Especially since I'm so comfortable and so very warm, tucked into the protective curve of Gray's body, with his arm securely around my waist. We're locked together, his legs curled under mine, his nose burrowed in my hair. I can't help closing my eyes again and letting my weight fall back onto him. The rhythm of his breathing and the rise and fall of his broad chest lull me. He feels too good. Perfect.

But a new set of realizations. .h.i.ts me. That my tank top has ridden up in my sleep and is now twisted high on my torso, exposing the underside of my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. That Gray's huge hand is on my bare belly, and with every slow breath I take, the tip of his pinky finger grazes my hip bone. That slight tickle grabs all my attention, and has my body slowly tensing with awareness. I lay as still as I can, staring at the wall, muted gray in the dawn. Like the uncoiling of a string, my senses move outward to Gray's body against mine and the fact that he too has gone unnaturally still.

Side-by-side we lie, his soft breaths stirring my hair. And his hand resting on my belly. Except it isn't at rest. His fingers shift, a slight caress as if he can't help but test the texture of my skin. It's the tiniest of movements, and my heart stutters at the touch, every nerve in my body focusing on that one spot.

When I don't move, he strokes again, the same hesitant exploration. Heat flares over my skin. My heartbeat is a drum in my ears, and I struggle to keep still. Because I don't want him to stop.

He doesn't. Slowly, his pinky skims over my skin. His touch is so soft, I might have missed it. Only all of my awareness is on him and the progress he makes. He keeps going, and when he grazes the edge of my panties, my thighs clench, my c.l.i.t tightening as if he plucked it.

As if my continued stillness is a sign of permission, his touch grows bolder. Gently, he draws his fingers over the sensitive skin on my stomach, down, then up. Behind me, his body is rock solid, his breath stilted as if he's holding it.

And I lie there, pretending this isn't happening. But it is. A slow tremble is working its way through me as heat licks between my thighs. With each delicate pa.s.s over my skin, he covers more ground. I close my eyes, focus on those fingers, how they tickle along my side, trace my panties, then trail upwards over my ribs.

I want to arch my back, push against the large swell of his c.o.c.k that's growing hard against my a.s.s. His fingertips graze the underside of my breast, and I stop breathing. My nipples draw tight. He hovers there, just under my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, barely touching them.

My mind races. What are we doing? We're crazy to do this. Everything will change. I should stop this. But I don't want to.

I hear him swallow, feel the rapid thump of his heart against by back. My teeth sink down on my lip. It's torture staying still, not begging him to go higher. Because I want him to. So f.u.c.king badly my b.r.e.a.s.t.s ache. And I want him to go lower as well, stick those long fingers of his under my panties. But I can't. Somehow, by silent agreement, we're both pretending this isn't happening. If we don't talk, don't acknowledge it, we can do this.

And so I lie still, breath short, body aching, waiting.

Then he moves, sliding his fingers over the curve of my breast, up toward my nipple. I bite my lip harder, willing myself not to whimper. G.o.d, but my nipple throbs, waiting for that touch. But it doesn't come. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d traces under it, slowly stroking my skin, teasing me.

I shiver, my back tensing as I arch just a little bit, silently begging with my body. And he tenses against me, pressing closer. His breathing speeds up, and I know he can see over my shoulder. That he's watching.

Blindly, I stare forward, but in my periphery I can see his hand, inching up my shirt, exposing me. A small sound rumbles deep in his chest. I'm so hot now, I can barely breathe. I want to move. I don't. We both freeze, knowing that if he slides any closer, if he touches my nipple, we've fully crossed a line.

My chest rises and falls in a quick, light pant. I can't help myself. And his fingers draw closer. Gray's body is so tight, he's shaking. I can't take anymore.

And then I don't have to. The blunt tips of his fingers run over my aching nipple. I almost groan, but hold onto it. Gray's touch grows firmer, moving the stiff nub back and forth. And it feels so f.u.c.king good I can't stand it. My thighs clench. My c.l.i.t swells, growing wet and needy. It's almost illicit what he's doing to me, a naughty secret here in the dim quiet of my room.

His hot breath stirs my hair, the muscles along his arm twitching as he moves. My fingers dig into the sheet to keep myself still.

And then his hand is sliding away. I almost protest, but I'm too distracted by the way he's gliding over my skin, heading down. He stops at the top of my panties. We both take a slow breath together. I know he'll go no further. It's up to me.

Closing my eyes, I ease my thighs apart-just slightly-and the action aches. His breath hitches, because he knows it's an invitation. His long fingers slip under my panties. The sheets rustle as I edge one leg higher, making room for his hand.

Gray trembles, the wall of his chest flush with my back. His arm runs along my side as he reaches down, and the callused pads of his fingers graze my c.l.i.t. A tiny whimper escapes me, just as his breath gusts out in a soundless "unh." Because I'm so slippery wet, he slides right over my swollen flesh. And my entire body responds, coiling with heat that throbs.

I bite my lip so hard it hurts, tiny sounds making their way through my clenched teeth, little whimpers I can't hold back as he works me over in a slow, torturous circle. My a.s.s grinds back against his stiff c.o.c.k, and he rocks his erection into me.

Silent, barely moving, we lie there, our bodies trembling, Gray fingering me. Lower he goes, sliding over my s.e.x, down to my opening. I'm panting now, my skin covered in a sheen of sweat. I'm so close to coming, my head spins.

As if he can feel the o.r.g.a.s.m rising within me, Gray presses his lips to my bare shoulder and holds me tight as his thick finger enters me, deep. I can't help it, I groan, my hips canting into his touch. He f.u.c.ks me with his finger, and everything goes fuzzy. There is just him invading me and the undulating rhythm of my hips. I'm whimpering, my flesh so hot and pulsing. I come on a wave of heat and helpless cries, my body twitching, trapped in the clutch of his arm.

"f.u.c.k, honey," he rasps. "f.u.c.k." And then his hand is sliding away. He's turning me, his fingers threading through my hair.

He looks in pain, his gaze darting over my face as if he wants to say something. But he doesn't. His attention drifts to my mouth, and, G.o.d, I feel him there, as if he's already kissing me, already taking my mouth the way I know he wants to. My lips thrum with need. I lick them, tip my chin up so I can get closer. I want a taste of him so badly. A tortured sound escapes him, his broad chest lifting and falling on a hitched breath. "Ivy."

His mouth finds mine, and I'm lost.

That first touch is a sonic blast, sending a wave of heat through me so hard and fast that I lose my breath. I gain it back on a sigh of sheer pleasure. His lips are softer than I'd imagined, firm yet tender. He skims them over the hypersensitive corner of my mouth, finds the plump swell of my lower lip and nuzzles it.

I feel it in my spine, between my legs. And maybe he feels the same because he makes a low, almost growling sound in his throat and kisses me again, firmer this time, demanding more.

"What are we doing?" I whisper between quick, searching kisses that mold my lips. We're both shaking so hard, it's enough to make us frantic, uncoordinated, noses and chins b.u.mping as we desperately come at each other again and again.

"I don't know... Oh, s.h.i.t, Mac, you taste so good." His tongue touches mine, a savoring glide of velvet warmth. "Just one more." He groans, licks into my mouth like he's lapping up honey. "One more taste."

Gray leans into me, his broad chest crushed against my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as he ducks his head and kisses me deep. Opening my mouth wide and taking what he needs. He's shaking, his voice rough when he speaks. "I've wanted this... Wanted to taste you for so long. It's all I think about. f.u.c.k, that's good. One more, honey. One more."

My arms wrap around his neck, holding on as he pulls back, comes at me from another angle, over and over. He's making a study of my mouth, discovering every inch of it. And it gets me so hot, I'm panting, my skin drawing tight. "Once isn't going to be enough."

Gray shudders, his grip clenching on my nape. "You're right. Don't stop. Give me your mouth, honey." He suckles my bottom lip, licks along my upper lip. "Let me take care of you for a while."

His kisses turn messy, opening me wide enough that I feel the stretch in my jaw. My mouth is being f.u.c.ked by his tongue. Raw and raunchy and so good that I moan, close my eyes and f.u.c.k him back like I'll die if we stop. I just might.

Gray's big body shifts as if he can't keep still. With a noise of impatience, he pushes his thick thigh against my s.e.x, nudging the sensitive flesh there. And I groan, my legs clamping down on the muscled length. The hard throb of his erection is at my hip, demanding my attention. "Gray. What are we doing?" I'm seconds away from begging him to f.u.c.k me hard and fast against the mattress.

His hand slides down my back, drawing me closer. "Don't think," he says, not leaving my mouth. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't have to matter."

It takes a second for his words to sink in. And then they do. Realization surges like an ice-cold wave, stealing my breath and making the walls of my chest clench. We're just fooling around. At least in Gray's eyes. And I thought...

Another wave hits me, this one hot with humiliation. I'm emotionally invested. Completely.

So stupid. Especially since Gray has flat-out told me that s.e.x is just s.e.x to him. I know he cares about me. But that what we're doing doesn't matter to him in the same way it does to me makes my insides roll.

He doesn't notice I've gone still. Almost roughly, he palms my a.s.s as he kisses a path along my jaw. "Mmm... So good. Why did we wait so long to do this?"

Yes, why? When we could have been friends with benefits all along, have a quick f.u.c.k whenever the mood struck us?

I can't breathe. I need to breathe. His big body pressed against mine is no longer a comfort but a weight I can't bear. My stomach lurches. "I think I'm going to throw up."

It's enough to make him pause and lift his head in shock.

Wrenching free, I scramble from the bed and sprint to the bathroom just as Gray calls out to me.

Ignoring him, I slam the door behind me and lock myself in the safety of the bathroom a second before Gray catches up to me. A thud vibrates the door as if he's b.u.mped into it, and I hear his m.u.f.fled curse.

"Ivy." His voice is urgent. Worried. "Ivy, what-"

"I'm okay," I practically shout. I'm not. Nausea has me panting and my face is too hot. I lean against the door, pressing my cheek to the cool wood. I want to sink down and curl up into a ball.

G.o.d, I'm so stupid. So weak, letting s.e.x cloud my judgment. I can't do casual. My heart is already invested.

Gray's voice is so close I know he's leaning against the door too. "Talk to me, Mac. Please. You're kind of freaking me out here."

My eyes close. What do I say? I don't even know what to think right now. Only that his words are spinning in my head. It doesn't matter. It doesn't have to matter. The slickness between my legs and the residual tenderness from my o.r.g.a.s.m has me shuddering and pressing my thighs together as if I can blot out what he'd done to me and how perfect it had felt.

Gray speaks again. "Ivy, honey, I know that was unexpected." He gives a wry laugh. "And not exactly within the bounds of friendship, but-"

"Stop," I blurt out, panic and regret surging once more. "Just please stop talking."

I can't stand hearing him say those words again, that the best feeling of my life didn't matter to him the way it mattered to me. I'll scream.

"All right," he says slowly. Another scratch against the door has me wondering if he's put his hand to it. "But can you come out? I need to see that you're okay."

I hate the worry in his voice. Because it means he knows I'm way more affected by this than he is. It grates. And there is no f.u.c.king way I'm facing him right now.

"Look," I say to the door. "I just need a moment to myself. Could you..." I lick my dry lips. "Could you just go home?"

Silence is heavy. When Gray finally answers, he sounds pained. "Ivy... Don't send me away. I'm sorry that I-"

"No!" My shout echoes in the bathroom. "No more, Gray. I can't talk about this now. I can't." Tears p.r.i.c.kle behind my eyes. I'm so humiliated. I just want the door to swallow me up. "Not right now. Okay? Just. Go."

He's silent, but I can feel his resistance like a heavy hand against my skin.

"Go," I insist again. "We'll talk tomorrow, I swear. I just need to be alone right now." My voice warbles with the plea.

And I almost cry in relief when he sighs, and his low voice grinds out, "Okay, Mac. I'll go. Just... Call me soon. I... s.h.i.t, I don't like leaving you this way." When I don't answer, he sighs again. "All right."

And then there is silence. I press my heels against my hot eyes and realize how very much I've grown to hate silence.

Seventeen.

Gray

IvyMac: Meet me at 1? At Java Cup?

GrayG: Will do.

One text. That's all I get from Ivy. I've held off from calling her, hunting her down, because I'd promised. But it's been h.e.l.l. I'm so twitchy, I could burst out of my skin. I can all but feel Ivy thinking things through. And it terrifies me, because I also feel her slipping away.

I hope it's simple paranoia that has me tied up in knots. But Ivy asking me to meet her in a coffee shop instead of at her house or mine isn't a good sign. Like she needs neutral territory. h.e.l.l.

I get there early, securing a table in the back corner. Normally not a huge coffee drinker, I'm on my second cup by the time she arrives at eight p.m. on the dot.

The first sight of her steals my breath. It's that instantaneous-I look at Ivy, and I cannot breathe properly. Those dark eyes, that kissable rosebud mouth, those cheeks that I want to cup as I taste her.

G.o.d, I've slid my fingers over her sweet, slick c.l.i.t, all plump and sensitive to my touch. I've made her come with my hand. Heat shivers over my skin at the memory. The tips of my fingers throb, and my heartbeat is in my throat as she approaches, her gaze not meeting mine but focused somewhere around my shoulder. It hurts that she won't truly look at me. It hurts that she's so unsure. I've done this to her.

Dressed in black jeans and a gray turtleneck sweater, she also looks as though she's trying to hide all the skin she can. f.u.c.king h.e.l.l.

It had hurt more than expected when she'd torn away from me and locked herself in the bathroom. Hope and happiness had crumbled within me. Now there's nothing but a hollow cavern in my chest. I need to fix things with Ivy.

On shaking legs, I rise to greet her, fumbling the move when I reach out to... What? Kiss her cheek, give her a hug? I don't know. I just want to touch her and rea.s.sure her that everything will be okay. It doesn't matter because the moment I lean in, she's ducking into her seat with a quick "Hey."

She makes a pretense of being worried about spilling her coffee, setting it down with undue care as I sit across from her. But her continued focus on the table sends a punch of dull pain through my center.

"You're not going to look at me now?" I ask in a low voice.

At that, her head snaps up, her dark eyes wide and pained. "No. I mean, of course. Sorry. I'm just..." She trails off with a bite to her lower lip.

"I know." Resting my arms on the table, I lean in. "I'm sorry, Ivy. I shouldn't have-"

"Hey, Grayson," a guy at my elbow b.u.t.ts in. I hadn't even notice him approaching. But he's grinning down at me as his friend hovers at his side. The bright red university sweaters they're wearing are my first tipoff as to why they're here. The guy slaps my shoulder like he knows me. "Great season, man. You guys are gonna crush it in the playoffs."

"Go Dogs!" the other guy yells. And I fight back a wince.

More than anything, I want to tell these two to f.u.c.k off. Can't they see I'm talking about something important? But I don't. Fans are fans and they have my grat.i.tude. I give them a nod. "Thanks. Thanks a lot." I try to make it clear that I'm in the middle of something, but one of them wants me to autograph his baseball cap. Quickly I sign it and turn my attention back to Ivy.

Thankfully they amble away.

Ivy watches them go before acknowledging me.

"No, don't apologize," she pleads glancing up at me and then back to her cup. "I shouldn't have freaked out like that. It was totally immature."

My hand covers hers, and she flinches. But I don't let go because I need to touch her. My voice is as soft and comforting as I can make it. "It's okay, Mac."

Her shoulders lift on a breath and then she sits back in her chair, sliding her hand from mine as she goes. Her lashes conceal her eyes as she slowly turns her cup in her hands. For lack of anything better to do, I clutch my cup as well. The heat of the coffee seeps through the cardboard and warms my icy fingers.

I don't know what to say or how to start the conversation.

I open my mouth to try.

"Hey." A girl is now standing next to me. "You're Gray Grayson."

She's looking at me like I'm a latte she'd like to drink down. Irritation spikes. This is why I didn't want to meet Mac in public. Not when football fever has. .h.i.t an all-time high on the campus. I'm about to give this chick the brush off when Mac slaps her free hand on the table.

"Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake, Gray," she says to me in exasperation. "Irritable bowel syndrome is treatable. There's no need to fear. It's the rampant gas that you really should worry about, because, dude, it's bad."

Her words hang in the air, and I gape at her, shock and horror tingling through my skin. The girl pretty much does the same before her face goes beet red and she backs away from me.

"I...uh...I'll leave you to your conversation," she gets out.

I don't answer. I can only stare at Mac. Part of me wants to strangle her. I can just imagine how fast this little nugget of gossip will spread. I can hear my nickname now, Gaseous Gray. "So...social annihilation is on the menu today, huh?"