by Eva Ashwood
I’ve been drawing since I woke up this morning. I haven’t even stopped to eat, and I find myself in some half delirious, dream-like state as I sketch with the charcoal pencil I found in my book bag the other day. I’m growing to like the way the dark charcoal smudges my fingertips and palms as I work. I like the way the harsh lines on the page soften with just a brush of my fingers.
My mind wanders as I work, and as they do so often these days, my thoughts land on the Sinners. The men who spent a good part of last semester trying to drive me out of the school and make me miserable have now become the people who look out for me, who kept me from going into massive medical debt. Who care for me.
I still don’t believe it.
I still don’t want to believe it.
Sometimes, when Elias is flirting with me, when Declan and I share those moments between music and a joint, when Gray and I find ourselves wrapped up in each other—those moments I think it could be real. Those are the moments when I let go just a little bit, when I think that maybe it wouldn’t be bad to let them in, to let them claim a place in my heart.
But I know what it’s like to have good things taken away from you. I know what it is like to get attached, only to have life rip the rug out from under you.
My heart flutters in my chest as I press the pencil a little harder into the page, dark, painful lines staining the fibers of the paper.
Jared.
He was taken away from me, just like that. One day he was there, the next day I was at the morgue, looking at his cold, lifeless body. One day he was still in my life, and the next, he was gone. His future stolen away.
I don’t like to think about how much his death affected me. Maybe it’s the still-lingering shock from that day that’s kept me from fully giving in to the grief, or maybe it was the night that followed—the night at the bar with Gray. Maybe in his own way, Gray was my saving grace, my anchor to keep me from doing something stupid I couldn’t have taken back in the depth of my grief.
Gray.
I don’t remember the end of semester party, but I remember a feeling.
What, though? What was it?
It fucking hurts my head every time I try to dig around in my brain for the answers. Dropping my charcoal, I press my fingers to my temples and rub away the ache, not caring that I’m probably smearing charcoal dust over my skin.
“Hey, Sophie, you in there?”
A soft knock sounds on my half-open door. I look up from my sketch as Max pokes her head into the guest room I’ve been staying in.
“Hey.” I grin. “Sorry, I was in the zone.”
“I can see that. It’s cool.” She grins when she looks at the charcoal marks on my face, and I roll my eyes as I wipe them off. “How are you feeling?” she adds.
The throbbing in my temples eases a little as my mind veers away from poking at the blank spots in my memory. With Max here, all the questioning and confusion from earlier melts away, leaving me with just myself again.
“Pretty good, actually.” I wipe my hands off on a scrap of cloth and then snap my sketchbook shut.
It’s true. Since arriving at Gray’s house a few days ago and being able to rest without nurses constantly poking at me, my recovery has been swift. Aside from some lingering bruises that don’t hurt much, I’m practically back to normal. Leaning back in the large, plush chair I’ve claimed as my sketching spot, I give her a small smile. “What about you?”
She settles onto the foot of the bed. “I’m good. Just talked to Elias and Declan. They’ll be over in a little bit.” When she catches me giving her a look, she raises her eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “What?”
“Nothing.” I set my sketchbook aside and join her on the bed. “You’ve just gotten close to them since all of this happened.”
“Close?” She raises an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call us close. I’m tolerating their existence for your sake, Sophie.”
“Just tolerating?” I tease. I’ve seen how she’s interacted with them the past few times we’ve all been together, and I wouldn’t call it tolerating. “I’ve seen you give them shit, and they give it right back. But it doesn’t feel like it did last semester. From what Elias has said, it sounds like all of you guys bonded a little bit at the hospital when I was sleeping,” I say with a laugh.
She punches my leg playfully. “Eh. We bonded over our worry for you. Not over anything else.”
I give her another look. “You sure about that? You almost looked like you were having fun with them.”
“Fine,” she says, giving in to my teasing. “I’ll admit they aren’t that bad. But only because I’ve seen how much they’re taking care of you, and no matter how big of assholes they were in the past, I can’t shake the feeling that this… this is real.”
She’s not alone on that.
Because I can’t shake the feeling either. This is something more.
A few more days go by, and I start to feel like I’m completely recovered.
My memory of the night of my fall is still fuzzy, but last night as I was falling asleep, I almost thought I could remember some of the moments leading up to it… or at least going to the party.
I remember what I was wearing, remember getting dressed in my dorm room. I remember Gray picking me up, and his hands and mouth on me as he kissed me outside my dorm room door. Right about there, everything starts to become static again.
Or, hell, maybe my mind just invented all of that stuff. I should ask him what happened when he picked me up and see if I’m anywhere close to the truth. He can tell me if it’s just a false memory I’ve made up in my desperation to fill in the blanks, or if my memory might actually be coming back.
And if that memory is accurate, maybe more will follow it. Maybe it’ll all come back.
The thought makes excitement bloom in my chest, but I quickly push it down. I’m not one to get my hopes up with stupid thoughts like that. I believe in reality, not in hopeful what ifs and maybes.
The smooth floor is cool on my bare feet as I head down the stairs, my stomach grumbling.
It took me a couple days of wandering around and getting lost to figure out the layout of Gray’s house, but I think I’m starting to get the hang of it. Mainly, I stick to three main rooms and the paths between them—my room to the kitchen, my room to the family room, and my room to the bathroom. The house is massive, and I haven’t even been in half of it.
I’m not even sure where Gray’s room is, I think, stepping into the kitchen.
Since I arrived here—five days ago now—I’ve spent plenty of time with him. But beyond our kiss that first day, he hasn’t really touched me.
Not quite how I imagined we’d be spending our week together, that’s for fucking sure.
I get the feeling that Gray is holding back.
Not holding back because he doesn’t trust me… but because he doesn’t trust himself with me. Like he’s afraid he’ll break me if he touches me.
Fuck. He of all people should know I don’t break that easily.
And living in the same house as him, knowing he’s under the same roof as me, just down the hallway? It’s driving me crazy, lighting my whole body up with need. A fall down the stairs and a few days in the hospital haven’t taken away the memories of every second Gray and I have spent connected, both mind and body.
But especially body.
My toes curl a little as I try to shove away images of all the places his mouth has touched my skin, the tips of his fingers, his body—but those images are forever seared into my mind, a visceral feeling that follows me in my dreams, my thoughts.
Reaching up into the cupboard above the fruit basket, I grab a coffee mug for myself, then one of the fancy as shit K-Cups that are surprisingly delicious. Popping it in the machine, I wait for my coffee to brew, watching the steam rise up from the mug as the kitchen fills with an enticing coffee scent. Gray’s family also has an espresso machine, but that looks super expensive and confusing. I saw Gray use it o
nce, but I’m not sure I trust myself not to break it.
Once my coffee finishes brewing, I grab the mug and settle into one of the barstools, taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid.
There’s a quiet noise behind me, and I turn around as Gray walks into the kitchen.
I try not to stare, I really fucking do. But he’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that seem to be a cue for my hormones to pick up, no matter how much I want to resist. They hang on his hips just right, and the white t-shirt he wears frames his arms perfectly.
I put the mug back up to my lips and take another sip, turning around before he can see the grin that’s creeping across my face. To my surprise though, instead of heading to the machine to brew his own morning coffee like he usually does, he pulls out the barstool next to me and sits down, his knee brushing against my thigh.
“Good morning, Sparrow,” he says quietly. I glance over at him, unable to help myself. When he has my attention, he holds out a small black box with a little bow tied around it, and my heart does a sudden thud-thud in my chest. “I got something for you.”
My gaze jumps from the box to him, then back to the box. I’m not sure what to do. I want to take it from him, but I can’t.
“What?” I ask, clenching the coffee mug in my hands a little tighter, like I might drop it if I’m not careful.
“Take it.” A small smile tilts his lips. “It’s Christmas. It’s a gift.”
Christmas. Gift.
Somehow, although I’m not really sure I’m doing it until the box is in my hands, I reach out and take it from him. I completely forgot about the holiday, and even if I hadn’t, I wasn’t expecting anything.
I can’t remember the last time I got a Christmas gift from someone. Maybe I did when I was younger, even though I can’t remember it. Kids get Christmas gifts. Not rebellious foster teens who bounce from house to house without ever putting down roots.
I must speak some part of my thoughts out loud, because Gray says, “Everyone deserves a Christmas gift. Open it. I promise it won’t bite.”
When I meet his gaze, my throat is tight. I don’t know if he fully understands what this means to me. Gray has probably gotten dozens of Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, and gifts in general. Me? This shit makes me almost want to cry, in a good way. Which is almost worse than crying in a bad way.
With trembling hands, I thumb aside the ribbon and open up the box. Set on a bed of silk is a beautiful little necklace made of gold and the daintiest heart set with diamonds. The little stones reflect the sunlight that pours in through the kitchen window, and I can tell this isn’t just something he picked up from the local mall. It’s expensive, but not in a way that makes my skin crawl.
“Gray, this is…” I look up at him, my voice faltering. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
I’m almost afraid I’ll break it as I pull the little chain out of the box to take a better look at it. We never really talked about Christmas, or if we were doing anything for it. It completely slipped my mind because I’ve gotten so used to not celebrating the holidays—actively ignoring them most of the time.
“Let me help you put it on.” Gray holds out his hand, and I give him the necklace.
His fingers brush against my skin as he pushes the strands of my hair over my shoulders. I help him by gathering it up in one hand and holding it at my neck to give him better access as he reaches behind me and clasps the necklace. He pulls away, his gaze drifting down to where the small heart rests against my upper chest, and my skin heats.
“There.” His voice is pleased, quiet, barely disturbing the silence of the kitchen. “Almost as beautiful as you.”
There’s a softness in his tone that I’ve never heard in him before, and my whole body shivers with delicious awareness—but a different type than we usually share. It’s something deeper, more intoxicating. I watch him swallow, a slow dip of his throat. I can see him willing himself to say something, but he doesn’t, his jaw set with an intensity that I know all too well.
Neither of us are great at expressing our feelings. Not with words anyway. I think that’s what brought us together in the beginning. A mutual understanding that the big emotions, that deep shit that goes all the way down to your bones, doesn’t always need to be spoken.
As his hand skims up the column of my neck, any resolution that Gray had to stay away from me seems to crumble. His lips find mine as he kisses me.
And if I forgot how it felt to kiss him after almost two weeks without this, I’m sure as hell not forgetting now—because even though his kiss is softer, more intimate than it’s ever been before, my body reacts like it always does, melting into his touch.
My barstool scrapes against the floor as I slide off of it and into his arms. Something in his kiss changes, the smallest spark exploding into flames. His legs open wider as he pulls me closer, his large hand splaying across my lower back as his tongue delves into my mouth.
“It looks perfect on you, Sparrow,” he murmurs, his voice almost swallowed up by our hungry, searching kisses. “Promise me you’ll never take it off. That you’ll always wear it.”
The possessiveness in his tone makes my heart beat a little harder, and I thread my fingers through his soft brown hair, gripping the strands tightly as I inhale his scent and binge on his taste.
I can feel his cock straining against his sweats, pressing into my lower belly, and a second later, he pushes off the stool with his arms still wrapped around me.
We stumble across the kitchen, and I have no real idea where we’re headed until my back hits the sleek, cold surface of the stainless steel refrigerator. I’m only wearing a tank top and shorts, and the metal is a shock to my heated skin. It only makes me more aware of the heat of Gray’s body, and I groan into his kiss.
“Fucking hell.” He sounds almost tortured. “I missed this. I’ve been going insane all week, knowing you were right down the hall.” He grinds his cock against me as if to prove his point. “I just about jerked my dick off trying to get some satisfaction. But it was never enough.”
The image of him in his room or in the shower, his large fist stroking his cock in sharp movements, his head tipped back in ecstasy… it fills me with arousal and a strange sense of jealousy, as if I’m almost mad at him for doing all of that without me.
“You should’ve come to my room,” I shoot back, sparks of pleasure shooting through me as his lips leave mine and trail over my jaw before his teeth nip the delicate skin of my throat. “You aren’t going to break me.”
He growls against my skin, biting harder when he reaches the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. “Don’t be so fucking sure about that, Sparrow.”
The dark promise in his voice makes a flood of wetness dampen my panties. I don’t know if it’s just because we haven’t done this in way too long, or if there’s something else that’s driving him this morning, but the way he’s touching me reminds me of the first time we had sex, in the bathroom of The Silent Hour.
I can feel the same sort of desperation in him now, the same sort of violent, insatiable hunger, and it sparks something inside me too.
Reaching down, I grab the hem of his shirt and tug it upward, pulling it over his head. It’s barely hit the floor before he’s doing the same to me, ripping my tank top off so fast that one of the straps snaps. He kisses me again as he shoves my shorts and panties down over my hips, and I wriggle my legs to shimmy them off before kicking them aside. I’m already working on his pants too, and the second they’re out of the way, I reach for his dick.
But he beats me to it, wrapping his fist around his hard shaft and stepping backward, out of my reach. I growl in frustration, and he gives a low chuckle.
As a small space opens up between us, I sag against the fridge, my legs barely able to support my weight. Gray’s eyes burn with intensity as his gaze moves over me. He strokes himself slowly and deliberately, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth in a way that makes my pussy clench.
It’s like he�
��s trying to memorize the sight of me, to capture every single fucking detail and store them all away.
His stomach muscles clench as his hips thrust forward into his grip, and I can’t wait any longer. My fingers trail down my own stomach, delving into my wetness before finding the hard nub of my clit. My eyelids flutter as pleasure spreads through me, and now it’s Gray’s turn to growl.
He moves like lightning, yanking my hand away from my pussy and bringing it to his lips. His mouth wraps around my fingertips, and his nostrils flare as he swirls his tongue around them. His grip on my hand is tight as he slowly slides my fingers out of his mouth, and the tension between us is so thick that I can’t wait any longer.
I know he’s been trying to draw this out, to make it last.
But we should both know by now that’s a lost cause.
With my free hand, I hook the back of his neck, hauling him toward me as I crush my lips against his.
It’s like that one simple action cuts the last shred of his self-control. He returns the kiss so forcefully that my back slams against the fridge, and I grunt into his mouth as he slides his hands down and grips my legs, lifting and wrapping them around his waist.
The smooth head of his cock nudges between my legs, and then he drives into me, spearing me in one hard thrust as he pins me to the fridge. The noise he makes is half relief and half pain, as if the sensations are almost more than he can handle.
I know how he fucking feels. The first time we ever hooked up, he told me he wanted to fuck me so hard it would ruin us both—and he obviously hasn’t given up on that goal.
My arms go around his neck, my fingers sliding through his hair again and latching on to fistfuls of his thick strands as he fucks me hard and deep. The fridge felt like a stable enough surface before, but now the whole thing rocks a little with every thrust. I can hear bottles and other containers rattling around inside, punctuating our breathy grunts and moans.
“Jesus fucking Christ.” Gray curses under his breath, pausing his strokes to grind hard against my pelvis, making my clit throb. “God, you make me fucking insane.”