Page 37 of Untamed
He smirks in a drunken sort of way. I’m not sure if he knows what I’m referencing, but I think he does. It appears he hasn’t eaten much if at all today as he stares at the food, but he hesitates.
“Go ahead, eat.”
With a nod, he digs in. I watch him eat and debate on whether or not to thank him for last night. Instead, I settle on music. “So you like Randy Travis?”
He laughs around the bite of macaroni and cheese and nods. “Yeah, I suppose.” He points his fork at the plate, looking up at me. “Is there barbecue sauce in this?”
Nervously, I nod. “I think it gives it a different twist to the traditional version. Is it okay?”
He makes even eating look hot.
He smirks. Okay, well his smirk it definitely sexier than him eating. “It’s really good.”
I’ve never seen a man eat that fast, but he eats it all in about five minutes and then finishes the beer he had with him. Then starts on the peach cobbler. “You make this too?”
“Yeah. I like to cook.” My eyes are focused on his mouth and the way he slides the spoon from his perfectly curved lips. “I never got to apologize for last night, and I’m sorry.” I clear my throat, easing over the awkwardness. “Joel is just . . . he’s an ass and doesn’t know when to quit.”
He straightens his back, his jaw tightening, but he says nothing. Just a grunt. Like he doesn’t want to talk about it.
Crap. I should shut up, but I’m incapable of it. “You didn’t have to stick up for me.”
Grayer’s jaw flexes, eyes blazing like they did the night before. He inhales, staring at the bowl in his hand, deeply, searching for more than words. “It was the right thing to do.”
He finishes the cobbler and sets the bowl down on the tray. He reaches for his beer. “Goddamn, you can cook.”
A slight smile curves his lips as his eyes warm. He sets the beer down on the floor and then stands, coming toward me as I lean against the side of the barn. His eyes slide to my face. My heart pounds as he nears, his warmth intoxicating. I’m curious if he’s going to tell me off again or thank me for the food.
“Girl, what’s up?” His sweet southern drawl is way more apparent when he’s drunk.
Girl, what’s up?I hold back my snort, just barely. He’sreallydrunk. And it’s sexy. So freaking sexy that I can’t help but stare at him and his bare chest. Boys around here don’t look like this. Sure they’re muscular, but it’s clear Grayer honed his body to perfection, and perfection is exactly what it is. “You here to torture me some more?”
Clint Black’s “Like the Rain” comes on the stereo and I ask, “Are you drunk, Grayer?” I watch him come closer, taking the two steps to press his sweaty bare chest into me. My eyes dart to his eyes, then his chest. I notice a scar on his shoulder; it’s a deep one, still purple as if it’s fairly new. Heat rushes to my cheeks.
Noticing my reaction, a gruff laugh comes from him. His touch is subtle at first, high on my hips, but it’s enough to entice even the smallest of reactions from my heart. I can’t stop it from flying. As soon as he touches me, I’m undone. He makes flawed seem perfect and unattainable at the same time. My hands tremble at the thought of being with him. And when he touches me, it’s all electricity and needles, the tingling sensation that you get deep in your bones knowing this is the touch you’ve been waiting for your entire life. I’d sell my soul for this touch, aching for his heated embrace, like the bright burning wood of a bonfire, lit, and longing for a breeze to ignite me.
His eyes slowly drink me in, drifting over my face and lingering lower. “So?” He tips his hat up and then takes my face in his palms, sharing my breath and making me taste his words. “Why do you care if I’m drunk . . . Maesyn?”
Oh lord.“I’m pretty sure in your current state I could just take advantage of you right now,” I tease, the gentlest of smiles touching my lips.
“Go ahead.” He grins, bunching the fabric of my nightshirt in his fists, like any second he might rip it off me. I pray he does. “If you’re up for the challenge.” Stepping forward, he pushes us against the side door to the tack room. It catches me off guard. It’s different from our last encounter in here. His hands are on my hips, my back meeting worn wood that’s captured thousands of memories in this barn. He hunches forward, sliding his hands from my hips down my thighs and picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, squeezing, and my hands go to his shoulders, curling around his neck. I knock his hat off next, in case he wants to kiss me.
The thin fabric of my panties leaves nothing to my imagination when I come in contact with the ridges in his belt buckle pressed against me. Our eyes collide and a zing of electricity shoots through me. My heart somersaults. “Go ahead, take advantage of me,” he whispers, inches from my face.
He gives me that country-boy grin, shifting his weight forward again to give me a little more. Heat spreads throughout my body. Damn, that’s nice. I resist the urge to toss my head back and moan.
Looking at him, I know hewillmind if I take advantage of him. He most certainly will. There are parts of him holding back and he’s not going to let go that easily.
Moonlight filters into the barn and I’m content on never moving from his arms. Leaning forward, his lips meet mine. And then he’s kissing me, giving me what I need as his mouth moves over mine. It’s what he wants, but knows he shouldn’t have. It’s tentative at first, gently parted lips and a slow, gradual build before his tongue sweeps over the seam of my lips. He tastes like peaches and beer, sweet and sinful all in one.
His kiss is alive, sweet and savoring, like sweet tea on a hot day, never quite enough, but just enough to satisfy the tongue once he gives me that taste. It’s not enough because I want so much more. I never want it to end.
When he parts his mouth from mine, I inhale in a much-needed breath, my head buzzing with excitement. Grayer moves his mouth to my neck, kissing up and down the curve, sending shivers through my entire body. This . . . his kiss, his touch, it’s nothing like I’ve ever experienced in my life. The way his mouth commands mine, his breathing, his calloused hands . . . all of it.
It’s slow and it’s meant to be as he kisses over my sun-kissed and salty skin, heating it to degrees the sun could never reach. Holding me against the side of the barn, Grayer’s already in control here, more in control than I am at the moment. There’s a sense of strength only he has, but it’s also the alcohol, driving him forward. It’s the only way he’s forgetting the age difference.
“I feel bad for you,” I whisper when he’s staring at me, maybe deciding what happens next.
“Why?” His eyes find mine, and they seem honest, pure to the heart. He may be trouble, but this bad boy has a good heart, and it’s evident from these looks he’s giving me.
