Page 200 of The Holiday Clause
“Would it kill you to ask for help?”
Wren broke the kiss, distracted by their bickering. They never stopped. Greyson, in the shadows of all the shelves and dry goods, rolled his eyes.
Wren frowned when he flicked open the button of her jeans. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Shh.”
“Grey, we’re in a pantry!”
Rather than answer, he sank his hand into the front of her panties. “You’ll have to be quiet then.”
His fingers pressed into her as soon as Jocelyn snapped, “I’d rather fall and crack my skull than owe you anything.”
“That can be arranged.”
Greyson tugged her close, distracting her with a kiss as he worked her into a tizzy. He guided her hand to the bulge at hiscrotch and pressed her fingers around his length. How far did he want to take this?
“Do you always stalk women who can’t stand you, or did I do something special to provoke this sort of unwanted attention?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, please. You get off on annoying me. It’s like some sort of twisted foreplay.”
Grey shoved down her pants and turned her toward the wall, planting her hands on the built-in shelves. Wren’s eyes widened as she realized he planned to go all the way.
His warm breath teased her ear. “Hold on tight.”
She gasped, rising on her toes, as he gave her no chance to object.
“Shh,” he chuckled, gently covering her mouth as he drew back and thrust hard. “You don’t want them to hear us.”
She whimpered against his fingers as he plunged into her again. Outside of the pantry, the two idiots continued to argue. A box of pasta fell with athudand Wren froze, digging her nails into Greyson’s arm.
“Did you hear that?”
Shit, shit, shit…With her jeans twisted around her legs, she couldn’t move if she wanted to. Greyson froze, but didn’t pull out. Wren winced, squeezing her eyes closed against the kitchen light when the pantry door opened.
“Uh…” Soren’s voice was amused as much as it was confused.
“We’re looking for nutmeg,” Greyson blurted.
“Up her ass?” Jocelyn laughed wickedly.
“Seems like a deep inventory,” Soren joked.
Greyson stretched and slammed the door in their faces. “Goodbye!”
Wren wilted into the shelves—death by mortification.
Grey only chuckled and continued on, stroking her back to life and not stopping until they discovered all the spice that pantry could offer.
When they returned to the den, Wren needed a drink. Jocelyn sidled up to her at the bar, smiling around the straw of some mulled concoction. “So… Come lately?”
“Please stop.”
“Can’t. It’s a sickness.”
It really was. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
