32. Grayson

Grayson

O ne week without Maggie felt like torture. Each text was like a band-aid on a gunshot wound, barely easing the ache. Lonely doesn't even begin to cover it. Sleeping was at best; restless, the sheets tangling around me like a constricting cocoon, leaving me wondering if she was tossing and turning just like I was. A few times, I called her in the middle of the night just to hear her sleepy voice, her soft murmurs soothing the storm inside me.

Pathetic? Maybe. But I don't care. Six days felt like losing a limb. Trying to stay calm, I left the news playing on the TV in my apartment, the anchor's droning voice barely registering in my mind. Knowing she was on her way had me pacing. I even checked my GPS app, calculating the time from La Jolla to here. Twenty-two minutes in current traffic.

That was twenty-four minutes ago if my secondhand Cartier is to be believed. The clock ticks away, each second a slow drip of anticipation. Finally, there's a knock on my door. "Come in," I call out, then almost smack myself.

I should open the door for her. Rising to my feet, I hear the click of the knob. I cover the distance in two strides as she steps into my home, her presence immediately lighting up the room. When my eyes land on her, my breath catches. "Maggie," I half-whisper to the air.

The door remains open as she smiles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Grayson."

Desperation gnaws at me, my hands itching to grab her. I try to keep my face impassive, masking the yearning that courses through me. "How was it?" I ask, because that's what I'm supposed to do—remain calm, ask about her day. Be normal. Maggie closes the door and leans against it, her expression coy and inviting. "Is that really what you want to do? Talk about my day?"

I swallow hard. No. I want to push that sexy little sundress up and bury myself inside her, just to prove she's real and not a figment of my desperate imagination. She starts to fiddle with the tie at her waist, her fingers teasing the fabric. A growl rumbles up from deep in my chest until it slips from my mouth. With the bow undone, she lets the sides of the dress fall open, revealing a white and pink polka dot bikini underneath.

How is it possible that seeing her in that bikini is sexier than if she'd shown up naked? Her name is barely a breath on my lips. "Maggie…"

Reaching out, she takes both my hands and places them on her flat stomach. Her skin is warm and soft, goosebumps rippling to life under my palms. I glide my fingertips over her smooth skin, barely able to breathe. Her scent, a mix of sun and citrus, surrounds me, intoxicating and familiar. "Take me to bed, Gray," she whispers, her words shaky like mine.

Slowly, I reach for her hand, then lead us to my bedroom. Once inside, she starts to slide the cover off a shoulder, but I stop her. "Leave it on," I say, my voice a tortured groan.

Her sultry smirk is my undoing, and I crash my mouth against hers. Relief floods through me as our tongues dance together. At first, it's a feverish kiss—one of longing that says everything my mouth was afraid to. Each night on the phone, it got harder and harder to resist. Languid strokes of our tongues turn intense, her passion matching mine.

I back her to the bed, and she sits, our mouths still connected. When she lays back, I climb over her. "Maggie…" I say again, my voice filled with emotion. It's all I can manage. I want to weep with how good it feels to touch her again.

My fingers tremble as I run my hands up and down her body. I don't want to devour her; I want to cherish her, to honor every inch of her skin. I strip off my clothes, and like the good girl she is, she waits, her thighs rubbing together in impatience. Once I'm naked, I cover her body with mine, relishing every inch of contact. Her warmth is so soothing, so right.

Pushing her bikini aside, I quickly test her slit with a finger. She's soaked and ready. My hard cock pulses with need as I line it up with her entrance. Instead of thrusting into her like I want to, I meet her eyes. "Watch, Maggie, watch me enter you." I tilt my head down too and inch my way inside her.

As my cock disappears into her warmth, I groan with restraint. So slow. Agonizingly slow. Her body quivers around me, adjusting to my size as I bottom out. "Feel me, Maggie," I demand, and her eyes roll back with pleasure. I gently tilt her gaze back down. "Watch, Maggie."

She obeys, and I swivel my hips without haste. The friction is perfect, her pussy squeezing me as I rock back and forth. I won't let myself speed up, no matter how much I want to. Her hands clutch onto my bicep, her nails digging into my skin. Her whimpers turn to moans, then gasps. She's close, but still, I keep my pace steady.

Sweat beads on my forehead, my entire body shaking as I resist the urge to pound into her. Her hands smooth down my back until she grips on, her fingers bruising my skin.

I growl, hoping I can keep this up. She deserves the world, and this is all I have to give her. I want her to feel our connection as deeply as I do. Panting, she clenches around my cock, squeezing me in the most delicious way. I thrust through it, my long shaft rubbing against her clit.

"Graaaayyy," she warns.

"I know, baby, let it go," I belt out. Her arms wrap around me in a bear hug, but I keep my slow, controlled pace. My strokes grow jerky, my body tight. Her gasps turn into words, but they're incoherent. I catch snippets like ‘more' and ‘yes' between what I think are mumbled curses.

Pleasure shoots down my spine, curling my toes until it pools in my aching balls. Then, it explodes up my shaft until I burst inside her, hot jets of cum filling her as she screams out in ecstasy. I pump through it, murmuring her name, softly kissing her lips, her cheeks, her forehead—anything my lips can reach.

"Maggie," I say on my final thrust, then still, buried deep inside her. Her pussy squeezes around me in a steady rhythm, the time between pulses growing longer and longer until finally, her body completely relaxes beneath me.

I push sweaty hair off her forehead, smiling down at her. "I missed you," I say. Her eyes open, shining with unshed tears. "I missed you too."

***

An hour later, she's sitting on my counter, her legs swinging back and forth as she nibbles on a piece of toast. After the most intense sexual experience of my life, we hopped in the shower together. The hot water cascaded over us, steam filling the room as our hands traced familiar paths over each other's skin. Words were still difficult, but we managed without them, settling for washing each other with the same passion. There was no fooling around, but somehow, it felt… right.

Tonight, I'm making her burgers, but as she claimed she was starving to death, I allowed her to break my pre-dinner snack rule.

"I love sourdough," she says, a happy smile on her face. Her lips curl up, and I notice the way her eyes light up when she talks about food. I love something too, I think, dangerously.

"Yeah? I'll keep some here then." Her legs swing again, and she starts humming as she takes another bite, the sound soft and melodic. The ache in my chest grows. I'm already dreading tomorrow night when she leaves me again. Having her here is what I need. When she's not around, my mind is tortured with thoughts of when I'll see her again.

I continue to chop onions as small as I can manage, the knife rhythmically hitting the cutting board before I swipe them into the bowl of ground turkey. The sharp scent makes my eyes water slightly. I don't know if she's noticed it's not beef yet, but surely that realization is coming. The argument won't be won by her if she does—I'm confident in my turkey burger skills.

In the fridge, some of our sauce from last weekend remains. I pull out the Tupperware and add a few tablespoons into the mix, then set the remainder in the sink. It'll be bad in the next few days anyway.

"So, I think Henrietta has a thing for Harry."

I chuckle, wiping my hands on a towel. "Really? I don't know how to feel about that."

"Me either. Why can't our parental figures be asexual blobs?"

Shaking my head, I start mixing the meat with my hands, feeling the cool, sticky texture as it combines. "Because then we wouldn't have been born."

With her toast gone, she hops down, the soft thud of her feet against the tile making me smile. Her hands snake around my waist. "Can I help?" she asks, her breath warm against my back.

"Are you capable of making a salad?" I tease.

Her hands snap off me, and I glance over my shoulder. They're now planted firmly on her hips. She's wearing one of my shirts and nothing else, and the sight is unbelievably erotic. I can make out the outline of her pebbled nipples beneath the fabric. "No fries?" she asks, her tone laced with feigned anger.

"Nope." I feel a playful slap on my shoulder and snicker. "Vegetables, Miss Parker. Chop, chop." She stomps away to the fridge and comes back with everything we need for the salad.

After forming the patties, I drop them into the hot frying pan. The sizzle fills the kitchen, accompanied by the mouthwatering aroma of cooking meat. "God, that smells good."

I hum in agreement as her knife quickly works through cucumbers and carrots, the crisp sound of chopping adding to the symphony of our cozy domestic moment. While I finish frying, she sets out plates and piles the salad mix onto them. With provolone melting on top of the turkey burgers, I place them on the waiting buns and carry the plates to the table.

Nervously, I watch as she sits down and picks up her burger. On her first bite, she lets out a moan of approval, her eyes closing in bliss. "God, I wish I could eat like this every day."

I take my first bite, savoring the perfect blend of flavors. "You can, my darling."

She barks out a laugh, then covers her mouth. "You looking to become my personal chef?"

"Maybe someday," I say with a shrug. She doesn't need to know I've already pictured it a thousand times—her coming home after a long day of work to find me and George waiting at the table. Cooking for her, cleaning for her, sleeping next to her every night.

It's my new dream, what keeps me going when the loneliness threatens to overwhelm me.

She sets her burger down and sighs, looking out the dining room window. The soft light filters in, casting a warm glow on her face. "You okay?" I ask, setting my own food aside.

"Oh. Yep! This is great." Too eagerly, she picks up her burger again and takes a giant bite. I don't touch my meal.

"Maggie?" All at once, she breaks into sobs. I'm on my feet and by her side in an instant. "What is it?" I ask, nearly breathless with worry.

She shakes her head, but that won't do. I need to fix whatever's making her cry like this. "Maggie, talk to me. What's going on?"

"I can't, Gray." I gently wipe the tears from her cheeks, my brow furrowing in concern. "Can't what, baby?"

"Leave!" she screams, almost frantic.

"Oh," I say, looking down at the floor. Admitting that I don't want her to leave either might make things worse. "That's tomorrow, though. A whole day away." I try to smile, but all I manage is a fleeting twitch of my lips.

"One night?" she scoffs. "And then another entire week without you and George?"

"George isn't here, Maggie," I say sternly. Being reminded that my son is miles away, and that Maggie will be gone tomorrow, makes my own eyes sting with unshed tears.

"You think I don't know that? You think I don't obsess over imagining you here alone every single night?"

I kneel beside her, the hardwood cool under my knees. "I'm fine, Maggie."

She barks out a bitter laugh, then stands, pacing the room. "You are not fine, Gray. Pretend all you want, but you're not. I can hear it in your voice every time we talk."

I'm stuck in stunned silence as she paces the dining room. "I'm a cop, Gray. A cop!" she yells, as if I don't already know.

My worry slowly morphs into amusement. Seeing her worked up over me is oddly endearing. "I know that."

She spins to face me. "And cops are respected!" I barely contain my giggle. "Yes, of course."

"Even to gangs. They won't just do a drive-by. Well, maybe one or two would, but not for a measly fifty grand. And if the force knew I was in danger, they'd keep an eye on us. Way better than SDPD because I'm one of their own. We protect each other."

Finally, I stand, starting to understand what she's getting at. She continues, her voice gaining momentum. "He could come home, Gray. I'd keep him safe. Keep you both safe. And I wouldn't have to worry so much—worry if you're sleeping, if you're dead." She goes back to pacing while my mind races to catch up.

My eyes track her every movement. "What are you saying, Maggie?"

She freezes, then spins around to face me, her eyes blazing with newfound confidence. "Move in with me."

I run a hand over my forehead, exhaling heavily. "Maggie," I say with an exasperated sigh. She steps closer, pulling my hand down. "I'm serious, Gray!"

"It's selfish," I reply.

"I know that! But I can't help it. I want you. I want George. I want us."

"Not for you! For me. I can't risk you like that, or ask you to do that."

Her hands clasp mine, their warmth grounding me. "I'm offering. I want it so bad, I feel like I can't breathe. Henrietta suggested it, and Tilly—Tilly, Gray!—encouraged it!"

I release her grip and rub the top of my head, the other hand resting on my hip. Tilly encouraged it? That's surprising. But Maggie wouldn't lie or embellish. I try to talk myself out of it, listing all the reasons why it's a bad idea. But she's already dismissed so many concerns. My family would approve, meaning my job would be safe. George could come home. He might even be safer here than in Oregon if what she's saying about the police force is true. "It's been a month, Maggie." I know it's a weak excuse, but it's the only one I can find. Because deep down, I want it too. So much that my chest tightens and my stomach knots with the back-and-forth in my own head.

"You've been on my mind for three years, Gray. It's fast, I know. But I can't fucking help it. I'm a mess when we're apart. This week was torture."

"Maggie," I say again, but there's a grin tugging at my lips this time. Her hands cover her mouth, tears glistening in her eyes. "Ask me again," I say, my smile widening.

"Move in with me, Gray. Bring George home. To our house in LA."

For a split second, I almost refuse, but then I find myself nodding. She flings her arms around me, and we're both laughing as I lift her into my arms, peppering kisses on her tear-streaked face.