Make Me Lose

by Leigh, Ember

  “I provided nothing,” he says. “This was a waste of my time.”

  “Oh, so forty-five minutes out of your Wednesday during your vacation to be available for questions,” I return, crossing my arms. “Seems like a real struggle.”

  He sets his jaw. “Whatever. Are we done here?”

  I purse my lips, frustrated—but not surprised—that the man who’d shown up at my house with a sack of goodies last night is nowhere to be found now. Instead, he’s the same grumpy, holier-than-thou asshole I’ve always known and hated.

  My frustration bubbles up inside me like the Old Faithful geyser, because there is nothing more reliable and faithful than this feeling when it comes to Gray. I’d thought—stupidly—that maybe he’d be capable of more. That maybe he’d turned a new leaf or grown a new stalk altogether.

  “Why did you lie to Bryce about me?” I blurt, unable to control the words as they hurtle past my lips. I don’t have time to regret it though. His brows knit together.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That day on the boat,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. “You told him I was a lesbian.”

  He squints at me as if I’d suddenly asked him if he remembered the fundamental theorem of calculus from high school. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “You lied about me to him,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. It’s never been easy to face this man down. “I want to know why.”

  He scoffs, as if this whole topic is so beneath him. Grayson rubs at his forehead for a moment, then says, “Because he was acting like a douche.”

  “So why tell him I’m a lesbian?” I won’t let this go. I want to hear him say it.

  He holds my gaze, those stormy eyes as beautiful as they are fearsome.

  “I thought you liked girls,” he says, the start of a shit-eating grin on his face.

  “Girls are great friends, but you know I’m one hundred percent about the dick,” I say before I can think better of it. His eyes flash. Got him. “Do you have a problem with the thought of me being on Bryce’s dick?”

  The air between us grows taut; time and space have shrunk in an effort to bring us closer. I swear we’ve both moved five steps closer without anyone moving an inch. I can’t believe I’m saying these words, but that’s Grayson. Pushing me to do the most absurd thing possible.

  “I don’t give a damn what you do, Hazel,” he says, his voice low and threatening.

  His words hurt, but only for a second, like a papercut. I take a definitive step closer. We’re an arm’s length away now. Every inch of my skin is crawling from wanting him, needing the heat of him against my skin. Even the brush of his thumb against that sensitive hollow behind my knee could send me over the edge right now.

  “Why’d you come to my house last night?” I ask, my voice huskier now.

  His stormy gaze doesn’t waver from mine, but I can see the conflict flashing there. His jaw flexes, but he says nothing.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he finally says, ripping his gaze away.

  My heart pounds as the words escape my lips, almost without my consent. “Are you jealous of Bryce?”

  He laughs, but it’s humorless.

  “Or are you jealous because he was the one inside my house?”

  Gray’s gaze hits me like a whip, and for a moment I wonder if this has all been one narcissistic fantasy on my part. I’ve got it all wrong. I’m just a small-town girl stuck in my small-town world, wishing that my high school frenemy would still want me. He only needs me for my realty services, and I’ve been reading too much into this whole damn thing.

  “Jealous is the last thing I feel when I look at you two together,” he spits. “Besides, you make a great pair. The douche and the attention-seeking realty princess. Couldn’t be more perfectly matched.”

  This time, his words sting. He always used to hurl “princess” at me as an insult during high school, but now, it has a whole new layer of hurt. He thinks I’m some sort of pampered brat who sits back and has it all. And the fact that he overlooks how fucking hard I worked to get here—that’s the part that makes me angriest of all.

  I ball my fists. I’m done trying to provoke him, trying to win this battle. I thought we were on the same page, but we’re not even reading the same book. I give up.

  “Bryce and I aren’t together,” I clarify, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “But thanks for thinking so highly of me.”

  I spin on my heels, eager to put as much distance between this asshole and myself as I possibly can. I might even leave the state for a night, just to feel more secure in the distance. But before I make it three steps away, Grayson grabs my wrist, spinning me back to face him. I gasp as I land against the steel wall of his chest.

  “What do you want to hear from me?” he growls, his big palms sliding up the sides of my arms. Traitorous goosebumps flare in their wake. “You want me to tell you how sad I am because pretty boy Bryce thinks he’s such a big man because he’s got you?”

  If this is Grayson’s version of mending fences, he’s shown up to the job without any tools. I scoff, walking away. “Please.”

  He grabs for me, this time backing me up against the nearest wall. “Or maybe you want to hear about how, every time I see him near you, I have to physically restrain myself from pushing him off the nearest boat?” His hands have moved to my waist, tracing the line of my body through the crisp material of the blouse. My breath hitches as his fingers graze the swell of my breast. Jesus Lord in Heaven, I need to keep myself together.

  “You want to hear about how much I have to jack off in the shower thinking about you? What is it, Hazel?”

  I can’t tell if he’s speaking in hypotheticals, but the idea of him jacking off in the shower while thinking of me snaps the last of my resistance. Now I can’t remember what we were talking about. Why I was angry. What my full name is. Not when his fingers are on me like this, and all I can sense is the sweat-laced scent of Grayson, pure cedar and manliness. I draw a fortifying breath while I fist his shirt in my right hand. Like this helps anything.

  “Actually,” I clarify, trying to keep my voice steady, “I would really rather you tell me if you’re going to fucking kiss me or not.”

  A smile jerks at his lips. His blue eyes sweep over my face, as if assessing where to attack first. “You’d like it too much.”

  I huff, trying to push away from the wall, but Grayson keeps me pinned. There’s no getting past him, and apparently his game plan has turned into pure teasing.

  “Or maybe not at all, anymore,” I shoot back, my pussy pulsing with desperation. God, I just need him in me. Fingers, cock, anything. Being around him reminds me that I’ve been craving him without knowing it all these years. His essence is baked into mine, and being around him again reactivated it. But it also brings with it a shit ton of frustration.

  It doesn’t matter. I need Grayson.

  But, of course, he won’t make it easy. Neither of us will.

  “No, you’d still like it,” Gray promises, then his hands drift over the tops of my breasts. He swipes his thumbs over the stiff points of my nipples, visible through my shirt. “I can tell.”

  Traitor boobs now, too. I huff. “Any other evidence you’d like to acquire? Maybe we can draw some blood? Do an MRI?”

  He laughs. Genuinely. His head drops as he looks down at our bodies. He won’t press himself against me, giving me the joy of learning what’s happening on the lower half of his body. His palms crest the swell of my hips, and I hear what can only be described as a defeated sigh escape him.

  “Oh, fuck,” he says, then his hands smooth over the mounds of my ass.

  “What?” I tease. Whatever battle he’s fighting on the inside, I’m winning. I arch myself against him, coming up off the wall. There’s no pretense of being held there against my will. We both want this. So badly I’m surprised we aren’t frothing at the mouth.

  He drags his eyes up mine. There’s a warning in his gaze.
One I understand as soon as he jerks my blouse out of the waist of my skirt.

  “You gonna pop all my buttons off?” I tease. “Rip my shirt in half with your teeth?”

  He tuts and shoves his warm hands beneath my blouse, cupping the sides of my rib cage. The heat melts me on contact; I wilt against the wall.

  “The shirt stays,” he says, his voice raw at the edges. He wets his bottom lips, gaze scanning my face.

  And then he surges forward, capturing my lips in an eager kiss. The heat and scent of him consume me, prompting a tidal wave of emotions that I hadn’t counted on, couldn’t have even imagined. I whimper through the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck. Every cell in my body is rioting beneath him, needing more of him, desperate to draw this out for as long as possible.

  Because, right now, the worst thing that can happen is that Grayson prohibits this from going any further. I wouldn’t put it past him.

  His lips part, tongue surging forward to find mine. He grunts through the kiss, his big hands tracing the curves of my waist, pushing up over the satiny cups of my bra. The way he’s kissing me right now makes me feel like I’m blind. Like every bit of energy inside me has exploded, and I’m caught in the middle. Useless and ecstatic.

  Nobody has ever kissed me like this. Jesus Christ, Grayson probably is my soul mate. How twisted is that?

  “Hazel,” he says, his voice cracking. Sounding like a plea.

  I coax another kiss out of him, tugging on his bottom lip with my teeth. He growls, grappling for the zipper on my skirt. His chest heaves as he fumbles, fails, and then finally tears it down.

  “Might have broken that,” he mumbles through a kiss.

  “Don’t care.”

  A groan rips out of him as he palms my ass cheeks beneath the fabric of the skirt. His fingertips digging into my flesh is a high unlike any I’ve felt before. He shoves the skirt down over my hips; it crumples to the ground. He slides a hot palm down the backside of my thigh, urging my knee up to his hip.

  “There’s no one else on their way, right?” he asks, his voice full of heat and grit.

  I shake my head, unable to form words anymore. He grunts and hoists me. I gasp, cinching my arms around his neck as he carries me toward the kitchen, leaving my skirt in a heap on the empty living room floor. I squeeze my thighs around him, humming with approval as he sets me down on the countertop in the kitchen.

  “Are you sure you want to defile your grandmother’s house?” I ask him, locking my heels behind his back. He pushes the heel of his palm up the side of my leg while his lips leave damp trails along the side of my neck.

  “It’s my house now,” he says, voice sounding faraway. “And I say we defile it.”

  “Not unless you take this stinky shirt off,” I chide. It’s the farthest thing from stinky. I want to take it home and curl up to sleep with it. I wouldn’t wash it for weeks. I’d leave it until dust bunnies claimed it. I just need to see what’s underneath.

  Gray smirks and tears the shirt over his head, exposing tanned washboard and all. His ballcap pops off with the shirt, leaving his hair messy. I finger the stray strands.

  “You already have sex hair and you haven’t even fucked anyone,” I murmur.

  He sucks at his teeth, squeezing the fleshy part above my hips. “Watch your mouth.”

  “What was the naughty part about what I said?”

  He grunts, jerking me closer to him so that our groins collide. That’s when I notice the stiff ridge in his workout shorts. That divine hardness that I’ve been dreaming about for days. Or years, if I’m being honest.

  “Everything you say is naughty,” he says, his eyes on my lips. Then he dips down and captures my mouth in another kiss. We make out hot and heavy for a few moments. When we part, his fingers dance along the seam of my groin.

  “Hazel,” he whispers. His fingertips are like electrical pulses against my skin. All I can see or think about or feel is the sensation. His thumb swipes over the crotch of my panties, nicking the hard nub between my legs. I jerk against him as my breath hitches.

  He smiles, slow and wide. “You’re wet.”

  “No shit.”

  He presses his forehead to mine, dipping two fingers beneath the scrap of fabric covering my pussy. He wastes no time, plunging his thick middle finger inside me. My entire body goes rigid and hot. I cry out, arching against him.

  “Fuck, Gray,” I hiss.

  “You’re really wet.” His voice is gravelly, and it makes me need him even more. I jerk against him, urging his finger to move in and out of me, but he just leaves it there. Enough to tease, and not enough to get me off.

  “Come on,” I urge, squeezing my thighs around his hips. “I need it.”

  “Mmm.” He swirls his finger in a slow circle, which makes my breath hitch. “I like to hear you beg.”

  That annoys me as much as it turns me on. I roll my lips inward, determined not to say it again. He draws his finger out of me, and I can feel myself leaking. There’s probably a pond beneath me on his grandmother’s 70s countertop, decked out in goldenrod and brown and pussy juice. Future buyers will love this. I’ll be sure to point out the stains on my next walk-through.

  “You’re such a fucking—”

  He plunges two fingers inside me, and the sensation is so surprising, so fucking good that my words bleed into a moan.

  I toss my head back, bucking my pelvis toward him. “Come on, Gray. I need it!”

  “What do you say?” he drawls in my ear, but I can hear the desperation edging his words. The primal takeover happening under his skin.

  I grit my teeth. I hate him. But God, I like this a little too much.

  “I say you better fuck me like I need you to.” My voice comes out wispy against the assault of sensations. He’s swirling his fingers around inside me again, and I’m bracing for whatever comes next. He slowly curls them, and I rock my hips against his hand. His thumb brushes my clit, and I whimper.

  I’m so turned on I feel like I might come if he even breathes on my earlobe. His other hand drifts to my bra while his useless fingers are buried deep inside me, teasing me from the inside. The pad of his thumb makes lazy, inconsistent grazes across the stiff peak of my clit. Each time it makes contact, my entire body jerks.

  “Fuck you,” I wheeze.

  “You wish.” But this time, something in his voice has shifted. He’s losing control. He pinches one of my nipples through the fabric of my bra, and my breath hitches again. “Now what do you say?”

  I try to catch my breath as Gray keeps his fingers impossibly still inside me. I squeeze around him as hard as I can, like this might change his mind. He buries his lips in the hollow of my neck, and then he curls his fingers again.

  A moan rips out of me, and I can’t play his game any longer. “Please, Gray,” I whisper into his jawline, the barely-there stubble scraping the sensitive flesh of my lips. His breathing is ragged now, and I can tell the last of his composure is slowly dissolving. I knew his fight wouldn’t last long. Not when I’m laid out like this, on the kitchen countertop, fucking begging for it.

  Grayson might be an asshole, but he’s an asshole with a libido. He can’t say no to this. To me.

  To drive home the point, I gather up the mental clarity to feel my way down his exposed six pack, all the way to the waistline of his shorts. My fingertips meet the fleshy head of his cock. Peeking out from the waistband like a voyeur.

  “Oh my,” I say, laughter in my voice. My thumb traces the seam of his bulbous head, and he jerks beneath my touch. He begins moving his fingers inside me, as if my caressing his cockhead has allowed him to begin fingering me the way I need it. I don’t want to come around his fingers—I want to come around his cock—but I’ll take what I can get. At this point, if I don’t come, I will perish.

  “Careful,” he warns, like I’ve never handled a dick before. “You’re approaching the point of no return.”

  “We already passed that, homie,” I tell him, bucking again
st his fingers. His thumb crashes into my clit again and tiny fireworks explode in my vision. Fuck, I’m so close. And he knows it. It’s why he’s denying me it.

  He grunts. “I don’t have a condom.”

  “Don’t care.” I shove down the waist band of his shorts to drive home my point. “Fuck me, Daly.”

  This must have been the password he was waiting for, because he pushes his shorts and briefs down over the massive mound. His cock springs free, bobbing heavy and framed by tightly trimmed dark hair. I inhale sharply as he grips me by the ass cheeks, arranging me on the countertop for prime entry.

  “Fuck, Hazel,” he hisses, and then he eases himself inside of me. Once the cockhead clears my entrance, I wilt. He scoops me up, bringing my chest crashing against his. A low moan escapes him as he flexes against me, finding a few more inches. And then another inch. And then another.

  He sinks inside me until his entire cock has been claimed by my pussy, and I collapse forward, already spent from the sensation. I haven’t come yet, but I could die happy. The heat of his cock pulsing inside me is more than just sexy—it somehow feels like completion. A fullness I’ve been seeking without finding. I sink my teeth into the ridge of his shoulder, and he hisses again, rocking his hips against me.

  His big hands cup my ass, and he jerks me closer to him, finding another couple millimeters of space inside me. I gasp. He wastes no time in starting to fuck me—really fuck me—sending my breasts jiggling and the fleshy slaps of our bodies echoing through the kitchen. My head tilts backward as the pleasure riots inside me. I’m a breath away from orgasm after .35 seconds of fucking with this man. A new world record.

  His fingertips dig into my ass as he thrusts into me over and over again, his pace both frenzied yet controlled. There’s a method to his madness. Sweat collects at his temples, and I’m hanging on for dear life. Onto his shoulders. Onto my composure. Onto this feeling that everything is right with the world, if only for this fleeting moment.

  “Graaaay,” I moan, arching against him. I can’t beat this back anymore. The friction and the heat and the steel inside me and the cedar and the sweat and the moans—it’s too much. It’s too fucking much, and suddenly I’m coming, my pussy clamping around him like a vice while the explosions turn my body into bright light and buzzing, and I tilt my head back and scream.