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And then somewhere along the way, our kisses went from soft, and slow, and exploring, to frenzied and impatient. Hurried and demanding—almost desperate. From zero to sixty, and neither one of us were interested in finding the brakes. We weren’t going to stop until we crashed together and burned.

He ground himself into me, and I pushed back against him, kissing him harder, pulling his hair between my fingers.

His hands were under my shirt, fingers gripping my waist. I slid my hands up to his elbows and, together, we slowly moved his palms up—higher—until I could move into his touch.

He groaned into my mouth, and I gasped into his, and we swallowed each other’s sounds as our clothes hit the floor. One by one, piece by piece.

His finger was tucked beneath the waistband of my underwear as he sat back on his heels, out of breath. It was the most beautiful sound. His breaths echoing in the quiet space around us. Knowing I’d done that to him. Knowing I’d affected him that way.

We hadn’t gone this far before, and the way he looked at me then, silently asking for my permission, almost broke me.

Because I couldn’t help but be conscious of the fact that it was the first time I’d ever wanted more, even though I’d had plenty of pushy offers before. From men two, three times my age.

The first time I’d ever been kissed, was by one of Mom’s boyfriends. The first time a boy had ever asked to see me naked, was forever replaced by the memory of a grown man asking the question.

But it felt like Greyson was wiping away all of that. Because with him, it was the first time everything felt right, easy. The first time I’d wanted everything I saw in someone else’s eyes. The first time I ached for someone to strip me bare, and see me, and touch me, in all the ways he was making me crave.

And he was still sitting there, patiently waiting. I fell even harder then, all the way to the bottom.

“Take them off,” I whispered.

He swallowed thickly, eyes glued to mine, before sliding my underwear down my legs and tossing them to the floor.

And I had a thought, that maybe Ishouldbe nervous, or scared, but in those moments with Greyson, I felt nothing but comfortable.

Eager. Filled with desire.

And then he pulled off his shirt, and my mouth went completely dry. I’d seen him shirtless before, but there was something about knowing where this train was headed that made the sight of him that much better.

I ran my hands up his stomach, and he visibly shivered before lowering back onto me and unhooking my bra, slipping it off my shoulders and down my arms.

And then went his boxers, and we were skin on skin, and I don’t think anything had ever felt better. Except for maybe the way he looked at me then. Like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Because that was the thing. He’d seen all these beautiful, broken pieces of me. Had brought some of them to light when I had never cared to see them before. And now it felt like he owned some of those pieces, like he’d left his mark on them before putting them back inside of me.

“I love you,” he whispered shakily, and I breathed it back into his neck as I kissed my way up his throat.

And with a sharp intake of air, I handed him the very last piece of me. The most important one. The one he would own forever.

Sixty-five After

GREYSON HUMS Ahalf-sigh, half-groan intomy mouth before deepening our kiss, his tongue stroking mine.

Beautifully. Blissfully.

Washing away everything but my need for him.

I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, feeling the soft scratch of his hair against my fingertips, and I love it. The way the tingle of it spreads up my arms and through my chest, heading straight down into the core of my stomach. A warm flurry of desire quickly building.

Building, and building, and building.

He picks me up and presses me back against the wall, his body flush with mine, and my breath hitches. I’m sandwiched between him and the wall of his dark studio in the most delicious way, the pressure of him hitting me exactly where I need it most.

My chest heaves against his with heavy breaths; I can’t seem to find enough air. But his tongue swirls around mine, and I’m lost. Completely and utterly lost.

In his hands. And his mouth. And his chest crushed against mine. In the way it sparks a fire inside me that lights up my soul.

I cross my ankles behind his back and pull him even closer with his shirt in my fists as his mouth continues to move over mine—slow, exploring, reacquainting. Matching the weight of his hands sliding over the curves of my body.