Grayson's smooth yet commanding voice cut through the hum of the ride as he instructed the driver, "Take us to my hotel." With a swift flick of his wrist, he sealed the partition window, cocooning them in a private, charged moment. In an instant, he leaned in, capturing Olivia's lips with a kiss that sparked an electric surge through her body—a kiss that burned, consumed, and left her breathless. One hand wove into her hair while the other traced the curve of her body with deliberate familiarity, igniting a fire that made her softly moan in response.
Her hands began to explore, tentatively smoothing over the crisp fabric of his suit jacket until the growing hunger between them overrode all restraint. Fingers slipped inside his jacket, pressing against the solid, defined strength of his torso. With a determined urgency, she unbuttoned two of his shirt's fasteners, just enough to reveal a glimpse of bare skin—the heat, the power, the irresistible allure. Grayson, far from simply taking, was exploring every contour of her desire; as his lips trailed from hers down the line of her jaw, his hands continued the intimate inquiry. One caressed the swell of her breast, his thumb teasing through the thin fabric until it brushed against her hardened nipple, sending shivers of anticipation up her spine. At the same time, his other hand moved lower, firm yet controlled along the edge of her thigh, eliciting a visceral, wordless plea for more.
Just as their passion reached its peak, the car came to an abrupt stop. A sharp knock on the partition jolted them back to reality. For a lingering moment, they remained entangled—hands, lips, and bodies still speaking the language of desire—before Grayson exhaled a frustrated murmur and cracked the window to acknowledge the driver. "We're here, sir," came the neutral reply. His jaw tightened, and Olivia caught a flicker of inner conflict in his eyes—a battle between the restraint demanded by circumstance and the raw need still blazing between them.
Reluctantly, she withdrew, smoothing her dress and gathering the remnants of her composure, even as Grayson's hand, warm against her thigh, released its hold. There was no more room for games; their bodies had spoken too clearly. The promise in his dark, burning gaze told her that this night was far from over.
The sleek black car pulled up to The St. Regis Chicago, its elegant façade set against the night skyline and the soft lobby lights reflecting off polished glass doors. A cool breeze replaced the car's heated interior as the door swung open, and Grayson, running a hand through his tousled hair, rebuttoned his shirt—leaving only the last two buttons undone, just as he always preferred. That was when Olivia noticed the silver chain around his neck—a ring looping through it. Her gaze lingered a heartbeat longer than intended, and Grayson's lips curved into a knowing smirk, as if inviting her to decode the secret it held.
Before she could voice her surprise, another detail caught her eye: the grand entrance of The St. Regis Chicago. It was her hotel. Of all the luxurious havens in the city, fate had chosen the same one for both of them. A small, amused giggle escaped her as she shook her head at the irony, prompting Grayson to tilt his head and ask, "What?"
"Nothing," she replied with a playful smirk, reaching for the door handle. At his silent signal—a couple of gentle taps on the partition—the door slid open. Outside, the driver and George, Grayson's valet, greeted them with the smooth professionalism of a well-rehearsed routine. After a brief exchange, Grayson adjusted his jacket, slipping effortlessly back into the composed, impeccable version of himself that the world expected.
"I trust I don't need anything else from you tonight?" he inquired, to which George offered a knowing smile and a quiet, "No, sir. Have a good evening. I'll see you in the morning," before disappearing into the night. Olivia stood there with arms crossed and amusement dancing in her eyes as Grayson arched an eyebrow in silent question.
"Nothing," she repeated, biting back a grin. Unsure whether it was the unpredictable twists of the night or the charged tension between them that surprised her most, she nonetheless felt the undeniable pull of what was yet to come.
Inside the hotel, the scent of fresh-cut lilies mingled with the rich, warm notes of bourbon wafting from a nearby bar. Marble floors gleamed under soft golden lights while the ambient murmur of polished guests and the clink of crystal glasses set the stage for an evening that promised both elegance and unbridled passion. As Grayson placed a reassuring hand on the small of her back and led her toward the bar, Olivia inhaled deeply, surrendering to the intoxicating uncertainty of a night that was far from over.
The St. Regis Chicago's lounge wrapped around them like a slow, seductive whisper—smooth jazz humming from a live trio in the corner, candlelight flickering against polished mahogany, the quiet murmur of well-heeled guests sipping top-shelf liquor.
Grayson's hand found the small of Olivia's back as he guided her to a plush, semi-private booth near the rear of the lounge. His touch was light, undemanding, but certain—a barely-there possession that sent a ripple of awareness through her body.
As they slid into their seats, the waiter arrived, crisp in his black uniform, holding out two leather-bound menus. Grayson barely glanced at his. "Old-fashioned."
Olivia smirked, tracing a leisurely fingertip along the menu before shutting it again. "French 75."
Grayson's eyes flicked to hers. "Classic."
"You already said that," she teased.
His lips quirked. "It still applies."
The waiter nodded and melted back into the low-lit elegance of the lounge, leaving them in the delicious hush of their own company. A moment stretched between them—thick, humming with unspoken words, unacknowledged tension.
Grayson leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "So, are you going to tell me why you laughed earlier?"
Olivia tilted her head, playing coy. "Laughed?"
His smirk was slow, knowing. "When we pulled up to the hotel."
Her pulse ticked up a notch, but her expression remained smooth. Watching Grayson work, watching him try to read her—this was fun. He wasn't used to not having all the answers.
She leaned back, crossing her legs beneath the table, the silk of her dress whispering against her skin. "And what's it worth to you?"
Grayson blinked once, then let out a low chuckle. "Oh, we're negotiating now?"
She lifted a shoulder, taking a measured sip of water. "Maybe."
He exhaled through his nose, watching her like she was a particularly interesting puzzle. "Alright." He tapped a single finger against the table. "What are the stakes?"
Olivia dragged her fingertip through the condensation on her glass, drawing out the moment, letting the tension stretch between them. "You want to know what made me laugh?"
Grayson nodded once.
She lifted her gaze, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Then you have to win."
His smirk deepened. "Win what?"
She took another slow sip, then set the glass down deliberately. "That's for you to figure out."
For a moment, he said nothing, just watched her, his eyes steady, amused. Then, he leaned in, his voice dropping low, smooth. "Oh, Olivia," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "You really don't make things easy, do you?"
A small, satisfied smile curled her lips. "Not at all."
Their drinks arrived, placed carefully between them. Grayson lifted his glass, his gaze locked on hers. "To winning."
Olivia clinked her glass against his, the crisp chime ringing in the air. "To watching you try."
As the waiter walked away, she swirled the condensation on her glass again, dragging out the moment, letting the anticipation between them thicken. Grayson watched her, waiting, intrigued.
"So, tell me, Grayson." She took a slow sip, setting her glass down deliberately. "What's your strategy?"
He tilted his head, feigning thought. "Well, since competing against you hasn't exactly worked in my favor—"
Olivia snorted, barely holding back a laugh.
Grayson shot her a mock glare before continuing, "—maybe it's time I change tactics."
She arched a brow, intrigued. "Oh? And what would that be?"
Grayson leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the air between them feel dangerously small.
"I could make you want to tell me."
Before Olivia could even process his words, he moved.
In one swift motion, his hand slid under the curve of her neck, his grip firm but careful, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just below her ear. And then—
His mouth was on hers.
It wasn't just a kiss.
It was a slow, devastating conquest.
His lips were warm, sure, teasing her open before taking exactly what he wanted. His tongue swept into her mouth, confident, unrushed, like he had every intention of unraveling her one deliberate stroke at a time. His other hand tightened around her waist, pulling her closer, like he wasn't satisfied with mere inches between them.
She gasped softly against his lips, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The scent of bourbon and spice wrapped around her, mixing with something inherently him—something addictive. The heat of his body pressed against hers, solid and unyielding, making her dizzy, making her forget herself for one reckless moment.
She matched him, stroke for stroke, meeting his slow, sinful movements with her own. Their tongues tangled, a sensual battle of give and take, of push and pull, of stubborn wills colliding in the most delicious way.
And then—
She pushed him back.
Her breath was ragged, her chest rising and falling as she stared at him, wide-eyed, lips still tingling from the searing heat of his mouth.
Grayson didn't look the least bit sorry.
If anything, he looked smug as hell.
He exhaled slowly, eyes dark, hungry, his smirk lazy and knowing. "Hmm," he murmured. "No objections so far."
Olivia swallowed, willing her pulse to slow, willing herself to get a grip. "You're out of your mind."
Grayson's smirk deepened. "Maybe."
She narrowed her eyes, still catching her breath. "That wasn't fair."
His thumb traced the edge of his lower lip, his gaze locked onto hers. "Wasn't it?"
Olivia clenched her jaw, reaching for her drink just to give herself something to do.
"You still haven't told me what I want to know," he pointed out, his voice lazy, teasing, but still thick with heat.
She took a slow sip, pretending to be unaffected. "That's because you haven't won."
Grayson let out a low, amused chuckle, sitting back against the booth, watching her with the kind of patience that made her skin prickle with anticipation.
"Oh, Olivia," he murmured, voice dripping with promise. "You really don't make things easy, do you?"
She smirked, regaining her composure. "Not at all."
Their glasses met in a slow, deliberate clink.
"To winning," Grayson said.
Olivia lifted her glass.
"To watching you try."
Grayson didn't take his eyes off Olivia, still leaning back against the booth, her cheeks still flushed from the kiss. He had her rattled—just a little—but he knew better than to think he'd won anything.
Not yet.
"We should discuss the rules of the game somewhere… without prying eyes," he said, voice low and deliberate.
Olivia exhaled slowly, regaining her composure, and tilted her head with an amused smirk. "Of course. Business deals shouldn't be done in the open."
Grayson's lips quirked at her word choice—business. They both knew damn well that whatever this was, it was nowhere near as simple as a deal.
Still, he played along.
Without another word, he took her hand, sliding his fingers between hers with ease. The contact was warm, firm, undeniable.
He tossed a couple of twenties onto the table, not bothering to wait for the check. Then, with a smooth tug, he led her out of the bar, straight toward the elevator.
Olivia followed, her pulse still slightly uneven, her mind catching up to the fact that she had just let him kiss the hell out of her—and now she was letting him lead her upstairs.
The elevator doors came into view, sleek and gold-trimmed, the air between them still charged, still humming from that kiss.
Then—
She frowned. Wait a minute.
"Umm…" she started, slowing her steps just a little. "You do know the drinks were comped, right?"
Grayson didn't break stride. "And?"
She blinked, staring at him like he had just said something completely insane. "So, you just threw down forty bucks for no reason?"
Grayson pressed the elevator call button and turned to her, his expression completely unbothered. "Consider it a tip."
Olivia squinted at him, incredulous. "That's an expensive tip."
He smirked. "I'm in a good mood."
Her lips parted, ready to fire back something clever, but then she caught it—the way he was looking at her.
Like she was the reason he was in a good mood.
Damn him.
The elevator chimed. The doors slid open.
Grayson stepped inside first, turning to face her. His hand extended, waiting, silently daring her to step in with him.
Olivia hesitated for half a second.
She knew exactly what she was doing.
Exactly where this was leading.
And yet…
With a slow exhale, she slid her hand into his.
The doors shut behind them.
The elevator doors slid open to the 100th floor, but the moment remained suspended in time—charged, electric, thick with something neither of them was ready to name.
Their breaths were still uneven, their bodies still humming from the last few moments in the elevator. Grayson's grip on Olivia's hand was firm, as if he wasn't quite ready to let go, as if he needed to keep her tethered to him, to this moment.
Without a word, he led her down the quiet hallway, his steps measured, deliberate, his presence commanding. The soft lighting cast long shadows, the hum of the city beyond the walls a distant murmur, but in this space, it was only them.
He swiped his key card smoothly, the lock clicking open. The door swung inward, revealing his suite.
Olivia stepped inside first.
The view was breathtaking.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased Chicago's glittering skyline, the city sprawling out in a sea of lights, Lake Michigan reflecting their glow in an endless shimmer. The room was bathed in the ethereal glow of the city, turning the glass into a mirror of the world behind her.
But Olivia barely noticed it.
Because what she didn't have in her identical suite—what made this one different—was Grayson.
She saw him in the reflection.
He had already shrugged off his suit jacket, tossing it onto the armchair without care. His tie was next, slipping loose from his collar with practiced ease.
And then—he moved.
Like a predator stalking its prey.
Slow. Steady. Focused.
He didn't touch her.
Not yet.
Instead, he stopped just behind her, his presence towering, his warmth radiating against her back. So close. Close enough that she could feel him, sense him, without a single point of contact.
Then—his hands lifted.
Not to touch her.
To cage her in.
Both palms pressed against the glass, one on each side of her. Trapping her.
Olivia's breath hitched.
Still, he didn't touch her.
But the anticipation of his touch? That was destroying her.
Her skin prickled, goosebumps rising along her arms, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
She could feel the heat of him, the way his body hovered just millimeters away from hers.
Her breath fogged the glass.
Her nipples hardened, her body betraying her.
And still—no words were spoken.
Just silence.
Just the weight of what was happening between them.
Grayson leaned in, his breath ghosting over her bare shoulder, his voice husky, strained, thick with restraint.
"I told you…" he murmured, his lips just barely grazing the shell of her ear.
"One wasn't enough for me."
Then—**finally—**he kissed her.
Soft at first. Just a taste. A press of lips to the curve of her neck, a slow drag to the delicate hollow just below her ear.
Olivia's eyes fluttered shut.
Her body reacted before she could stop it, leaning into him, needing more.
And just like that—the restraint snapped.
Grayson's hands moved.
One slid around her waist, yanking her back against him, molding her against the hard planes of his body. The other tilted her jaw, forcing her head to the side so he could devour her.
This kiss wasn't soft.
It wasn't teasing.
It was deep. Consuming. A firestorm.
He kissed down her throat, slow but possessive, his lips dragging over her skin like he was learning her.
Her fingers gripped the glass, the only thing keeping her upright.
She was unraveling.
And she knew—so was he.
Because his hands—**God, his hands—**were no longer controlled.
One slid dangerously lower, fingertips teasing the hem of her dress. The other gripped her hip, anchoring her, holding her against the tension coiling inside him.
And damn—she felt it.
Grayson's hands were everywhere—but somehow not enough.
His lips were hot against her skin, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along the delicate curve of her neck, his breath fanning against her already fevered flesh.
And Olivia—she couldn't think.
Her fingertips dug into the cool glass, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.
She should stop this.
Should.
But instead—she pressed into him.
A barely-there movement, an instinct more than a decision. And that was all it took.
Grayson let out a low groan, his grip on her tightening like he was holding onto the last thread of restraint.
God, the way he held her.
One hand on her hip, his fingers flexing, gripping, teasing. The other slowly dragging down the curve of her waist, mapping the shape of her like he was committing it to memory.
Like he wasn't in a hurry.
Like he had all night.
And yet—he was taut with control.
Holding back.
Olivia could feel it in the way his body tensed behind her, the way his fingers clenched then released, his breaths coming a fraction heavier than before.
The restraint was almost as intoxicating as the heat.
She exhaled sharply, regaining some of her footing—some of her control—and turned in his arms, facing him for the first time since stepping into his room.
Grayson's eyes darkened, but Olivia smirked, pressing her palms against his chest. "What exactly are we doing here, Grayson?"
His lips twitched. "That depends. Do you want the polite answer or the honest one?"
"I'll take both."
He let his hands settle at her hips, his grip firm. "Polite answer? We're just two friends spending time together."
"And the honest one?"
His fingers tightened, his voice dropping lower. "I've wanted you since the moment I met you. And now that I have you here…" He exhaled slowly, gaze locked onto hers. "I don't know how to stop."
Her breath caught, but she lifted her chin. "Who said you have to?"
Her head tipped back against his shoulder, her body instinctively seeking more, but he didn't give in—not yet.
Instead—
He hovered.
His lips traced a path down her neck, stopping just at the curve where her shoulder met her collarbone.
And then—nothing.
No kiss.
No touch.
Just his breath against her skin.
It was torture.
Delicious. Exquisite.
A small whimper escaped her lips, the sound barely audible, but he heard it.
She felt the smirk against her skin before he even spoke.
"Patience, sweetheart."
Olivia's fingers curled against the glass.
Oh, hell no.
She exhaled sharply, regaining some of her footing—some of her control—and turned in his arms, facing him for the first time since stepping into his room.
The shift happened too fast for him to stop her.
One moment, he had the upper hand—the one teasing, testing, pushing her to the edge.
Now—
She had him right where she wanted him.
Her hands slid up his chest, tracing the buttons of his shirt, and she felt it—the sharp inhale, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch.
Good.
He wasn't the only one who could play this game.
She let her fingers drift lower, just to where the fabric of his shirt had already loosened—where she could feel his skin, hot beneath her fingertips.
Grayson's jaw flexed.
But he didn't stop her.
She tilted her head slightly, meeting his dark, unreadable gaze. He looked wrecked.
And God, did she love that she could do that to him.
Her lips curved as she whispered, "Patience, sweetheart."
His eyes flared.
And just like that, the restraint shattered.
Grayson seized her, his hands gripping her waist, lifting her with an ease that made her gasp. He turned, pressing her back against the nearest wall, his mouth crashing onto hers, desperate, consuming. Olivia wrapped her legs around him, her fingers tangling in his hair as the heat between them grew unbearable.
His lips left hers only long enough to whisper against her skin, "Now, we stop playing."
"Tell me, Olivia," he murmured, his voice rough with restraint, "how long do you want me to keep you waiting?"
She met his gaze, lips parted, her breath shallow. "Not another second."
She just wanted more. And then—he carried her to the bed.
Grayson's hold on Olivia became firmer, his fingers pressing into her waist as he effortlessly lifted her. A soft gasp escaped her lips, but she didn't resist. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her arms encircling his neck as their lips met again—hungrily, deeply, recklessly. He moved across the room with ease, maintaining the kiss without slowing. Olivia could feel his muscles flexing beneath her touch—the defined lines of his chest, the warmth of his bare skin where his shirt had already been shed. Amidst the haze, she realized she was still fully clothed while Grayson was half-naked, his skin warm under her hands, and she remained layered. That wouldn't last much longer. At last, they reached the bed. With a careful, controlled motion, Lowering her onto the plush mattress, his gaze swept over her, dark and full of intent. He braced himself above her, his fingers trailing down her thigh, slow, teasing. The soft mattress, standing over her as she reclined, her lips slightly swollen, her breathing uneven. But instead of joining her—yielding to the wild energy between them—he stepped back. His intense gaze traveled over her, from the rise and fall of her chest to the curves still concealed beneath the thin fabric of her dress. Then—he smirked. "Olivia," he said smoothly, deliberately, wickedly, "it seems I need to conduct a background investigation of my own." Olivia arched an eyebrow, still trying to catch her breath. "Oh? And what kind of investigation do you need to do right now?" Grayson reached for her, gripping her wrist and pulling her back to her feet. His movements were controlled. Measured. Dangerous. He turned her around so her back was against his chest. Then his lips brushed her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "I need to taste you before the night ends."
Lowering her onto the plush mattress, his gaze swept over her, dark and full of intent.
"Mr. Steel," she murmured, her lips curving into a slow, teasing smile, "I think that may interfere with our negotiations. I believe that's called bribery, is it not?"
Grayson exhaled a soft laugh, the vibration of it rumbling through his chest.
"It's not a bribe, sweetheart."
His fingers trailed down the exposed line of her back, slow, lazy, teasing.
"It's a bonus."
Then, with one swift motion, he spun her back around to face him, his grip firm yet possessive.
His fingers found the zipper of her dress.
And then he pulled. The fabric fell away effortlessly, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a royal blue lace halter bra and matching lace panties.
Grayson's gaze darkened, his pupils blown wide, his jaw clenching.
He exhaled slowly, dragging his stare over every inch of her, taking his time.
Olivia stood tall, and she didn't shy away.
She wasn't ashamed of her body—her 5'5" frame, the soft curves, the way the lace barely covered her.
And he drank it all in.
"Also, Mr. Steel," she murmured, stepping forward just slightly, "we may have gotten off-topic. We were supposed to be discussing the rules of the game."
Then, with deliberate slowness, she slid onto the bed, crawling toward the center, her gaze never leaving his.
Grayson's lips twitched, amusement flickering through the undeniable hunger in his stare.
He kicked off his shoes, unhurried, peeling away the last remnants of his carefully put-together exterior.
"Oh, we're discussing the game, Ms. Webber."
His voice was low, rough, dangerous.
He climbed onto the bed, stalking toward her like he was hunting something that already belonged to him. His fingers flexed at his sides, the tension vibrating off him.
"We are."
Grayson hovered over her, his body flush against hers, their breaths mingling in the charged air between them.
His lips claimed hers again, slow but deep, like he had all the time in the world to explore every inch of her. One of his hands held him up, keeping his weight from crushing her, but the other was far less restrained.
It palmed her breast, kneading gently before moving to the other, squeezing, teasing, making her body hyperaware of every brush, every flick of his fingers.
His mouth left hers, and she whimpered at the loss, only to feel the hot trail of kisses he began pressing down her jaw, her throat, her collarbone—lower, lower—whispering against her skin between each one.
"You're perfect, Olivia. Every inch of you."
The words sent a shiver racing through her, her back arching slightly as his mouth traveled further.
When he reached the valley between her breasts, he stilled for a moment, his dark gaze lifting to hers.
His lips curved into a slow, devastating smile.
"This color is exquisite on your skin," he murmured, his fingers tracing the edge of the royal blue lace, his thumb grazing over the already hardened peak beneath it. "But I think if I saw you in any color, it would look just as perfect."
Then, without hesitation, his mouth closed over her breast, the heat of it searing through the delicate lace.
A sharp gasp left Olivia's lips as her back arched, pushing more of her into his mouth.
God. The fabric between them—the slight friction of lace against her sensitive skin—only heightened the sensation.
Grayson groaned, his free hand pressing her breasts together, kneading them as he gave both of them their private moment of intimacy.
Her body responded so easily to him, so naturally—like they had done this a hundred times before. Like she already knew his touch.
His hand slid under her back, and in one smooth motion, he unhooked her bra and flung it over his shoulder like it was nothing more than an obstacle in his way.
"Smooth, Cassanova," she murmured, giggling softly—
But the words died in her throat the second his mouth found her again.
The warmth of his lips, the gentle tug of his mouth, and the flick of his tongue over her sensitive nipple—it was overwhelming. This time, there was no lace in the way.
Her fingers buried into his dark hair, gripping, holding him to her like she needed him there.
Grayson groaned against her skin, his mouth moving between each breast, kissing, tugging, teasing, consuming.
But his hand—his hand was moving lower and down her ribs over her stomach, sliding over the lace of her damp panties.
She barely had a second to process it before he spread her legs wider, his large palm coaxing her open, taking his time.
He used just the back of his finger to graze over the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core.
A sharp tremor ripped through Olivia, her body jerking at the light but devastating touch.
"Grayson—" Her breath was uneven, her words barely coherent.
What was he doing to her?
Her body wasn't hers anymore—it was his.
She was responding to him, for him, every inch of her skin burning under his hands and then he slid a single finger inside her.
A sharp, soft cry escaped her lips, her body tightening around the intrusion, welcoming it, needing more.
Grayson let out a deep, satisfied groan, his lips brushing over her breast again as his fingers parted her slick folds.
His movements were slow, teasing, deliberate in a way that drove her insane.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, her voice breathless.
But he didn't answer not right away.
He slid his fingers out of her, bringing them to his lips, his dark eyes locked onto hers, he licked them savoring, tasting.
His gaze heated, his tongue sweeping over his fingers, taking his time.
"You taste even better than I thought."
The words sent another shockwave through her, her stomach tightening, her body clenching. He moved.
Grayson dragged himself off the bed, standing at the edge, watching her.
Taking her in.
She could see he liked the waiting and the anticipation. The game they both knew he'd win. The moment stretched as Olivia's breathing gradually slowed, the rise and fall of her chest easing. He let his fingers hook into the waistband of her lace panties, keeping them there for just longer than she could stand. "Grayson," she said, her voice low and pleading, "if you don't—" And then—the lace slipped down her legs. She kicked them off eagerly, a defiant spark in her eyes. Grayson's mouth twitched in amusement before his gaze dropped to the last of her clothing—her garter belt and stockings. She was a vision; every bit of her was perfect and flushed and wanting for him. His hands resumed their slow exploration of her skin, tracing lines over her hips, making goosebumps prickle across her bare stomach. He loved how responsive she was to his touch, how every inch of her bent to him without even realizing it. "I told
you," he murmured, kissing the sensitive skin of her hipbone, "we were discussing the game." His fingers slipped between her legs again, spreading her folds, and his mouth replaced his hand. Olivia gasped loudly at the sudden heat of it. He licked into her with long, lazy strokes, devouring her with every flick of his tongue. Her hands flew to his hair again, and she was positive she left nail marks on his scalp, but it only seemed to spur him on. He used his thumb to press against the swollen bud at the top of her folds while his tongue drove deeper, circling inside, tasting every part of her. She couldn't breathe. She could barely think. "Grayson—" she panted, tugging desperately at his hair. He growled low in response, the vibration sending sharp jolts through her system, making her back arch off the bed. She was right there—right on the edge—it wouldn't take much more
before she fell, and he knew it. He pulled back just enough to watch her, his eyes dark and focused, and the sight of him between her legs nearly undid her. She whimpered desperately, needing more of his mouth, more of his fingers, more of everything he was doing to her. "Please," she gasped out, "Grayson—please." His lips curved into that cocky smile as his fingers pushed inside her again, curling this time, hitting a spot so deep that white hot heat exploded behind her eyes. He covered her with his mouth again, and she was gone. Her climax ripped through her like a tidal wave, leaving nothing but complete devastation in its wake.
She cried out his name over and over, each one coming apart at the seams as he drew every last bit of pleasure from her trembling body. When she finally stopped shaking, when the world started to come back into focus, Grayson slowly climbed up her body. He kissed a path
over her sensitive skin, letting her catch her breath, her pulse still racing beneath each brush of his lips. His hands caressed over every inch of her, tracing the lines of her garter belt as he moved higher. "You make the prettiest sounds when you come undone," he murmured against her neck, sounding both satisfied and greedy for more. She shifted beneath him, feeling languid and boneless, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him closer. Her body was still humming with aftershocks, each movement sending little sparks skittering everywhere. She tugged at his shirt insistently, managing a breathless smile when he finally pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Her fingers spread over his chest, relishing the warmth of his skin, the flex of muscles under her touch as she traced downwards. "Now it's my turn," she said softly, slipping open the button of his jeans and sliding down the zipper in one smooth motion. He groaned, low and deep, as she pushed the denim away. She leaned up to press her mouth to his ear, whispering words that made him shiver and clutch her tighter. Her touch was electric, exploring every inch of him with a delightful mixture of tenderness and urgency. It drove him wild, the way she moved with purpose yet seemed to savor every second, as if time had slowed just for them.
He captured her lips in a heated kiss, feeling the world tilt away until nothing mattered but the sweet friction between their bodies. When he pulled back, they were both breathless, their skin flushed and fevered. She laughed softly, a sound like tinkling bells or windchimes in a gentle breeze.
His eyes glittered as he met her gaze, full of heat and something softer beneath it. "Greedy," he teased affectionately, nipping at her lower lip before trailing kisses down her throat.
She arched against him, pulling him closer with a playful smirk.
Grayson leaned in, capturing her lips with a deep, lingering kiss that spoke volumes. With a gentle yet insistent pressure, he eased her back onto the soft, inviting bed. "Tonight, or rather this early morning," he murmured, his voice a hushed promise, "is not about me. It's all about you." His eyes shone with an intensity that matched his words, a fervent declaration of his desire. "And I can't get enough of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving hers.
The words sent a fresh surge of heat spiraling through her, leaving her dizzy with want. She felt his fingers slip beneath the garter belt, brushing over bare skin with maddening slowness as he began to undress her all over again. The stockings slipped down one leg, then the other, each movement deliberate and savoring. He kissed up the length of her legs with a mixture of tenderness and urgency, creating new trails of fire wherever his lips met her flesh.
When she was finally bare before him, Olivia shivered at the intensity in his gaze. She had never felt more exposed or more adored than she did right now. His lips found hers again, capturing them in a kiss that was deep and consuming and spoke of everything he wanted to give her. Her body responded eagerly, arching into him, already aching to feel him inside her.
He held himself over her, letting the anticipation build again, watching as desire pooled in her eyes and flushed across her skin. He
He kissed down her body, tracing the lines of her garter belt as he moved lower again. Her breathing was erratic, and Grayson reveled in it, knowing exactly the effect he had on her. She was pliant beneath him, her body still sensitive from the orgasm he'd drawn from her moments before. He brushed his fingers over the dip of her waist, a slow caress that made her shiver and arch up toward him.
He loved this—watching Olivia lose herself, unraveling completely under his touch. And this time, he wanted more than anything to see just how far she could fall for him.
His mouth covered her again, and Olivia let out a sharp cry at the intensity of it. He switched between licking slow and deep and quick flicks of his tongue that drove her absolutely mad. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him against her even harder as she writhed beneath him.
"Grayson," she gasped out, his name barely
undone her. Olivia blinked up at him, still breathless, as he finally pulled away to prop himself on an elbow beside her.
"Okay?" he murmured, a grin tugging at his lips that was equal parts smug and adoring.
She laughed, a soft sound of disbelief. "I think you broke me."
"Then my work here is done," Grayson said, brushing a thumb over her cheek.
Olivia turned into his touch, feeling the warmth of him seep into her skin. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this, so alive and weightless.
"What are we doing?" she asked after a long moment, her voice small and vulnerable in the quiet room.
He hesitated, searching her eyes with an intensity that made everything else seem far away. "Whatever you want," he said finally. "I'm not going anywhere."
The simple words uncorked something in her. She pulled him down to her again, feeling his breath catch as he laughed softly against her neck. They lay tangled in each other, the world outside reduced to murmurs and shadows. Olivia felt a lightness blooming in her chest, something bright and untamed.
After a while, they both drifted into a gentle sleep, wrapped in the comfort of shared warmth.
The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Olivia stirred, her body still thrumming from the night before. She turned her head, her gaze landing on Grayson. He was still asleep, the sheets slung low across his hips, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. Even in stillness, he looked inviting.
She swallowed, a small smirk curling at the corner of her lips. The memory of his mouth on her—how he'd touched her, worshipped her—sent a delicious shiver down her spine. But he hadn't let her return the favor. That thought lingered, almost frustratingly so.
Careful not to wake him, Olivia slipped out of bed. She reached for her dress, stuffing her bra and panties into her purse. She tugged on a robe, the silk cool against her heated skin, then grabbed her shoes.
Before she left, she turned back, one last glance at him in the hazy morning light. He looked peaceful. Tempting. It would be easy to slide back into bed, to trace her fingers down his arm and let the morning bring more than just quiet reflections. But no.
She padded down the hallway, her heart thudding with each step. Three doors. That's all that separated them. Three doors, and yet fate kept finding a way to bring them together.
Once inside her own room, she shut the door and exhaled, a breathless laugh escaping her lips.
Funny...Funny that she was even thinking about them in the same sentence. It's funny that last night had felt like something bigger.
She dropped onto her bed, the sheets cool beneath her, and let her mind drift back to Grayson. To his touch. To his hands and his mouth and the way he had made her feel.
It might have been nothing, or perhaps it was everything. Either way, Olivia felt a compelling tug in her chest, an insistent curiosity that gnawed at her thoughts like a relentless tide.
Olivia felt a magnetic pull, an insatiable curiosity gnawing at her heart, urging her to uncover the truth hidden beneath the surface. Her mind buzzed with curiosity, a tingling sensation that danced along her spine, urging her forward into the unknown.