608 Alpha Ave

by Adriana Locke

  His chest rises and falls. He licks his lips.

  I lick mine right back. “Thanks for the insight, Gray. It’s been a real pleasure.”

  I turn away from him and take one single step onto the beach when a set of hands digs into my hips.

  Six

  Haley

  Externally, I freeze.

  Internally, I explode.

  Grayson’s body is hard, his chest like a steel wall at my back. His fingers bite into my skin. It’s a sensation that would make me cry out or at least jump without the flood of hormones coursing through my body.

  I stare straight ahead at the pristine waters of the lake and wait for him to say something—to do something.

  Please. Please, do something.

  His breath is hot against my neck. “You wanna know what I think?”

  The question feels so incredibly loaded. I bite anyway.

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice all but a whisper.

  “I think you don’t really want a nice guy like Bryant.”

  He moves so his lips nearly brush my skin. I can sense their proximity and can hear the closeness of his breathing.

  My backpack drops to the ground with a thud.

  “I think,” he says, squeezing deeper into my hips, “that’s why you think you don’t understand men. You have no interest in getting to know that kind of man.”

  I force a swallow, trying to steady myself. Every insolent poke and prod has gotten me to this point—a point that’s way over my head. I’m drowning.

  Still, I’m not mad at it. I’m not scared. I may be batting way out of my league, but I’m comfortable with the proverbial bat in my hand.

  I take a long, deep breath and center myself.

  “Maybe you’re right,” I say, lifting my chin. “Maybe I don’t want Ed Sheeran lyrics after all.”

  His grip eases enough for me to shift my weight.

  “Red isn’t my color, and I’m no thong girl …” I grin and brace myself. “But I’m not wearing panties at all, so—ah!”

  My words are halted by the sudden movement of Grayson’s hands. He flips me around in a one-eighty that’s so swift, so quick, that I can’t even catch myself. Instead, he catches me.

  Panting, I look up into his eyes. The hints of blue are gone, and they’re dark like a predator that spots defenseless prey.

  Only, I’m not prey, and I’m certainly not defenseless. But I’m willing. I’m so damn willing.

  His chest moves up and down with the intensity of every breath. I don’t dare move out of his arms. I stay pinned in place by both his muscled arms and the weight of his stare.

  “I’ve stayed away from you. I’ve made it my fucking life’s mission not to be alone with you or get involved in your life from the day we met,” he says, his tone bordering on a growl. “And now you do this.”

  I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean. He’s tried to avoid me? He’s tried to avoid this?

  What the hell then?

  “It’s polite of you to blame this situation on me,” I say, attempting to pull away from his touch. “I was moving on, and you’re the one who stuck your nose into my conversation at Cherrywood—”

  “A conversation you initiated to piss me off.”

  I shrug. “Maybe. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I didn’t realize how much you didn’t want to be alone with me, and I was thinking that …”

  A shadow drops across his handsome face. The softness in his features that remained despite his brusque tone is gone.

  “Never mind.” I try to turn inside the cage he’s built with his arms but can’t move. I sigh and look at him. “Grayson, please.”

  “Please what, Haley?”

  His tone is gravelly and raw, yet pregnant with … something else. Something more. Something that sparks a tiny flame in the bottom of my stomach.

  “Please let me go.”

  He sucks in a breath. “Is that what you want?”

  “Wouldn’t you if I told you that I’d tried so hard to stay away from you?”

  He rolls his tongue around his cheek again. “That’s not what I meant—at least, not how you took it.”

  “Then explain or let me go. Honestly, I don’t care which one. Whatever is fastest, I guess.”

  He looks over my head, taking advantage of the height difference between us, and gazes at the lake. He’s obviously mulling something over, and I appreciate that. I like a guy who thinks things through. But I also like a guy who doesn’t put me in a situation like this where I feel a healthy dose of embarrassment.

  Maybe I read this all wrong. It wouldn’t be a shock. But Kaylee thought that he was into me too, and Kaylee isn’t always wrong. Maybe about Derrick, but the signs with him just weren’t there. I thought they were with Grayson.

  “I’m going,” I say, pressing my hands flat on his chest.

  He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t budge. The only movement that comes is from his eyes as they look back down at me.

  They’re filled with apprehension but also a determination that leads me to believe that whatever he was pondering has been resolved.

  “You’re a problem for me,” he says.

  “Great.”

  He almost smiles.

  “This is new for me,” I tell him. “I usually get told what a letdown I am or what a problem I am for a man after we’ve been on at least one date. Getting dismissed without … anything, really, is a new concept.” I sigh. “I think I’ve reached a new level in pathetic-ness.”

  And now I want to crawl under a rock.

  What the heck was I thinking admitting that to Grayson?

  He chuckles.

  “This isn’t funny, Grayson, and I’d really like to leave and preserve what’s left of my self-confidence.”

  He unlocks his hands from behind me. I start to move but realize that one palm sits snugly at the small of my back.

  He reaches up, his eyes glued to mine, and brushes a strand of hair off my forehead. The trail of heat from his fingertips blazes a shot straight to my core.

  Damn him.

  “Grayson …”

  “You are trouble.”

  “I—”

  “You’re going to shut the hell up and listen to me,” he says, shaking his head.

  I flinch.

  “I stay away from you because I don’t trust myself,” he says softly. “You’re this … basket of fucking sunshine. You’re sweet. Innocent. You …” He looks over my head again. “You’re built for the traditional life. Ed Sheeran songs.”

  His gaze drops to mine.

  I still, afraid to say anything lest it stops him from talking. My heart patters, my skin feels too small for my body as I fight the urge to scream at him to hurry up. To explain.

  To tell me something I want to hear.

  His thumb moves against the top of my shorts. It gets perilously close to my bare skin. I suck in a breath and try not to lean against his touch.

  “If I open that door, Haley, it’s not going to be good.”

  “Why?” I say through the dryness of my throat.

  He grins sadly. “You’re this white luxury car interior, and I’m just an oil-stained mechanic.”

  The vulnerability riddled in his features is a shot to my heart. He fights it and recovers quickly from the moment of exposure.

  “You’re an intelligent, hard-working, great-looking oil-stained mechanic,” I say. “So, I’m not sure what, exactly, you’re getting at. I mean, you can be a dick, but you have good moments. There’s real potential there.”

  He shakes his head and fights a laugh. “I’m not … I’m not interested in the things you’re interested in. I don’t do relationships.”

  “Why?” I ask, figuring there’s a bullshit answer I can pick apart. Besides, having his arm wrapped around me really, really works right now.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Yup.”

  He swallows. “Okay. There’s a litany of reasons, but to keep it simple: Sex is best the first t
ime. It’s new, and the anticipation can never be better than the moment just before you fuck. Second,” he says, ignoring whatever my face is doing in reaction to his admission, “I don’t want to take care of someone. I don’t want her to be my problem. I have enough of them on my own, let alone adding someone else’s feelings and family bullshit and electrical bills into the mix.”

  I nod, my brain doing its best to sort through this mess.

  “Resources allocation,” he continues, as if a dam has been burst and every excuse is forced to topple over the flood banks. “My time, money, energy—it’s all mine. I barely have enough of it to get myself through a day. I like my personal space. I like to get to be me every day and not worry if I say the wrong thing or give off the wrong impression because it doesn’t fucking matter.”

  “Wow.” I blow out a breath. “That’s … a lot. It’s fair, I guess, if you want to be that selfish.”

  “It’s not selfish, though. That’s the thing. It would be selfish if I was in a relationship and just taking off to hike when I felt like it, or worked overtime because a project fascinated me, or spent a grand on an old beater that’s completely not worth the money but I like it.” He lifts his shoulders and then lets them fall. “If it’s just me, it’s just a decision. If I’m in a relationship, it’s a potential problem.”

  I can’t argue with his logic. Even though I want to—even though I want to hail the benefits of falling in love and having that person there for the rest of your life, I don’t. Mostly because I bet he already knows that. He’s thought about it. Clearly.

  And he’s made his choice.

  I study his rugged features—the sharpness of his cheekbones, the crooked bend to his nose. The scar that cuts through his left eyebrow. All of these things, these imperfections, somehow make him even more perfect. More attractive. More real.

  I bite my lip as my thoughts slow down to a discernible flow.

  Grayson Blake may not be relationship material. But he’s real. There’s no bullshit here. Unlike any other man I’ve ever met, he laid out his objectives on the table before anything happened.

  He’s not hiding anything. He’s not tricking me or deceiving me.

  It certainly puts a different spin on things.

  He shifts his weight, and his finger swipes just under the hem of my shirt. Instinctively, I move against it, craving more—more contact. More sparks coursing through my veins.

  More him.

  “You’re honest,” I say, my voice breathy. “I have to say that for you.”

  He nods warily.

  “And you’re not wrong, you know,” I admit. “I do want a relationship, but you’re not wrong for not wanting one. We’re just … different.”

  “That’s why I avoid you. You’re like a magnet for me. There’s something irresistible about you that I fight because, if I don’t and I give in …” He growls and looks at the ground. “I don’t want to mess with your head.”

  I don’t know if it’s his honesty that does it or the fact that I’ve wanted Grayson since I ran into him at Cherry Tree Coffee, but I want him. Even if it’s only once.

  He wants me—physically—and even though I want more for my future, why shouldn’t I have the potential ride of my life?

  Take this opportunity, Haley. Then you’ll finally … know.

  “You don’t want to mess with my head,” I say, pausing to gather my courage, “but what about messing with my body?”

  His head snaps to mine. His eyes are wide, his lips parted.

  Every inch of my body tingles as I await his response.

  “If you’re fucking with me,” he warns.

  “Not yet. But if you’d stop talking so damn much, maybe I could be.”

  His mouth twists into a slow, sexy grin. “You talk a big game.”

  “Well, I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Right now?” I heave a breath and let myself fall over the cliff. “Right now, it’s your cock.”

  Seven

  Haley

  His hands grasp the sides of my face before I can blink. His mouth moves over mine like it’s an oasis in the desert.

  His lips are soft yet firm. His palms are scratchy from working with metal and chemicals and still manage to hold me like a valuable possession.

  My body goes limp in his arms. He scoops me against him, holding me against the hard wall of his chest. Our mouths open, lips part, as our tongues move together in a perfectly timed dance that I can feel in my toes.

  “Shit,” he groans as he pulls away. He rests his forehead on mine as we drag precious air into our lungs. “Are you sure about this?”

  This is my one-and-done. It might never happen again.

  I look him in the eye and drop my hands to his belt.

  “What are the odds anyone comes out here?” I ask.

  “Is that a pun?”

  I laugh as I unfasten the latch and then work on the buttons.

  “Are you fucking serious right now?” he asks me. “Because I feel like you’re going to—fuck.”

  He groans out the last word as I fall to my knees and run my palm over the infamous flames inked into his hip. I dip my fingertips beneath the band of his boxers, and his cock springs free.

  I take the base of it in my hand and look up.

  “Dammit, woman,” he says, struggling to speak.

  My body hums with anticipation. The apex of my thighs aches with a dull, hot pulse that only he can put out.

  I flick my tongue against the head of his dick as I stroke him up and down. Pebbles cut into my knees, but the discomfort is definitely trumped by the riot in my body that I barely notice.

  “Suck it,” he orders.

  I lick the swollen head. A salty bead of pre-cum sits on the tip, and I lap it up, watching his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

  Grayson hisses. He reaches down and grips my head in both of his hands. I lick his shaft with the flat side of my tongue, feeling his flex against my mouth.

  I regrip his cock and then, ever so slowly, suck him into my mouth.

  He blows out a long, volatile breath as he works his fingers into my hair. Feeling him respond to me—to my touch—turns me on even more.

  I’m making this man lose control.

  I work my hand and mouth up and down his length. My tongue massages the head—rolls and licks him at every possible opportunity. He guides me, his body shaking.

  “It’s hard not to fuck your mouth,” he groans as he presses gently against my head.

  I lick him up and down again, massaging his balls with my free hand. I glance up, and at the same moment, he looks down. A flash of emotion—something I can’t name—streaks across his face before he stands me back on my feet.

  Confused, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  He tugs his jeans over his hips and then takes my hand. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask, struggling to keep up.

  He doesn’t answer me. He just leads me over a set of large rocks and into the thick treeline. We walk a few feet into the forest when everything opens up.

  I gasp.

  An indescribable opening, almost like in a fairy tale, is before us. The trees are tall, creating a web of green overhead. Brown pine needles cover the ground. It looks untouched with the fallen logs and decaying stumps.

  “Come on,” Grayson growls.

  He leads me across the cove. And then I see it. A solitary swing built out of rope and a piece of heavy lumber.

  “How did you know this was here?” I ask.

  “I found the swing a few years ago,” he says as we approach it. “There used to be a picnic table too, but the rangers removed it a while back. This used to be a picnic area, but no one ever comes out here now that they’ve done so much with Wildflower Falls.”

  He drags me in front of him with my back to the swing. His jaw is set in place.

  “Do you want fucked, Miss Morgan?”

 
; My insides melt. My core becomes ground zero for the turbulent hormones surging inside me. They come together and then attack my sex, engorging it in preparation for Grayson.

  “Please,” I say, lifting a brow in a faux display of cool confidence. “Fuck me, Grayson.”

  His eyes glimmer. “Take off your clothes.”

  “What?” I look around. This is a private place, and I’m ninety-nine percent sure no one is going to find us. But getting naked in a forest rips away the boldness I felt a half a second ago. “All of them?”

  “All of them. Now.”

  I kick off my shoes and then I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side. “Lose your shirt too.”

  “I’m the boss here, woman.”

  “That’s cute.” I unfasten my bra and let it fall down my arms. His eyes drop to my hardened nipples. “Lose the shirt, Gray.”

  He grumbles something under his breath, but he complies. Inch by inch, his body is revealed.

  Dear, sweet heavens.

  My fingers fumble with the buttons of my shorts as I gaze longingly at his body. His abs are outlined into neat squares. His chest is packed with muscle. His shoulders—my goodness, his shoulders—are thick and muscled and run from the side of his neck down to the bend of his arm.

  Tattoos dot his tanned skin. I don’t have time to inventory them because his hands are on me, finishing the work of ridding me of my shorts.

  Our movements become frantic. His hands sweep across my skin, the calloused palms scratching at my legs. As he tosses my shorts into the heap of discarded clothes to the side, his mouth finds mine.

  I moan into his mouth, running my hands across his body. Every dip and cut of his hard-as-steel frame makes me hotter.

  And wetter.

  He bends down, not breaking our frenzied kiss, and grabs me just under my ass. I gasp into his mouth and grip his shoulders to keep from falling as he carries me toward the swing.

  Our breathing becomes hurried pants. My fingers fly in his silky black hair as my naked body presses against his. It’s surreal and indecent and so mind-blowingly sexy.