Page 46 of Not Her Day to Die (Star-Crossed #2)

I need to go home.

The thought circulates Grayson’s mind for the thousandth time. He has been holed up in his office, sleeping at his desk, organizing the restaurant as best he could, throwing himself into the tedious work.

Axel continued to barrage him with angry messages, but he ignored them.

Grayson tells himself again that Sunday needs time. That Darius and Axel deserve to comfort her and be there for her. Except every time he repeats the mantra it feels weaker than the last.

Where do I fit in this?

And that’s the problem.

He doesn’t.

I don’t deserve her. I couldn’t keep her safe.

He doesn’t want to admit it, not even to himself, but the trauma that Darius and Sunday were forced to endure affects him more than he initially realized. And the longer he keeps away from his family, the more self-deprecation nearly swallows him whole. Self-doubt nibbling away at his psyche.

He wants Sunday more than he has ever wanted another woman, and Axel made great points, except…

Isn’ t it selfish?

Fuck!

But even if it is the most selfish thing in the world, it is too late, and Grayson knows it. He won’t be able to leave Sunday. Won’t be able to separate himself from her. She is an integral part of his very existence.

I need to go home. I need to see her.

Anxiety hits him hard and fast. Of how he could leave her alone when she is at her most vulnerable. How he pushed her away. The look on her face when he fled.

And what about Darius?

The last few days catch up to him. The aches of his body outshone only by the throbbing in his chest.

I miss her.

Mind made up, he organizes his desk and searches for the keys to the truck.

It is when he is in the middle of that, that he hears the distinct sound of the side door opening and closing.

No one should be here.

The restaurant is still closed; he plans to reopen once the dust settles.

Stiffening, he slides the drawer of his desk open, he grips the gun inside but keeps it out of sight.

It is only three beats later he hears her.

“Grayson!”

Grayson chuckles, his anxiety vanishing, he releases the weapon pushing the drawer shut.

“I know you’re here!”

The stomping is getting closer now. Grayson leans against the far wall behind his desk and folds his arms across his chest, waiting for her to find him.

The door slams open as she kicks it in .

Her curls are a wild mess, her cheeks a bright pink, a wrinkle present between her brows.

Sunday.

The sight of her alone affects him in ways he doesn’t want to admit to himself. He has buried his feelings so deep for the woman before him that it is nearly painful .

And while they had been playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse, he is done.

Too much has happened.

He isn’t going to have any regrets.

Not anymore than I already do at least.

“–and you run away! Just as you always have!” She’s in his face now, he can see a sheen of sweat on her forehead, hear the anguish and concern in her voice.

Why did I leave again?

His brain short-circuits as her honeysuckle smell envelopes him. Subtle and sweet. Just like the woman before him.

She’s still laying into him— rightfully so —but he interrupts her.

Lashing out, he grabs her by the hips. He doesn’t even clear his desk as he plants her on it. And then his lips are on hers.

And she melts into him. As if her body were made for his, as if even on a molecular level they were meant for each other.

Fate.

Sunday is his fate, no matter how much he has attempted to deny it.

No matter how much he lies to himself.

Keeps her at arm’s length.

She is his .

And he’s tired of pretending she isn’t.

Her soft lips drift apart, and he swipes his tongue inside, invading her .

She is so pliable, so receptive, so obviously made for him.

Eventually, he pulls back and stares into her eyes. “You can stop this, you know that, don’t you baby girl?”

Her curls cover half her face, and he reaches out, tucking them behind her ears. Her bright eyes find his.

He isn’t sure what he expects to find swirling in their depths, but it isn’t annoyance.

“Oh no you fucking don’t! You call me baby girl, but I am a grown fucking adult, Grayson!” She puffs her cheeks.

He doesn’t argue, doesn’t advise how she is the most precious piece of his life. How she is his to protect and keep safe.

She lunges forward, wraps her hands around his neck, drawing him closer to her.

“I’m tired of you running, Grayson.” She pants, attempting to catch her breath.

“I’m tired of playing this game with you.

” Her fingers find his shirt, digging into the material.

“I keep thinking you don’t want this, don’t want me–” She rolls her lips between her teeth, her eyes flashing in concern.

He goes to cut her off, to assure her that is not the case, but she glares him into silence.

“Just shut up and listen to me. What happened to Darius and me was fucking tragic, but we’re going to be okay.

This whole town is going to be okay and I would do it over and over again if it meant ending up here.

If it meant saving all of those that had been taken captive.

If it meant breaking a cycle of abuse and death.

” Sunday is nearly yelling at him, but his body doesn’t understand that.

His cock is becoming more and more uncomfortable against the zipper of his jeans as she continues.

“And do I think dating three brothers is a good idea? After being with their fourth brother who died ?” Her voice cracks around the word.

“ Do I think that this is going to be easy?” She exhales, her nostrils flare.

“No, I fucking don’t. But Axel assures me you all agreed to this, that you all know what you’re getting yourselves into.

And maybe in the beginning I didn’t believe him.

Or maybe I just wasn’t able to think about the future.

I was so caught up in the past. So caught up in hunting down my brother and Tripp’s killers. But we’re done. We’re finally done!”

“Sunday–” Grayson wants to reassure her. To stomp down any of her remaining worries, but she treks onward.

“And I’m not leaving here until you prove to me you actually care about me.

Until I wasn’t just some mistake. Some means to an end.

That you weren’t just keeping me safe for the sake of the stupid loops.

That I’m…that whatever is between us is just as real for you as it is for me. ” Sunday’s voice wisps off at the end.

All of her steam and anger suffuses into the air and Grayson’s heart aches for her. He cups her face in his hands. “Is that truly what you think? Sunday, oh my sweet baby girl.” He pushes forward, capturing her lips with his again, rubbing his cock into the thin material of her shorts.

He wants to take her. Here and now. But he won’t push her. Just as he hasn’t. He’s treading at her speed, no matter how fast or slow that takes them.

Releasing her soft lips he offers her a gentle smile. “Of course I care about you. But I’m not going to sway you. Not going to take things further than we should, we have all the time in the world.” He separates from her, attempting to ignore the frown that slaps itself on her face.

He turns to find the truck keys.

“I finally get it,” Sunday whispers. “You’re scared.”

Grayson flinches, but he doesn’t acknowledge her words .

“I remember when you choked me, I remember when I took your dick in my throat, you lost control. You don’t trust yourself around me,” Sunday continues.

Grayson doesn’t look back at her. He focuses on finding the truck keys. They can go home and join Darius and Axel.

He hears as she jumps down, and a few beats later, items drop to the floor, the unmistakable jingle of keys.

“I’m done with the line between us, Grayson. Either you are in this. Or you’re not.”

She’s right.

Grayson breathes in and out a few times.

Finally, he whips his attention to her. To Sunday holding the keys. To her naked form. To her pink nipples on full breasts. To her hips and unblemished skin. To her creamy thighs. To the freckles leading up to her–

“Sunday.” He clenches his fists. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes hood, her tongue lashes out, licking her lips hypnotically.

“Forging my own path.” And then she jumps forward, wrapping herself around him. Every piece of her bare and begging for his attention.

He wants to run. He wants to fuck her. He wants to yell. He wants to bend her over his desk and mark himself inside of her.

And this time when their lips meet it is a flurry of nibbles, tongues, lips, a clashing of teeth.

Sunday may not be Grayson’s first, but she will be his last. She will be the only one to ever matter.

“Sunday,” he growls around her lips. “You should leave. You should stop me. You just went through a traumatic experience.”

“No!” She bites on his lip, hard . “I want this. I want you. I’ve held back long enough. I’m not making the mistake of waiting again. ”

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he warns. He is quickly losing his temporal lobe, all of his blood has long since rushed south, and now Grayson is simply acting on instinct.

On his primal needs and urges.

“Yes I do!” Sunday is breathless as she continues her argument.

Grayson isn’t sure he agrees with her, but he is distracted by his hands gravitating on their own to her breasts. Of how soft and smooth and heavy they are in his hands. He wants to worship her. To write poems and name lands after her.

Her hands finding their way to his jeans jars him from his mind.

“What are you doing?”

She doesn’t answer as she undoes the button, unzips them, and then her smooth finger tips are stroking him.

“Let me get you there first.” He groans as her fingers grip him tighter.

She strokes his length now tracing a line to the sensitive tip. “No, I want you.” She speeds up her pace, revving up the intensity, pushing him past the point of rationale. “Now.” She rocks up towards him.

“Fuck!” It is in a lust-filled haze that he flips her around, that he pushes down his jeans, that he tears open a condom from his wallet, that he grabs her by the wrists and pushes her over his desk, that he lines himself up to take her.

It is only her soft mewl that causes him to pause.

“Are you ready for this Sunday? After this, there will be no turning back.”