I brace him around the waist and pull him up, so we’re both on our knees, still connected. He turns his head to steal my lips, kissing me softly and telling me without words he’s thinking the same things I am. My hand brushes his cheek.
“Don’t,” he says again, and I swallow hard, trying to force all my emotions away before kissing him again, holding onto him and thrusting inside, making him cry out when I hit that perfect spot. “Yes. There.”
His fingers grip the back of my neck as his hand moves to his cock, stroking furiously. My dick moves in and out of him, my balls pulling up tight, and I know I’m a goner. “Fuck, you feel so damn good.” I watch him work his cock, and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. His muscles are pulled tight, and I know he’s close too. “Don’t come.”
He whimpers, the sound way too cute for someone so fucking built and strong. “I need to come.” He’s panting and hasn’t stop stroking himself.
I push his hand away, pulling it up to join his other one around the back of my neck as I thrust into his tight heat. Once, twice, and then I’m coming so hard I nearly topple onto him but manage to keep myself upright.
When I collect myself enough, I pull out and release him, moving onto my back and pulling him up my chest to feed me his dick. He doesn’t hold back or act shy in the slightest. He just takes what he needs, which is exactly what I wanted.
I hold onto his hips, but my limbs are basically useless at this point. It doesn’t matter, though, this is all Grayson as he moves inside my mouth. I relax my throat, letting him go deep over and over, knowing I’ll likely feel it tomorrow too. The first spurt of his salty release hits the back of my throat, and then he continues to fuck my mouth as I swallow his load until his spent dick falls from my lips, and he moves to lie next to me.
“Worth the trip.”
I laugh at that. “Asshole.”
He only grins, but neither of us says another word. I rid myself of the condom, clean us both up, and then we climb under my covers, him spooning me as we drift off.
Because this is all we can really have.
Fleeting moments.
FORTY-FIVE
God, I missed him. I hold onto his warm body and curse the fact that my phone alarm is about to go off in a few minutes. I’ve been lying here, trying to think of a way I can be with him. Telling myself I can do it.
That I can give it all up for him. That my grandfather would be okay with that. That the world will be just fine without charities from his business. But I end up feeling like shit for thinking those thoughts. And I’m wondering if I have the courage to face my dad.
I don’t even have the courage to tell Rhett how much I love him. That I would give it all up for him if he’d just tell me he wants that with me too.
Because I’m scared.
But goddammit, I know that’s not fair either. I know he’s afraid too.
Or maybe I’m completely off base. Maybe he doesn’t want his forever right now. We are really young.
He’s just figuring out who he is, maybe he doesn’t want to settle down.
“Your thoughts are loud.”
I just hug his body tighter to me and don’t argue. “I miss you,” I say again because it’s just as true as it was last night, maybe even more this morning.
“Don’t do this.” I hear the pain in his voice, wrapping around the words as he pleads with me to just be cool. And god, I wish I could. “You don’t miss me. You have a ton of things going on. Good things, I’m sure. It was a momentary slip.”
“Don’t say that. I didn’t just fly here on a whim. I missed you and wanted to see you, and you were happy to see me last night.” It’s a fact. I know it is. It has to be.
“Grayson . . .” He sighs and rolls to his other side to look me in my eyes.
“Maybe we can make it work.”
“No.” I would smile at his usual answer if it wasn’t so frustrating.
“Always a no with you.” My response is laced with hurt because I don’t want him to tell me no anymore. I want a yes. I want him to try. To want to try.
“Yeah, people say I’m difficult.” He offers a sad smile.
And dammit, I smile back as I brush a hand over his cheek. “You are.”
He laughs softly and nods, his lips grazing mine. “I know. But we’ve gone over this. There’s nothing we can do. It can’t work now.”
“It could.”
He doesn’t mock me, but he shakes his head with a soft, “No.”
I swallow, the lump in my throat too big to make it go away. “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. My parents throw this big, stupid party every year with catered food.”
Pain flashes over his face, and I flinch because I know what’s coming. “We can’t do this. We’re fooling ourselves. It hurts too much.”
My stomach tightens, and I feel sick because this feels like goodbye. “It hurts too much knowing that we’ll never have it again, but if I know I’ll see you next month . . .” I rest my palm on his cheek. “Then it makes it feel a little better, right?”
He covers my hand with his so I can feel the shake of his head. “No. It just prolongs the inevitable. Last night was great, but this morning, I feel like I might die. Knowing that you’ll be walking out that door.”
“But I’ll be back next month.”
“But it’s not real.” He sits up abruptly. “I can’t do this.” His eyes plead with mine. “Please. You need to go.”
I nod slowly as I stand up and realize all I have is the black dress that’s balled up on the floor of his apartment. He laughs at my predicament and walks over to his dresser, finding sweats and a tee for me. “Keep them.”
I stare at him, my heart squeezed in a vice. “You can always call me if you need me. I’m not saying no. I’ll never say no to you.”
“Grayson.” He sounds pained, and I only press a kiss to his lips before I get dressed and leave as quickly as I can.
Because he’s right . . . It hurts way too much.
FORTY-SIX
I shouldn’t have told him no about Thanksgiving. Knowing he’s in the same town as me and him not calling me is killing me. But so far, he’s pretty much respected my wishes. There have been a few texts here and there, but it’s been strained.
We’ve been keeping our distance, and I hate it.
We’re just about to dig into the feast Rhys made—because Blair does not cook, and sometimes Rhys will—when my phone goes off with a message.
I stupidly hope it’s Grayson, but when I look, I see it’s Ian instead. I gave all the kids my number a long time ago. But now, my heart races for an entirely new reason when I see why he’s texting. Max is in the hospital.
Shit.
I stand up, all four faces of my family staring back at me in worry at what I’m sure is the horrified expression on my face. “What’s wrong?” Blair stands up and immediately comes to me.
“Max,” I barely choke out but force myself to keep going. “One of the kids from the mission. His foster father beat him up.”
I see Fletcher’s big hand bunch into a fist on the table, but he doesn’t say anything.
I look to Blair. “He’s in the hospital.”
Blair nods, taking my hand and already in fix-it mode. “Okay, save us some pie. Let’s go.” She grabs her purse and blows Rhys a kiss before we head out the door. She’s great in times like this.
No one argues or questions us, we just head out. Blair drives us to the hospital in silence, and my gut twists with guilt. I knew he was in a shitty place, but I let him tell me it was fine. My mind burns with anger because I don’t understand how someone could hurt a kid. It’s not right.
When we get there, Blair goes with me to see him. Ian is in the chair next to the bed, looking wiped-out and worried, and I notice blood on his shirt. “Were you there?” I ask him, startling him at first and wanting to reel it back in.
He nods sadly, looking over at Max, who is beat to hell, but seems to be sleeping. His face is bruised and swollen, and he has one arm in a cast. “Yeah. He was protecting me. It was so stupid. I stupidly taunted that fucker.”
“Where are the cops?” Ian shrugs, and I prod, “Ian.”
“I ducked out when they got there and then snuck back in. They would have made me go to a temporary home, Rhett. I don’t want to leave him.”
I think back to all the times I jumped in front of someone to protect Fletch and how pissed I was the night Bree, Blair, Rhys and I drove to his last foster place, and he was outside with a black eye. How I wasn’t there that night. “I’m going to figure something out. Okay?”
What, though? I’m not even nineteen yet. I have my own place, but it’s a studio. They’ll never approve me for foster care.
Blair must hear my thoughts because she places a hand on my shoulder as she reaches for her cell phone in her purse. “Let me make some calls, okay?” My eyes meet hers, and I see they’re wet with tears she tries to wipe away. “Trust me?”
It’s said as a question, so I nod. “Always.”
She keeps her voice quiet now. “Their names? First and last.”