24. Grayson

Grayson

U nlocking Maggie's front door with the hidden key, I step inside, immediately greeted by the familiar scent of fresh oranges. It makes me smile, but there's an underlying odor—stale food. The takeout boxes on the coffee table make me sigh. The disarray is a little unsettling; I'm not one to leave a home like this.

Maggie's a busy woman—chasing criminals and all—so I head to the kitchen first. After putting away the groceries I brought, I start tidying up. If Maggie wants to be in a relationship with me, this is part of the deal. I pick up the trash, find the garbage bin in the garage, and then tackle the dishes. There are a few clothes in the hall, next to the second bedroom. Curious, I pick them up and reach for the door. I didn't know this place even had a second bedroom. But when I try to open it up, the door is locked.

Odd, but far be it for me to judge her place. Whatever is in that room, I'm sure she has a good reason for keeping it shut up like this.

Forgetting about it, I toss the clothes into her overflowing laundry basket. It would be too much for me to start a load, so I ignore that too. Once the place is tidied up, I move around the kitchen, getting familiar with the layout and pulling out the pans I'll need. Just as I'm stirring the mirepoix, I hear the front door open.

When I look up, Maggie is standing there, but something's off. Her face looks tired. "Hi," she says, relocking the door behind her.

"Well, hello." She comes into the kitchen and awkwardly kisses my cheek. "Everything okay?"

A hint of discomfort flickers across her features. "You cleaned, and you're cooking."

I go back to stirring. "Yes. When Grayson Cardenas is your man, he does those things."

Leaning against me, her face softens. "The wolf likes a clean den. I get it."

Secretly, I love that she calls me a wolf. It's manly, a little badass. No one's ever seen me that way before. Sure, I was in the mob, but if anyone saw how I was treated, they'd know the truth—I was at the bottom, always pushed to do more: more money, more businesses, more ways to avoid the police. I handled it all. Am I proud? Not of the work, but of being clever enough to solve those problems? Yes. But no one, before Maggie, has ever noticed.

So if she wants to call me her wolf, I'll take it. "Woof," I say, half-jokingly.

She chuckles, wrapping a hand around my waist. "Smells good. What is it?"

"Shrimp scampi, when it's done at least."

"Yum. I'm gonna change and put my gun away." I watch her as she leaves, noticing something still feels off. Am I coming on too strong?

I shake the thought away. This is the woman who straddled me naked while I was half asleep. If anything, I'm not coming on strong enough. As I lower the heat, I hear her call out for me. "Yes?" When there's no answer, I set the pan off the fire and follow her to her room.

Her bedroom is a good size, with a queen bed. The covers are shoved to the bottom, which makes sense—she's a blanket hog. "In here," she says from her closet.

Inside, her clothes are surprisingly well-organized, considering the rest of the place. When I step beside her, I see she's at a safe. "This is a gun safe. Thumbprint access."

I nod, impressed. "I, uh, thought I should program you in…" she trails off, rubbing her neck. I tug at her ponytail. "Why is this making you so nervous?"

"Well…" She types a code in, and the thumbprint scanner beeps. She gestures to it, and I place my thumb on it until it beeps. "If I wasn't here and you needed protection, especially if George was around…"

"Oh," I say, understanding the discomfort now. She's thinking about George already, which says a lot about how she feels. We repeat the process with another safe, and the screen glows with "Print added."

As we walk out of the closet, she stops and huffs out a breath. "Sorry, I've had this thing forever. It was a tax write-off." She nervously laughs. "I bought it thinking that someday, with my own kids, I'd want to keep my gun locked up safely. And I know George isn't here, but I think it's a good—" I cut her off with a kiss. She's thinking of my kid, and God, that does things to me.

When I pull back, she has a lazy smile. "Was I being weird?"

"Very. Can I get back to cooking now? Or do you need me to sign paperwork for co-leasing a minivan?" She pushes me away with a scoff, but I catch her arm. "It means a lot that you think of my son."

She swallows, a flash of something—guilt, maybe—in her eyes before she nods. When I let her go, she quickly walks away. Once we're both in the kitchen, I put the pan back on the burner and turn it on.

"Anything I can do to help?" she asks, hopping onto the counter. My brows furrow, but I don't say anything about her sitting where food goes.

"No, ma'am." Her feet swing back and forth, bumping the cabinets. I'll never get the food cooked with her hovering. "Don't let me bother you. Go do whatever you normally do, and I'll bring you food."

She sighs—actually sighs—at my words. I glance at her as I add in the shrimp. Her smile is muted, not quite reaching her eyes.

"Am I driving you crazy?" My grin is immediate. "Yes."

She cackles and jumps down. "Okay, I'll be in my room." I don't ask why. Maybe she's stripping down so I can eat dinner off her. I could be on board with that.

Maggie leaves, and I don't see or hear her once she's gone. I finish frying the food, boil the pasta, and steam some carrots—one of the few vegetables she likes—then plate our food.

With two plates in hand, I head down the hall and push open her door with my back. "Dinner is served, mon cherie."

But she doesn't turn around, and she is most definitely not naked. The little minx is playing a video game. I clear my throat, and she turns, blushing. Sliding her headphones off, she gives me a sheepish smile. "Dinner?"

I set her plate on the desk and sit on her bed. "What's this?" I ask.

"Erm, Overwatch."

"And do I get a turn?"

She scoffs. "If we start your own profile. I'm nationally ranked." She drops her fork as a new game starts, her food forgotten.

I shake my head but dig into the pasta. It's delicious—full of garlic and seared lemony shrimp. My plate is empty within minutes.

For another twenty minutes, I'm content to watch her battle villains. Finally, I can't take it anymore. I reach over and press the power button on her computer.

"Hey!" Maggie yells, but I pull her office chair—something pink and adorable—away from the desk.

"I'm being ignored, but worse yet, so is my food."

She laughs and takes the headset off. "Maybe we should warm it up." Her tone turns sultry, and I have a feeling she's not talking about the food.

I lean down and kiss her, but too soon, she pulls away. "I should eat."

I furrow my brow. This is a stark difference from how she was acting this morning. Something's off.

"Is everything okay, Maggie?"

She suddenly seems very interested in her pasta. Twirling it around her fork, she says, "Yep. Why?"

"Hmm." I don't press further. Instead, I watch as she finishes her meal, then take her plate. "I guess I'll go clean up."

I walk down the hall, and she doesn't follow. This is wrong, all wrong. Maybe she needs space. I think things through as I quickly wash the dishes. When I'm done, I dry my hands and turn around.

Maggie is leaning against the fridge, watching me with a smirk. "Yes?"

"I like you being here, Grayson. But…" Here it is, the speech about taking things slower or respecting her boundaries.

I hold up my hand. "I'm sorry. I thought—"

"No, no. This was fantastic. I was just gonna say that something at work is bugging me, and I can't talk about it yet."

"Okay…" I study her face. Sympathy is written all over it. "Would you like me to leave?"

She closes her eyes and sighs. It's long and filled with such exasperation that I'm ready to run out of her house, tail tucked between my legs.

"No. But I need to know, do you trust me?"

I don't hesitate. "Of course, Maggie."

She bites her bottom lip and looks into the living room. "Even if it has to do with you and your family?"

I take a few steps closer and grab her hands, uncrossing her arms to wrap around my waist. "Maggie, I know you would have a good reason. But can I ask, why can't you talk?"

Her eyes drift down to where our stomachs are touching. "I need more information first, Grayson. I can't talk about this until I know for sure. Okay?"

Studying her face, I see pain. Whatever she has discovered is hurting her. I hate it. That I'm causing her pain somehow. "I'm sorry, Grayson. I really wish I could explain more. But this is part of the job, okay? Sometimes, I'll have to keep things from you."

"That's fine, Maggie."

She winces. "Are you just saying that because you want me to play with your dick later?"

I burst out laughing. "You caught me," I say with both hands raised. She laughs with me, and I take her hand to lead her to the living room. There's a pile of clothes on one end of the couch that I didn't want to bother with earlier. When I sit, I pull her down into my lap. "I trust you. This information, can it hurt me and George?"

Her head dips, and I have my answer. But I raise it up again with a gentle nudge under her chin. "Will you let it hurt me?"

"The moment I know for certain, I will tell you. But I really can't say anything else right now, Grayson. I'm sorry." Her voice is soft, filled with affection mixed with anguish. She sounds small and unsure. I hate it.

I press my mouth to hers, and she immediately reciprocates. Her tongue slides into my mouth, and my desire to stop her pain turns into passion. My cock hardens in my pants, pressing into her stomach.

"Oh, Grayson," she moans.

"Yes, Maggie. All for you," I say. Maggie shifts in my lap, her legs wrapping around my waist. My hands go to her ass, cupping both cheeks to keep her lifted. Her fingers tangle into the hair at the top of my head.

"Bedroom," she moans out, locking her lips with mine again.

"Hmm, yes, Maggie," I say as I start down the hall, not opening my eyes or taking my mouth away from hers.

I get to the room and lower her onto the mattress. Laying there, she looks like a queen. My queen. Waiting for me and what I have to give to her. And I have to. The need is drowning me, making every vein beg for her taste like the air I need to breathe. She unbuttons her shirt like it's on fire before tossing it on the ground and stripping off her jeans. I yank my shirt off behind my head. Maggie is already at my belt, undoing it and shoving my pants down.

I kick the material free of my feet and launch forward. One hand lands on either side of her, and our faces meet again.

Nimble fingers slide all over my naked body, like she can't get enough of me. The feeling is mutual, though I thought our second time together would be slower.

I want to explore every inch of her body with my tongue and force myself to pull back. "Let me worship you," I whisper near her ear.

"I need you, Grayson. Need to feel you." She's writhing beneath me, and my cock twitches.

"You will, Maggie." I lower my head and kiss along her neck before working my way down. Every touch of my lips against her skin is met with a moan and shiver.

My grin grows wider. My Maggie is ready for me, but I'm going to make her wait. "You're being impatient," I growl out.

She takes my face with both hands and guides me lower. "You promised…to worship me," she sighs. Oh, I will. I let my tongue drag across her as I go between her legs.

With my mouth almost touching her clit, I say, "Maggie," as low and sultry as possible. Her hips buck up, and my mouth crashes onto her sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Graaaaay," she moans like my tongue is killing her. Death by cunnilingus might make the news, but what a way to go. "More," she says.

Don't mind if I do. Her taste is more perfect than I remembered. Like the finest wine; all honey and vinegar. I lap her up, loving how wet she is. Two fingers slide inside her, and she gasps. My other hand grips onto her thigh, squeezing tight as she thrashes against me.

"Grayson, please," she begs.

I chuckle against her clit. "Begging already?" Her hand lashes out, grabbing onto my hair and pulling me away from her.

Before I can ask anything, she flips over, presenting her beautiful ass to me, folds glistening under all her arousal.

The growl starts deep in my stomach and erupts out of my throat in a guttural sound. I kneel behind her and grip onto her waist. I yank her to me and thrust inside her in a satisfying slap.

"Smack me, Gray. Own me!" she yells out. Absolutely feral, I oblige. Slapping her ass, my hand stings. Where I landed, it's pink, and I grip it, squeezing possessively. This is my ass. The thought alone drives me wild, making my movements grow spastic.

Our bodies slam together over and over, and I bark out, "That's it, baby. Choke me with that tight pussy." She mewls out a sound so perfect that electricity shoots up and down my spine.

Maggie coming is all I want. I'm chasing her climax even more than my own. I need to see it happen, need to feel her clench around me. My mind is whirring at the thought of what sound she will scream out.

I hunch over her body, licking her shoulder. Salty sweat coats my tongue, but it's not enough of a taste. I bite down. Hard. "Grayson, yessss," she hisses through what must be the pain of my teeth.

Her urging, coupled with the long whine of my own pleasure, pulses in my eardrums in beat with the pounding of my heart. My hand slides over, my thumb finding that tight little muscle between her cheeks. I press in, barely breaking the surface, and she bleats out a choked cry, her entire body tensing under me.

I sail over the edge, bliss streaming through my body, saturating me with such intense satisfaction as I explode inside her, belting out my pleasure like I'm singing in a choir. "Yes! Fuck me. Yes, Maggie!"

Slowing, I let the aftershocks flow through me. Each one makes my cock twitch inside her. Every time it does, she gasps with lazy delight.

Finally, with me panting behind her, both our bodies slick with sweat, I go limp on top of her. We both fall to the bed, her giggling as my body weight lands on her chest. Despite what we just did, it's the giggle that has my stomach swooping into a knot of happiness. That sound. It's better than hearing a symphony perfectly execute the Flight of the Valkyries. Better than any other sound. Except maybe the laughter of my son, and it's definitely a close second.

I made her make that noise. I make her happy. For some reason, that thought is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. But like hell am I going to waste it. For as long as she'll let me, I'll be coaxing that giggle from her lips.