Page 18 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
This is a mistake. I shouldn't do this.
He takes my hand and leads me onto the dancefloor. He immediately takes control, pulling me in hip-to-hip as we sway to the music. He's surprisingly fluid for such a large man, nimble with his footwork, his timing perfect. I try to keep it innocent, force myself to see it as just dancing.
I catch Ashley's face from the bar—first shock, and then… what? Jealousy? She looks confused as hell, but I can't help her. I don't know what's going on either. Or at least I didn't, until he draws me flush against his body.
Oh God.
All the sensitive parts of me tingle. I inhale his cologne and sigh, resisting the urge to close my eyes and surrender to the forbidden sensations.
Slowly, lust seeps through my pores, the mix of moody lighting, music, and alcohol stripping away my inhibitions.
No. I can't lie to myself. It's neither the alcohol nor the lighting.
It's Grayson.
With an expert twirl of his hand, he spins me until I'm pressed against him, my back to his chest. In this position I'm hypersensitive to every move, every breath. His large hand rests on my belly, and when his thumb shifts slightly over my abdomen, I shiver. His breath in my hair makes the moment unbearably intimate. His other hand cups my hips, guiding my movement, until my lust swells into a consuming river.
And then I feel it. The press of his erection against my ass.
He's hard.
Really hard.
I gasp.
Unbidden, the image of him thrusting into me ricochets through my mind. I can almost feel it—thick, veiny, sliding deep, splitting me open as I scream for him.
My pulse hammers, my head foggy with desire. Almost without realizing, I lean back and push my ass against him.
"Fuck." He groans into my hair, and I feel my arousal dampening my panties.
But then, just as suddenly, he pulls away. His hands leave my body, the heat vanishing with them.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs in my ear. "This is a mistake. I… can't do this. I can't explain, but I have to go."
By the time I recover enough to turn around, he's already striding away, tossing a hundred-dollar bill on his table before disappearing out of the bar...and, presumably, out of my life.
CHAPTER 6
Grayson
Finding some random, anonymous bar in which to drown my sorrows had seemed like a good idea at the time. Then, of all people,shehad to walk in. Now I've been driven back out into the street, but the thought of heading back to my penthouse repels me. Tonight, I feel the need for greater solitude, and besides, there's no way I can sleep right now. I need a way to clear my mind a little after tonight's fiasco. A thirty-minute drive, for example. Decision made, I flag down a passing taxi and head back to my Upper West Side block, my erection still hard and throbbing, rubbing uncomfortably against my thigh. On arrival, rather than taking the elevator up to my penthouse, I head down to the underground car lot.
When I press the button on the key fob, my brand new, limited edition, Mercedes SL680 Maybach finished in garnet red and obsidian black, beeps reassuringly, as the doors unlock and the inner lights illuminate, inviting me into its luxury leather and polished wood interior. I hop in and fire up its four-liter, V8, bi-turbo engine which starts with a roar before settling into a low, bobbling growl that promises power and excitement in equal measure. I back the vehicle out of my parking space and head up the exit ramp to join the late-night New York traffic.
Despite the distraction from the car, thick lust still clouds my mind as I reach street level, adding a haze to my vision that makes me thankful that the roads are reasonably clear tonight. The streetlights blink on the wet ground, and I ease my foot from the gas pedal, reminding myself that it's recently been raining and the roads are still a little slippery. I don't need to be getting into an accident just because I'm too horny to see straight.
Aside from anything else, Steph would never stop laughing about it.
Still, even as I slow my pace and try to take deep breaths through my nose, I can't stop replaying the scene back in that bar. My mind draws forth the impression of her body against mine, the gentle sway of her tight ass, teasing and rubbing against my erection.
I don't know how I was even able to tear myself away from her. It took everything inside me not to simply drag her into the nearest dark corner and fuck her brains out.
I don't usually let logic drown in lust. Control has always been my keyword, the iron rule I live by. Tonight, though, I came within seconds of dragging her into the shadows and forgetting every principle I've ever set myself. That isn't me. It's never been me. Yet the thought of her won't loosen its grip.
Apart from how insane that sounds, fucking her again would be going against my basic rules.
What are my basic rules? Rule 1: I never sleep with the same person twice. To be honest, even the first time was already a mistake. The second time would have been even worse than that; it would have been a character flaw.
