Her breasts were full, her nipples so fucking tight, red and wet from my mouth, her delicate, pale skin marked from the stubble on my face, my lips, my hands, my teeth. Her hair fell around her shoulders, a silken mess that left no doubt that she’d just been fucked thoroughly. Her eyes said she’d loved it.

My cock needed more.

“Let’s go upstairs,” I mumbled. “Bedroom.”

She didn’t answer me, but her hands reached out and came to rest on my hips, just above the drawstring tie. She fumbled with the fabric and then they were untied, and she was pushing them down my legs and then I was naked.

“I don’t have a condom down here,” I ground out, struggling to get my body under control. I felt like I was fifteen again, desperate to fuck. She did that. Blair stripped everything away and gave me the world in return.

“I’m on the pill,” she whispered. “After Thom . . . the cheating . . . I got tested. I’m good.”

“Me, too,” I croaked.

I wanted her like this, nothing between us. Just her.

“Gray?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me. Now.”

And just like that I gave up trying to be the man I thought she deserved and became the man she wanted.

I spread her legs, taking another moment to stare down at perfection. I was a guy, and I wasn’t going to pretend that there wasn’t always something about sex that was intense, but this was different. This was every single part of me screaming “mine” when I looked at her.

It felt right in a way nothing had before, like a key sliding into place.

I thrust inside her, a groan escaping my mouth as her wet heat surrounded me, her pussy clenching down on my cock. So fucking tight. I pushed forward until I filled her. Our gazes met and I took her mouth, my lips devouring hers. And then my hips began moving, sliding in and out, pumping harder, faster, and something came alive in Blair.

Her nails raked down my back, mixing pain with pleasure until my balls ached, begging for release.

The orgasm built within me, the feel of her too good to resist, and then I was exploding inside her, her sex milking my cock. Her back arched, her head fell back, and I watched the beauty of my girl riding her second orgasm of the night.

Chapter Twenty

Did you check out our list of D.C.’s most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes? Rumor has it one just might be off the market  . . .

—Capital Confessions blog

Gray

I woke to an empty bed and the smell of bacon cooking. It took me a minute to get my bearings, and then last night in all of its black-corseted, Blair Reynolds glory came rushing back to me.

I threw on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, and followed the sounds and smells until I reached the kitchen and froze in the entryway.

Blair stood in front of the stove, dressed in one of my T-shirts, the hem barely covering the curve of her ass, exposing a whole lot of leg. Her hair spilled down her back, my fingers itching to stroke it.

Most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

She turned, and then I revised my assessment.

Blair beamed at me, spatula in hand, her face free of makeup, a delicious, rumpled mess.

That was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“Good morning.”

The happiness in her eyes echoed in her voice, teasing an answering smile from my lips.

“Morning.”

She turned back to the stove. “I’m making pancakes and bacon,” she called over her shoulder. “The coffee should be ready. How do you take it?”

My gaze drifted to the countertop where two coffee mugs sat by my Keurig. A knot tightened in my chest. It was so like her to have coffee waiting. To take care of me in a way no one ever had before. She took care of everyone around her as though it was effortless.

And just like that, I knew—

I loved her.

I came up behind Blair and wrapped my arms around her waist, pulling her into the curve of my hips. I lifted her hair, baring her neck, burying my face there, my mouth pressing a line of kisses on her skin.

“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick.

She turned in my arms, her eyes wide, lips parted, and linked her hands behind my neck, pulling my head down toward her.

“It’s just breakfast,” she whispered.

“It’s not just breakfast.”

She closed the distance between us, putting her mouth on mine.

If I’d had any question about how much things had changed between us after last night, her kiss answered it. There had been an intensity to our kisses before, as though we both knew we were doing something we shouldn’t be. Now when she kissed me, she gave me sweetness, her mouth coaxing mine to open, her lips and tongue caressing me. It was a lazy morning kind of kiss that had me wrapping my arms around her tighter, tugging her toward me, my hands dipping under the T-shirt’s hem until I cupped her ass in my hands.

She broke away first, giving me a playful swat with the spatula still in her hand.

“The bacon will burn.”

I grinned. “Worth it.”

She shook her head. “I’m making you breakfast.” Her lips twitched. “Then maybe you can have dessert.”

Blair

I felt like I’d overdosed on happy pills. I couldn’t keep the smile off of my face, was a few steps away from humming a freaking song.

I’d woken up this morning to the sight of Gray’s muscled chest, his face in sleep softer than I’d ever imagined it could be. There had been a moment when I’d thought about waking him up early, but after last night . . . holy multiple orgasms . . . I figured he could use his rest. And then I’d walked downstairs in search of coffee and had the idea to cook breakfast for him.

I loved to cook, and now that my days weren’t dominated by hundreds of pages of reading, or stressing about finals, I couldn’t resist the urge to indulge. Given the rather untamed look he had about him, I figured Gray hadn’t had a lot of domesticity in his life.

Luckily, Martha Stewart was my middle name.

His kitchen was awesome. By the look of things, he didn’t use it a lot, as in ever, but what he had was pretty spectacular. I might have had another mini-orgasm at the sight of his stove.

My apartment was nice, and I’d rented it right when I started law school, but it was small and nowhere near as fancy as his place. Cooking on my little stovetop was hit or miss, and thanks to an unevenly heating oven, baking was even worse. I’d have to see if Gray would let me commandeer his oven for Christmas cookies.

I’d set the table and then started cooking, relishing the feeling that the noose around my neck had been temporarily lifted with the end of fall classes. I might have had only a month’s reprieve, but I was definitely going to make the most of it.

And then Gray came downstairs, and held me in his arms, and what was already feeling like a fantastic day became infinitely better.

So I kissed him, giving him my happiness with my mouth, giving him everything I had.

When he released me, he had a slightly dazed look on his face, as if I’d surprised him once again, much like I had last night.

I really liked surprising Graydon Canter.

I turned back from the food, smiling at him leaning against the counter, a cup of coffee in his hand, his gaze locked on the sight of me cooking. In a suit, he was devastating. In boxers and a T-shirt, his eyes heavy with sleep, he was practically edible.

I’d never seen the boyish side of him, doubted many people had, and I couldn’t resist. I wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Breakfast is ready. Why don’t you sit down at the table, and I’ll serve it.”

He blinked.

“Gray . . .”

“I feel like I’m going to wake up and discover you’re a figment of my imagination,” he murmured, his hand reaching out and stroking my hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you; I’m not even sure I do deserve you. Fuck, I probably don’t. But I can’t let you go. I don’t want to, and even more, I’m starting to think you wouldn’t even let me if I could walk away.”