Grey: The Infatuation (Spectrum Series Book 2)

by Allison White

  “Okay, we’re a go,” I announce.

  He laughs, cups my ankles, and yanks me down. I yelp but clamp my hands on my mouth to keep from waking Helen, and he laughs some more. He is so cute.

  “Fudge,” I moan when his tongue is on my clit without warning.

  He chuckles, and I smack his head, because that felt too good. “Fudge? Amazing how you can find time to be innocent and still be utterly fucking sexy.”

  My heart skips a thousand beats.

  “You think I’m sexy?” I gulp, suddenly feeling like shrinking inside my skin when he gently kisses me. “Oh, Jesus…”

  “What kind of question is that?” he mutters before swirling his tongue.

  I almost scream his name at the mean but fan-fucking-tastic motion. “B-because of who you’ve, you know, been with before?” I can barely speak as his tongue moves side to side and glides around and in and out of me. I feel like I’m being driven insane, and Grey’s the chauffeur, driving me closer and closer to the dark side. But if the side has his tongue waiting for me and a side of his body, well, I just might kick up my feet and let him rub them as he drives.

  “Seriously, Liv? Do you really think about that?” He stops, and I look down at him. He’s serious, his brows scrunched together and his full lips jutted out.

  If I was sane, I would say no, kidding. Go back to work and act like I didn’t say anything at all. But I’m stupid and apparently want to have a serious talk while he’s trying to…taste me. God, I’m such a pussy. Why can I say it in my subconscious but not out loud?

  “Liv.” He says my name, and I hum and shrug, playing with the material of the sheets beneath me.

  “I’m sorry, it was just in my head earlier, and I’m there now,” I say and smile like the fool I am. I even wave a hand for good measure. “Go back to what you were doing.”

  But he doesn’t move initially.

  Instead, he knee-walks over to me and peels my V-neck off my body. His eyes never falter from mine, and I have to swallow because of how intense his stare is. My bra is next to go. And his lips are perfect around my left breast. I suck in a deep breath, and my chest goes outward. He takes one as well and takes it deeper in his mouth.

  He sucks and laps his tongue around the hardened nipple. I sink back into the bed and grip his neck, holding him in position as he pulls back and flicks his tongue around and up and down. I hum a moan and close my eyes. He shifts onto the right one and kneads and twirls and slightly pinches the left.

  And then his fingers, yes, plural, two, are inside of me. And I gasp at the sudden intrusion but then sink into his warm, wet body. “You are the sexiest girl I’ve ever known, Liv,” he says, almost encouragingly, and his teeth are lightly grazing my bud. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck and tilt my head back and stare into his eyes. They pull me in and push me and pull me against the tides of the black sea. But I don’t mind the go-around or the wreckage of myself—because this feels too damn good to care about anything else.

  “Do you understand me?” His fingers are pumping easily in and out of me. His rough thumb pushes my clit each time he withdraws and plunges his fingers back into me, like he’s teasing a button. “Liv,” he says my name, full of warning, and I nod frantically and throw my head back.

  “I—need you…i-in me. Please.” I don’t care if I sound whiny or desperate, because I am. I just need to feel him in me. His fingers are great, angelic even. But I need his member in me until I forget how to breathe.

  And he complies.

  He pushes his jeans and boxers down his thighs, awkwardly steps out of them—I laugh because how can you not laugh at a sexy man like him crab-exiting a pair of jeans and boxers?—and tosses them to the ground.

  Then he is in me, and he is all in me. I gasp and wrap my legs around him. I can feel every single inch of him. He grunts, and I know that he can feel me too, maybe even more. And then he pushes my knees, and they are almost touching my shoulders, and I feel him even more; it’s almost as if he belongs in me.

  “Oh my…” I can’t even finish that sentence.

  “I know.” He reads my thought and slowly retreats.

  We lock eyes, he quirks a smile, and he’s in me again. I almost curse him for being so big and myself for being so small, but then he does it again, and again, and again, and for a second, I do forget how to breathe. Because this feels too euphoric and we feel too close and I just don’t know how to function without breathing his name and smiling as he says mine like it’s a curse, but I know it’s a relief.

  I grab his face and bring mine up. I mesh my lips with his, and he groans and grips my hair that’s spread out beneath me.

  I smile, and he does too, and it’s now that I wish to never be parted from this man. I push his shoulder, and I glide against his body. His fingers dig in my skin, and I let go of his full, pink lips and gasp in pleasure and pain. I grip his shoulders and rock my hips up and down his rock-hard length. His impossible length that pricks tears beneath my eyes and twists my chest in nautical knots and makes me feel spirited.

  “See? Sexy as fuck,” he says and wraps an arm around my waist and meets his hips with mine. I curse and nearly scream but let out a guttural moan of his name and rock my hips up and down. “Nunca dudes de ti princesa,” he whispers, and I nod and feel myself flush from head to toe. (Never doubt yourself, princess.)

  “I love you—so much,” I mutter and bring his mouth to mine. We collide and taste and explore one another. I am on the bottom as he plunges in and out of me. I try to catch my breath but end up moaning his name and biting into his palm. It quiets my screams, and he smiles and returns my bites on my neck. I scream a muffled reply in his palm and give it an open-mouthed kiss.

  “Oh, fuck,” he grunts and pins my hands above my head. He’s lost control and is rocking his hips deeper and deeper, hitting a certain spot that makes me lose my mind. “Sometimes—shit—y-you’re too sexy for your own goddamn good.”

  I tear a page from his book and quirk a smile, and he emits a laugh that sits on top of his throat and smashes his lips into mine. He tugs on my lower lip, and I dig my nails in his skin. I drag my feet up his calves and drag my nails down to the two little dimples in his lower back. I want to kiss each one. Maybe after we’re done.

  “Oh my, Grey,” I mewl and throw my head back, as he bites and kisses and licks my neck.

  “Me too. Hold on for me, baby,” he groans, and I nod and kiss under his scruffy jaw and suck on his skin. “Fuck, stop that, or I’m gonna come right now.”

  “Do it,” I whisper, eyeing him behind my lashes. And knowing it’ll send him completely over edge, I wink.

  “Fucking Christ, bebé.” He rolls his eyes, and I feel him in me, laying down territory.

  I scrunch my eyes closed and cup his back dimples as I climax. I arch my back, and his neck laps around mine, and he rolls his hips and holds mine down, rocking his tight, jittery hips into me.

  “Fudge,” I moan like an idiot, and he laughs as he slowly pulls himself out of me. “Oh, shut up.” I flop onto his sweaty chest and close my eyes as he kisses my forehead. His fingers weave through my curly sex-head, and he inhales deeply and then lets it go even deeper. I sigh in contentment and follow a random pattern on his chest.

  “Speaking of fudge, I could use something to eat.”

  I laugh and look up at him, smiling. “What?”

  He bounces his hip and says, “I’m hungry. Mind being a dear and getting me a snack? Preferably a sandwich? Ham? Thanks, babe. Love you.” He leans down and pecks my neck. I almost wish he’d sprained his neck in doing so, but then I remember how amazing he just made me feel, and I’m still coming down from cloud-nine. So I accept his lame kiss and push off the bed.

  I slip into one of his shirts littering the ground and mildly make a stank face, because maybe it needs a wash. But at least it smells like him. He laughs, waves a hand at me, and I basically hop out of the room and into the kitchen.

  His mother is still asle
ep on the couch, so I don’t have to worry about looking like a whore, parading around in his shirt with literally nothing on and sex radiating off my slightly sweat-coated body, even though we are together. But she doesn’t know that. Not officially, anyway.

  I swing the fridge open and take out the meat, cheese, etcetera. As I make the sandwich, I sway my hips left and right and imagine him whistling from behind, tugging at that beautiful bottom lip of his. But when I finish his sandwich and am putting away the items, I don’t hear his teasing and suggestive words. I hear his mother’s.

  “Hello.”

  I jump when I turn around and find Helen sitting up on the couch. She somehow looks less like a robot and a tad bit more like a human. A tad. But it is there. She’s yawning and arching her back as she stretches her limbs. I quickly grab the plate and his drink, moving to leave, but she’s sitting behind the island and is smiling at me. Now I really can’t leave.

  “Look, I know what you must think of me,” she says, again leaving her damn sentence in the air. When is she going to learn that doing that is a total douche move?

  “Okay?” I would be polite and at least give her a slight but confused smile, but all I can do is partially scowl at her.

  She takes a deep breath and taps her fingers on the kitchen island. “And I want to make you both—especially him—see that I’m not the same woman I was all those years ago.”

  “You mean five?” I raise a brow, and she stiffens but keeps her smile and firmly nods. “Then you have a lot of work ahead of you. I’m not going to lie, he hates you. And I know that may hurt you, but you hurt him so much more. What I’m saying is…don’t push him. He doesn’t like it.” Take it from me, I’ve learned from experience. “Just lay low and let him come to terms with your being here on his own. It may take a while, more like a long while. But maybe after learning to trust you and being able to keep himself together, then you can think about re-building a relationship,” I tell her.

  I don’t even know why I’m helping her. Maybe it’s because my relationship with my mother is completely in ruins. Or maybe I just hate seeing Grey so distraught over this woman.

  She nods, tearing up, like I just gave her the best advice in the world. Or hope…either way, she nods, wipes her eyes, and says, “Yes, yes. I know—I understand.”

  “Good.” I smile wholeheartedly and grab the plate and his drink and begin walking back to the bedroom. But then I am suddenly trapped in her arms, my arms held out as my jaw falls to the floor. I reek of sex, and I know she smells it. But maybe her nose is damaged and she can’t smell anything? I’m really praying for the latter. I’m frozen as she shakes me slightly, the drink and sandwich dipping left and right.

  Backing away, she holds my shoulders and says, “Thank you.”

  I try not to look at her weirdly and nod. “You’re welcome, Helen.”

  She creases her eyebrows, and there is a slight silence; I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet. I’m a little uncomfortable…or a lot.

  She seems to notice, because she backs away and nods. “Well, I’ll go back and sit now.”

  “You do that,” I mumble and watch as she briskly walks back to the couches and turns the TV back on. I slowly walk back to the room, half expecting her to pop up behind me and engulf me in her arms again. She is quite strange. Well, I guess that’s where Grey gets it. I smirk to myself and use my foot to push the cracked door open. “Hey.”

  “Hey, food…and the woman I kind of dig.” A lazy smile is washed over his swollen lips, his chest glistening with sweat and his eyes gleaming with adoration. For the food or me, I will never know.

  “Oh, fuck you. You dig me a lot.” I get on my knees on the bed and knee-walk over to him. He rubs his hands greedily before taking the plate and glass. He sits up, sets the glass beside him, and snatches me and brings me onto his lap. I laugh and wrap an arm around him. He holds the sandwich out, and I take a bite and chew with a smile.

  “You’re right,” he says and takes a bite, then adds around the chewed sandwich, “I love you loads.”

  “Ewwww.” I push his face away, but he shakes his head and nom nom noms in my ear. All I can do is laugh and revel in this and realize how much I “dig” this man too.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  “Good morning! I made breakfast.” Helen has her arms stretched out over food from bacon to hash browns to pancakes on the counter island. A blinding smile stretches across her face. She smells like soap even from where I’m standing and looks freshened compared to yesterday. She’s wearing a loose floral blouse and has her curls pinned up. For a moment, she almost looks sane—like a mother who doesn’t go throwing her kin to the wolves.

  I stop rubbing by eyes and glance at Grey. His face is scrunched up, and he runs a hand through his messy hair. I want to say I’m able to decipher how he’s feeling right now, but with the exhaustion and his obvious disorientation since we literally just woke up, I’m not getting anything but confusion at its finest. He didn’t expect to wake up to a feast from his off-her-rocker mother, and neither did I.

  A string of silence weaves through the air. There’s a lot of looking back and forth on my part, from Helen’s unflinching smile, arms slightly shaking from being held out for so long, to Grey’s impassive glare that could melt her skin off if he doesn’t avert his eyes soon.

  “It looks good.” I can’t help but at least try to ease the tension. I think I would have passed out from the pressure if I didn’t. I nudge Grey, and he frowns at me, still not saying anything. Sighing, I try on my biggest smile and walk over to Helen.

  “I hope you’re a pancake person, because I just about used all of the mix,” she says and claps her hands, then launches into detail about preparing the food. But I’m not paying much attention. And I don’t think she even cares. She just needs to fill the tense void with chatter about buttermilk pancakes and handmade butter, just like how she used to make it for Grey. It stings me hearing that, and I know it stung him even worse.

  As I aimlessly make a plate, half-listening to her, I watch Grey. He has yet to move. It looks like he’s trapped in a daydream…or nightmare.

  “Grey,” I call his name, and his eyes snap to mine. I feel my heart stop. His face is pale, and he blinks, like it’s the first time in forever. His brows frown, and he looks away. He looks like a hurt child, and it’s a painful sight.

  A beat passes before he’s speed walking away. Helen continues talking; she sounds worried and might even be crying, but I couldn’t care less. I drop the plate of random food and rush after him. My heart is in my throat, and my chest tightens.

  Images of him driving his fists through the mirror after having his meltdown that night after the car racing soars through my mind, and I find myself running and nearly falling. The blood. His tears. My heart exploding in my chest. The worry. It all comes crashing down on me.

  I’m relieved when I throw the bedroom door open and find him sitting calmly on the edge of the bed. No tears. No blood. But the worry is still there. And my heart is still having a mini explosion.

  I walk over to him and perch on the bed beside him but don’t say anything. He’s knee-deep in his thoughts, and I don’t want to disturb him. So I’ll just sit here and be by his side like always, and I have no problem of being the shoulder he “manly” cries on.

  I lean my head against his shoulder. He tenses for the slightest second but then relaxes and wraps an arm around my torso and leans his head on the top of mine.

  It’s quiet, but I don’t mind. It’s the kind of silence that I just can’t break because he needs his space and time to just think. To be able to sort out the no doubt messy thoughts jumbled in his mind without me jumping down my throat. If there’s anything I learned about him, it’s that he works better without my intrusion.

  I close my eyes and lay my hand on top of his, which are balled up in his lap. He shifts his head down, lets out a big whopping sigh, and opens his palm. I smile at him opening up to me, both literally an
d figuratively, and I swear I feel him smile too.

  “So how about the weather, eh?” I blurt out after what feels like hours of me smiling and him maybe smiling back.

  He chuckles, and I smile even harder and lay my feet across his lap. He leans up but doesn’t remove his other hand that is still wrapped around me.

  “You’re a weirdo, you know that, right?” His voice is raspy and deep, and I love it.

  “Takes one to know one,” I quip back. He makes that low, chest-rumbling laugh again.

  Silence brews between us for one, two, three beats before I run my thumb over his and whisper, “I love you.” I look up and catch his smile. He looks away, trying to be cool by not saying it back. So I hit him in the chest, and he quirks his lips up in that asshole smirk of his. “Say it back, meanie.”

  “I love you too.” He kisses my head, and I nod in satisfaction. Then he smiles deeply and pinches his nose bridge. “I don’t think I can handle her being here. I’m actually going crazy, from the inside out. She just…she just brings up all these fucking…memories. And they’re good and amazing before she completely lost her shit, and I—it’s just too much. I’m telling her to pack her shit and leave.”

  “You can’t,” I say, and he raises a brow at me. I sigh. “It’s almost Christmas.”

  He scoffs and jerks his shoulders. “So?”

  “So you can’t just send her packing. Not yet, at least.”

  He full on looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You seriously want her invading our first Christmas together?”

  “She wouldn’t be invading,” I mutter, though I know deep down I don’t really want her here. Call me selfish, but I just want it to be me and him. No Helen. No one but me and him. I deserve it after all we’ve been through. I deserve him.

  I glance up at him and wrap an arm around his as he rolls his eyes and lets out a rough breath, thinking. He even rubs his bottom lip like he does when in thought and rolls his eyes again.