Page 42 of In A Mood For Mr. Wrong

"This was never just business,"he breathes against my mouth as I run my nails down his chest.

"Never," I whisper. "Not with you."

He lifts me without warning, like I weigh nothing, and my legs wrap around him instinctively. He backs us into the wall, and I let out a soft cry at the cold press of it against my spine, the delicious contrast to the heat of him. He kisses down my neck, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, and I’m gone. A mess of breathand want and desperation. I tug at his belt, and he lets out a low groan that sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me.

"You drive me insane,"he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine as his fingers work at the zipper of my dress.

"You like it,"I tease, breathless.

"I crave it, I want it," he whispers.

The dress slides off my shoulders, pooling at my waist. His eyes darken as they rake over me, hungry, reverent.

"Fuck, Margot…"

His voice breaks a little, and it’s that, more than the heat, more than the tension, that undoes me. The crack in his armor. The truth in it.

I reach for him again, pulling him down to kiss me like it’s the only thing tethering me to earth, and then he’s dick is inside me. We gasp, together. Because it’s not just pleasure. It’s release. It’s years of tension, of walls and rivalry, burning to ash. He moves with purpose, each thrust a claim, each kiss a vow he’s not ready to say out loud.

"Mine,"he groans against my neck."You’ve always been mine."

"Then take me,"I whisper, nails digging into his back."Take all of me."

And he does, again and again, until I’m trembling in his arms, clutching him like he’s the only thing holding me together. Until there’s nothing left but his name in my mouth, my body wrapped around him, and the truth between us, we were never resisting, we were always falling.

Sunlight filters through the curtains,casting a golden glow over the room. My muscles ache in the best possible way, areminder of everything that happened last night. Grayson stirs beside me, his arm draped possessively over my waist, his warmth seeping into my skin. For a moment, I just stay there, absorbing it. The weight of victory, the thrill of what comes next, not just forPerfectly Matched, but for us.

He shifts, pressing a lazy kiss to my shoulder. "Morning, Evans."

I smirk, running my fingers along his arm. "You sound smug."

His chuckle vibrates against my skin. "Can you blame me? I won in every possible way."

I roll my eyes but don’t pull away. "You’re insufferable."

"You like it," he smirks.

I do. But I’m not about to admit it. Instead, I shift onto my side, meeting his gaze. "We should get moving. There’s still an empire to run."

Grayson sighs dramatically. "Fine, but only because I like watching you take charge."

I shake my head, already reaching for my phone. A dozen unread messages from Olivia, Elliot, and a few board members flash across the screen. Looks like the world kept turning while we were… occupied.

Grayson kisses my forehead before rolling out of bed. "Come on, Evans. Let’s show them exactly why we were the right choice all along."

I laugh softly, shaking my head as I pull the sheets tighter around me. "You know, I don’t think I ever imagined we’d end up here."

He pauses, his shirt half-buttoned, and looks back at me with a smirk. "At the top of the business world, or in bed together?"

I roll my eyes, but my heart flips at the way he’s looking at me, like he’s in no hurry to leave, like this moment matters. "Both." He steps closer, leaning down until his lips brush myforehead. "Get used to it, Evans. We’re just getting started." And as I watch him, feeling lighter than I have in years, I realize he’s right. We fought for this. We won. And for once, we’re finally on the same team. The sound of my phone buzzing pulls me back to reality. Grayson groans, reaching for his own as I glance at the screen. Olivia.

I sigh and answer. "Tell me it’s not another Elliot emergency."

"Oh, itis," she replies, voice dripping with exasperation. "Your boy genius just convinced Tessa to go on a spontaneous weekend getaway. To Paris. Without confirming if she even has a passport. And that’s not even the worst part."

I groan. "Dare I ask?"

"He also booked a dinner reservation at some exclusive Michelin-starred restaurant where the menu is inLatinand the waitlist is six months long. And get this, he expects her toappreciate the historical significanceof 18th-century French dining customs."

---