“Nowherestinks like whisky.”
His eyes narrowed. “Fine. I was in a bar. Near my office.”
Abby ignored the strange thumping in her heart. She wasn’t jealous. He’d said he wasn’t going to be with other women and she believed him. That wasn’t why she felt a strange twist of pain. It was because something was bothering him, something had driven him to a bar near his office on a Saturday, and she hated that he’d chosen that instead of talking to her. She hated that he was pushing her away, just like before, like he always would.
“I like having sex with you.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say. And despite the fact she’d been fuming at him for hours, the bald admission pulled at something inside of her. In the diner, over lunch, she’d wanted him. She’d wanted him to come back to the apartment and make love to her more than she wanted anything else. But he hadn’t. He’d gone out. And got drunk.
“I like having sex with you,” she said quietly, cautiously, because it was true, and she knew she couldn’t fight it indefinitely. It was the one thing she knew for certain: sex worked. They were great together in bed. He wasn’t going to sleep with anyone else, and nor was she. So what was the point in fighting this?
“Sex was always good with us,” he frowned though, like this wasn’t what he actually wanted to say. Damn it, Abby hated him, and she loved him and in the midst of that uncertainty, there was a desire she knew he could quench.
“I know.” It had been. There were so many things she could have said, questions she could have asked, but she was clutching to the simple truth of what he was saying. Of what they both needed. “Fuck me, Grayson.”
His eyes widened and he made a low groaning sound. “Now? After I’ve drunk a bar dry?”
“Now.” She put her hands on her hips, a challenge in her eyes.
He swore softly then crossed the floor, his steps steadier now, as though the proposition went some of the way to sobering him.
When he kissed her, she tasted his whisky, a musty, spiced flavor that drove her wild and only seemed to underscore his raw masculinity. He lifted her easily, despite the alcohol he’d imbued, carrying her out onto the large deck, placing her on the tiled floor before he started to strip her out of her pajamas. It took no time, even with the slight disadvantage of his whisky fingers.
Naked, she lay on the tiled floor, staring at him, and the stars beyond him, the lights of New York surrounding them, and her breath was tortured in her body. Strangely, in that moment, she didn’t think this was a mistake. She didn’t think there was anything about this she would regret.
Because the intensity of her need was no longer possible to deny. Some things were bigger than thought and sense. Something between them tugged at her with an urgency she didn’t want to ignore.
She watched him undress, watched as he unfurled a condom over his impressively hard length, and when he came over her, his body so familiar, so beautifully recognizable to her body, she bit down on her lip and swallowed a curse of her own.
He used his knee to separate her legs and then, pushing up to stare into her eyes, he looked at her as though he didn’t understand anything in the world, as though nothing made sense, and he drove into her, so she cried out, because it was so perfect, soright, and she knew that she loved him, even as she knew he’d never love her back.
When he kissed her, everything locked into place. Perfection and desperation, the yin and yang of her heart, her being, everything she was – everything that was involved in loving Gray.
“Christ, you are beautiful,” the words were dusty. She held them close to her heart, even when they weren’t what she wanted – needed to hear.
“On my darkest days, I have thought of this, and you.” He drove into her, hard and fast, so the ability to respond disappeared. She was swept up in this and him, and her brain no longer functioned as she needed it to. There was only Gray. Desire. Lust. Completion.
He dragged his mouth to her breasts, tormenting first one nipple and then the next, sucking the dusky aureole into his mouth, rolling it with his tongue, flicking it while he moved and she cried out, writhing beneath him, as a coil built in her belly. She dug her nails into his shoulders, clinging on as pleasure exploded and she came hard and fast, wrapping her legs around his waist, holding him deep inside her as something exploded within her chest and she called his name into the star-filled sky, dusted it with the sound of her pleasure and yes, even her hope, even when she knew there was none.
She was barely able to breathe properly and he moved again, his strong, lean, muscled body confident and capable, so she saw stars as he stirred every cell in her body to life.
Abby wanted – needed – so much more. She wanted him to know how much she’d missed him and this. She wanted him to know – God, everything. She pushed up onto her elbows to kiss him, then shifted a little, rolling him backwards, laughing as he did, as he landed with a thud on his back.
“Ouch,” he said with a laugh, but she had sobered now and when she kissed him, it was with all her urgency. She straddled him, taking him deep, tilting her head back at the newness of this, the depth of his possession. Even when Abby was on top though, Gray still sought to be in control. His fingers dug into her hips and he moved her, up and down, strong, confident, commanding, and suddenly, she was coming again, so hard it was like tumbling off the edge of the building, and this time, she wasn’t alone. Gray was right there, with her, his voice mingling with hers, their mutual desperation and celebration filling the warm, summer night’s air.
He was way toodrunk for this. Way too drunk to be making life decisions, to be making promises – even just with his body. But goddamnit, she felt so good, and she’d asked him for this and only someone with a will of iron could have resisted that. He was just surprised, and pleasantly relieved, that he’d been able to make it last so long. He ran his hands over her silky skin, feeling every inch of softness before returning to her caesarean section scar and running his finger the length of it, feeling the slight tightening of her skin. She was so beautiful.
He’d said that already, but he thought it again now, felt it deep in his core.
“I hate that I wasn’t there for you.”
Her throat shifted as she swallowed, a gentle, delicate movement that was amplified because of where he lay, beneath her. He frowned, shifting their weight, rolling her down beside him, catching her before she could connect with the hard ground, so her head was supported by his arm. Their eyes latched and a strange prickling sensation shifted beneath his skin, over his entire body. He glanced away, focusing on the towers he could see behind her shoulder.
It was a warning. Adrenaline. Like he used to feel in Iraq.
“You couldn’t have been. You didn’t know.”
He made a growling noise.