “How are you feeling?”

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