Stolen Soulmate

by Mary Catherine Gebhard

  His girl…I really liked the sound of that.

  Ms. Abigail reeled. “What? Why?”

  “I don’t really think that’s any of your fucking business, Abby.”

  Ms. Abigail ignored him, holding her hand out to me. “Do you want to come back?”

  Gray’s neck muscles bunched, his upper back tense. This was the moment I could end it all. I’d been waiting for this, right? I could go back to her, back to where I should have been from the very beginning. No need for Scotland. It was a perfect out.

  This twisted, savage, ruinous thing between us that never should have been—ended.

  I rolled my lips, then shook my head. “No, Ms. Crowne.”

  Gray moved to turn back to me, but Ms. Abigail grabbed him, pulling him back. She fell apart, yelling at him, screaming at him, words that clearly weren’t meant for him. It felt like it lasted forever, her cries filling the hallway like an omen.

  When it was over, Gray blinked, then shook his head. “Yeah, I don’t think that was meant for me.”

  Gray waved a hand over his shoulder, motioning for me to follow.

  I gave Abigail one last look. Forgetting for a moment I was a servant and she was a Crowne. She was on the floor. All that had happened in the months I was away utterly ruined her. As my mistress, she’d been entitled and demanding, but no one deserved to have that much despair on their face.

  Not being with her love, forced to marry someone else…

  I looked at the floor, following Gray.

  We’d barely made it out of Gemma’s wing when Gray stopped and gripped my face, dragging me to him. Our location rushed over me. We were in the no-man’s-land between Gemma and Abigail’s wings, a few feet away from the room where all of it began.

  Gray gripped my face. “Say it. Say what you were going to say.”

  “Why?” I fought to keep my voice even, steady. “It’s not going to change anything.”

  His eyes were hard. “Say it, Story. Don’t make me rip it out of those beautiful lips.”

  His eyes darted from my lips back to my eyes. He throbbed with a need I could feel all the way to my marrow.

  “I love you, Grayson Crowne—”

  The words hadn’t left my lips before his were on mine.

  Forty-One

  STORY

  * * *

  Devouring. Sucking. Stealing. Gray tangled his hands in my hair, pulling me closer, bruising our lips together. Hot and wet, his groans melding with my sighs. He dragged me by our kiss, through the halls, pushing open the door to the antique room with his back.

  When I broke for air, he bit my bottom lip, never disconnected.

  I put my hand out, trying to push him away, put distance between us.

  “It doesn’t matter!” I said, breathing heavy. “You still have to marry her.”

  He looked crazed, focused on my lips, a man with a single mission. He gripped me by the waist, dragging me back to him, eyes still locked on my mouth. I pressed my palm to his chest, but it was weak, like my resolve.

  “Grayson…”

  “I won’t,” he gritted.

  It wasn’t so easy, was it? We’d just watched his sister attempt the same thing and fail. Her cries were still fading from my ears.

  “But—”

  He captured my mouth, shutting me up with furious lips. Sucking my top, then bottom one.

  “I knew from the moment we kissed in this room you’d be trouble. Wicked, tempting trouble. Knew I’d have to watch myself around your lips. Do you know how hard it was not to kiss you?”

  I couldn’t have responded if I wanted to. His words were a confession against my mouth, spoken as he devoured and bit. He pressed me so close to him I felt every hard pack of muscle, every rigid piece of him, just like that fateful night, but now the lights were on, and I could see him clearly.

  “Every goddamn minute.” Another searing kiss. “Of every fucking day.” Another bite. “I wanted this.” A swipe of his tongue. “I wanted you.” Until I couldn’t think. Until I was Jello-O.

  His fingers trailed the buttons at the back of my dress, up my spine, pressing cool metal into my flesh and leaving a burning trail of goose bumps.

  “Fuck, Story. I’m going to undo each button.” He popped the one at my neck. “Unravel you like the dirty Victorian nun you are.”

  Somewhere a part of me was saying this isn’t right.

  He was still engaged, no matter what he tells me. His sister’s tear-stricken face was fresh in my mind, a portent of what’s to come. For me? Or for him? Or maybe…for both of us. Or maybe, it was screaming, when we have sex, this is all over.

  “Grayson…” I started, then trailed off when he took my hand, pressing it against his cock. Thoughts fractured. All I could focus on was the hard iron throbbing beneath my fingers. How is that going to fit inside me?

  Inside me.

  Is that where we’re finally headed? After months of teasing, is it finally happening?

  “Rub my cock, little nun.” His lips were on mine again, his tongue plundering, hot and wet.

  Pop.

  Another button and I couldn’t think. An onslaught of lips and tongue. I did as he told me, palming his thick, iron cock over his pants. His belly-flipping groan was my reward, dripping down through my throat like warm whiskey.

  Pop. Pop.

  His soft fingers slid inside my newly exposed back, edging my shoulder blade.

  I rubbed harder, faster, anything to hear his groan again.

  “Fuck.” His hiss was hot and warm against my lips. “I’ll come in my pants, Snitch.”

  I smiled against his lips. “Well, you’re a virgin. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

  He shoved me against the wall, biting my neck so hard my vision blacked. “Always with the jokes.”

  His tongue swirled over his bite mark, stoking fire. Another three pops and my shirt was only hanging on by my shoulders, my back entirely exposed.

  “Unzip me.”

  It was real. It was happening.

  I froze. “Here?”

  Amid the antique paintings and white clothed statues, where I’d stolen his love, where I’d rewritten all our fates.

  He wanted to do it here?

  He gripped my face between his palms, demanding I look into his eyes. “I see you now, Story Hale.”

  He kissed me, deep and searching, until my legs were jelly and all that held me up was Grayson’s palms on my cheeks. I think my heart stopped beating, or at least, when it started again the rhythm was completely irregular—new.

  Rewritten according to Grayson, a rhythm that only beat for him.

  He came to my shoulders, finding the fabric of my shirt, and I let him pull it down. Inch by inch, exposing me. His jaw was harder than stone, eyes gleaming.

  I wanted him to touch me, bruise me, bring me back into a kiss.

  So when he turned away, to the opposite side of the room, my chest bottomed out. Intrusive thoughts spiraled.

  He’s done with me. It’s a prank. This was all to torture me.

  From the wall he grabbed an ornate rug that must have been worth millions, tossing it to the floor. He threw satin pillows, jewel toned and looking like they belonged in a Russian czar’s palace, not on the floor in this storage room.

  “Lie down,” he said.

  “I’ll ruin them,” I said.

  He grinned, wolfish. “Good.”

  When I hesitated, he grabbed my wrist, pushing me atop the plush pile. I felt vulnerable again as Grayson Crowne towered over me. It didn’t help that he watched me like a lion.

  “Take off your skirt,” he said, voice rough.

  I slowly undid the zipper at my side, nerves blossoming into wild butterflies in my chest as he unbuttoned his shirt at the same time. I was stuck on the way he watched me. When we finished, his shirt hung open, betraying the most unfair glimpses of his rigid abs. Lickable abs.

  Seconds ticked on, too long, marked by the waves and wind. Nerves clawed at my neck
. I was naked in front of Grayson Crowne. Naked, and he was giving nothing away. No words, nothing but the tightness in his muscles and pinch in his eyes.

  Then he fell to his knees—his knees.

  “Fucking perfect,” he groaned, crawling up to my legs. I gasped at the sudden warmth of his lips, on the curve of my knee, my inner thigh. His hands dragged and gripped my flesh.

  He just kept saying that over and over again—fucking perfect.

  He raised his head, looking up at me from between my thighs. My heart rate stuttered and spazzed.

  “You’ve waited so long…don’t you want it to be special?” I whispered. “I’m not going to be good.”

  “We’re both virgins—it’s not supposed to be good, Story.” He kissed the inside of my groin, never taking his eyes from mine. “But it won’t be bad. It can’t be.”

  My breath caught on the realization I was still lying. I should tell him. This was the time to tell him.

  He climbed atop me, until his lips were so close I could see the gloss of our earlier kiss, and he said something that stole all my words.

  “I never wanted to share this with anyone until you. It was always just another thing to dread, another piece of control I was going to have to give up, power that they would hold over the Grayson Crowne. But you? I don’t fucking care if you have it. I want you to have it. Take it. Own it.”

  “But Lottie…How?” Abigail’s tear-stricken face was still too fresh in my mind.

  “That’s tomorrow’s problem. I’m Grayson Crowne, Story. The world only turns because I allow it.” He pressed deep into me. I sucked in a breath at the hard pressure on my sensitive flesh. “Right now, I want to fuck you.”

  “Don’t you need to like…” I licked my lips. “To get naked first?” I was stunningly aware of the disparity in our clothing situation. He was rock hard and pressing against me, but he still had pants on. Even his shirt was still on his arms.

  Still between my thighs, he slowly got back up on his knees. Eyes never leaving mine, a small smile playing on his lips, he stripped. It was slow, languorous, dripping intent.

  My breath sped up, and I shifted, the ache between my thighs growing.

  This was the Grayson Crowne in the bedtime dreams of millions of girls, and he was staring at me. Like he wanted to devour me. Consume me. The attention was intoxicating.

  He caught my wrist and dragged me to him, flesh to flesh. I still couldn’t believe this was real. This was happening. Pressed against his rigid abs, I felt unworthy. Like Leda and Zeus, a god coming down to a mortal.

  I looked away because I needed to breathe, his stare stealing my oxygen.

  He tilted my chin to his perfect thick eyelashes and blue eyes, the kind you should only see in oil paintings of Greek gods. I could see the worry in his eyes. I wasn’t sure how to tell him I was fine…just so nervous I wouldn’t live up to a god.

  Then he smiled.

  “Hey,” he said, tone soft and gentle. “Right now, you’re Story, and I’m just Gray.”

  Then he kissed me. Soft at first, coaxing almost, then hard—demanding. Like he couldn’t stop himself. His fingers flexed against my flesh, pulling me closer with each breath.

  Mine fumbled for his pants, the button, then the zipper. He groaned when I met his cock over his silky, tight boxer briefs.

  In the outside world, I hid beneath layers. I lowered my eyes. When I was with Grayson, I became someone different. Someone who reached without reserve into his pants, stroking the ridges and veins of his powerful abs, needing to go deeper, needing—

  “More,” I breathed the word, an incantation, a spell, inside me whenever I was around him.

  More. More. More.

  Because with Grayson, I needed to. I needed to feel his silky, hard flesh, needed to sate the unbearable ache in my stomach. He sucked in a breath when my fingers met his hot flesh. His kiss turned aggressive, biting.

  He thrust me back against the blankets, still tangled in my hair, kissing me viciously and violently until I tasted copper. I rubbed my thumb on the tip of his cock, smearing wetness, grinding on his thigh.

  Anything to sate that deep, growing ache.

  He pulled away, stood up.

  “Fuck,” he hissed, raking his hand through messy rose gold hair.

  I got on my elbows, dazed. “What?” What did I do?

  “You really are fucking trouble.” Grayson eyed me, rubbing his cock, up and down. “Little nun almost made me come with her hand.”

  His cock was so, so hard, and I sucked in a breath now that I could see it all. Seven inches? Eight? I don’t know. I’d never had to, you know, measure something like that. It was long and thick, veins like delicate vines throbbing up to a glistening head.

  I looked up and realized Grayson was watching me, a soft, satisfied smile on his face that made my stomach tighten painfully. He reached for his discarded jeans, finding a condom, and rolling it over the head.

  “Tell me to stop,” he said.

  Some stupid joke about expired condoms flitted through my brain but died as the condom reached the base of his cock. Because I just wanted more. Inside me.

  I opened my legs.

  His eyes darkened and he crawled between them, putting his weight on his elbows. The head touched me, and I sucked in a breath, arching, aching. It wasn’t enough, barely a kiss. He gripped my face in his hands, thumbs spanning my jaw.

  “I want to be inside you, Story Hale,” he said. “I’ve wanted to be inside you since the day you turned my life upside down. I can’t stop thinking about it. What you’d feel like coming on my cock. The sounds you’ll make.”

  His voice was strangled, thumbs digging into my cheekbones.

  “So what are you waiting for?” I whispered.

  He raked his gaze along my body like a man who’d spent years at sea and just found land, finishing where my thighs were spread for him, and all he needed to do was slide in.

  When he came back up, his eyes throbbed with a dark need.

  “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you.”

  My heart lurched at the words.

  “Before if I fucked it up, the worst that could happen is you spread some bullshit rumor. Now?” He shook his head, then his eyes softened. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to mess this up for you.”

  He was getting lost in his mind. In the thorny places he didn’t want others to follow. I arched up, pushing him in that first few millimeters.

  His eyes flashed to mine.

  “Don’t think about that,” I said softly. “Don’t think about anything. Just…just the tip.” I smiled and was rewarded with a rare Grayson grin. He leaned forward, teeth grazing my ear, igniting a flurry of goose bumps that left no part of me untouched, even tingling in my teeth.

  “I can’t promise I won’t come fast, but it is not over.” He bit down on the lobe and I gasped. “I want to fuck you until you fall apart. Until your soul is bruised with me. I’ve got way too much I want to do to you, Story. Understand?”

  He lifted up, pinning me with his stare.

  I nodded, and he gave me another crooked smile. “There’s my girl.”

  He pushed in a little more, and I gasped.

  “You tell me when it hurts, and we stop.” His voice was strained.

  He was big, and maybe it hurt, but it hurt in a right way. That gnawing, dripping ache was satiated by the pain.

  “More.” I grasped his shoulders, urging him into action. Dragging my hands down his muscled back, begging for more. I could tell he wanted to go further, but something was stopping him.

  I shifted, trying to urge him. His neck was corded, and his biceps were so strained I could see muscles I didn’t even know how to name.

  “You sure?” He frowned at me.

  “I want to feel you all the way in me, please.” I kissed him, begging him with my lips. “Please,” I asked against his lips. There was a mental block in him. Maybe he didn’t want to hurt me, I don’t know. But he was still torturo
usly barely inside me, so I took his bottom lip between my teeth and bit. Hard.

  He slammed into me on a groan. I gasped out of the bite as my breath disappeared into stars of pleasure. His lips came to my neck. It was a lot. It was pain. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.

  But oh my God.

  It was perfect.

  “Story?” Grayson’s worry filtered in through my fog of pleasure. “Was that too much?”

  “It wasn’t enough,” I rasped.

  “Fucking perfect,” he groaned, head falling to my shoulder.

  And then he pumped, in and out, a slow rhythm that had me feeling every inch and ridge of his cock. Over his shoulders, I could see the muscles in his back work, the dimples of his golden ass.

  Grayson Crowne was on top of me, inside me, and I’d never felt anything so amazing. I didn’t think I could come this way. After West, I never dreamed I could, but oh my God.

  I shifted, rolled my hips, starting to feel it, go with it—and he stilled.

  “Fuck,” Gray said. “Oh fuck.”

  I felt him tense, and I realized he was coming, his lips pressed to my neck, and the guttural sounds he made sounded a lot like my name.

  He rolled back, staring at the ceiling, throwing one sinfully carved arm on his forehead. The condom was still on, and his cock was still so big, even if it wasn’t hard. He just stared at the ceiling.

  One minute passed.

  Two…

  Insecurity crawled hot up my spine.

  Was it really so terrible?

  Another minute passed as he just stared at the fucking ceiling.

  When it was over with West, he did the same. Rolled off me, grabbed his phone. Then he got out of bed and threw my clothes at me. I couldn’t have that happen again. Couldn’t have my clothes tossed at my face. So I sat up, reaching for them.

  Grayson grabbed my wrist, ripping me back to his body, flipping me beneath him in the same instant.

  “The fuck are you doing?”

  “I, um… I don’t know. Going? You were quiet. I figured you were done with me.”