Page 78 of Manhattan Heart

I do solemnly declare my man is a fucking stud.

“Thank you for being so sweet.” He hums and goes in for the kiss I don’t give but keep my lips right there, nuzzling his. “Thank you for being the hottest, most fuckable man I’ve ever seen in my life. And thank you for belonging to me.”

His hands hook me by the head, and his thumbs do some wickedly seductive rubbing behind my ears that’s felt down low between my legs.

“India,” he rasps low, “don’t tease me. Give me that fucking mouth to taste.”

“This mouth?” I pucker my lips and he groans, licking over the seam.

He’s harder against my hip and I love him like that. Desperate and on edge.

We are at least twenty minutes from the house.

This foreplay might do us both in.

We’re panting in sync.

“Yes,” he hisses, drawing me in, “hand it over, it belongs to me.”

It does. Every inch of me is Gray owned.

Finally I give in and crash my lips down over his, swallowing his grunt of pleasure, he rides his open mouth over mine, letting our tongues flick together, dance away and stroke back, the kiss deepening on a mutual groan.

He’s a fucking sexual being, is my Grayson.

Made for me.

I am made for him.

Of this I am sure.

How else would a former party wild child meet and fall in love with an Upper East Side moneybags and have us fit together like two collided stars?

Under my hand, his heart is galloping. It might have something to do with the way my ass is gyrating on his cock. He’s so easily riled up.

“Grayson?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Want me to give you a promise?”

I feel his lips split into a huge smile against mine.

This is our romantic thing… I ask him to give me promises.

Never once have I reversed it.

His voice is thick when he answers. “Give me a promise, India Ellison.”

Two hands cover the left side of his chest and I leave my lips against Gray’s.

This moment is so full of love and emotion I might just happy cry, and that’s okay, because I’m with the love of my universe. I can be whatever emotion I’m feeling and know he’s there to catch me.

“I promise, at the end of time, I’ll be there holding my Grayson’s hand and thanking Kellogg’s that I own this heart that beats for me.”

“The end of time,” he husks roughly, hooking me around the back of my neck. He kisses me deeply until I run out of air, then presses our foreheads together. “I think that’s the best promise I’ve ever had.”

I beam. I can do fucking romance too. It’s not all Gray Ellison, you know.

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