Page 8 of Craved By Gray

I close my eyes and try to shake off thoughts of the man, but all I see are blue eyes pinning me in place, running over me with such intensity that it burns my body. The man, shirtless with those worn jeans unfastened, steps forward and crowds me to the wall. There is desire in his eyes, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down his own need. My sex clenches with every action, every caress of his gaze…

“Enough!” I cry, eyes flashing open and locking on the painting of the man I have no business thinking about. My fingers are trembling and my breath comes in short pants. I fall back against my chair, staring up at the ceiling and begging for this madness to end.

My body shouldn’t ache the way it does, and least of all, for a Rebel. He’s my father’s enemy, and in turn, should be mine too.

Gray can’t protect me from my father. He can’t save me…

I shouldn’t torture myself with the thought of the man’s hands on me or the memory of those eyes pinning me in place. Or the way his warm breath brushed against my ear when he leaned into whisper yesterday at the clubhouse.

God, was that only yesterday?

Is that why I can still feel his warm breath against my skin? I bring my hand to my neck, smoothing it over the skin he brushed with his lips. My mouth parts with a sigh at the memory, and I find my fingers retracing his steps, trailing my neck to my breasts. He touched me there, fondling me over my blouse and making my nipples pebble. I was wearing a bra then, I have nothing on this time but a T-shirt and yet, his touch felt more intense than it does when I mimic it now.

I let out a soft whimper when I run my hands over my breasts, slowly caressing my erect nipples before running a hand down my stomach, my legs opening on their own as my hand makes its way there.

I shouldn’t…

“Gray,” I sigh, running my fingers softly over my wet folds and parting them, moaning when I accidentally graze my aroused nub. My gaze locks on the portrait, on those dangerous blue eyes that shook me to my core the last time they were on me, and I rub my sensitive bundle of nerves. “Gray…” My legs spread wider until I’m practically exposing myself to the portrait—to him—rubbing my middle finger up and down, using my wetness to glide easily over the nub. I’m so aroused, every part of me is trembling for a man from the wrong end of town.

A dangerous man I have no business wanting but crave anyway.

“Aaah, Gray,” I pant, staring at those dark blue eyes as I circle my aroused and aching flesh, nipples growing harder to the point of pain. I want him. Need him. So close…

My pussy tightens and spasms as I feel myself teeter closer and closer to the edge. My teeth gnash together and breathing begins to come in quick little busts as I stroke my clit. I picture his hands fondling my breasts, and my virginal muscles twitchwhen I imagine him doing the same to the rest of my body. I pinch a nipple with my free hand, rolling it roughly between my thumb and finger the way he did back at the clubhouse, but…it doesn’t feel the same. His hands were big and rough and calloused.

“Please,” I whimper in frustration, racing for the edge I’d felt only a few seconds ago but is now slipping away. “Please!”

A warm, intense feeling centers in my clit and spreads through my abdomen and threatens to explode through my system. My toes curl in anticipation, and when it comes, it’s more of a flame than the blinding wildfire I’d imagined. I nearly sob in frustration, tempted to give it a second try when a sudden knock on the door startles me out of my plans.

For one solid, terrifying moment, I think it’s my father. He is the only person that just shows up, but then again, the man has never bothered to knock before.

But he could for once. The documents… Oh God!

I quickly pull my hand away, my heart racing as my brain slowly catches up to what exactly it is I was doing—touching myself to the portrait of a man. A rival.

Shit!

My eyes are panicked as I grab the canvas and look around for someplace to hide it before settling on the balcony. I toss the painting supplies back into the drawer haphazardly, sliding it closed and praying that whoever’s at the front door is not my father and that they’ll have no sudden urge to go to my balcony. I tear off some paper towels and wipe up the splattered paint, my heart racing with panic.

The knock comes again, insistent this time, and I’m halfway to the door before I realize I’m dressed only in a T-shirt.One that does little to hide my beaded nipples, so I make a U-turn and rush to my bedroom, tossing on a robe and belting it before walking to the door.

Deep breaths, Scarlett.

I ignore the third knock, reining in my hammering heart before turning the lock and opening the door. My jaw nearly drops when I see the man standing outside my apartment, and it’s definitely not who I was expecting.

“Gray?”

“It’s Pete,” he says in greeting. “Your father sent me to pick up some files from you.”

“Pete?” My brows draw in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Gray looks around to make sure the hallway’s empty before pushing into my apartment. I ignore the way my heart jumps when he wraps his hand around my arm and nudges me back into the room before shutting the door behind him. “I’m Pete Brehmer as far as your father is concerned.”

“But he’s not here,” I say, conscious of his warm hand against my skin. Besides, I don’t want to call this man by his fake name, especially when I don’t have to.

“I’m just saying. To avoid slip-ups,” he says, eyes locking with mine, and now that I’ve gotten over my initial surprise of finding him outside my apartment, I allow myself to really look at him. His dark, almost black, brown hair is tousled, perhaps from riding his bike without his helmet, and those deep ocean-blue eyes seem intense as they stare at me.

And there’s that feeling again.

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