Page 35 of Don't Trust Him

“It’s your fault,” I find myself saying, bucking my hips at him. “You’re just...so big.”

“Guess we’re matching pieces then.” He doesn’t give me any space for me to reply; instead, he crushes his mouth against mine, sliding his tongue past my lips. I close my eyes, submitting to the moment, and let the pressure build up inside of me until I simply can’t stand it any longer.

“Now…” He says, breaking apart from our kiss. “I want you look me in the eyes,” he runs one hand through my hair, tangling his fingers on it, and yanks, forcing me to look him straight in the eyes. “And I want you to come hard. Really fucking hard.”

Maybe it’s the way he says it. Or maybe it’s the way his hard cock is ravaging me, each of his thrusts setting my body on fire. I don’t know what it is, but next thing I know I’m screaming as hard as I can, my vocal chords nearing their limits as a violent orgasm explodes inside me. He keeps holding my head fiercely, forcing me to stare into his eyes as I come.

And, I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s just so fucking erotic.

“Where have you been all my fucking life, Eliza?” He whispers, his cock throbbing violently inside me. He presses his forehead against mine then, and the two of us surrender to oblivion.

Fire, electricity, chaos—all of it consume and devour us, leaving nothing but pure destruction in its wake.

The sweetest kind of destruction there is.

By the time we finally collapse on top of the bed, breathing so hard I’m surprised we don’t pass out, the last thing I remember doing is resting my head on his chest and drifting off to sleep.

Grayson Teague—what are you doing to me?

Nineteen

Grayson

Sober?

Hungover?

Post-coital bliss?

Can it be all the above?

Eliza Lang is wrapped in my arms, our legs tangled up, and her head is resting on my chest. Her nails are stroking my arm, on the side with no tattoos. The one with all the skulls going up it? That’s holding her. Two worlds straddled, and one perfect mix.

Fuck, I love this woman. I can’t stand the idea of letting her go.

“Can you imagine being free enough to do this?” Eliza says.

Fuck, can I imagine it?

Fuck. I don’t know what to do right now. I settle for squeezing the woman I love tight and thinking, no, no I won’t let her go.

“Yeah,” I finally say.

“What about all the power our bosses have, and we have this freedom?” Eliza says, and she looks up at me. “I mean,” she starts to look off into the distance. “Just a thought. Like, sex brain.”

She’s doing it again -- looking off into the distance. And she’s admitting the effect I have on her.

I decide to ask her about it without even really thinking about it, because I want to know and because I’m dangerously close to blissful and hopeful and totally ignoring reality with her in my arms right now. “Eliza, what are you thinking when you look off into the distance, when you talk sometimes?”

Eliza l

ooks up at me. Surprised. And so fucking cute. How can she be so sexy and so cute at the same time? I want to cover her in kisses and then cum all over her. It’s disconcerting and fucking wonderful at the same time.

“Well,” she starts, and gets up on an elbow and starts stroking her finger up and down my cheek. “I’m thinking kinda what I was just saying to you.”

I gulp.

Fuck, what does that mean?

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