Oh God, yes.

"Gray," I breathed.

I loved it when he did this, loved it. Seven years ago, three and a half weeks ago, I loved it.

His hand went between my legs, fingers gently spreading me open as his tongue lashed then his mouth sucked deep.

"Gray," I breathed, it came out deep, throaty mainly because a half second after I said his name he made me come.

Still feeling it, I lost his mouth, my eyes dazedly opened as I felt the backs of my knees hooked around his arms then his hands were on my hips dragging me up his thighs.

Then he was inside me, pounding deep.

Still feeling it but coming down, I watched him watch me as he thrust into me, my body jerking with each thrust, his eyes burning, his handsome face turned on, his fingers digging into my hips yanking me to him as his hips drove into me.

My legs and torso moved, tensing, lifting. I wanted to go to him, touch him, fold into him, kiss him but he buried himself deep, started grinding and growled his order of, "Lay still, Ivey. Your hair all over my bed, your body in my bed and me in you, I wanna see."

My legs tensed into his arms automatically as another shot of heat penetrated me at his words and I whispered, "Okay," and relaxed back.

Then I watched my man fucking me.

And I liked watching.

Oh God, this was hot.

"Fingers between your legs, baby," Gray muttered low, his voice thick.

I did as I was told and once I did, my neck arched, my head pushing back into the bed and my eyes closed.

Yeah, this was hot.

"Ivey, look at me," Gray rumbled and it took effort. I liked this. I liked being in his room, his bed, open to him, feeling him driving inside me, knowing he was watching me touching myself as he fucked me. I liked it a lot.

But for him, I gave him my eyes and a full body shiver trembled through me at the hot, dark look on his face.

He must have liked what he saw too because his fingers dug deeper into my flesh and he pulled me harder into him, plunging faster and deeper into me.

Oh God, oh yes. Oh God, oh yes.

This was hot.

"Gray," I gasped then I came again, harder, stronger, overwhelming. So much I didn't feel his arms leave my knees or his weight hit me or his face bury itself in my neck until I started coming down.

My arms and legs circled him then his hips started bucking in a way I knew.

"Honey, give it to me," I whispered, his head came up, his hips drove deep, he stayed planted and I watched as he gave it to me.

When he finished his face went back into my neck. One of my legs slid down to curl around his thigh, the other one slid from around him, sole of my foot to the bed but I pressed my inner thigh to his hip. My hands moved along the contours of his back, feeling his skin, his muscle, his heat and memorizing it as I did his weight, his cock still inside me, his smell.

God, he smelled good. I forgot that. He smelled like outdoors and man.

His head moved, his lips came to my ear and he whispered, "Welcome back to Mustang, dollface."

I blinked at the ceiling. Then I burst out laughing.

His head came up and his grinning eyes came to me and, lucky for me, his lips were grinning too so I also got the dimple.

I controlled my hilarity and remarked, "I hope you're not Mustang's welcome wagon, honey, and that was all just for me."

His grin slightly faded, his head dropped and his lips touched mine before he pulled back and said quietly, "It's all for you, Ivey."

All for me. All of him was all for me.

I sighed.

Then I smiled.

Gray's eyes took in my smile then they moved to mine and he ordered gently, "Say you love me, Ivey."

My body eased under his and I whispered, "I love you, Gray."

"Welcome home, dollface."

My hand moved to cup his jaw as my lips whispered, "Thank you, baby."

His eyes got lazy before he gave me the dimple again.

Six hours later...

Makeup refreshed, a spritz of perfume, having run my fingers through my hair, re-donning my fitted, fabulous black halter top sundress and strappy, spiked-heeled black sandals, my hand in Gray's, we were walking across the porch.

And I was trying not to hyperventilate.

Because it was Friday.

And being Friday, we were heading to his truck to go to town for VFW steaks.

I was not ready for this.

Not at all.

"Maybe I should change," I suggested as Gray walked us down the porch steps.

"You look beautiful, darlin'," Gray replied on a hand squeeze, leading me around the porch and toward his truck.

The rusted out wreck grew closer and closer as my anxiety grew more and more.

"I have a lot of unpacking to do. Maybe I should get started on that," I tried.

"Ivey, you don't have a job. You have plenty of time to unpack," Gray pointed out, walking me to the passenger side of his truck.

Okay, shit.

Okay, shit.

I didn't want to face down Mustang, not now. They knew I was a burlesque dancer. They knew I was shacked up with a hotshot who they would never know was gay. These people went to church. They lived in a small town. They were not hardened, seen it all, done it all residents of Vegas.

They would think things about me.

They already thought things about me.

I knew it.

I could handle this if I had time to prepare. But a day full of having sex with Gray broken up to eat turkey and swiss sandwiches and have whispered conversations as we lay naked in his bed, fingers trailing, bodies seeking and gaining contact, legs tangling, lips brushing did not prepare me for dinner at the VFW where most everyone in the town of Mustang would be.

Shit.

Gray stopped me at the passenger side door of his truck, he pulled it open and it creaked loudly. My thoughts of everyone in Mustang judging me fled and my eyes shot down to the door.

Then a smile slowly rose on my lips.

"Get in, honey," Gray muttered and I looked up at him.

"Same truck?" I asked softly and he focused on me.

Then he grinned.

God, that grin. All the shit that went down, it still came easy.

"It runs, so yeah," he answered.

"How much do you have to work on it to make it run?" I asked.

"Dollface, it's American made so not much."

He was totally lying. This thing was still running on a wing and a prayer.

Whatever.

"It's twenty years old, Gray," I told him.

"It's fifteen years old, Ivey."

I felt my brows draw together and I asked, "Is it?"

His lips twitched and he answered, "Yeah."

"Looks older," I muttered.

"Get in, Ivey."

"Way older."

"Get in, Ivey."

"Way, way older."

Gray burst out laughing, hooked an arm around my waist, pulled me into his body and kissed me, hard and closed mouthed.

Then he lifted his head and ordered, "Get...in, Ivey."

"All right, all right," I muttered, turned and climbed in.

The door creaked loudly when Gray slammed it.

I smiled again.

Then I looked around the interior.

Candy bar wrappers. Gum wrappers. Chip bags. Receipts. Empty pop cans. The ashtray open and filled to overflowing with change that had fallen down and therefore was also on the floor.

Gray's door creaked loudly, he angled in then it creaked loudly again as he slammed it.

He'd fired the old girl up, reversed and we were on our way down the lane when I queried, "Have you tidied the old girl up since I left?"

"The old girl?"

"Your truck."

"Right," he muttered, I looked at his profile to see he was grinning. Then he answered, "Probably."

"By the looks of it, I'm not sure you're telling me the truth."

Gray glanced at me then back out the windshield before he replied, "Ivey, I'm a guy. This is a truck. It's not a new truck. It's not even a five year old truck. It's a fifteen year old truck. I don't tidy anything and definitely not a fifteen year old truck."

"Now you'll often have a classy albeit ex-showgirl in your truck Gray," I reminded him.

"Good, so you can tidy it," Gray replied and I giggled.

Then I looked out the windshield as Gray turned us on the road to Mustang. "So, if you don't tidy anything, are you saying that even with Mrs. Cody gone, Macy still comes to clean your house?"

"Yep, every two weeks."

"That's weird, Gray," I noted softly.

"Why?"