Page 55 of Fake It Till We Fall
It was different from before. Different from when we were kids, or we kissed for show in front of the whole town. Or even when we kissed in the snow the other day.
This kiss held a promise of more.
So much more.
It was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.
But I couldn’t let myself think about what it might mean. Or more importantly, what Iwantedit to mean.
Instead, I closed my mind and shifted closer, pressing myself against him. His answering growl rumbled through his chest, vibrating against me.
His hands were everywhere—cupping my face, skimming down my back, pulling me onto his lap, rucking my dress up enough so I could straddle his lap.
The thick ridge of his arousal pressed against me through his pants and the thin scrap of my panties. A shiver tore through me at the reminder of what we were doing.
What we were about to do.
“Harper,” he whispered, his forehead pressing against mine. “Tell me to stop.”
“No.” My voice shook, but I’d never been more sure of anything. “I don’t want to stop. Not tonight.”
His mouth claimed mine, harder this time, and I clung to him, needing to be closer.
Grayson’s hands skimmed down my sides, his fingers splayed as if he were trying to capture me in his memory.
He found the zipper for my dress and slid it down until he could pull the tight fabric from my body.
He sucked in a breath and sat back, his eyes hot on my skin as he took in the sight of me.
The fire crackled behind us, the heat of it licking over my bare skin as Grayson’s mouth moved down my throat. Every scrape of his stubble sent sparks racing through me.
“Grayson,” I gasped, threading my fingers through his hair, needing more.
He groaned low in his chest, his hands sliding beneath the lacy cups of my bra to cup me fully. His thumbs teased over my nipples until I arched against him, desperate for more.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent, as if he couldn’t believe I was real. That this moment was real.
And for a second, neither could I.
He’d seen me before, of course, but this was different.
Iwas different.
The last time we’d been together, we were eighteen. Young, inexperienced, fumbling in the dark. I’d been all sharp edges and nerves, and he’d been a boy with too much intensity in his eyes, and not enough patience in his hands. It had been urgent and sweet and clumsy in ways that only a first love could be.
But this…
This was different.
I wasn’t the same girl I’d been at eighteen. My body had softened, curved in new ways. His hands mapped each line as they traveled over my skin, releasing the clasp of my bra, freeing my breasts.
The way he touched me made me feel beautiful in a way I never had back then.
And he was most definitely not a boy anymore.
My hands fumbled at his shirt, desperate to feel him. When I finally managed to pull the fabric back off his strong shoulders, and touch the warm skin and hard muscles under my palms, I, too, took a moment to take in everything he’d become.
A grown man. Broad and strong with steady hands and a body that made me ache just to look at. There was nothing hurried or impatient about him now. Every kiss, every touch was deliberate and confident.
