“It’s an honor to be part of your village.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “This sweet baby is gonna get a lot of love. See y’all later. And say hi to Greyson for me and Luke!”
I close the door and take a breath. I’m smiling and tearing up all at once.
The moment I found out I was pregnant, things were looking pretty grim. I felt like shit, I was having a baby with a guy I did not like, and I felt very, very alone.
But now, in the space of a couple months, all that has changed. I didn’t think I’d ever feel this full or this…hopeful, I guess, ever again.
I’m starting to see glimmers of the magic of parenthood everyone talks about.
I’m starting to get excited about this baby.
About being a mom.
“Jesus, Julia, I was worried you left.”
My stomach dips so hard and so suddenly at the sleep-roughed sound of Greyson’s voice, I nearly drop our coffees.
I spin around to find him standing in the hall a few paces from me. Barefoot. Dark hair everywhere. Blue eyes trained on mine as he runs a hand over his stubble.
My.
Fucking.
God.
Desire, hot and sudden, catches between my legs. Stays there, pulsing.
“My bed was empty,” he continues, crossing his arms over the barrel of his chest. “Couldn’t find you anywhere. Thought maybe I’d scared you off.”
“Lucky for you, I don’t scare easy,” I manage. “Even when you’re being your growly Satanist self.”
His eyes do that thing where they light up. Smile. He nods at the goodies in my hands.
“What’d ya get?”
“Breakfast. From Holy City Roasters. Wasn’t sure how you took your coffee, so I went with black.”
“Like my soul?”
I grin. “Exactly.”
“Lucky for you, that’s actually how I like it. C’mon.” He tilts his head toward the kitchen. “Let’s eat.”
Chapter Seventeen
Julia
“So I was thinking,” Greyson says, licking a stray bit of melted cheese from the tip of his first finger.
“What were you thinking?”
I sip my coffee. God that’s good. Before I got pregnant, I was the first person in line at Gracie’s coffee shop when it opened at six A.M. Hands down, her cold brew is the best I’ve ever had. I order a small these days instead of my usual large, but I’m grateful I didn’t have to give it up altogether. I would really be a zombie without my daily dose of caffeine.
“Now that we know everything is looking good with Charlie Brown, I’d like to tell my parents.”
I look at him. Pale morning sunlight streams through the kitchen windows and catches on his stubble, turning the ends to gold.
“Okay,” I reply.
Greyson meets my gaze. “Would you like to do it with me? My mom is making Sunday supper tomorrow. Come.”
A familiar heat prickles to life behind my eyes. I blink, hard, my lips working their way into a smile.
This means something. Greyson opening up his family to me.
Greyson opening up at all.
“Last night you were talking about what a bummer it is that you don’t get the chance to share the news with your parents,” he says. “I want you to have a chance with mine. I want you to meet them, Julia.”
I’m biting my lip again, Anastasia Steele style.
I’m overwhelmed. All this goodness. Greyson’s scruff and this coffee and his kindness.
Kindness that is turning me on something fierce right now.
“I’d love to.”
He grins, and I swear to God the sun burns through the windows even brighter.
“I have to warn you.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. “My family is great, but the energy and the attention can get overwhelming.”
“I’m okay with that.”
“You say that now, Julia, but you haven’t met my mother. Ever since Bryce—Ford’s daughter—was born, Mom’s been dying for more grandchildren. There will be screaming. And about fifty thousand questions, most of which will be very personal and/or totally inappropriate.”
Laughing, I finish my sandwich. Before I’m done wiping my hands on my napkin, Greyson is breaking the pumpkin scone in two and placing half on my wedge of tin foil.
Why?
Why does this simple gesture make me feel like I’m about to smile or cry or both?
“What?” he says in reply to the look I give him. “Charlie Brown likes sweets. So does his mom. Y’all inhaled that ice cream last night.”
“It was Jeni’s,” I stammer.
“So good, right?”
“The best.”
“I only get the best for you and Charlie.”
I’m still looking at him. He’s still looking at me.
I can smell the toothpaste on his breath.
My heart is beating loud and strong inside my chest.
I can’t.
Jesus, I can’t hold it in. My desire for him. The joy I feel just breathing the same air, being in the same room.
I can’t. Wasn’t I just giving a speech to Greyson about living bravely? About putting yourself out there, even when you’re scared?
Lord am I scared. But every bone in my body is screaming do it. Take the chance.
Find out if he tastes as delicious as he looks.
Tiny tremors erupt just inside my skin as I lean forward. Greyson watches me. Forehead not exactly furrowed, but I can just make out the two lines between his eyebrows.
My heart is beating so. Hard.
I curl my hand around his chin, pressing my thumb into the sweet little indent there.
And then, before I can chicken out, I close my eyes. He draws a breath.
I tilt my head and press my lips to his.
His mouth is warm and soft. Full. My nose brushes against the scruff on his cheek. I smell his bergamot aftershave. A hint of cigarette smoke.
Smoke I feel rising up inside my body as desire burns me alive. My pussy throbs. Lips tingle.
Please, I silently beg. Kiss me back. Kiss me with the need I saw in your eyes last night.
The need I felt in his touch.
Then again, maybe I imagined it.
Because he pulls back suddenly, breaking the kiss. His eyes dart between mine, wild and fiery.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck. I pissed him off. I crossed a line.
I drop my hand, putting it on my stomach like I can catch it before it falls too fast, too far.
Oh, God, how stupid—
“Julia,” he growls. Brows curving upward, softening his expression.
“I’m sorry. That was completely—I don’t—I’m so embarra—”
But then Greyson is taking my face in his hands and bending his neck and capturing my mouth with his. His lips slant over mine, open and slick. He pulls at me, drawing me up to meet him as his tongue licks slowly into my mouth.
He growls again when my tongue meets his. This desperate animal sound that makes my nipples pebble. He deepens the kiss. Hard and hungry. Like he’s been starving for this.
For me.
My hands reach for him, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt. He feels impossibly solid here. Warm and big.
The desire between my legs becomes acute.
He turns his head, nose brushing mine. Never breaking the kiss, just moving knowledgeably and confidently through it. His scruff chafes my skin; I’m definitely going to have some beard burn going on after this.
Not that I mind. I don’t care if my skin turns to sandpaper. This kiss—
I just.
No words.
I surrender to the force of Greyson’s gravitational pull. He’s rising to his feet, he’s taking me with him, my body’s melting into his as I loop my arms around his neck and curl into his warmth.
What an idiot I was not to let this man kiss me. Because he can kiss. Maybe I’m just starved for sex or human contact or both. But fireworks are going off be
hind my closed eyelids in celebration of just how juicy and good his mouth feels against mine.
Who the fuck is this man? The asshole, the cook, the secret Satanist sweetheart?
I glide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hands trail down my sides, thumbs dipping into the waistband of my pants.
Desire, sharp, slices through my core. I’m feeling weak in the knees again.
I roll my hips into his pelvis. He groans. He’s hard. As desperate for me as I am for him by the feel of it.
I give his hair a tug.
Plucking at my bottom lip, he says, “My bed. I’m enforcing the no-clothes policy this time.”
“Please,” I pant. “Please God yes.”
This man knows what he wants.
He wants me.
Following him up the stairs, I marvel in the feeling of knowing what I want, too.
For the first time in a long time, I feel certain.
I feel right.
I feel like myself. Caffeinated. Curious. Sexy.
And that’s kind of the best feeling of all, isn’t it?
The second we enter his bedroom, Greyson is tugging his shirt over his head. For a whole heartbeat, I get a marvelous view of his bare back. Broad shoulders that narrow to a slender waist. Muscles bunching under smooth skin that’s smattered with freckles.
I decide that backs are a criminally underrated part of the male physique.
Reaching out, I trail my finger down the furrow of his spine. Lingering one beat, then another, just above the curve of his ass.
He’s got such a nice ass.
Not like I ever had much chance to explore his body. Our encounters were always quick and to the point. Dirty, yes. Creative? Sometimes. But we never lingered. Now that I’m thinking about it, I wonder if I’ve ever been fully naked with Greyson before. One—or both—of us usually left some clothing on in the interest of expediency.
I hope that’s not the case today.
Turning his head, Greyson looks at me over his shoulder. Eyes landing on my hoodie.
“What the fuck did I say about my no-clothes policy?”
A shiver darts up my spine. He’s being growly and impatient—the villain, the werewolf—and I love it. I grab the hem of my hoodie and stride in front of him, yanking it over my head as I make for the bed.
Before I can get there, Greyson grabs me by the hand and pulls me against him. My back to his front. I suck in a breath at the delicious sensation of skin on skin.
He leans down to press a kiss to my neck, nicking me with his teeth as he hooks a finger into my bra clasp at my back. He uses his thumb to guide the clasp free, and pushes the straps of my bra over my shoulders.
It falls to the ground.
My nipples are simultaneously a little sore and screaming for attention. I reach behind me and dig my fingers into his hair again, arching a little so he takes the hint.
His palms smooth over the sides of my torso just underneath my underarms toward my front.
Gently—with a softness that takes me off guard—he cups my breasts, carefully kneading them in his palms.
Electricity spreads throughout my skin. My eyes flutter shut.
One thing that’s always struck me about Greyson is how hard he grabs things. Opportunity. Timing. The world’s balls.
But right now, he’s achingly tender. Taking my tits in his hands and gathering their weight in his palms, like he’s touching light.
The divine for the first time.
“This okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing my ear. “I know you said you were sore.”
I fist his hair in reply. “This—so good.”
He leans down and kisses my neck, sending bolts of heat straight to my clit. I moan. His hands move to my yoga pants, and then he’s tugging them over my hips.
I step out of them, one leg at a time. I’m naked. Unprepared. I usually get regular waxes, but that went out the window with my positive pregnancy test. Couldn’t fathom getting my pubic hairs ripped out while in the throes of morning, noon, and night sickness.
My body has changed, too. My nipples have gotten bigger and darker. I’m not showing yet, but my stomach is distended. Like I just ate the person-sized burrito I was this morning.
But right now, I don’t give a fuck. I’m turned on and I’m doing this.
I’m sexy just as I am.
A fact Greyson confirms when I turn around to face him. His eyes rake shamelessly over my body, making goosebumps break out on my skin.
“Baby, you look—”
He reaches out. Puts a hand on my belly and shakes his head.
“What?”
His eyes lock on mine. “Beautiful.”
Cannot. Even.
I grab the tie at the waistband of his sweats. Give it a tug, releasing the knot. The waistband sags just the tiniest bit, revealing a vein that snakes down his groin and an arrow of dark pubic hair.
My pussy sings.
Licking my lips, I pull his sweats down a little more. Just enough to bare his cock. It juts obscenely—unabashedly—from between his hips.
Man’s got a gorgeous dick. Not huge, not little, just right. It stands straight up, the shaft smooth, save for the two veins that line the underside. The head is pink and perfectly round.
I wrap my hand around him, reveling in the feel of his skin. Hot. Tight. It’s been so long since I touched him like this.
I’ve missed it.
He hisses when I draw my thumb over the head. I look up and meet his gaze. Give him a slow, easy pull, working the skin over his shaft.
His eyes are hooded. He leans down and kisses my mouth, gliding a hand onto my face.
“So good,” he repeats against my lips. “So good, baby.”
He moans when I pull a little harder, tightening my grip. I slip a finger lower, giving his balls a caress. His hips buck. He bites my bottom lip.
“Nu-huh,” he growls. “You come first. Like always.”
My heart dips. And then he’s lifting me by the backs of my thighs, his dick pressing against my belly as he takes one, two steps and sets me lightly on the bed.
I fall onto my back, my knees parting. Greyson’s eyes catch on my pussy as he steps out of his sweats.
His nostrils flare.
I want him there. So badly.
At first, that’s what I think he’s going to give me. He climbs over me, covering me with his big, broad body. Trailing his mouth over my knees, my belly, stopping to gently suck on a nipple before kissing my chest and neck. My legs fall completely open, and he settles between them, bracketing my head with his elbows.
The hair on his thighs brushes against my legs. The thrill of having him completely—completely naked, no boundaries, no rules—is indescribably sweet.
He nudges my nose with his and kisses me. Deep.
He’s kissing me nonstop. Like he can’t get enough.
Like he’s got a lot of time to make up for.
Never breaking the kiss, Greyson rests his weight on one arm and reaches between us with the other. He grabs my knee and guides it to his hip, spreading me wider.
My blood leaps when I realize what’s coming next.
His hand sweeps down my leg toward my hip. He lifts his body, and glides his palm over my pussy, pressing the heel into my clit.
“Greyson,” I moan, the crown of my head dragging across the duvet as I arch against him, clawing at his chest.
“My God you’re soft,” he replies roughly. “Ready.”
“Are you gonna make me beg?”
He smirks. “Only if you want me to.”
He removes his palm, and glides a finger up the length of my slit, back to front. Circles my clit, which makes me want to scream. Dips inside, which makes me want his cock.
Pressure.
Enough of all this pressure. I need relief.
Just when I really am about to beg him to put on a condom—yeah, I’m pregnant, but we haven’t talked about STDs—and put himself inside me, he starts worki
ng his way back down my body. Mouth all over my skin as he hooks my left leg over his shoulder, then my right.
“Oh, yes,” I breathe, putting a hand on his head.
It’s between my legs now. His eyes meet mine. He watches my expression as he opens his mouth and presses his tongue to my pussy. I see stars when he toys with my clit, my hips starting to roll.
He places his hands on the insides of my thighs.
“Put your feet on my shoulders,” he says. “I want all of you. Wide open.”
I do as he tells me, spreading myself farther, and he does not hesitate. He eats me out with erotic patience and intention, and I feel a familiar tightening, a maddening stretch that warns of a massive orgasm yet to come. His fingers play with my pussy while his tongue dips inside me, around me. While he gently nicks my clit with his teeth, giving it a quick, devastating suck before moving to explore other parts.
That’s what he’s doing. Exploring me. Taking his time.
Literally savoring me, letting out these rude little grunts.
“Now you’re doing it,” I pant.
“Doing what?”
“Making noises while you eat.”
His eyes are on mine. They’re dancing.
“Sweetheart”—he presses a kiss to the inside of my thigh—“you have no idea how much I missed this. Missed you.”
My stomach dips as my impending orgasm spirals higher.
“I’ve missed you too,” I reply, gently slicing my fingers through his hair. “The growly boss. Your body. Your tongue, more specifically.”
He laughs, my pussy vibrating at the sound.
He laps at me with the flat of his tongue, and my head falls back on the bed. This feels so damn good. High thread count sheets at my back. Naked as the day I was born. Greyson’s head between my legs, stoking me higher and higher toward my first orgasm in months.
It’s not even nine in the morning yet.
Too early to say this just might be the best day ever?
He takes my clit between his lips at the same moment he sinks two fingers inside me. My eyes squeeze shut as my legs begin to shake.
“Grey,” I manage, back arching.
“I like it when you call me that. Say it again when you come.”
He’s kissing my pussy now, stroking and pulling and sucking. My God, the sucking, it’s soft and it hurts and I want—
Southern Gentleman: A Charleston Heat Novel Page 13
