Page 49 of Scoring Grey

“I was stiff and sore when I woke, but after taking a hot soak and some more medicine, it’s now a dull ache. I might rub more of that oil on my lower back before I get dressed.”

“I can assist you with that now if you’d like.”

“Aren’t you hungry?” I doubt he ate after I left the way I did yesterday, and I know he eats a lot. His body demands it.

“Starved,” he says, his hand skimming down the curve of my ass where he grabs a handful of cheek. His lips find the side of my neck, and I’m putty in his hands, every bit as starved as he is. Last night didn’t take the edge off. His touch only fanned the flames, turning smoldering embers into a blazing fire. My back is suddenly against the pantry, and his hard length is pressing into my stomach.

As he nips and sucks his way up my jaw in search of my mouth, my fingers find the waist of his sweatpants. “You’re home and wearing these.” I snap the band. “I’m starting to think sleeping nude is a hoax.”

“Is that your way of telling me you want to see my cock?” His lips tease mine before he says, “Because you should know you never have to ask. If you want it, take it.”

My hand snakes down and wraps around his length before his words have a chance to settle, and he groans, slamming both hands on the pantry behind me.

“Fuck, blondie. You’re killing me.”

I stroke him from root to tip, and as his amber eyes darken, he lays his forehead to mine.

“Tell me what you want.” His lips cover mine before I can answer, and I’m desperate for more. He just asked me what I want and I don’t know what to say because right now I want everything.

When he releases my mouth, his eyes search mine for an answer, and I say, “You.”

The next thing I know, he’s lifting me, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist, putting my throbbing core in perfect alignment with his hard length, a position that doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He presses into me, his intent clear.

“You want this?” His eyes pierce mine, and I see the torture there. I hate being the reason for it, especially when I’ve only ever wanted him.

“I know what I’m asking.” I grind back down on his length, and my stupid injury has my forehead pinching together as I stifle a whimper.

“Shit,” he curses, spinning around and setting me on the island.

He runs his hands through his hair and tries to step back, but I grab his pants before he can. “Don’t. I’m okay. We can go slow.” It’s better that we do for more reasons than one.

Leaning in, he places a hand on either side of me, and I can see his struggle. He’s been waiting so long to hear these words and share this moment with me again that he’s scared to take it. “Eloise, I want this, but I need you to look me in the eye and tell me you really want this because less than eight hours ago, this wasn’t on the table. My patience is thin, and every day it gets harder than the last not to just take it.” His hand runs through my hair, and his eyes trace its descent before returning to mine. “Forget about the type of man you want and tell me what you need because that’s the man I want to be.”

I close the distance between our mouths and kiss his lips softly. “I need the man standing in front of me?—”

His mouth crashes to mine as his hands grip the sides of my hips in a kiss that feels like a promise. A kiss that feels like home. The passion and chemistry that’s buzzing between us isn’t just lust; it’s heart and soul; it feels like the staying kind, the kind that will survive anything. His lips abandon mine and trail down my neck, skimming over my collarbone and finally landing on my breast, where his hot mouth latches onto my nipple as he slips my robe off one shoulder. He groans deep and the sound reverberates through my body, and for a few short seconds, I melt under his touch until I feel him slip off the other side of my robe to expose my other breast, and suddenly, I’m reminded I’m not the girl I once was.

“Wait…” I push at his shoulders.

His wild eyes find mine. “Blondie,” he warns.

“No, it’s not that. I want this. I just want to keep the robe on… it’s chilly,” I try to add casually.

He pinches one of my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. “I promise the last thing you’re going to be is cold. I want to see you.”

I know he’s going to see it eventually. I can’t hide it forever, but it doesn’t make me less self-conscious about him seeing the gnarly scar that wasn’t there the last time we were together.

“It’s just that”—I break eye contact and squeeze the robe tight—“everything’s not how it once was.”

He grabs my chin, bringing my eyes back to his. “If this is about the thin white lines on your hips, I saw them last night, and I think they’re sexy as fuck.”

I shake my head. “It’s not about those.”

His eyes narrow on mine, and he releases my chin before taking a step back and dropping his sweatpants. His heavy cock springs free, the tip already glistening with arousal. “This is what those endless baby-blue eyes, which see straight through to my soul, the pretty smile that melts my heart, and that smart mouth, the one that dares to tell me no even when she wants to say yes, do to me… this is what you do to me. Before I ever set you on that countertop, you felt me. Drop the robe, and see for yourself how whatever you believe makes you imperfect isn’t only perfection, it’s beautiful.”

I release a deep breath and pull at the belt of my robe, letting it pool around me on the island, putting my body on full display for him. He takes his time, his eyes slowly drifting over every inch, memorizing every last detail until he reaches the hideous scar. I had to be cut twice. Adler was bigger than expected, and the initial cut wasn’t big enough. The second his eyes land on it, a few things happen; his lips thin as his face morphs into a scowl. I drop my eyes, not able to look at the disappointment I see there, and when I do, I see his fists are clenched, and the length he was determined to show me twitches. He steps into the island, and his fingertips slowly drag up my thigh before finding my stomach and leisurely tracing over the scar. “This body birthed my son. You brought a life into this world.” His finger drifts from my stomach, up my chest, and finally to my chin. “I’m proud of you. A scar means you’re stronger than before. It means you learned a lesson and triumphed through pain. If you see anything before you that speaks differently, it’s not disgust. It’s sadness and regret that I didn’t get to watch this body change, that I didn’t get to hold you when it was hard, that I wasn’t there the day you got this scar and your life was forever changed.”

A tear escapes. “I’m sorry. I’m totally ruining this.”

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