Page 63 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

She cuts me off with a kiss that definitely won't fit in any pivot table.

"My turn," she whispers against my mouth. "I think I've been wrong too."

"About?"

"Protecting myself. Maintaining distance. Trying to control everything after Joel..." She threads her fingers through my hair. "Some things are worth making a mistake.”

"Even a robot-obsessed tech CEO?"

"Even him." She kisses me again, soft and sweet. "Though his AI might need therapy after this."

I laugh, then lift her off the counter. She wraps her legs tighter around my waist as I carry her toward the great room, where the fire's still burning low.

"Very caveman of you," she observes.

"I told you before: I’m a man of many talents.”

"Just remember—" Her breath catches as I lay her on the obscenely expensive couch. "No optimization algorithms allowed."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

The fire paints patterns across her skin as I kiss her again, and suddenly all those careful systems and protective walls don't matter.

There's just this. There’s just Rosalind.

Her hands in my hair. My name on her lips. The way we fit together like we were designed for it.

I slide my hands under her pajama top, feeling the smooth, warm skin of her back. She arches into me, her breath hitching as my fingers trace the curve of her spine. I can feel her heartbeat, rapid and strong, matching the rhythm of my own.

"Grayson," she whispers. I love the way she says my name, like a secret she's finally allowing herself to share.

I pull back just enough to look into her eyes. "Yes?"

"Don't stop," she murmurs, her gaze locked onto mine.

I don't need any more encouragement. I slip her top over her head, revealing her in the soft glow of the firelight. She's beautiful, her skin flushed and lightly freckled. I lean down, kissing her collarbone, then trailing kisses lower, until I reach the swell of her breasts. She gasps, her fingers tightening in my hair as I take one pink, pebbled nipple into my mouth, teasing it with my tongue.

Her body responds to mine like we're two parts of a whole, finally coming together. I can feel her heat, her need, and it matches my own. I move lower, kissing her stomach, her hips, before hooking my fingers into the waistband of her pajama pants and sliding them down.

She lifts her hips to help me, a strangled gasp escaping her mouth. I discard the pants, then pause to take in the sight of her, naked and wanting in the firelight. She's perfect, every curve and line of her body calling out to me.

I start at her feet, pressing soft kisses to her ankles, her calves, the inside of her thighs. She squirms, her breath hitching as I get closer to her center.

This close, I can smell her arousal—sweet and musky. I look up at her, meeting her gaze as I press a kiss to her inner thigh.

"Grayson," she whispers again, her voice barely more than a breath.

I don't make her wait any longer. I dip my head, running my tongue along her folds, tasting her. She cries out, her hips gyrating into circles against my mouth, and I hold her steady, exploring her with my tongue, learning what makes her gasp, what makes her moan.

I find her clit, circling it with my tongue as I slip a finger inside her.

God, this woman is everything I didn’t know I needed.

Hot and tight, her body clenching around me as I was meant to be there.

I add another finger, moving them in time with my tongue. Her moans fill the room, her body writhing, twisting and turning beneath mine.

"Grayson," she gasps, her voice urgent. "I'm going to?—”

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