Page 22

Grayson

I’ve always thought of myself as being decent at kissing, so it’s a boost to my confidence to have Astrid tell me as much. I enjoy kissing—I wasn’t aware that there could be people who didn’t, though I suppose it makes sense for people to have different preferences.

I enjoy kissing, but I really enjoy kissing Astrid. I like the way her body feels under my hands, firm but soft. Shifting to me, meeting me halfway. Her mouth opening against mine, and she tastes cool, minty—I realize she was probably chewing gum before this and wish that I had been too.

The hand I have on her thigh stretches, my fingers reaching out, and I think about sliding them up to the button of her jeans—

But no. That’s exactly what she was talking about—moving too fast. I’m supposed to be waiting until she’s begging for it, asking me to move to the next step.

The thought of that—of Astrid begging me for anything—makes my entire body flush with want. I pull back from her, cutting off the kiss and breathing hard as I stare at her.

She’s been blushing from the moment I opened the door, but now her lips are red too. I stare at them, wait for the static in my head to calm down, let me think.

“Are you—” I start, but my voice is too rough, so I have to clear it and try again. “Is that okay? Are you okay?”

Astrid blinks, and I realize she’s moved sideways, so she’s halfway on my lap. Her hands are twisted in the fabric of my shirt, and it takes her a second before she relaxes that grip, leaning back from me and sucking in a breath.

“Oh—yeah. It’s all good,” she says.

“Should we…?”

“If you—if you want to?”

I can’t help it—I laugh. This entire situation is so weird, it’s turned us into a couple of teenagers.

Confidence is sexy .

Reaching over, I cup my hands under her ass and pull her so she’s fully seated in my lap, and the breath she lets out tells me two things—first, that she likes it, and second, that she can feel how hard I am against her.

“Is that okay?” I wonder how many times I’m going to ask that question. “If you feel…?”

“It’s more than okay,” she breathes, placing her hand on my chest. “It’s, uh…it’s a good form of teasing. Shows her that you want her.”

Astrid’s use of her breaks me out of it a bit—I don’t want to think about another woman right now. I want to think about Astrid, learn to do exactly what she likes.

“Do you like it?”

Her voice is quiet. “Yeah.”

“Should we, like, practice other ways to kiss?”

She raises her eyebrows, laughing. “What, like, French kissing?”

“No.” The word comes out fast, a hybrid laugh-breath. “Like, in this position, maybe over on the desk, laying down, standing…you know?”

“Standing?” She raises an eyebrow at me, cocking her head. “Not sure that’s physically possible.”

I raise my eyebrows right back at her. “Of course it is. I’ll just stand up and hold onto you, then kiss.”

She laughs, leaning back and shaking her head, her short black hair swinging as she does. “Grayson, I am a fully grown woman.”

“Astrid,” I counter, “you figure skate, right? I assume guys lifted you for that, so what makes you think this is any different?”

“Those are, like, lifts . Momentum from the skating, I’m already jumping, and I was a lot smaller back then, when I was competing—”

I can’t listen to this a second longer. Rather than continue to argue with her, I just widen my stance and stand up from the bed, watching her mouth make an “o” shape, her legs moving to wrap around my waist, bringing her core dangerously close to mine.

I’m so fucking turned on, my cock twitches in protest at the layers of clothing between us. Once I’m standing—easily, I might add—with Astrid around me, one of my hands on her ass and the other on her back, I take two quick strides over to the wall, press her against it, tip her head back, and kiss her.

She gasps against me, and again, I remember her saying, Confidence is sexy .

Surely, this must count as confidence, right? Astrid must think so, because she rocks her hips into mine, drawing a low noise from the bottom of my throat.

I break away, breathing hard, touching my nose to hers. “Was that okay? Are you good?”

“Let’s make a deal,” she says, reaching for the front of my shirt and pulling me closer to her, so her lips brush against mine when she talks. “Only stop if you want to. If I want you to stop, I’ll make it clear.”

“Deal,” I rasp, just before my lips crush onto hers again.

My mind goes silent for once, no thoughts of the kids, no thoughts of anything but the woman in front of me, her touch, the feel of her skin under my fingers. She said my kissing was fine, so I do all the things I love to do—skimming my fingers under the hem of her shirt, along her waist, watching as her eyelids flutter at the touch.

With her legs still wrapped around my waist, I move her to the counter in the bathroom, swiping the toiletries off into the sink. I bury my hands in her hair and pull her closer to me, biting her lip, my body thrumming with the feeling of her tongue against mine, the arch of her chest pressing to mine, her legs tightening in a vice grip around me.

Then, when she breaks to gasp for air, I pick her up again, bringing her to the bed, laying her down, crawling over her and sliding one of my thighs between her legs. When I apply pressure, she lets out a breathy noise, and I catch it in my mouth.

“Does that count?” I rasp, pulling back, brushing some of her hair away from her face.

It takes her a moment to refocus on me, her pupils blown out, her lips kissed raw and pink, swollen. There’s a clock on the bedside table, but it’s turned away from me—how long have we been doing this?

“Does…does what count?” she manages, her voice barely there, like she’s just got done with a concert or a speech. Like all this kissing has taken away her ability to speak.

“This.” I press my thigh against her, a thrill coursing through me when her hands tighten on my shoulders, her eyes fluttering shut. “Does that count as…what did you say? Pleasuring a woman, in any way?”

Astrid is still breathing hard, looking like she can barely hold the thread of the conversation. I pull my thigh away and watch her come back to herself, laughing breathily as she pushes her bangs away from her face.

“Uh, no,” she finally manages, “I don’t think…I don’t think it does.”

“Okay.” My mind is filth and only manages to consider the other options. With one hand braced over her head, I run the other up her side, our eyes locking together as I find her nipple through her T-shirt and pinch it.

“What about that, then?”