Page 78 of Theirs to Hunt
I accept this. I accept them.
Brooks is still kneeling. I lean down and kiss him. Then glance at Grayson, a wicked smile pulling at my mouth.
“Tell the truth,” I say. “What really got me the job was the pictures in my office.”
Grayson blinks once. Then tips his head back and laughs.
Loud. Real.
Chapter sixty-five
Reagan, Sunday 10:15 p.m.
The house is quiet except for the clink of plates and the low hum of the dishwasher. I’m barefoot, still flushed from dessert, wine warm in my veins.
I’m in one of Grayson’s shirts now. Black, soft, half buttoned, and nothing else. Nothing gets him hotter than seeing me in his clothing, and I’m done pretending I don’t know that.
After tonight’s confessions, it’s clear we’ve all made our choice. And it’s this.
They’ve been careful. Too careful. Like I’m some eighteenth-century virgin who might faint at the sight of a cock. I’m over it.
Grayson stands at the sink, sleeves rolled, rinsing the wine glasses. I hand him one and watch the tendons shift in his forearm as he takes it. Even in something as simple as this, he’s precise, deliberate, in control. The tension between us isn’t anxious or uncertain. It’s hot, dense, the kind that builds pressure until it breaks.
He turns off the tap and dries his hands slowly before looking at me. “Come here,” he says, voice low and steady.
I do.
He pulls me in by the hips, backing me up against the counter. His mouth is on mine before I can say a word, hungry and claiming, tongue sliding past my lips like he’s been tasting me in his head all night.
Oh shit. It’s our first real kiss, and I could come from that alone.
Mmm. Hot Daddy knows exactly what he’s doing.
A moan escapes me as my fingers slide up his chest and hook around the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinking about this since you fed me that first bite of dessert,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Same,” he growls, turning me so my stomach presses into the counter. His hands skim beneath the shirt, palms dragging up my thighs, squeezing, spreading.
“Grayson…” My breath hitches as his fingers slip between my legs, stroking exactly where I’m already wet for him.
“You’re ready for me,” he mutters against the back of my neck. “Knew you would be.”
I arch into him as he frees himself and presses against me, hard and hot.
That’s when I hear it. A soft creak.
I glance over my shoulder and see Brooks.
He’s leaning casually against the frame, one shoulder braced, arms crossed, eyes dark and unreadable. But the arousal there is unmistakable.
He’s watching.
Chapter sixty-six
Grayson, Sunday 09:48 p.m.
She says it sweetly, almost innocent.
“I want your cock in my mouth. Please.”
