Page 41 of Palm South University: Season 3

It’s not about his music, or about me — it’s about him. Grayson is growing into himself, and with that comes figuring out how to balance it all. He’s finally getting everything he’s worked for and now he’s not sure how to handle it. But he tells me with his music how much he cares, and how he’s sorry, and he promises to do better, though I realize in that moment it doesn’t get much better than him.

When he thumbs out the last note of the song, I reach for him, sliding his guitar strap up and over his head and placing it gently beside the chair before straddling him. I thread my hands behind his neck, fingers playing with the soft tendrils of hair there as my eyes search his.

“That was beautiful.”

He swallows, framing my face with one large hand, his thumb running the length of my jaw. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Grayson’s eyes flick to my lips, and slowly, as if he doesn’t think he deserves to, he pulls me into him until his lips are pressed against my own. He kisses me patiently at first, soft and hesitantly, but when I roll my hips against him and tug on his hair, he groans, kissing me harder, with more need, more passion.

And for the rest of the night, that’s how he apologizes — with a kiss, a lick, a suck, a touch. And I accept with a sigh, a moan, an arch, ayes.He promises me more with his hands on my waist, and I remind him he’s always enough with my mouth on his skin.

I still want to wait to go all the way, and Grayson respects it, bringing me to ecstasy without taking me past my comfort zone. He shows me how much he wants me with every single movement and I show him, too, touching him in new ways, tasting him for the first time.

When we’re both spent, holding each other as our breaths even out and the dawn begins to break, a light feather of realization floats down slowly in my heart.

I’m falling in love with Grayson Anderson.

I only hope he’s there to catch me when I do.