Only for Us (8 page)

“Thank you, sir.”

“A lot has changed.”

I gulp. “Yes, sir. It has.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, studying me. I’m not sure whether he’s going to throw me out of his house or try to kick my ass. “You plan on sticking around?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Mrs. Kingsley passes by and tucks herself against his arm. “I think we’re past all the Mr. and Mrs. stuff. Certainly no need for
sir
. George and Laura, okay, Grayson?”

I nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiles. “Alright then. Like I said, I have a cake to finish. My helper bee yesterday wasn’t too keen on putting the icing
on
the cake.”

“Where’s Ryan?” asks Emma.

Laura tilts her head toward the stairs. “He was in his old room. Some work call he had to take.”

Cally hollers for her grandparents, and George nods. “That’s us.”

“I’ll catch you in a minute.” I kiss Emma’s cheek. “Something I have to do.”

She grabs onto me. “No, you don’t. Ryan’s being an ass.”

“Gotta do it, baby.”

“I guess.” She rolls her eyes but heads toward the sound of Cherry and Cally. I turn for the stairs, taking two at a time, and it’s not lost on me how comfortable I am here yet how much tension I’m carrying in my shoulders. The first room is Emma’s old bedroom—a place that taunted me all through high school—and then Ryan’s. The door’s cracked, the light is on, and I’m ready to talk this shit out.

I knock once and nudge it open with my boot. He’s sitting on his bed, phone in hand. When his face turns, I’m caught off guard by how different he looks since the last time we hung out. His face says the same thing about me.

“Hey.” I walk in.

Ryan stands, pocketing his phone in his jeans. “Heard you were back.”

“Back. For good.”

“Right.” He scoffs. “When you hurt her again, I’m going to fuck your world up, Ford.”

Ford
. “We were tight like brothers, and that’s how it’s going to be? I didn’t know that,
Kingsley
.”

“You just peaced out. And no one heard from you again? Shady.”

I shake my head. “If I couldn’t talk to her, no one else in Summerland mattered.”

“She’s my baby sister.” His brows pinch tight. The harsh lines around his eyes are stressed.

“She’s my
world
.”

Ryan’s mouth opens, but he shakes his head.

I take a step forward. “Not that it’s your damn business, but I thought I was doing what was best for her. She didn’t need to be tied down to some stupid piece of trailer trash like me that wasn’t getting out of this county unless Uncle Sam paid for it. I
thought
she was partying it up, doing college shit, taking pictures, and doing normal-life stuff. I didn’t know.”

“You never called her. Never came back. Surely your sorry ass got leave, got—”

“Shut up, Ryan.” Emma’s firm voice surprises me as it bleeds through the room. He and I both missed her hovering at the door. “I made Grayson promise he’d never tell me goodbye. And again, Ry, this isn’t your business to butt into.”

Ryan starts, “It’s—”

“But since you need to hear it again, I
told
Grayson never to tell me goodbye. Right after I told him
exactly
what I wanted from him. You get no further explanation from me or him, Ryan. Okay? Make up, and get over it. It’s my birthday, and I swear I’m not going to deal with this from you.”

“Emma—” Ryan and I both say.

She snuggles under my arm, and I latch on to her, lines clearly drawn.

“I don’t need you fighting my battles.” She leans into me. “Certainly not with my brother.”

I could say the same thing about Ryan. “This isn’t just about you, Ems. It’s about us. I’m
done
with anyone thinking it was a one-sided situation.”

Ryan focuses on her. “I want what’s best for you.”

Cally flies into the room. “Unc Ry-ry!”

Emma snakes her arm around Cally in one deft move, lifting her on to her hip. “How do you not see that this is what’s best for me?”

Ryan’s gaze moves from Emma to Cally and lands on me. “Hurt her again and—” His phone buzzes, and he quickly flips it open, reads the screen, and replaces it. “Hurt anyone again, and we’re going to have problems.”

CHAPTER TEN

Emma

“Well. Now that that’s settled…” I shut Ryan’s door behind us, but my frustration level is sky-high, choking all my rationality. I should go back and shake my brother. At least that would help me get out all my pent-up aggravation. “God. He’s being a jerk.”

Grayson’s arms wraps around me as we head down the hall. “Let it go.”

Cally tugs at the hem of my shorts. “Yur mad at Unc Ry-ry?”

I take another not-very-helpful calming breath. “No, honey.”

“Cally-bug bear! Where are you?” Cherry calls from downstairs.

Cally scoots from my arms and hovers at the top of the stairs then turns with her cute face begging for permission.

I nod. “Careful.”

She drops to her bottom and half scoots, half clings to the railing as she takes the stairs slowly. We stand, watching her, and when she gets to the last step, Cherry whooshes in, scooping Cally in a fit of giggles, and runs off. If there’s one thing that my sister does well, it’s acting like a fun aunt.

Grayson’s arm grabs me tighter, and I’m suddenly aware that we’re in a full house but very alone at the moment. My senses tingle. He leans over and pushes me against the wall. “Don’t say a word.”

My mouth hinges open, but I obey. His body shifts as he reaches for my old room’s door handle. His hot breath burns against my neck, and the knob twists open. Its click echoes in my ears.

“Stay quiet, pretty mama.”

Holy tummy flips
. I mouth “trying” while he drags his teeth down my neck. Other than the sound of my needy gasps, we silently slip into the dark room. The lights are off, but the blinds aren’t completely shut. Shadows and traces of light are cast across the room, and it feels like a secret enclave.

My eyes shut as his mouth finds mine, his tongue lashing sweet velvet perfection, and all I can do is moan.

He breaks harshly. “Promised you five minutes.”

My aggravation melts away, my body hums for his touch, and in between my legs, I’m aching. There’s no time for “Should we? Shouldn’t we?” Cally’s gone with my sister. My mom’s finishing the cake, and Dad is manning the grill. I don’t give a hoot about Ryan at this point. Thank God I’m on the pill because I would die to get Grayson’s hands under my clothes.

Judging by the rough way he’s pulling at my shirt and the button on my shorts, we’re on the same page. His mouth attacks my neck, and his hands slide down the back of my shorts, slipping under my panties, and he grabs my cheeks in a way that almost hurts and almost makes me orgasm on the spot. I fumble for his belt, purposefully leaning against the erection bulging in his pants. This is totally forbidden. Crazy hot. I’m craving him in me more than I want to breathe.

I shimmy down my loosened shorts, tangling in my underwear as I pull loose his belt and pants. His hands abandon me long enough that he frees himself. My mind stills for that split-second as I take him in. Grayson Ford is masculine perfection. His body, his mouth, the size and girth of him, and that focus on his face when he’s hungry for me—it’s absolutely impossible to avoid falling in love with him all over again.

He walks backward toward my bed and sits, pulling me on top of him as though I weigh nothing. Our eyes lock, and this is different. This is him taking something fast and hormone-driven and making it beautiful, making it all about me.

“You’re in charge, baby.”

The control over what I want and what I can give is an aphrodisiac. I move my sex over him, teasing myself. God. My pulse jumps, and my heart clamors. This is power, and he’s giving it to me. Crazy, how incapable I’ve felt, as if I were drowning. But now, a thousand realizations click into place, the most important one being that I can do anything I want—with or without permission.

“You’ve always been wild,” he breathes.

“Only for you.” On stage, everything’s an act. It looks out of control, but it’s scripted and choreographed. Taking him like this, that’s wild.

My breath catches as I settle against the crown of his blunt head. I’m aroused, and my body’s ready. I press against him, and my mind stills. His shaft is thick, and Grayson groans as my jaw drops. I’m consumed from the inside out. The fullness is overwhelming, and our passion chokes me. God. This was supposed to be a fast fuck, but it’s always more with us.

“Christ.” He gives a low growl through gritted teeth. My arms latch around his strong neck, and his grip digs into my hips. He shifts, holding me down as he surges up. “Baby…”

“I…” I’m panting, gasping. “I love this.”

“Your turn.” His voice is soft, but it’s firm. “Ride me.”

Heat hits my cheeks. I want to be embarrassed. It’s vulgar and direct. I’m embarrassingly inexperienced, but I don’t care. I love how he makes me feel, how he empowers what I want. This is about me, and even if I fumble my way, I don’t think he’ll care.

Grayson’s teeth nip at my earlobe. “Take what you need, pretty mama.”

Driven by the danger of getting caught and the starving need that I can’t rid myself of in any other way, I try to embrace what comes naturally, what’s instinctual. Because apart from strutting my stuff on stage, I have no freakin’ clue what to do.

“What do you want?” He encourages as his hips flex, a subtle and spectacular reminder that pulls me from a cloud of self-doubt.

“You.” I lift up from him. Hot streaks of amazing sensation cascade through me. “Shit…” I gasp. “Shoot…”

“Damn, look at you.”

I ease down and feel the fullness and stretching all over again. I take a breath and lift myself, using my knees to push up, my forearms glued to his shoulder for balance. He curses under his breath, and I open my eyes to see his squeezed shut.

It’s addictive, and I need more. With a ragged, needy gasp, I repeat the motions. Faster, stronger, surer, I ride him as he asked me to. It’s heaven, and the more control I have, the more confident I am. It’s like breathing fire into my senses.

Grayson flexes around me. His fingers bite into my skin. This is harder and hotter than I thought possible—more than I imagined my body could take and his could give.

I kiss his mouth, bite his lip, and embrace the cataclysmic slide as my climax builds. He smells like soap and tastes sweet. I bury every moan and gasp in a kiss until I can’t breathe. My muscles clench, my body rocks. Fireworks sizzle behind my closed eyelids as I come for him, as he pumps and groans just as hard into the kiss.

He flips us over. My back hits the bed, and he pumps into me as he comes. His climax is guttural and delicious. It reignites mine, and in a fury of passion, we’re clinging together with our clothes half on, gasping into each other’s mouths and riding the wave of insane pleasure.

“I love you.” My chest heaves, and I scrape my teeth against his bottom lip.

“Emma.” He returns the bite then kisses me just as hard. “Yours forever.”

I nod against his neck. “Quickies are nice.”

“Quickies are just a promise of what will come,” he rasps as we untangle ourselves.

I look around for anything that might help clean up, but this room isn’t lived in. There are no real-life creature comforts. “I need to run to the bathroom—” His grin is wicked, and it makes me hot all over again. “What?”

“That was pretty much high school fantasy
numero uno
.”

I blush, absolutely sure that my face is several shades past scarlet. “Same.”

He laughs and kisses my neck until I’m giggling and shooing him away. For a split second, all of this feels too good to be true. We quickly dress, and he takes my hand and pulls me out of my room. Playfully, Gray swats my butt as I duck into the hall bathroom.

“See you in a minute.” I close the door, leaning against it, hugging myself, with an ear-to-ear smile in place. But as soon as the post-orgasm brain fog begins to fade, I realize I sent him to fend for himself amongst the Kingsley pack of wolves—even though most are behaving—and he went without complaint. After what just happened and the conversation with Ryan, I think Grayson’s still a true believer that no one can bring us down. All I want to shout is “Hell yeah, amen.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Grayson

Night has fallen, bringing with it serenity. Emma’s house makes me calm, and after a day with her family—with everyone justifiably looking for a reason to throw their jabs—I need this quiet. She put Cally to bed, and I’ve continued unpacking boxes, sorting through her things, which look so very Emma. The decorations are often handmade and a little funky. They’re reminders of the artsy girl I grew up with. So much is personalized, and her house looks the way I would have pictured it. I work my jaw back and forth, thinking that it also looks as if it could work for
us
.