Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 667(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
We collapse into the mattress, into each other and for a long time we just hold each other. I’m not sure how long we stay like this. I just know that it can’t be long enough. Finally, though, Grayson rolls me to my back and grabs tissues that he offers me, but when he pulls out, he doesn’t move. He stays right there with me, his elbows planted on either side of me.
“We need to have a serious conversation, Mia,” he says softly.
“I know. I know we do.”
“Good. So which will it be? Pizza or Chinese?”
Tension uncoils in my belly and becomes laughter. “Pizza. I haven’t had this pizza in—”
“Too long,” he says softly, brushing his thumb down my cheek. “Too long, Mia.” He kisses me. “I’ll order.” He lifts away from me and I am instantly cold where I was hot moments before. He sits down beside me and grabs his phone from the nightstand.
I listen as he orders our usual, remembering my preferences like I’d never left him. When he’s done, he sits his phone on the nightstand and leans over me. “I’ll be right back.” He kisses me and then in all his beautiful nakedness, he stands up and walks to the bathroom.
I sit up and take in the room that I haven’t really looked at in years, finding it as remarkable and unchanged as the chemistry between me and Grayson. It’s a traditional room, the bed an oversized king in black, with thick posts on each corner, and furnishings to match. A sitting room to the left with black leather furnishings and—
Grayson’s phone buzzes with a text and my stomach clenches. I throw away the blanket and sit up, staring at it on the nightstand. This is where it ended last time. In this bed, in this room, with a text message I’d accidentally read, but I don’t want it to end again, not this time.
I don’t want it to end.
I don’t want to say goodbye to Grayson.
Chapter thirteen
Mia
The past, six months ago
Grayson and I don’t speak on the drive from the cemetery to the Long Island mansion that is our destination. When we arrive, he doesn’t reach for the panel to key in the code. His hands grip the steering wheel, and I know why. While his father was rarely here in the Hamptons, this was his house. Now it’s Grayson’s, and I feel the punch in my heart with this knowledge.
“Fuck,” he whispers, and when I reach for him, he pulls me to him and kisses me, like I’m breathing life into him, like I’m why he can move forward.
He releases me and rolls down the window, keying in the code. The gate opens and he maneuvers us past it and down the half-moon-shaped drive. We park in the garage, and when he kills the engine, we just sit there in the tiny space, neither of us wanting to move. “He was never here and yet somehow walking into this house, without him being here, makes this all so damn real.”
“Because it’s a piece of him. It’s a part of your life you shared with him. What are you doing about his apartment in the city?”
“I made arrangements. I have a service packing up everything and putting it in storage. I can’t go through it now. I need time and I need to sell the place.” He laughs bitterly. “He’d be furious if I left it sitting there, creating a useless tax bill.”
“He really would,” I say, giving him a sad smile. “I can help you go through everything.”
He looks over at me. “I need you to help me, Mia.”
“Then I will.”
He lowers his chin to his chest and draws a deep breath before he opens the door and gets out. By the time I’m out of the car, his fingers are tunneling into my hair and he’s pulling me against him. Somehow the door gets shut and I’m against it. And right there, in the garage, next to his father’s Mercedes, we’re all over each other. It’s like an explosion of everything all at once; anger, passion, love, pain, heartache of so many varieties.
My skirt is at my waist, his hand on my bare backside, fingers under the strip of satin running down the center. My hands are under his jacket, at his waistband. He shrugs out of the confines of his jacket and then it happens. We fuck. His pants are shoved down and my panties never come off, but they too, are just shoved away. My leg is at his hip and he presses inside me and I gasp, even as he shackles my backside and lifts me off the ground. My back is against the Porsche, and in a crazy, frenzied rush we pump, grind, and just plain fuck. Only fucking isn’t even the right word. We need. We take. He needs more than I do and I just need to help him sate the pain.