Page 78 of Scoring Grey

I do as instructed, eager for what he’s about to give me. He pushes my jeans down, exposing my bare ass. “In trouble for what?”

“For thinking you get to wear my name and not take it as yours.”

“What? When did I say I wouldn’t take it?” I lick my lips and try to recall the words I gave him at the stadium. I know I said no such thing. I wouldn’t say no if he asked me to marry him, but he hasn’t asked.

His big hands slide over my cheeks, and he squeezes them before spreading them wide and sliding his tip through my lips. “Always ready…” he hisses as he slides his length between my folds. “Before you got drinks earlier, you said, if you want me to take your last name…” He brings his tip to my entrance. “I told you there is no if! You’re mine,” he says as he slams in hard and the air whooshes out of my lungs.

“Fuck,” I choke out from the intrusion that stretches me and hurts before it aches in the best of ways.

“Balfour.” Slam. “Is.” Slam. “Our.” Slam. “Name.” Slam.

“Okay…” I pant breathlessly.

“Okay, what?” he grunts.

“Balfour.” I turn my chin to my shoulder, ensuring he hears my words. “Is our name.”

“Fuck yeah, it is.” His hands dig into my hips, and I grip the stage harder, knowing what’s about to come.

He’s losing himself. I just told him exactly what he’s been waiting for, a spoken confirmation that I’m all in and willing to give myself to him in every way. I thought I’d made it clear through all the whispered sweet nothings we’ve shared in the countless hours we’ve spent in bed, but he wants it all. And now he knows I do, too. He’s going hard at a piston’s pace, but I can tell, like me, he’s on the cusp. I reach back the way I always do in this position, needing to feel connected to him on a deeper level, and the second my fingers graze his heated flesh, my orgasm takes root. The base of the drums and the guitar’s treble as Jagger hits his high note on the bridge have my legs stiffening. I can feel my spine dip as my body loses itself to the ecstasy Cal’s ringing from it. His thrusts hit out of sync as he holds himself deep, spilling every drop inside of me as my walls spasm around his length. My arms go slack, and he wraps his around my waist, holding my weight.

“I fucking love you, Eloise.” He kisses the side of my damp forehead. “Do you hear me? It’s you and me.”

I reach my hand back and run it through his hair. “You and me,” I repeat, breathless and exhausted. “Take me home.”

22

ELOISE

“Damn, girl,” Moon cat calls when he sees me in my silk champagne slip dress.

The dress is stunning. It has a slit that runs dangerously high up my thigh, but its length and the way it conservatively hugs my body in all the right places is elegance personified. Moon drinks me in from head to toe as Cal and I join him beside the bar.

“Watch it,” Cal says, snaking his arm around my waist.

“Please tell me you have a sister,” he asks hopefully.

“No sisters. I only have a brother, and he’s taken.”

Moon shakes his head. “Damn.” He takes a swig of his beer. “Where’s Dash? Last we talked, he was planning on making it tonight.”

“He’s coming. This is his last hurrah before he leaves for an assignment.”

He flicks his head to the event space. “Not too bad for a last-minute party.”

I chuckle as I look around the tent the Bronsons had put up to host the charity gala at their home at the last minute after they lost the venue space they’d booked over a year ago. When they booked the location, they hadn’t planned for it to conflict with conference finals. The gala was supposed to be held at a hotel in downtown Toronto but seeing how the Kings have continued to advance in the post-season, the gala fell on the same night as their last game in round two of the playoffs. So here we are with an impromptu event space in the backyard of the Bronson Estate. You wouldn’t know this was all thrown together at the last minute by looking around. The tent is picturesque. It seems as though every detail was poured over for months. The tent’s roof is draped with sheer fabric and lights, giving the illusion you’re outside looking at a starry night sky. Apart from the lights twinkling in the canopy, the entire tent is lit from the ground up, save for the candle lights adorning every surface. It’s fanciful and creates a memorable experience for the guests.

“Hey.” Cal squeezes my hip. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“You’re quiet. I wasn’t sure if your nerves were starting to get the best of you knowing everyone here will soon see your painting.”

“No, I’m not nervous.” Well, maybe a little, but I wouldn’t tell him that. This is a big night for him. I don’t need him worrying about me. “I’m simply taking it all in. This is very nice. When I heard the event location had to be moved on the fly, I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t this.”

“Yes, another reason I don’t mind Tipper’s help with the charity. His wife and her friends love to decorate. When we lost the hotel reservation, they all flew into action, and this was born,” he says, letting his eyes wander around the space. Our shared admiration of the details is short-lived as we both stiffen when Blair and Austin enter the venue. His lips are on my temple. “Don’t let them ruin this. Let’s forget about all this for one night.”

“That’s easier said than done, but I’ll try. I can’t make any promises. You know how she likes to provoke me.”

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