If I wasn't looking for Gray, I might have missed him at first glance. He's standing at the bar, his back to me. I know it's him because I know every line of his body, the way he likes to plant his feet slightly apart, as if he's waiting for his next play, and how he always sets his broad shoulders ruler-straight. But he isn't dressed like the Gray I know. He's wearing dark dress slacks that cup his fine a.s.s and a soft, gray knit sweater that hugs his muscled torso.

As if sensing my gaze, he turns. Holy h.e.l.l. His hair is combed back from his brow, highlighting the strong bones of his face, making him appear older, sharper. But how he looks at me sears my skin and has my heart kicking against my ribs. He knows the effect he has on me. It's there in his eyes and the way the corner of his luscious mouth slowly kicks up.

He's smiled at me dozens of times, but never like this. It's pure s.e.x, no tenderness, no familiarity. I should be offended. I'm hot instead, slippery between my legs as I walk towards him.

That a.s.sessing stare travels over my body, and the tip of his tongue flicks out to swipe his lower lip. "Hey," he says when I stop at the bar. "I've never seen you around here before."

He's not even looking at my face but leers at my chest. My nipples stiffen, and he sucks in a sharp breath, a little grunt rumbling deep in his throat.

My lips part, but no words come out. He's treating me like a stranger. Like he's Gray but Not Gray. And I remember the text. Head for the bar. Hot blond dude will be there. Let him say h.e.l.lo first. Not "let me say h.e.l.lo," but him. My heart starts pounding, and flutters fill my belly. I think about the s.e.xual fantasy I told him that lazy morning in bed.

His eyes meet mine, and a look flickers there: Is this all right? Do you want to play?

It's a struggle not to grin, not to fling myself on him and kiss the h.e.l.l out of him. I lower my lids and turn my attention to the bartender instead, pretending that my insides aren't a ma.s.s of nerves and antic.i.p.ation. "I'm waiting for my friends," I tell Not Gray, which is how I choose to think of him now, my tone standoffish.

"Sure you are," he murmurs.

Mellow music softly plays, highlighting the quiet between us. His tanned forearm rests against the bar. A thick steel sports watch is on his wrist. I've never seen it before. Or seen him drink Scotch. That strong arm lifts as he takes a drink. The peaty scent of whiskey fills the air between us.

I order a citrus martini and try to ignore Not Gray, because he's doing his best to unnerve me, standing close enough that the light hairs on his sun-kissed forearm tickle my arm. Close enough that I feel his stare. It's strange, knowing that this is Gray eyeing me like I'm some cheap conquest. I should be appalled. But no one on Earth turns me on the way he does. That he's acting this out for me makes me hotter, has me growing wet and breathless already, without him even touching me. Vodka sloshes over the sides of my gla.s.s and slides cold over my fingers as I take a sip. I lick my wet lips, tasting the tart sweetness, and Gray grunts deep within his chest.

"I'd like to do that," he says to me in a low voice.

My throat goes dry. I keep my gaze on the bar. "Do what?"

He's closer, his shoulder pressing mine. "Lick those lips."

Playing the shy girl, I look the other way as if I'm shocked. It doesn't deter him. My skin shivers at the soft brush of his lips against the sh.e.l.l of my ear.

"When I'm done with your lips, I'll lick the tips of those sweet little nipples perking up beneath your top. They're begging for it, aren't they, sweetheart?" Warm breath gusts down my neck as he exhales. "To be licked and licked."

Heat snakes down my body, clenches in my belly. And he keeps talking in that low, rumbly way. "I'll get you nice and wet playing with those little buds. So f.u.c.king wet that when I finally lick your plump p.u.s.s.y lips, you'll come on my tongue at the first taste."

A strangled sound leaves me, and I have to lean against the bar, my knees have gone so weak. My heart pounds against my chest, so hard I wonder if he can see it.

The tips of his fingers take my elbow, a light but steady grip. "Come with me."

I'm breathless, my voice faint. "No. I... My friends are..."

"We won't be long," he says against my neck before taking a taste with a flick of his tongue. "Come on, sweetness. No one will know. It will be our little secret."

Oh, G.o.d, I know it's an act, but my body shakes with illicit l.u.s.t. I can barely nod. But he sees it, makes a sound of satisfaction. Then I'm being led to the back of the club, the sound of my blood whooshing through my ears. No one stops him or even looks our way. Not even when he opens the door to a small supply room and closes us inside.

Not Gray leans against the door and simply watches me. Bathed in the light of one dingy bulb that hangs overhead, his big body seems larger, looming and taut with tension. It's so strange seeing him this way, dressed like a stranger, acting like one, that it's easy to slip into the role, lose myself to it.

"What do you want?" I ask him, plucking at the folds of my skirt as my heart thuds in time to my breathing.

His answer is a small, calculating smile. "Oh, I think you know, sweetheart."

Sweetheart, sweetness. Gray never calls me those things. Never uses that slightly smarmy tone. It only serves to make him more foreign, more dangerous.

It's almost too easy, the way he backs me up, guiding me to a low counter that runs along one wall. His hands settle on my hips and he lifts me onto its cool surface. It brings us eye to eye. Grasping the edges of the counter, he crowds me, his gaze hot and roaming.

"There," he murmurs. "That's better."

"I should get back to the bar." A weak protest.

One he ignores. The backs of his fingers skim up my arm, raising goose b.u.mps on my skin. "Nice top."

Even though it's thirty degrees out, I chose a black silk tank that hugs my waist but gathers loosely over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A tie around my neck holds the top secure. That I am braless is not lost on him. He stares at my stiff nipples as his fingers drift to the bow at the back of my neck and give it a little flick. "Take it off."

"W-what?"

"Let me see those sweet t.i.ts you've been teasing me with since you walked in the bar."

"I-" My breath catches. "No. I'm not taking my clothes off for a stranger."

He doesn't look away. "But you want to, don't you? You want me to look at you." He bends his head until his lips are at my ear. "You're dying to expose yourself, to let me see those pretty pink nipples."

My skin draws tight. I struggle not to sway into him.

He leans back, his attention on my top again. "Untie the bow."

"Someone might come in." Despite our play, my fear of getting caught is real, though not completely unwelcome.

"They won't. I took care of it."

I believe that. Gray would cover all the bases. In his own way, he's as much of a planner as I am. But I can't think of him as Gray now, not when he's doing this for me.

His fingers are back, skimming over my inner arm, teasing the edges of my top. "Just a little peek."

My b.r.e.a.s.t.s ache so badly, they're hot, heavy, the silk covering them an irritant. With shaking hands, I reach up. The fabric tugs against my neck then comes free. It slithers over my skin like a caress.

He sucks in an audible breath as my b.r.e.a.s.t.s are exposed. I see myself through his eyes, sitting half-naked in this dim back room, my nipples puckered, my b.r.e.a.s.t.s quivering with each shallow breath I take. The vulnerability of it feels naughty, forbidden, and I nearly whimper.

A noise of pure satisfaction leaves him. Not bothering to lift his gaze from my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, he reaches out, runs the tips of his fingers over my nipple. I'm so sensitized now the touch sends a bolt of pure, searing l.u.s.t straight through me. I flinch, clench my teeth to keep still.

He hums, strokes me back and forth as if he owns me. "So pretty." He grazes me again. "You like that, sweetheart?"

Eyes closed, I bite my lower lip and nod.

I feel him move. The wet flat of his tongue drags over my nipple. My eyes fly open on a strangled cry. He grins up at me, his mouth hovering at my breast. It isn't his usual cheeky grin but something more wicked. "Mmm. Delicious."

He takes a step closer, and I swallow convulsively. Gray's voice lowers. "I wonder where else you taste good. You want to show me, sweets?"

I'm practically panting now. My hair swings as I give my head a hard shake. He leans in, trailing the blunt tip of his finger up the curve of my breast. I nearly yelp when he gives the stiff peak a quick, crude pinch.

His smile is pure male smugness. "Lift up your skirt and show me where you're wet."

G.o.d. My thighs shake. I want to resist him. I want to do exactly what he says. As if against my will, my hands lower to the hem of my skirt.

Up, up, up. Every inch that slides over my thighs pushes my agitation higher. I can't take it. I gather up the skirt until it's around my wait. Cool air caresses my wet skin.

The silence is deafening. There is only the roar of my blood beating and the quiver of my s.e.x, now fully on display. He just stands there, his eyes narrow, his expression almost fierce. I don't miss the way his broad chest moves with agitated breaths.

I expect him to touch me. He doesn't. He stares, his gaze fixated on my s.e.x. And it drives all my awareness to my exposed state, to the fact that the small bud of my c.l.i.t is throbbing.

He licks his bottom lip as if he's imagining my taste. When he speaks, it's a raw demand. "Spread wider."

I do, wide enough that I feel the strain in the tendons between my thighs.

Still he doesn't touch me, which drives up my need. I want him to so badly now that I bite the inside of my lip, arch my back just a bit to entice him with my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

That b.a.s.t.a.r.d simply gives me an evil look. "You're dying for it, aren't you?"

"No," I whisper. A lie.

He knows it. The corner of his mouth curls as his hand drifts to his belt.

Short of breath and aching, I watch him slowly unfasten his belt, the metal buckle clinking in the silence. He doesn't unzip immediately but runs the heel of his hand down the significant bulge of his erection.

I have to clench my fists so I don't reach out and cup him.

The hiss of his zipper lowering buzzes in my ears. I only have eyes for his hand, reaching in to pull out that beautiful c.o.c.k. Long, hard, thick, a bead of precome glistening on the wide head. I know how smooth his skin is. I know his taste. How well he'll fill me.

"Do you want this?" he asks.

"I'm a good girl," I whisper.

He wraps his fingers around his wide base, his eyes on me. "Let me put it in you. See how it feels."

"I don't know..." I trail off, biting my lip. Pretending that I won't scream if he doesn't f.u.c.k me soon.

He steps between my legs, and gives his c.o.c.k a stroke as if he needs that small relief. The sight has my s.e.x clenching. Licking his lower lip, he guides himself to my opening.

"Just the tip, sweetheart." He nudges against me, slipping along my wetness, as I whimper. His voice goes dark. "Just for a second."

That thick crown pushes inside. I'm so worked up with l.u.s.t, I begin to moan and wiggle, ripples of heat running along my body. He shudders, his c.o.c.k sinking further, stretching me, invading as he groans out, "Oh, f.u.c.k, I'm gonna need more."

Like that, I'm coming around his hard c.o.c.k as he glides in, deeper, deeper, until fully seated. The o.r.g.a.s.m quakes through me so hard and fast that I arch back, my inner walls squeezing him tight.

"Jesus," he says, holding on to my neck. "Jesus."

Somehow, I manage to lift my head, catch his eye. He's no longer Not Gray, but my Gray, looking at me as if I'm beautiful, as if I'm his world. I don't want to pretend anymore. Maybe he sees the knowledge in my eyes, because he gives me a look that's part pain, part helpless want. Deep inside me, his c.o.c.k pulses.

I draw in a breath, touch his cheek. "Gray."

That's all he needs. With an impatient sound, he hauls me close, bringing us chest-to-chest, mouth-to-mouth. He kisses me, no longer detached but pure Gray, sweet and seductive and just a little dirty.

"Ivy. Honey." He f.u.c.ks like he's savoring me, holding my upper body against his so that the only movement is his c.o.c.k pushing in and out. A steady pounding, so good and raw that I shiver.

"More," I whisper before finding his mouth again.

Without pause, he grabs my a.s.s and backs us up until he's leaning against the wall. My legs wrap around his waist, and he lifts me with ease, steadily works me up and down his swollen c.o.c.k. I can only hold on, feel his muscles shift, and the stretch of him inside me.

"Ivy." He kisses me quick, needy. "I'm close."

He thrusts up, moving his hips in a little circle, the pressure hitting my swollen c.l.i.t just right, and my s.e.x clenches, pleasure licking up my thighs, over my skin.

I suck in a breath, my lips coasting over his. "Finish it."

My a.s.s. .h.i.ts the counter. I'm pinned, spread wide for him as he takes what he needs. He's beautiful to me like this, his brows drawn tight, his lips parted as if he can't get enough air.

Our eyes meet, and I'm the one who can't breathe. Everything seems to pause. There is only Gray, his gaze wide and clear, his c.o.c.k lodged deep as though it's found home.

My body tightens like a fist, my heart so tender it hurts. I feel him everywhere, draw in his scent and heat. But it's that look, as though there will never, ever be anything more important to him than me, that does me in.

This time my o.r.g.a.s.m is an almost painful roll of pleasure. Crushing my lips to his shoulder to keep quiet, I cling to him and let go. And he follows me, his mouth on my neck, his fingers digging into my thighs.

He comes with a quiet shudder that wracks his whole body. All the tension leaves him on a sigh.

We're still for several breaths, then he pulls out and sets me on my feet before tucking himself back into his pants and doing them up. My skirt flutters down as I reach for him. I hold him close, stroke his hair, my face pressed into the warm hollow of his neck. He smells of s.e.x and sweat and whiskey.

I can't stop kissing his silky skin. "Thank you."

Gray runs his hands down my back. "For what?"

"You gave me my fantasy."

"Not a hardship, honey." Slowly, he kisses his way up my neck, scattering fine shivers in his wake. "In fact, that now rates as one of my top fantasies too."

I tilt my head to the side to give him better access. "You were good. Maybe you should consider acting."

His laugh is a snort against my neck. "It wasn't an act. I meant every word I said."

I hadn't meant a single one of my protests. But my body's response had been real and so intense, I still feel pleasurable little aftershocks. I adore Gray for that, for making me feel safe to play. For wanting to do that with me in the first place.

"I haven't forgotten about yours, you know," I say against his temple.

Gray lifts his head. "My fantasy?" He looks blank, but he doesn't fool me.

"I know what it is."

"Oh, you do?" Gray smiles yet his tone holds a note of caution, as if he doesn't want to believe me.

"Yeah, Cupcake, I do." I kiss the tip of his nose. "You take care of everybody. But who takes care of you? That's what you want, isn't it? To be cared for." My palm smooths down his cheek as he stares at me with wide eyes. "That's my job now, Gray. I'm always going to be the one there for you."

His throat works on a swallow, and when he speaks, his voice is husky. "How did you know?"