Page 60 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

I don't finish because suddenly his mouth is on mine, and it's nothing like our previous kisses.

Those were performances, calculated for maximum impact. This is... something else. Something real.

His hands frame my face as I grip his sweater, pulling him closer. He tastes like coffee and snow and possibilities that definitely can't be coded into any spreadsheet.

When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard.

"That was..." I manage.

"Statistically improbable," he finishes, but he's smiling – the one that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Very unprofessional."

"Completely inefficient."

Neither of us moves away.

Through the window, snow continues to spiral into unpredictable paths. Kind of like...

My phone buzzes one final time.

Olivia:Update: William now baking chakra-aligned sourdough while yogis demonstrate headstands. Dani considering joint Instagram account

He steps back, carding a few fingers through his already disheveled hair. "We should probably..."

"Be professional?" My voice sounds unsteady even to me.

"Right. Professional." But he's still watching my mouth, and suddenly all those careful algorithms seem very far away.

"Grayson..."

The rest of my sentence disappears as he closes the distance between us, one hand cupping my jaw while the other slides into my hair. This kiss is different – deeper, hungrier, like he's finally stopped calculating and started feeling.

As Grayson's hand cups my jaw, his thumb gently tracing my cheekbone, I can feel the roughness of his skin, a contrast to the softness of his sweater. His other hand is tangled in my hair, the slight tug sending shivers down my spine. The heat of his body presses against mine, pinning me to the doorframe, and I can feel the steady rhythm of his heart against my chest.

His lips move against mine, no longer hesitant but urgent—hungry. I can taste the remnants of his coffee, bitter and rich, and something else entirely his own. His tongue explores my mouth, not invading but inviting, and I respond in kind, my hands tightening in his sweater, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, and I can feel the heat of his bodyintensifying, or maybe it's mine. His hand leaves my jaw, tracing a path down my neck, his fingers lingering on my pulse point before continuing downwards. Barely skimming the surface of my skin, his touch is light, yet it leaves a trail of fire in its wake.

His hand reaches the small of my back, pressing gently, pulling me flush against him, and I can feel the hard planes of Grayson’s body, the lean muscle hidden beneath his clothes. His thigh slips between mine, and I can feel the roughness of his jeans against my inner thigh. I gasp into his mouth, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss further.

His hand moves from my back, tracing the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, the swell of my breast. Instinctively, my body bends towards his touch, a soft sound escaping my throat before he breaks the kiss.

I whimper, instantly missing his mouth, shocked when I realize…

His lips are trailing down my jaw, his stubble scraping against my skin. He presses a kiss to that same pulse point in my neck, his tongue darting out to taste my skin.

Tracing the collar of my dress, Gray’s ravenous mouth moves lower, while his hand moves to the zipper at the back of my dress, slowly pulling it down. The cool air of the cabin hits my skin as his hand slips inside, tracing the line of my spine.

If he wanted, I would let him undress me right where I stand. That’s how much I need him.

For a man who needs probabilities and statistics and numbers before his every move, he’s doing just fine without them.

In fact, it’s the spontaneity in Grayson Dixon that shows where his magic lies.

When he’s unburdened by that big brain of his, his body can do amazing things.

Right now, they’re doing a thousand amazing things—all at once. To me.

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