by Eva Ashwood
With his arms wrapped around me, he pulls me away from the fridge. I’m barely aware of where we’re going this time either, but when he sets me on my feet and pulls out, I realize we’re back at the kitchen island. A split second after I realize that, Gray’s hands are on my hips, spinning me around. He presses a palm between my shoulder blades, bending me over the marble countertop with my ass toward him.
My nipples harden as my breasts press against the cool stone, and Gray wraps a hand around my hair, gathering it in a tight grip near the base of my skull. He tugs hard enough to make my back arch, and as it does, he thrusts into me again, his hips slapping against my ass.
I flail for something to hold on to as he fucks me from behind, but the smooth surface of the island doesn’t give me much. It doesn’t really matter though, because Gray isn’t letting me go anywhere. One hand holds my hips while the other grips my hair, and he pounds into me like he’s trying to prove a point.
The island doesn’t move like the fridge did, and that only lets Gray go even harder. The sound of our bodies slamming together over and over fills the large kitchen, until all I can hear are the debauched noises of our fucking.
The hand in my hair unclenches, and as my body jerks roughly from the force of his thrusts, I feel Gray’s fingertips ghost over the tattoo of the bird on my back. His gentle touch is such a contrast to the way he’s fucking me that it makes goose bumps erupt on my skin. He traces every line of ink before trailing his hand down my spine.
Then he slaps my ass.
Hard.
I let out a loud cry, my pussy clamping down hard around him as the sting of pain floods my body, followed by pure heat.
“Tell me you want me, Sparrow,” Gray grates out. “Tell me you want my cock. Tell me how fucking much you like this.”
There’s something almost desperate in his command, and although I could tell him all of that and more, I keep the words trapped behind my lips. Instead, I crane my neck a little to look over my shoulder at him, loving the way his hair is disheveled and his features tight with effort.
“Tell me how much you like it,” I shoot back. I want to hear his dirty words. I’m addicted to the naked truth in his voice when he fucks me like this, the way everything he says seems torn from the deepest part of his soul.
Gray’s gaze catches mine, and something shifts in his expression. He slaps my ass again, then kneads away the sting, groping me hungrily.
Then he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me upright, pinning my back to his chest as he bends his knees a little. I’m almost sitting on his lap, and I don’t even know how the fuck he has the thigh strength to do this right now. My legs still feel like they could give out at any moment.
One arm keeps me secured tightly to him, holding me up as he drives into me, and his other hand slips down between my legs to circle my clit. His breath tickles my ear as he nuzzles my hair.
“You’re such a fucking fighter,” he murmurs. “But you can’t fight this. Come for me.”
His fingers work my clit harder, the pressure so intense that it crosses the line into pain, but it gets him what he wants. My toes curl against the floor as my body shudders, an orgasm tearing through me like a hurricane.
Gray doesn’t stop fucking me, and his fingers don’t slow down even a little bit, catapulting me from one wave of pleasure into the next with no time to catch my breath. Only when he feels me go limp in his arms does he stop, dragging my earlobe between his teeth as we both breathe heavily.
When he pulls out of me again, my body screams in protest, my inner walls clamping around him like I could lock him inside me. He turns me around to face him and wraps his arms around me again, depositing me on the floor this time.
The hardwood isn’t exactly comfortable, but the second Gray’s cock slides back into my aching pussy, I forget all about that. He hovers over me, bracing himself on his arms as he looks down at me with the same intense expression he wore earlier.
“You think I like this, Sparrow?” he murmurs. “That’s the wrong fucking word. There isn’t a word in the English language for what it feels like to be inside you.”
His strokes are slow and measured, but I can feel the tidal wave building behind them. He’s so fucking close, but he won’t let himself finish. He won’t let this end.
I don’t want him to. I want him to keep fucking me like this forever, keeping the entire world at bay as he narrows my focus down to just the two of us.
But I also want to feel him let go. I want to see him let go. I want every fucking thing he has to give me.
I reach up and rake my fingernails down his chest, pressing hard enough to leave long red scratches on his skin. Shifting my hips against him, I squeeze him hard.
He grunts, his nostrils flaring as his pupils expand. One hand leaves the floor to wrap around my throat, tightening just enough to make my pulse kick up.
“I’m not done fucking you, Sparrow,” he growls.
My gaze locks with his as I clench around him again, lifting my hips off the floor to make his next stroke harder and deeper.
“Fuck.” His entire body shudders, and his hand squeezes my throat. It’s a warning and a promise all wrapped into one.
The pressure on my throat is making my heart slam harder in my chest, and heat is building in my core again, radiating through my body until my limbs feel heavy with it. I arch against him, writhing underneath him as my legs wrap around his waist.
With a ragged curse, Gray pistons his hips and drives into me, fucking me into the floor as he drops his head to claim my lips in a rough kiss. His cock swells inside me as he comes, pulsing with his release as he fills me up.
It’s more than I can take. My head spins as another orgasm crashes into me, and blackness tinges the edges of my vision as pleasure knocks the breath out of me.
Finally, Gray collapses on top of me. My body goes boneless beneath his, and I have the sudden wild thought that maybe neither of us will be able to move ever again. His parents will return from their holiday travels to find us sprawled on the kitchen floor like this, stuck together in a sated heap.
The image makes me laugh lightly. Gray feels the vibration in my chest and chuckles too, although there’s no way he can guess what I’m thinking.
With a heavy groan, he finally pushes himself up on his arms again and draws out of me, flopping onto his back on the floor.
“Merry Christmas, Sparrow,” he murmurs breathlessly, and I laugh again.
Because as crazy as it sounds, this might be the first Christmas I can remember that actually is merry.
6
The necklace is warm against my skin as I take the little heart between my thumb and index finger and look down at it. I twist it this way and that, admiring the way it glimmers in the sunlight spilling into the kitchen.
I haven’t been able to stop looking at it, feeling it against my bare skin, touching it—like I have to reassure myself that it’s there, that it’s not just a figment of my imagination.
“Do you like it?” Gray mumbles against my shoulder, his hand skimming over my naked breast. He drops his head and kisses the swell of flesh with lazy presses of his lips, seeming to be in no rush to move.
We’re still on the kitchen floor, completely naked, tangled up in each other’s bodies. It shouldn’t be comfortable. The wood beneath me is hard and cold, but I really don’t give a fuck about that. I feel… content. Peaceful. Every part of my body is satisfied and sated, and I love the feel of Gray’s body curled around mine.
“Of course,” I say, glancing at him. “It’s fucking gorgeous. It’s… it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had. That I’ve ever been given.”
I’m not sure why I can’t talk about it without my emotions seeming to swell up, but he gets the point.
He leans in, kissing me. It’s slow, deep, not rushed. Like he wants to taste and feel and explore every part of me again and again. When he pulls away, he seems to take the air out of my lungs with him, his eyes
bright with a pure happiness I don’t think I’ve ever seen in him.
He glances at the necklace. “Remember that movie Titanic?” he asks, plucking the little heart from between my fingers. His gaze drags up to mine. “When he painted her and shit?”
Of course I’ve seen it, but my smile isn’t because I know what he’s talking about. For some reason, thinking about Gray watching Titanic makes a laugh bubble up in my chest. I doubt it’s the kind of movie he’d choose on his own, and I wonder if Beth made him watch it.
I bet she did.
I bet there are so many things they shared over all the years she was alive. They were twins. They grew up together. And I think Beth is the reason Gray has a softer side, even if he doesn’t show it often.
“What?” Gray’s brows pull together as he takes in my expression.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, dispelling the thoughts.
“You have a funny look on your face, Sparrow.” He narrows his eyes before leaning down and kissing me again. “I don’t like it.”
“I promise it’s nothing,” I say when our lips break apart. “Your comment was just funny… and sweet.”
His thumb brushes against my lip, that breathtaking warmth filling his eyes again. “You remind me of her. Or that scene, I guess.”
“Kate Winslet?” I cock an eyebrow, breaking the moment with my snort. “I don’t look anything like her.”
“No, it’s just… you know.” He goes up on one elbow, hovering over me as his fingers brush against the little heart where it rests on my skin.
It doesn’t look anything like the massive necklace from the movie, but that’s not what he’s talking about. “Yeah, I know what you mean,” I say. Then, lowering my voice, I add, “Draw me like one of your French girls, Jack.”
“Yeah, you ruined it.” Gray rolls off of me but stays close by, his body still pressed into mine as if he doesn’t want to leave.
I don’t want to leave. There’s something about the little bubble we’ve created here on the kitchen floor that feels perfect. It feels like we’re a million miles away from universities with rich bitches and rapey assholes, far away from foster families and memory loss, far away from everything but us.
“Do you think you could paint like that?” he asks suddenly.
“Portraits?” I glance at him.
“Yeah, portraits. People. Realistic.”
He’s seen enough of my art to know that’s not my usual style, and I’m curious why he’s asking. I shrug, feeling his body shift against mine with the movement. “I think I could. Actually, I know I could. I’ve done a few portraits. I sketched one of Jared after he died. But I never really connected with stuff like that as much.” I hesitate, thinking. “I like to… paint my feelings out. And sometimes literal representations of things, lifelike paintings—they don’t capture the true emotion as well as something more abstract does.”
We fall into another moment of silence.
I’m not sure what Gray is thinking about as he traces patterns on my skin, but my thoughts turn to my art again. I was telling the truth. I know I could paint stuff like that. Realistic things, as he puts it. I did a pretty good picture of Jared, not to mention other sketches I have tucked away in random notebooks or on loose leaves of paper, but recently, I haven’t done a lot of that. Right now, it’s more abstract colors and shapes that call to me—the physical representation of my thoughts and feelings brought to life.
“Maybe if my memories were clear, my paintings would be more clear too,” I murmur.
I know that probably doesn’t make sense to Gray, but that’s how it feels. I’m painting things that my brain hardly understands on a logical level, so how could I possibly paint them as anything but vague shapes and shadows imbued with emotion?
“You don’t have to go back to school when spring semester starts.” Gray’s voice startles me out of my thoughts, jumping topics again. “You know… you’re still recovering from your injury. And after all the bullshit at Hawthorne, maybe it’s better for you to go somewhere else.”
I crane my neck a little to look over at him, surprised. I know he’s saying it out of a caring place in his heart, if that’s even a thing, but for some reason, his words make me tense. I don’t like the idea of running, any more than I like the idea of being trapped. Neither one sits well with me, which is why I ended up beating the shit out of Cliff when he attacked me in that alley.
My fight-or-flight instinct is obviously heavily weighted toward fight.
“No. I want to go back.” I shake my head firmly. “I wasn’t even sure I wanted to come here in the first place, and you’re right—there’s been a lot of bullshit that’s come with being at Hawthorne.” I don’t mention that Gray was the instigator of some of that bullshit. It’s over now. He’s on my side, just like the other two Sinners are. “But I don’t want to run. I want to finish what I started, you know?”
He doesn’t say anything for a while, just nuzzles his face against my shoulder, breathing me in. My mind starts to drift to other subjects, like whether I could sneak out and get a gift for Gray since I didn’t get him anything for Christmas, but then he continues.
“I could help you find a better place,” he says sincerely. Almost encouragingly. “A place where you could study art, where you could focus on that. A place where you could fit in better. Not,” he adds quickly, “that you’re not good enough for Hawthorne. But are we really good enough for you? Wouldn’t you like being around other people who are more your type? Not bitchy social climbers like Caitlin, but people who think like you. Wouldn’t that be more worth it?”
The way he says it, the conviction in his voice—it makes me hesitate for just a second. It sounds like he’s thought this out before now. It’s not an idea that just came to him as we’ve been lying here on the kitchen floor, and the hint of worry in his voice makes me realize how much he cares. This is important to him.
I open my mouth to respond, then pause. A prickly feeling is crawling up my spine, and I don’t really know what to say.
“It wouldn’t be a failure on your part, Sparrow,” Gray adds, his voice low and intense. “Leaving the school would just mean leaving for a place that was better for you. Not failing yourself or any of us.”
“I don’t think—”
I start to speak again, but before I can finish the sentence, my jaw snaps shut.
My muscles lock up.
Doctor Cohen said that anything could trigger a wave of lost memories. He said that they would likely eventually come back, because it was only short-term memory loss. I’ve had doctors give me all kinds of empty platitudes about the holes in my memory before, so I didn’t believe him.
But in one rush, like an impact to my body that sends me flying backward, like getting hit by a fucking truck, the memories do come.
They rush through me in a torrent, blazing through my mind.
I remember walking up the stairs at the party. I don’t remember why I went up to the second floor, but I do remember what I heard behind the closed doors. I remember recognizing the muffled voice as Gray’s, even though I didn’t know who he was speaking to.
She’ll be gone by next semester anyway. I’ve got it handled, all right?
There’s nothing special about her. She’s not fucking worth it.
It won’t be hard.
I don’t remember how I got back down to the first floor or how I fell down the stairs into the basement. That entire part of the night is still shrouded in darkness.
But I sure as hell remember those words, as clear as the fucking sunlight shining down on my now chilled body. Disgust and revulsion fill me. I want to tear myself away from Gray’s hold, but the other half of me…
I don’t want to believe it. I don’t fucking want to believe it.
Gray catches the change in me. How could he not? He was curled around a soft body a second ago, and now he’s hugging a block of ice.
“Sophie?” He lifts his head, worry creeping into his voice.
“Are you okay?”
Rage rushes through me in a hot wave as I look at him. I think tears are prickling my eyes too, but I can’t feel it. I can’t feel anything but the anger.
“Did you tell someone you would make me leave?” I ask, pinning him with my gaze. He’s going to look me in the eye like a fucking man when he responds, and I’m not going to waste any time tearing the truth from him.
Gray goes still. For a second, time seems to stop as we stare at each other. Then, just like that, his eyes harden. Everything in him hardens.
That ice cold man I knew from the moment I walked onto the Hawthorne University campus is back, and gone is the Gray who just fucked me like he could never get enough of me. Who wrapped his arms around me like he’d never let go. His cum is drying on my fucking thighs, and the thought of that makes my stomach tighten into a hard knot.
“Did you tell someone you wanted me to leave Hawthorne?” I ask again.
His jaw tightens. “Yes.”
That’s it. Just one word. Cold. Factual.
“It’s true?” My heart thuds wildly in my chest, like it wants to escape my body, to escape this fucking room. “You fucking said that?”
I don’t want it to be real. Even now, I’m hoping it’ll somehow turn out to be a mistake, some big misunderstanding. I look calm as fuck on the outside, but inside, a war between my head and my heart is being waged. I may be an expert at not showing my emotions, hardly even feeling them at times, but this?
This is a whole new level of fucked up.
“Who were you talking to?” I demand. I want to know. Goddammit, I need to know.
I didn’t hear another voice on the other side of the door—I didn’t stick around long enough for that—but I know Gray wasn’t just talking to the wall. There was something in his tone that night, so cold, so controlled, that it almost feels like it couldn’t have been the same man who’s lying here with me now. Like it was his fucking evil twin or something.
But he only had one twin, and she wasn’t evil.