Page 191 of Well That Happened

I gasp as his fingers slide under the strap of my red one-piece, tugging it down my shoulder.

“Grayson,” I breathe, my head spinning. “What about…”

He glances toward the pool.

Hunter’s still swimming, pretending not to look. Caleb’s lounging at the edge with that lazy smirk that saysfinally.

Grayson’s focus swings back to me like a magnet snapping into place. “They’ll live.”

His fingers slip under the edge of my swimsuit.

Hunter groans. “Really? Come on, guys. This is a rental, not a porn set.”

I let out a breathless laugh, but Grayson doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even glance up. His focus is entirely on me, his touch purposeful.

“You’re mine for the next ten minutes,” he says softly, trailing kisses along my jaw.

I arch into him, dizzy from the sun and the heat and the way he makes everything else disappear. “Ten minutes?”

His grin is wolfish. “You’re right. I’ll need longer.”

He kisses me again, and my world narrows to the feel of his hands, the rasp of his voice, the look in his eyes that says I’m the only thing that matters.

Then he drops to his knees in front of me.

He pulls the swimsuit down my body in one slow, punishing motion, baring me to the fading late afternoon sun. My breath catches. I should feel self-conscious. I should feel exposed.

Instead?

I burn.

He looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

His mouth grazes over my hip, up my ribs, down my stomach. My hands tangle in his wet hair as he moves lower.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin. “You always have been.”

He licks my pussy, the flat of his tongue moving and working until I’m squirming.

“Gray,” I pant, reaching for him.

He moves on top of me, his body pressing against mine, solid heat and soaked skin, and I can feel just how much he wants me—thick and hard between us, straining through his swim trunks.

I reach down between us, fumbling with the waistband.

“They’re wet,” I mutter, breathless.

His mouth brushes mine. “So are you.”

I laugh—quiet, wrecked—as we both try to peel them down. It’s messy and desperate, and we’re half-laughing through the struggle, all tangled limbs and impatient fingers.

“You two need a hand?” Caleb calls over, grinning.

“Jesus, just rip the damn thing already,” Hunter says, sounding impatient.

Another tug and then—he’s free.

I don’t even get a full second to look at him, to take in the sheer size of him, before he’s kissing me again—deep andunhurried now, like he’s trying to memorize my taste. His weight settles over me, heavy in the best way, shielding me from everything but him.

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