by A. D. Ryan
“If you say so,” I reply with an over-exaggerated eye-roll.
Dinner is phenomenal—which is no real surprise—and when we’re finished eating and cleaning up the kitchen together, Greyston suggests we relax in front of the fire. Now, I had snuggling on the couch in mind, but Greyston’s idea was, admittedly, much more romantic: he suggested we sit on the white faux-fur rug right in front of the fire with our wine while he showed me photos from past vacations. Originally, I thought it odd that there’d be pictures in their vacation home, but Greyston tells me that one of his favorite things to do as a kid before bed was to sit in front of the fire with his parents and a mug of hot cocoa and go through them. I’ve painted a sweet image in my head of a pint-sized, and very dark-haired, Greyston in his plaid flannel jammies, a hot chocolate moustache staining his upper lip, and a photo album nestled in his lap.
The temperature in the living room is rising, and I know that part of it is from being so close to the fireplace, but another factor is the proximity of my body to Greyston’s. I’m sitting facing the fire, with my right leg bent out to the side and my left bent in front of me, my foot flat on the ground, and Greyston is sidled up to my left side, running his fingers through the lengths of my hair. I shiver every time his fingers ghost through the strands, and he leans forward to kiss the spot below my ear.
Smiling, I take another sip of my wine; I’ve had a few glasses now, and am beginning to feel the effects of it as it makes my limbs tingle and feel weightless. “You’re distracting me,” I tell him, flipping another page in the album that rests on the floor in front of me. “Tell me about this one.”
Greyston laughs softly, rubbing his hand up and down my back as he peers at the picture I’m pointing at. In it, Greyston looks about ten, and he’s outside, covered in snow, with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen plastered on his face. His brown hair peeks out from beneath his winter hat, and his eyes are alight with happiness and excitement.
“That would be from…oh, about eighteen years ago,” he explains, scooting a little closer until his chest is pressed against my side. “We’d just gotten back from the resort, Mom was inside making some hot apple cider, and my dad and I were making a snowman out in the front yard.” Greyston reaches behind him and grabs the bottle of wine, filling both of our glasses again. “One thing led to another, and before I knew it, a snowball fight had broken out.” He laughs again as he recalls this memory. “Naturally, I excelled in sports at an early age.”
“So modest,” I tease, interrupting and nudging him lightly.
Laughing, Greyston shakes his head. “He didn’t stand a chance.”
I glance down at the picture again and smirk, tapping my finger on it and pointing out all the snow that covers him. “Looks like you might have gotten hit a few times, too.”
Greyston scoffs, reaching over my leg and flipping to the next page. “I had to let him think he at least stood a chance.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, prodding him a little. “You tell yourself whatever you have to to help you sleep at night.”
We go through the rest of the album, and Greyston tells me stories of his youth. Every story he tells me has me feeling closer to him than I ever thought possible, but it also makes me wish we’d met sooner. Of course, then I begin to think a bit more logically, and I realize that when he was nine, I’d have been two, and when he’d had his first real girlfriend at fifteen, I’d have been eight. This is not the recipe for romance, so I quickly derail that train of thought and thank the heavens that we met at this point in our lives—you know, when the age difference isn’t quite so…well, gross.
“What about your childhood?” Greyston asks, setting the finished album aside.
“What about it?” I quip, finishing the last of my wine.
Smirking, Greyston slips one of his arms beneath my left leg, wraps the other around my waist, and pulls me onto his lap. “Well, where did you and your family go on vacations? What was your favorite thing to do?”
“Well,” I begin, pushing a few strands of Greyston’s slightly disheveled hair back off his forehead, “we used to spend a few weeks every summer in Florida. My mom loves the ocean, and we’d rent a house on the beach every year.”
“Used to? Why don’t you anymore?”
I shrug. “Time, I suppose. It’s hard to coordinate our schedules during the summer.”
“So what were your favorite things to do while in Florida?”
“Dad was pretty into boating, and while I wasn’t particularly skilled at it, I enjoyed water skiing,” I tell him, gaining a big smile from Greyston.
“Water skiing,” he repeats. “So you are a little more adventurous than you’ve led me to believe.”
I snicker. “I don’t know about adventurous, but—”
Greyston’s barking laughter interrupts me. “Oh, I think that the flight attendants would probably agree with me that you’re a thrill-seeker.”
Feeling the need to remind him that our initiation into the mile high club was just as much his adventurous side as it was mine, I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off, pressing his forehead to mine and curling his fingers into my lower back. “Honestly, it’s one of the things I admire most about you. You’re not easy to read like most other girls.”
“You say that like you know what every other girl on the planet is thinking,” I reply cockily.
“Most are terribly transparent.” He sighs before ghosting his lips over mine, teasing me and making my longing for him swell. “But you…you’re always keeping me on my toes, Juliette.”
Greyston’s hands continue to move over my back, slowly lifting my shirt and setting the entire surface of my skin ablaze. I hum, brushing my nose over his and teasing his lips with mine. “Well, I think I’d much rather have you on your back than on your toes right now.”
“See,” he says with a breathy chuckle as he slips his hands beneath my sweater and removes it, “always surprising me.”
I make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, push it off his shoulders, and throw it behind me—careful to avoid the fireplace. Our lips crash together in a frenzy of lust and need as Greyston’s hands move down my body and come to rest between my legs. He strokes the inner seam of my jeans, making me whimper and writhe against him, before popping the button and slipping his hand behind the denim.
He hisses when he comes into contact with my bare skin, pulling his lips from mine and looking deep into my eyes. “I can’t believe I almost forgot about this,” he says, his voice low and raspy with desire as he moves his fingers back and forth over the smooth skin. When he moves his hand again, my eyes close, and I moan in appreciation. “We were so rushed earlier that I think I need to take things a little slower—appreciate your little surprise for me properly.”
“Yes,” I pant, “please.”
Seeming a little reluctant at first, Greyston removes his hand from my jeans and lays me down on the floor. He positions himself between my legs and hooks his fingers into the waist of my pants, working them down my thighs. Once he reaches my knees, I lift my legs straight in the air, and he pulls my jeans off the rest of the way, taking my socks with them as he sets them off to the side with our shirts. The warmth of the fire washes over my naked body as Greyston slips his own jeans off and kneels before me in his boxers, running his hands up the smooth flesh of my calves.
My fingers twitch with the urge to grab his wrists, pull him down onto me, and wrap my legs around him…but before I can follow through, he leans forward and kisses my abdomen, making my stomach flutter as he slowly works his way south.
“Oh, god,” I breathe, lifting my head to watch as he kisses and nips at my hip bones before focusing solely on the warm, needy flesh between my legs. My pulse begins to race, my hands curling into the soft rug beneath me, and I’m no longer able to keep my head up the second he flicks his tongue over my clit. Instinctively, my hips rise up off the floor, seeking even more pleasure, and Greyston grips the tops of my thighs, holding me as st
ill as possible while driving me completely insane with want.
The pressure of his tongue alternates between soft and firm, fast and slow, and I continue to shift my hips beneath him as much as possible as my orgasm builds. The rough stubble that’s scattered along his chiseled jaw brushes against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending a rush of arousal through my veins like electricity. My mind becomes muddled with every languid stroke of his tongue, and I’m seconds away from begging for him to fuck me. He crawls up my body and I feel his stiff erection—still hidden behind his boxers—against my very needy flesh.
His mouth meets mine in a searing kiss that renders me unable to think of anything other than how his lips feel, how I can taste nothing but wine and sex on his tongue, and how his hard cock keeps hitting me in almost all the right ways. Unable to take the waiting any more, I bring my legs up his body and attempt to work his boxers down with my toes; I’m unsuccessful, but he gets the hint, grabbing a condom. He breaks our kiss to roughly push his pants down his hips before putting the condom on and thrusting into me.
The sensation of him inside me makes us both cry out with fulfillment, and soon our hips are undulating in tandem as we both work toward our mutual release. Every time he thrusts his hips, the muscles in my body tense a little bit more, the coil tightens in the depths of my stomach, threatening to spring free at any moment.
“Jesus, Juliette,” Greyston breathes against my lips, moving one of his hands down my body and gripping my ass hard, pulling me against him.
Soon enough, I’m lost in the moment, reveling in the way he feels moving above me, and how he holds my gaze. My climax quickly builds back up to where it was only moments before, and just as the first ripple of pleasure passes through me, Greyston’s hand ventures further until he’s very gently massaging the area just below our joined bodies.
“Oh, god!” I cry out, my back arching up off the ground when my orgasm rips through me. I claw at Greyston’s back, his hips jerking through his own release, and my vision goes slightly dark and cloudy as every muscle in my body tenses and then relaxes. My arms and legs tremble as they fall back to the floor, and Greyston rolls off of me and onto his back, but pulls me against him while we try to catch our breath.
Chapter 30
It isn’t surprising that I fell asleep so easily the night before. Sure, the flight wasn’t overly long, but I was just so relaxed after dinner and a few glasses of wine—not to mention having worn ourselves out having sex in front of the fire. It was the perfect first night here.
There’s a bit of a chill in the air when I first wake up, but instead of getting out of bed to turn up the heat, I scoot back on the bed until I feel the warmth of Greyston’s body against my own. When my feet touch his, he groans and jerks them back.
“Your feet are freezing,” he croaks, draping his arm over me and pulling me closer while avoiding my feet. He gives it a few seconds before tucking his flannel-clad legs and bare feet against mine. “I can go turn up the heat, if you want.”
I hum contemplatively. “I think you’re doing a bang-up job of that right now.”
Greyston chuckles, kissing my neck and tugging the blanket up over our shoulders. “Why, Miss Foster, are you trying to seduce me?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. “I’m trying not to freeze to death.”
Greyston sees my playfulness as a reason to retaliate, and soon, he’s tickling me relentlessly until I’m thrashing beneath the thick comforter and howling with laughter. Moments later, the blanket is down by our feet, completely defeating its purpose, and I roll off the bed and away from Greyston.
Unlike in Phoenix, I’m dressed in flannel pajamas. I contemplated wearing one of my new pieces of lingerie for Greyston last night, but it was quite a bit chillier in our room than it was in front of the fire, so I decided to save it for tonight.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, picking out a pair of jeans and a white turtleneck sweater.
Greyston makes the bed while I get dressed, but his focus isn’t solely on the bed. I don’t fail to notice that his eyes are on me the entire time I’m changing. If the look in his eyes didn’t turn me on so damn much, I’d probably find it a little creepy. Okay, no I wouldn’t.
“Well,” he begins, “we’ll go to the ski resort today and get in some time on the slopes and then maybe go for dinner tonight.”
I pull my sweater on and nod. “Cool.” It suddenly occurs to me that I’ll likely be on the beginner hill for the entire day while I learn. “You’re not going to waste your mad skills babysitting me on the kiddie hill, are you?” Greyston regards me curiously. “I just don’t want you to feel obligated to stay with me all day. You shouldn’t have to miss out because I’ve never done this before.”
Laughing, Greyston tosses our pillows into place and walks over to me. “I won’t be missing out,” he assures me. “We’ve got all week, and I’m confident you’ll do just fine and will be itching to hit the more advanced trails soon enough. I’d prefer to make sure you’re comfortable on them before allowing that to happen.”
After Greyston dresses in jeans and a blue sweater, we head downstairs for breakfast. While I start cooking, Greyston calls Gemma to see if she can still get us passes to the resort. It still stings to know that the two of them have a history, but I believe wholeheartedly that Greyston would never betray me the way Ben did. Of course, this doesn’t stop me from eavesdropping on his end of the conversation.
“So you’ll be there in an hour?” There’s a pause while Gemma says something. “Cool… I’ve got my equipment stored here, so I won’t need rentals… No. Mom’s skis are here, too… Oh, right. Actually, let me ask her.” I look up from the cooking bacon and turn toward the island where Greyston is sitting. “I forgot to ask, but do you want to ski or board?”
“Ummm…” I’d never really given it much thought, actually. I probably should have.
“My mom’s skis are here, but if you wanted to board, Gemma’s got an extra one you can borrow. You’re about the same height, so it’d be fine.”
I think about my options for a minute, trying to figure out what might be easier, and I’m honestly not sure. If either of them are anything like water-skiing or wake-boarding, I’d probably have to go with wake-boarding, because I had a nasty habit of getting my water skis crossed and wiping out. Yeah, it’s probably a smarter choice.
“I think I want to snowboard?” I tell him, sounding a little unsure before I nod resolutely. “Yes. Definitely snowboard.” Smiling, Greyston relays the information to Gemma and tells her we’ll be heading to the resort after breakfast.
By the time he hangs up the phone, the bacon and eggs are done, and I take them to the small table in the kitchen where Greyston joins me. While we eat, I ask questions about snowboarding: how to distribute my weight, what to expect…you know, things that will help keep me off my ass. Greyston answers as many questions as he can, but he assures me that there’s only so much that he can tell me that’ll actually help me. Apparently being thrown right in is the best way to learn. Awesome. I’ll be on my ass in half a second flat.
After cleaning the kitchen, Greyston grabs his gear and runs out to the car, starting it to warm it up. I’m just about to put my jacket and boots on when he stops me. “Before you put your boots on, we should determine your lead foot.”
“My what?”
“The foot you’ll lead with on the board,” he clarifies.
I shrug. “Well, I’m right-handed, so…”
Greyston chuckles. “That doesn’t always determine your dominant foot for boarding.”
I nod. “Oh, okay. How do I do that?”
“It’s going to sound a little strange, but one way is to run across the floor and slide. Whichever foot you put in front is usually your lead foot.”
This sounds like it has the potential for injury. “What other ways are there?”
He smirks. “Well, that was really the best and nicest way.” He tries to suppress a chuckle, but fa
ils miserably. “I could do to you what I did to Toby…”
“Which was?” I inquire with an arched brow.
“I stood behind him and pushed him. He stepped out with his left foot, and that turned out to be his lead foot,” he explains.
This sounds even more dangerous than the other way. My reflexes are usually a little slow, so I’d likely land on my face because my legs would fail to react in a situation like that. “Okay. First of all,” I begin, smiling, “that’s just mean. Second, I hope you’ve got video of that somewhere. And third, I’ll take option one.”
“I figured you might. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to push you anyway,” he tells me with a wink.
Feeling a little nervous—because I’m sure I’m about to wipe out and make a total ass out of myself—I cross the room, telling myself that as long as I don’t have to slide a long distance, I should be fine. Sadly, I know that what I want to do and what’s actually going to happen are going to be two totally different things. This is going to be interesting.
I take a deep breath and hold it as I take a few quick strides across the hardwood floor and then turn to the side. My right foot taking the lead as I slide toward Greyston. I’m pleasantly surprised when I stay on my feet and don’t stumble at all. A small victory—yet one still worthy of celebrating—for sure.
“Okay. Right foot it is,” Greyston declares, holding my jacket open for me to put on. “I always knew you were a little goofy.”
My jaw drops. I’m not sure what to think or how to defend myself, not that I’m given the chance, because Greyston leans forward and kisses my cheek. “It’s a term used for those whose lead foot is their right.”
“Well, it’s a horrible term,” I argue somewhat childishly, zipping my jacket up. “What foot do you lead with?”
“My left.”
“So, if I’m goofy, then what the hell are you?” I ask, truly curious.
Greyston shrugs. “Leading with your left is considered regular. But that’s not to say that any one way is more normal than the other. It’s no different than being right- or left-handed. They just have odd terminology for it.”