608 Alpha Ave - Adriana Locke Page 0,17

money but I like it.” He lifts his shoulders and then lets them fall. “If it’s just me, it’s just a decision. If I’m in a relationship, it’s a potential problem.”

I can’t argue with his logic. Even though I want to—even though I want to hail the benefits of falling in love and having that person there for the rest of your life, I don’t. Mostly because I bet he already knows that. He’s thought about it. Clearly.

And he’s made his choice.

I study his rugged features—the sharpness of his cheekbones, the crooked bend to his nose. The scar that cuts through his left eyebrow. All of these things, these imperfections, somehow make him even more perfect. More attractive. More real.

I bite my lip as my thoughts slow down to a discernible flow.

Grayson Blake may not be relationship material. But he’s real. There’s no bullshit here. Unlike any other man I’ve ever met, he laid out his objectives on the table before anything happened.

He’s not hiding anything. He’s not tricking me or deceiving me.

It certainly puts a different spin on things.

He shifts his weight, and his finger swipes just under the hem of my shirt. Instinctively, I move against it, craving more—more contact. More sparks coursing through my veins.

More him.

“You’re honest,” I say, my voice breathy. “I have to say that for you.”

He nods warily.

“And you’re not wrong, you know,” I admit. “I do want a relationship, but you’re not wrong for not wanting one. We’re just … different.”

“That’s why I avoid you. You’re like a magnet for me. There’s something irresistible about you that I fight because, if I don’t and I give in …” He growls and looks at the ground. “I don’t want to mess with your head.”

I don’t know if it’s his honesty that does it or the fact that I’ve wanted Grayson since I ran into him at Cherry Tree Coffee, but I want him. Even if it’s only once.

He wants me—physically—and even though I want more for my future, why shouldn’t I have the potential ride of my life?

Take this opportunity, Haley. Then you’ll finally … know.

“You don’t want to mess with my head,” I say, pausing to gather my courage, “but what about messing with my body?”

His head snaps to mine. His eyes are wide, his lips parted.

Every inch of my body tingles as I await his response.

“If you’re fucking with me,” he warns.

“Not yet. But if you’d stop talking so damn much, maybe I could be.”

His mouth twists into a slow, sexy grin. “You talk a big game.”

“Well, I’m a woman who knows what she wants.”

“And what’s that?”

“Right now?” I heave a breath and let myself fall over the cliff. “Right now, it’s your cock.”

Seven

Haley

His hands grasp the sides of my face before I can blink. His mouth moves over mine like it’s an oasis in the desert.

His lips are soft yet firm. His palms are scratchy from working with metal and chemicals and still manage to hold me like a valuable possession.

My body goes limp in his arms. He scoops me against him, holding me against the hard wall of his chest. Our mouths open, lips part, as our tongues move together in a perfectly timed dance that I can feel in my toes.

“Shit,” he groans as he pulls away. He rests his forehead on mine as we drag precious air into our lungs. “Are you sure about this?”

This is my one-and-done. It might never happen again.

I look him in the eye and drop my hands to his belt.

“What are the odds anyone comes out here?” I ask.

“Is that a pun?”

I laugh as I unfasten the latch and then work on the buttons.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he asks me. “Because I feel like you’re going to—fuck.”

He groans out the last word as I fall to my knees and run my palm over the infamous flames inked into his hip. I dip my fingertips beneath the band of his boxers, and his cock springs free.

I take the base of it in my hand and look up.

“Dammit, woman,” he says, struggling to speak.

My body hums with anticipation. The apex of my thighs aches with a dull, hot pulse that only he can put out.

I flick my tongue against the head of his dick as I stroke him up and down. Pebbles cut into my knees, but the discomfort is definitely trumped by the riot in my body that I barely notice.

“Suck it,” he orders.

I lick the swollen head. A salty bead of