by Eva Ashwood
Declan may not hate me with the same raw fury Gray seems to, but he doesn’t like me.
At least, I didn’t think so.
As if he’s somehow plucked the thoughts right from my brain, Gray’s gaze flicks toward his friend before returning to me, the blue-green of his irises churning like a choppy ocean.
“I said, what the fuck are you doing?”
My gaze locks with his, and even though my knees still feel shaky, I offer him a taunting smile. “Whatever the hell I want.”
Wrong answer.
His lips press into a line, and he takes another step closer to me, keeping his grip on my hair while he moves his other hand to my jaw, forcing me to tilt my head up toward his.
“Get out,” he rasps.
For a second, I think he’s talking to me. That he’s actually trying to kick me out of my own fucking dorm. But then Elias clears his throat beside me.
“Gray—”
“I said out.” His gaze leaves mine for a brief second once again, hardening as it finds Declan. “Now.”
15
A heavy moment of silence fills the room.
Gray is still glaring at Declan, and Declan’s face has taken on a hard edge I’ve never seen before. For a second, I think they might start swinging, and I honestly can’t decide if I hope they do or don’t.
Then Elias steps between them, shooting me a look before grabbing Declan’s arm. His gaze flicks to Gray, and he nods once. “Yeah. Alright.” He jerks his chin at Declan. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”
The tattoos on Declan’s skin ripple as his muscles flex. His jaw clenches. He looks at me again, then shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it of something—temporary insanity, maybe. Some of the tension bleeds out of him, and his usual don’t give a fuck expression settles back over his face.
“Yeah. Sure.”
I can’t tell how much of his casualness is real and how much is an act. Or maybe it’s all real, and I just imagined the heat that flared between us a moment ago.
The two of them turn toward the door without another word, and Gray and I watch as it closes behind them.
As soon as it clicks shut, I turn back to the man in front of me, letting a sneer curl my lips. “What? You don’t like sharing your toys?”
The hand wrapped around my jaw slides down to my throat. His grip isn’t tight enough to cut off my air, but the feel of his calloused fingers on my skin makes my pulse ratchet up anyway.
“You’re not my fucking toy,” he growls. “You’re not my anything.”
I hate those words.
The same anger from earlier rises up inside me again like a dormant beast, and I bare my teeth at Gray like I’m daring him to do something he’ll regret.
“Then get the fuck out of my dorm,” I bite out. “Your friends are waiting.”
For a second, he just stares down at me, his blue-green irises dark and deep as the ocean. Then he palms the back of my head and kisses me.
It’s been months since I kissed this man in a dingy bar bathroom, but my body hasn’t forgotten.
The force of his lips, the demanding sweep of his tongue, the taste and smell and feel of him—every bit of it is familiar, and I respond before I can help myself, grabbing his shoulders as I kiss him back.
We might as well have gone back in fucking time. Everything about this is a mirror of what happened that night at The Silent Hour, including the deep, insatiable desire that flares to life low in my belly.
But this isn’t then.
I’m not just some lonely, haunted soul in a bar, and Gray is no longer just a stranger with a beautiful name.
I know this man now.
And I fucking hate him.
As Gray’s fingers tangle in my hair, I draw back from his kiss just enough to catch his bottom lip between my teeth. Then I bite down hard.
He curses and jerks back, raising a hand to his lip. His fingertips come away smeared with a drop of red, and he glances down at them before looking back at me.
I expect to see more anger in his eyes, maybe even disgust. What I don’t expect to see is a new kind of heat smoldering in his irises. A small, hungry smile curves his lips before they crash down on mine again.
A coppery taste mixes with the taste and scent of Gray, infusing our kiss with the tang of blood. I dart my tongue out to lick the corner of his mouth as if to soothe the hurt I caused, and he groans as he wraps his arms around me, fusing my body to his.
I can feel his heartbeat against mine, and just like that long-ago night at The Silent Hour, it suddenly feels like the only salve for the turbulent emotions trying to break free in my chest is this.
This man’s lips on me.
His hands on me.
His cock inside me.
Gray’s palms skate over the curve of my ass before he lifts me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. I’m barely aware of him walking until we’re in my bedroom and he tosses me down on the bed.
He follows me down to the mattress, his muscled body hovering over mine as he tugs off my shoes, my pants, and my panties before moving up to yank my t-shirt over my head. His hand slips behind my back to unclasp my bra, and as he pulls it away from my body, his eyes darken.
I remember with a sudden shock of awareness that on the night we fucked at the bar and again in the alley, he never got my shirt off. He’s only seen me completely naked once before, when I stripped in front of a roomful of drunken party-goers.
Gray’s tongue sweeps over his full bottom lip as he stares down at me. The bleeding has stopped, although I can still see a small red mark where I bit him. He’s kneeling over me, his thick thighs straddling my hips, holding my bra in his hand like a fucking prize.
It’s too much. The intensity of his stare burns into my skin like a brand, sending a flood of heat racing through me.
My breaths are coming in short gasps as I reach for the button of his jeans—but before I can reach them, he pulls away, shifting backward and settling on his knees between my legs. He tosses my bra aside and palms his cock through his jeans as a deep groan reverberates in his chest.
“You want me to fuck you, Sparrow?”
He sounds a little bit tortured, and a little bit smug too. I’m sure he can read the expression on my face and guess the answer to his fucking question.
But of course that’s not good enough for him.
No. He wants to hear me say it.
My pussy is clenching, my core throbbing, every damn inch of me aching for his touch. Still, I try to find it in myself to deny him the satisfaction of hearing me beg. I press my lips together, refusing to answer as I stare up at him defiantly.
He laughs, a low, dangerous sound that pours from his throat. He’s still stroking himself through his jeans, the movement of his hand rough and harsh.
“Do you want this? Do you want me to fill you up? To stuff you full of my cum?”
Fuck.
I bite down hard on my lower lip, but it’s not enough to stifle my groan. A gush of wetness pulses from me, dripping down my thighs, and I know Gray sees it. His gaze flicks down to my pussy and his entire body shudders, the muscles in his jaw rippling.
When he drags his gaze back up to meet mine, he no longer looks smug. Instead, he looks almost angry, like he’s pissed at me for denying us both what we need so fucking badly.
“Sophie.” His lips wrap around my name the same way they did the first time he said it, and my clit spasms at the sound. “Do you want my fucking cock or not?”
Goddamn Gray Eastwood.
Damn him straight to hell.
With an inarticulate noise, I sit up and grab the front of his shirt with both hands, hauling him down on top of me. Our lips collide in a bruising kiss, and my hands are a flurry of movement as I tear at his clothes, tugging them off with jerky, desperate movements.
He helps me shove his pants down, kicking them off along with his boxer briefs before fisting his shaft and finding the tight wetness of my entrance. There’s a brief st
retch as the head of his fat cock pushes inside me, and then he pitches his hips forward, filling me completely.
“Oh, fuck,” I gasp out.
I dig my fingernails into his back and shoulders as he draws out and slams into me, relishing the feel of his bare skin beneath my hands. Our hookup at the bar and in the alley afterward was world-shattering and intense, but I didn’t realize how much different it would feel to be skin-to-skin with him, nothing at all between us.
How much better it would feel.
Gray drives into me again and again, dropping his head to lick and suck at my breasts as he does. He drags my nipple between his teeth, biting just hard enough to send a ripple of sensation racing toward my clit.
I fist his hair and yank his head back up to mine, attacking him with another kiss until he breaks away again.
His blue-green eyes are glassy with desire, and a sheen of sweat slicks his forehead as he reaches behind him to unwind my legs from around his muscled hips. He pins my legs to his chest and then leans forward, holding on to my ankles and nearly folding me in half. The angle of penetration changes, making him hit a new spot deep inside me with each thrust.
“Play with your tits,” he grunts, his hungry gaze settling on my breasts.
My nipples are already so hard they could cut glass, but his focus on them makes my chest flush.
I don’t even pretend to resist his command. We’re so far past that point by now that I can’t even see it in the rearview mirror. Instead, I keep my gaze locked on his as I palm my breasts, tweaking and flicking my nipples as little whimpers fall from my lips.
“Jesus. I need a taste. Goddamn you, Sparrow.”
He stops thrusting suddenly, releasing my legs and yanking my hands away from my breasts. In a flash, he pins my wrists to the mattress beside my head like he’s jealous of me for being the one to touch myself. Then his mouth is on me again, his tongue trailing a line between my breasts before he picks one and devours it. He draws as much into his mouth as he can, sucking so hard the pressure is painful. A jolt of sensation travels to my clit, turning the pain into pleasure.
“Fuck!”
I yank my wrists from his hold and grab his head, practically crushing it as I smash his face against my breast, arching my back and clenching hard around his cock. He growls like an animal before switching his attention to my other breast.
Nothing about it is gentle.
Nothing about it is tender.
It’s like being hit with a thousand volts of electricity, currents of sensation traveling through me so fast that I feel like I’m about to explode.
I’m panting and writhing beneath him, humping his cock with little pulses of my hips as my pussy tightens around him. But before the pleasure building inside me can reach its peak, he releases my breast with a wet pop and pulls back.
An angry, shocked cry escapes me when he slides out of me, and he shoots me a feral grin before grabbing my hips and flipping me over. My chest hits the mattress, and he pulls me up onto my knees and elbows before slamming back into me, thrusting so hard I almost collapse.
Not that he’d let me do that.
I may barely be capable of supporting my own weight right now, but Gray isn’t letting me go anywhere. His fingers dig into my hips so hard I can already feel the bruises forming as he pounds into me with short, sharp strokes.
When my orgasm hits, my arms finally do give out. I bury my face in the comforter and arch my back, screaming into the mattress. Gray’s hips slap against my ass as he fucks me in a frenzy, my spent body limp in his hold. Then he buries himself to the hilt with a choked grunt, following me over the edge.
He releases his grip on my hips, and for a second, his heated body drapes over mine. I swear I feel the soft brush of lips over the bird tattoo on my shoulder, but it’s so light I wonder if I imagined it.
With a low grunt, he pulls out and flops onto the bed next to me at the same time I collapse in a sated heap.
Holy shit.
I just fucked Gray Eastwood.
Again.
16
I roll over onto my back, panting.
My hair sticks to my forehead, matted to my skin in sweat. I can smell the salt of it thick in the air, and that soft yet undeniably noticeable scent that can only be described as sex. It clings to the sheets, to my pillows, fogs up my brain in an afterglow that I most definitely shouldn’t be feeling with Gray Eastwood.
Gray’s on his back too, breathing just as hard as I am. When I look over, I see his nostrils flare with each inhale and exhale, his chest rising and falling in deep movements like he’s trying to get his bearings through his breaths.
Yeah. That makes two of us.
Whatever insane, dangerous chemistry existed between us all those months ago when we hooked up at The Silent Hour, it hasn’t gone away.
If anything, it’s only gotten stronger.
Wilder.
More irresistible.
I still feel the press of his fingers on my hips, his blunt nails digging into my skin when his thrusts got hard. I run my fingers over them; small crescent-shaped divots texture my skin, and I can’t help the curl of my toes when I realize he dug in deep enough that I’ll likely have little half-moon scars there, just to prove that he had me again.
I wonder, in this moment of dazed silence where we don’t speak, what the fuck this is all supposed to mean.
What it’s leading to.
Where it will end.
I don’t believe in fate or destiny. I don’t hold out hope that there’s some great karmic plan that shapes our lives. Things just happen—and more often than not, they’re shitty things.
Yet it feels like there should be a reason why Gray continues to be a fixture in my life, especially when we both keep trying so hard to push each other away. I need some explanation for why this man affects me so much, why he holds a key to parts of my soul I thought were locked away for good.
Who gave him that key?
Who gave him the power to make me feel?
The black hole in my chest, the comforting, heavy darkness, is nowhere to be found right now. Instead, I’m intimately aware of the blood rushing through my veins, the sweat drying on my body, the cum dripping down my thigh.
I feel… transformed.
Human.
Alive.
I turn my head a little, taking in Gray’s profile as he lies next to me. In the aftermath of leg-weakening sex, I can admit to myself that he really is fucking gorgeous. Beautiful and hard and masculine. Every line of his face is strong and dominant, from the curve of his jaw to the rise of his cheekbones and the shape of his nose.
His lips are still a little swollen from the way we attacked each other, and I find that I want to kiss him again. Maybe slower this time, deeper. I want to take my time exploring the soft firmness of his mouth now that some of the desperate need has been temporarily sated.
I’m about to lean up onto my elbow and indulge my stupid whims for once when Gray turns his head to look at me too.
His blue-green eyes meet mine as he opens his mouth, and when he speaks, reality hits me across the face as tangibly as any balled fist.
“Well. At least it was better than the first time.”
The coldness in his voice cuts through the air, a knife wedged between my ribs. The way he says it makes the soft sweetness of my previous thoughts turn to poison inside me, souring my stomach.
At least it was better than the first time.
I know what he’s doing. It’s the same fucking thing he did the first day he saw me on campus, only this time his little show of disdain is only meant for an audience of one.
Me.
A retort stays lodged in my throat as Gray pushes himself up from my bed then stoops over to grab his boxers, jeans, and shirt. He dresses silently, and for once I say nothing to him.
What am I supposed to say?
Should I defend myself? Point out that he’s only protesting so goddamn loud to hide the fact that he lik
es fucking me?
No. That’s not what it is.
He likes hurting me, and I hate that this time… this time it feels like I’ve actually gone and fucking let him.
When he’s fully dressed, he turns and looks down at me where I’m still lying. I feel vulnerable under his gaze, and I fight against the instinct to close my legs, to not let him see his own cum drying on my thigh. As if looking at me like this will allow him to see too deeply, to catalogue everything that I am. Like he’s going to—or maybe he already does—see every flaw, every heartache and pain that has ever ravaged this body of mine.
His eyes are hard. Frigid ice cast in blue and green. Goose bumps break out over my skin as his gaze stays locked on me, his intense focus making me feel cold instead of hot for once.
For just a second, something else enters his expression. His gaze drops to the rumpled, sweaty sheets, and when it finally lifts again to find my eyes, he looks… tired.
Broken, somehow.
He shakes his head, his throat working as he swallows. “I meant what I said. You shouldn’t have come here, Sparrow.”
Then he turns and strides from the bedroom. The soft click of the front door comes a second later, but I hardly need to hear the sound to know that I’m alone.
I can feel it.
The sheets seem colder, the mattress suddenly too wide and big, the quiet too fucking oppressive.
I’ve spent most of my life alone, or trying to be alone. It was preferable to most of the company I had the option to keep. But right now, in the aftermath of a raw fuck that cracked my damn soul open, I can’t find any strength in solitude like I usually do.
I just feel… well, I feel like Gray looked for that split second before his features froze over again.
Sad.
And tired as fuck.
“Goddammit.”
I mutter the word as I roll over onto my side, curling up into a little ball. I feel like I have fucking whiplash, my emotions bouncing from panic to anger to pleasure to pain too quickly for me to keep up.
I don’t want to feel any of this.
The numbness. I want the fucking numbness back.