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24. Macy

Chapter 24

Macy

F right is delicious when it greets me with flaming eyes, a crooked grin, and hair in disarray. An alarm sounds from my chest, pumping blood in my ears. I see you, fear. But I'm doing this anyway.

It's hold on my heart releases, falling away until it's just a girl standing before the boy she's falling for, stomach in knots and blush in her cheeks.

"Hi," he says, his midnight voice is hoarse.

"Hi."

"Is everything okay?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No."

His expression shifts to something slightly alarmed.

"Grayson?"

His eyebrows pull together. "Yes?"

"Invite me in."

He steps aside, allowing me to pass the threshold. Strawberries and a scent which can only be described as him fills the dim space, only lit by a single lamp in the corner.

"I'm tapping out," I say. "I can't play nonchalant any longer or pretend to dislike you." Eyes on the sunset wall, I whisper, "You win."

In his silence, fear is raging like an angry sea. But I remain still, despite everything happening within. I feel him behind me, like standing too close to a furnace. Closer and closer the heat gets, until my wrist is encompassed by his hand, and it feels like flames licking up my arm. His breath is against the shell of my ear. "I lost the moment my eyes set on you, Mace. I've been at your mercy for what feels like my entire life." His words hold a certain power, turning my skin to gooseflesh despite the heat.

The tips of his fingers are trickling up my arm, knuckles delicate as he moves my hair over my shoulder and kisses the back of my neck. He's pressing his nose against my hair. "So sweet," he purrs. His hands dig into my hips to spin me around, which forces a gasp from my parted lips. He backs me up until I'm pressed against a wall. The sunset wall. "You've invaded my mind and now my home," he says. "You consume my every thought." He eyes my lips. "If we're done playing, if this is real , then kiss me," he says.

I take in his face, the pure wonder in his eyes and the hint of trepidation swimming in the blue pools. His eyebrows pinch together, forming a single line of worry between the bold arches. I still believe he is undeserving of such luscious eyelashes. An orange hue from the lamp in the corner of the room is casting sharp shadows across his face, making his features appear as if they've been honed from rock. He looks like something nightmarish, something I shouldn't want. His eyes have been swallowed by black ink, and a thrill runs down my spine.

When I bring my delicate hand to the sharp edge of his face, it somehow softens, and a new shadow appears in his left cheek. I touch the dimple, and the other appears. Then, I hover my lips above his, torturing him with patience. I move closer, my mouth feathering his. I pull back for a millisecond, and then I'm kissing him.

His hands tighten on my hips, and he groans. It's such a beautiful, masculine sound, that makes every intention I had of taking this slow fall away. I press my hips into him and the only word that comes to mind is desperation . Perhaps the spell of his lips on my neck explains my lack of vocabulary. And then, every thought I've ever had, every bit of hurt I've felt in my life is melting away like cotton candy on my tongue.

It's beautiful to get lost this way in another person. To let yourself be vulnerable with someone you trust. To be wanted in such a way that makes someone's body react like his does to me. I can't imagine ever believing sex was bad or that it was wrong. This isn't wrong.

Our clothes tangle together on the floor, both of us stripped down to our underwear. Suddenly I'm flying in his arms through the hallway, my bare back meets the door to his bedroom, and I'm soaring when he opens it and drops me onto his bed. The mattress bounces and squeaks and he takes his time watching me this way. With my laughter echoing off the walls and a smile stuck on my face. I feel my hair fanned around me, my bare chest cold and peeked.

The dim light leaking through his open door is enough for me to notice his eyes sparkling with adoration, as if I'm the most beautiful site he's ever beheld. I want to shy away, cover my breasts and tuck my face into the thick comforter, but I don't. Maybe it's okay to be confident and a little scared too.

"Macy," he says like my name is a prayer. "I know I should probably play it cool right now, but I can't. I love this. You, in my bed, lips pink and swollen from mine." He lowers himself so he's above me, elbows propping him up. "I loved opening the door to find you standing there, knocking on it in the middle of the night. I love knowing you feel comfortable coming to me at any time of day. I want you to wake me up at three in the morning because you're hungry for a snack and nothing in your pantry looks good. I want you to come to me. For anything."

"That's…quite neighborly," I tease.

"I mean it."

"You can come to me too," I whisper.

He looks at me for a few moments and then nods ever so slightly. A grin slowly spreads across his face right before he grabs me and quickly maneuvers us, so his back is against the headboard and I'm straddling him. I feel every inch of him pressed against me this way, only the thin fabric of our undergarments separates us. I realize in this moment how empty I am without him. "I want you," I whisper.

Simply looking him in the eye and expressing my wants is empowering. It shouldn't be something I'm unused to, and right here in this moment, I promise myself I'll never do anything I don't want ever again.

His eyes lock on mine, not straying for a moment when he slides his hand between our bodies, cupping me over my underwear, and then letting out a hiss once he feels the moisture. "I would've thought I imagined those words leaving your pretty lips but…" He glances at the spot we meet. "I'm going to try not to let that go to my head." He grins, then slips his hand beneath the soft fabric, coaxing a moan from me.

He's swirling the tips of his fingers over the sensitive nerves, skillful in his pattern, like he's paid attention to what feels best for me. My lips part and I glance at his hand disappearing beneath the only piece of clothing left on my body. He leans forward and circles my nipple with his tongue. Oh my…

My gasp is loud when he pushes his finger inside, curling and pumping it so my back arches, causing my chest to press into his face. He uses his thumb to stimulate the bundle of nerves, applying just enough pressure. My moaning becomes sporadic.

Like a symphony halting to a stop, his fingers still. "Don't finish," he says gravelly. I stare down at him breathless, the back of my neck sticky with sweat.

"Why?" I ask, desperately moving my hips to gain relief.

"Because I'm not done with you." He starts again, and it's just a few moments until I'm close to bursting with relief.

But he stops. Again. I glare at him.

He gazes at me through thick lashes, lips parted in awe as though I'm his center of gravity. "I love when you look like you loathe me," he says.

"You seriously need therapy," I say between breaths.

"Perhaps." He chuckles and then angles his face, so his lips touch mine. He whispers, "I'm going to work you so close to relief, and just as you're on the cusp of finishing, I'll steal it from you, until you're writhing for me ." His bold words have my lips parting in utter shock, which he takes as an invite. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth, lips locking on mine.

I slow the pace until it's delicate like a kiss between lovers, and then he pulls back, placing his forehead against mine. His hand cups my jaw and he whispers, "This might be more torturous for me." I smile and he kisses it, and then he shimmies us around until I'm beneath his weight, and all I see are his eyes, the color of midnight waters.

He sprinkles tender kisses all over my body, and when he reaches the side of my abdomen, I squirm and giggle. He kisses the only piece of fabric left on my body, then slowly removes it, baring me to him. His warm lips are touching me in such an intimate way. Tasting me, he groans like I'm something delicious. He gets me so very close, I can see the sharp glare of relief, but it quickly turns dark as he steals it away, just as promised. Once my breathing has slowed a fraction, he starts again. He doesn't stop this torturous pattern until my head is spinning and I cry out. "Please!"

He's gazing up at me with a raised brow, his lips glistening, when he says, "Please, what?"

"Stop…doing that . It's torture," I whisper.

"What is it you want?" he asks in a voice nearly as pleading as mine.

"You."

He's suddenly reaching over, opening the drawer to his nightstand to grab a condom. He gently places his weight on me. Then his lips.

He deepens the kiss, and that's all we do for several minutes. His innocent touch moves over my body, yet it feels incredibly intimate. He threads our fingers, lifting my arms above my head, kissing his way up to my wrists. He gazes down at me, eyelids heavy with lust. "I want you too," he whispers. The way he says it, the intensity of his gaze makes his statement seem entirely separate from sex.

He frees himself from his boxer briefs, moving them down his legs, then kicking them away. "This is what you want?" he asks.

"Yes," I whisper.

He tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling the condom on and lining himself against me. His eyes search mine for permission, to which I smile and pull him down so his lips are against mine. I kiss him as I lift my hips, a gasp escapes the both of us when he starts to fill me.

I think of that magical moment when you take off in an airplane. When the future is a blank canvas of possibilities. When I left Idaho, I never imagined this . Grayson is a dream I never once dared to hope for. Because hope is dangerous, it leaves you vulnerable to a world of hurt if it never comes true. He's everything I always deemed as fiction. But he's real. He's my fairytale come to life.

Mine. He's mine.

He slowly fills me all the way, gazing at me as if I'm his too. We come together, and he cups my face. His thumb touches my lips, so I kiss the soft pad. His eyes darken when I suck the digit into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.

"You have no idea—" he starts, then buries his face between my neck and shoulder. "How long I've waited for you."

My thoughts swirl, I can't grasp a single one to understand what he means. Everything in my mind parts like a sea until Grayson is at the very center, and it hits me like stars aligning.

I've landed in that wishing well to find I am inescapably in love with him. There's no rope out, only the one tying us together. I want to live and die here.

I am in love with Grayson.

Words don't leave my lips, but I send every feeling of love through that invisible rope between us, and suddenly it feels as if I'm on fire, those blue flames flashing over me. I bare my heart to him. I let him fill every inch of me. My mind, body, and soul.

I don't want this to end. I press my hand against his chest, and he pulls out of me, eyes burning with wonder. I push him so he's on his back and then straddle him. His eyes are ping ponging between my face and the place he disappears inside me.

His lips are beautifully parted, and suddenly I wish I was an artist so I could capture the look on his face. I would paint the way his eyes seem to shine yet darken at once. Like night and day in a duel. The way his cheeks are flushed, and his hair is wild, flying every which way. I've made him look so unkept. I would name the painting "Unveiling his Final Mask."

I pour everything I feel into the rhythm of my hips. His gaze drips over me like a soft rainfall. "I can't last much longer with you moving like that," he says through his teeth like he's pained.

Burning light takes over my vision until I'm blinded by it, caught in a wave so strong I might never break the surface. It's pure ecstasy. My moans are faraway. His movements beneath me become jerky. That wave slowly eases me to shore, until I'm washed up, trying to catch my breath. Grayson's chest is heaving like mine, and I slowly pull myself from him. His arms come around me and pull me to his chest.

We lay like this forever. Me listening to the rhythm of his heart, the way it starts to slow, along with his breath. He draws lazy circles on my skin. "Write me a story." His chest vibrates with his voice.

I feel myself smile. We're writing a story right now. A beautiful one.

"What kind?"

Three beats go by before he says, "Something wildly dramatic." His hand waves in the air as he speaks. "Make it depressing enough for me to cry."

I could never write a story that doesn't have a happy ending. "When was the last time you cried?" I ask, wondering out loud.

He counts on his fingers. "I don't know. Maybe ten or fifteen years ago."

"What?" I all but shout at him.

He shrugs, the movement raises and drops my head.

I say with an edge of seriousness to up the dramatics, "Something you should know about me, Grayson, is when I see a challenge, I'm determined to overcome it. I vow right here to break that ten-year streak of yours."

His chest vibrates beneath my ear with laughter. "Good luck with that, Tato."

I roll my eyes. "We're back to that one, are we?"

"What would you prefer I call you?" The question reminds me of a story. A rivalry between an angry girl and an arrogant prick, set in the JFK airport. Nonetheless, I smile at the memory. It's our story.

"Mace," I whisper. "I like when you call me Mace."

"It's settled then," he says with a smile in his voice. "Dream of me, Mace."

"Still as arrogant as ever." And just as charming.

His chest is my pillow, and his breath is a melody that puts me to sleep.

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