Page 63 of Unrivaled

Grayson’s eyes linger on my lips, and I shift, suddenly aware of the intimacy engendered by discussing his troubled relationship with his sister. This isn’t what tonight was supposed to be. If I was supposed to go home with anyone, it should’ve been Anton—not that such a thing was ever in the cards. But still. I wasn’t supposed to end up here, wearing only a T-shirt and a thong, sitting in Grayson’s kitchen with him looking at me like he’s about to declare his undying love.

Or come around the table and kiss me.

While the first would make me intensely uncomfortable, the second …

Shouldn’t happen.

Can’t happen.

Is a terrible, terrible idea.

We’ve already kissed twice now. And I’ve told myself that it’s not something we should pursue because his relationship with Ben is what’s most important.

I mean, yeah, sure, I’ve replayed the memory of those kisses and that night at the party when we made Ben in my head waaaay too many times in the last week or two.

Clearing my throat, I push to my feet and take my empty wrapper to the trash can at the end of the counter. “Well, um, I should probably get some sleep.”

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” Grayson stands too, shadowing me as I go through the living room and head for the hall. Is he walking me to the bedroom?

He stops in the opening to the hallway, one of his hands reaching out to brush my arm. “Tiffany, I—” He stops, and I know he’s staring at me from the shadows, even though I can barely make out his features.

“What is it?” I ask softly, stepping closer.

“I’m glad you came over tonight,” he whispers, closing the distance between us. “I know things have been awkward between us, but I … I enjoy talking to you.”

Heat blooms on my cheeks, and I’m grateful that he can’t see my blush in the darkness. “Thanks,” I whisper back.

His fingers trail up my arms. “Can I—”

“Can you what?” I prompt when he doesn’t finish the question.

In response, he ducks his head, his breath fanning over my lips, pausing an inch away from making contact. “Tiffany,” he whispers again.

And even though I literally just finished telling myself what a bad idea this is, I close the distance between us, and press my lips to his. We can pretend it’s the darkness and the conversation or … or … temporary insanity.

If him moving closer was a question, my response seems to be the answer he was looking for. His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me against him as his lips move over mine.

From the way his arm feels like a steel band holding me to him, I would expect him to be trying to devour me. But instead, his kiss is almost … gentle. Soft lips press against mine, exploring the contours of my mouth. Several seconds pass before I can’t take it anymore, and I slide my tongue along the seam of his lips.

They part on a ragged gasp, his chest inflating, and his tongue makes a tentative pass over mine.

I press myself against him even more, feeling him hardening against my belly. And to my surprise and dismay, he stops kissing me.

Pulling his head back, he looks down at me, examining whatever he can see in the low light. “Is this okay?” he asks. “Or are you going to run away again and pretend it never happened?”

My mouth opens, but no words come out.

He kisses me again, this time all hunger and heat as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding a response.

And I give it to him, pressing against him, my tongue meeting his stroke for stroke, wrapping my arms around his body and gripping his shirt with both hands

This time he breaks away with a groan. “I can’t keep doing this, Tiff. You’re fucking killing me.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.” I loosen my grip on his shirt, slowly—reluctantly—unwrapping myself from his body.

He lets out another pained groan, his arm tightening around me, not letting me get away. Dropping his forehead against mine, he shakes his head slowly. “Just tell me what you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t know.” My eyes fall closed on the confession, and I move to pull away again. This time he lets me, but wraps his fingers around mine and leads me back to the living room, where he sits in his spot on the couch and pulls me across his lap.

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