Page 35 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

He exhales sharply, then shakes his head with a small, self-deprecating laugh. "This should not be the time for this."

"And yet…"I whisper, because I feel it too. The pull. The undeniable heat curling in the space between us.

Then, as if the tension finally snaps, his hand moves, strong and sure, gripping my waist, pulling me hard against him. His lips crash onto mine, urgent, demanding, like we’ve both run outof reasons not to do this. I gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound like he needs it to breathe. My hands find his chest, his shoulders, gripping onto him like I might lose my balance. His body is solid heat against mine, his muscles shifting beneath my fingers as he moves. There’s nothing careful about this, it’s all raw edges and built-up want, and years of fighting that were never just about business. His mouth trails down my neck, hot and wet, his teeth grazing my skin just enough to make me shiver. I tilt my head back, giving him more, needing more.

“Tell me to stop,” he mutters against my skin, but his hands are already sliding lower, over the curve of my hips, gripping like he’s not letting go.

“I can’t,” I breathe, my voice shaky. “I don’t want you to.”

He groans, deep and low, like I’ve just undone him. He walks me backward until my back hits the wall, his hands everywhere, exploring, claiming, remembering. My dress bunches at my thighs as he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist like they were made for this. For him.

“Margot,” he growls, his forehead pressed to mine, eyes dark and blown wide. “This, whatever this is, it’s been driving me insane.”

“Then stop pretending we’re still fighting,” I whisper, pulling him closer. “And just feel.”

And he does. His hips press into mine, a rhythm already forming, clothes still between us but barely. Every movement is friction and heat and need. Every kiss deeper, dirtier. The air is thick with everything we haven’t said, every moment we pretended this wasn’t inevitable. By the time he finally finds the zipper at the back of my dress, my skin is flushed, my breath coming in quick gasps. He peels the fabric away slowly, reverently, like he’s unwrapping a secret he’s wanted for years. His mouth follows, kissing every inch he reveals, until I’m trembling beneath him, completely undone.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough, eyes raking over me like he’s seeing me for the first time and liking every inch. “You always have been. But this, us, it feels like the first thing that’s ever made sense.”

I don’t want soft right now. I don’t want sweet. I want him, all of him. I pull him to me, crashing my mouth against his as his hand slips between my legs. His fingers find me slick and ready. One slides in, then another, moving fast and deep, his thumb circling just right. My hips lift to meet every thrust, the pressure tightening low in my belly, fast and sharp and unstoppable.

“Grayson,” I gasp, already close.

“Come for me,” he growls, his voice rough against my ear.

And I do. Hard. The orgasm rolls through me like a wave, stealing my breath, arching my back. I cry out, my entire body trembling with the force of it. Before I’ve even come down, he pushes his boxers down, his cock thick and hard in his hand. I can’t look away as he strokes himself slowly, then drags the tip through my folds, teasing me, making me shiver with anticipation.

“Please,” I whisper, breathless. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. With one deep thrust, he fills me, stretching me, grounding me in heat and want and everything I didn’t know I needed. A sharp cry tears from my throat, and my hands fly to his back, clawing for something to hold onto.

“Fuck, Margot,” he groans, and then his mouth is on mine, kissing me like he’s starved, like he’s never going to stop. He sets a pace that’s relentless and deep, each thrust sending shockwaves through me. My moans break into gasps as I fall apart all over again, the pleasure building again, fast and furious.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper against his mouth, my voice shaking. “I’m right there…”

He grits out a curse, then slams into me harder, faster, until I unravel for the second time, crying out his name as I come undone beneath him. My body shudders violently, every nerve lit up. He follows with a groan, spilling inside me as he buries himself to the hilt, his whole body stiffening before finally collapsing against me. His forehead drops to my shoulder, both of us slick with sweat, our chests heaving in sync. For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing. No games, no guards, just us. When he finally lifts his head to look at me, there’s something raw in his eyes. Something I’ve never seen before. And the terrifying part? I feel it too.

27

GRAYSON

I’ve never been good at feelings when it comes to women. Not real ones. Attraction, sure. Lust, definitely. I’ve spent years perfecting the art of the short-term fling, the easy charm, the casual detachment, the morning-after grin that says, this was fun, but let’s not pretend it was more than it was. But Margot messes with that. She messes witheverything. It’s not just that she’s gorgeous, though she is. It’s not even that we’ve spent years dancing around each other, rivals and reluctant allies and something else neither of us ever wanted to name. It’s the way she looks at me when she’s pissed off and still manages to make my pulse jump. It’s the way she took on Liam’s betrayal with her chin high and her voice steady, even though I could see the hurt under her skin. It’s the way I want to shield her from all of it andstilllet her fight her own battles, because I respect the hell out of her. And it’s the way I can’t stop thinking about that night. The way she tasted. The way she said my name like itmeant something. God help me, I think I’m falling in love with her.

Which is insane. I don’t do love. I don’t do long-term. And Margot deserves better than a guy whose longest relationshipbarely outlasted a bottle of scotch. But none of that matters when she’s this close.

Margot’s lips are still on mine when I realize something: I don’t want to stop. Not just because of the adrenaline, not just because of the high of knowing we’re about to destroy the people who tried to ruin her. I don’t want to stop because it’sher. Because after everything, the fighting, the rivalry, the tension that’s been simmering between us for years, this moment feels inevitable. But then she pulls back, breathless, blue eyes searching mine. "We should…."

I smirk. "Keep going?"

She lets out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "I was going to say we should focus."

I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering against her skin. "We can do both."

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t pull away. "King, if we let this, whateverthisis, distract us, we lose."

I nod, even though part of me wants to argue that havingherisn’t losing at all. "You’re right."

Margot exhales, stepping back, smoothing her clothes like that will somehow erase what just happened. "We have a takedown to plan."

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