Crowne wasn’t that he’s a liar, it’s that he is a knight in shining armor, a savior, an Atlas. He refuses to accept any reality where he can’t save me.
I need to protect you.
I felt it bleed from him, into my soul.
I saw the weight on his shoulders for months when he realized he’d have to leave his mom and sister, but he never let me take it off his shoulders. He’d rather suffocate under the weight.
Now he was suffocating under another decision: leaving me with West.
A knock on the windowpane sounded, one I discount for wind—it was snowing softly outside, a blustery cold night. Then another, harsher knock followed, and the window burst open, slamming against the wall.
I turned as a breath of bitter cold, salty air rushed in, and then everything in me froze. I was certain I was losing it, conjuring ghosts.
Grayson.
Grayson, with the snowy stars his backdrop. Grayson, lifting himself onto my balcony and into my window, as if scaling the walls of Crowne Hall were normal. Grayson, gripping the top of the sill, biceps flexing with the movement.
He found purchase, resting one leg into my room, and smiled at me crookedly, rose gold hair whipping in the wind. “I told you to lock your window.”
I rushed to him, pulling him from the sill and into my bedroom before he fell. When he was inside, I leaned over the open window, staring down at the dark beach.
“How…” I trailed off, wind whipping my curls around my face. It was so far down.
Grayson wrapped his arms around me, pulling me back, lips at my neck. My vision blurred at the sensation.
“What are you doing here?”
He grinned, lopsided. “I’m here to rescue a princess.”
He spun me around, so I could see the hot look in his eyes, then planted a fast, furious, harsh kiss on my lips.
“Before I forget.” He reached into his back pocket, pulling out something slick and shiny.
“A phone!”
I held it close, like it was made of gold.
“Thank you—” I broke off when his bruising grip slid up my inner thigh. “West is just outside the door.”
His anger came off him in prickles I could feel on my skin.
“Who do you belong to, Story?” His thumbs dug into my cheeks, and he bit my bottom lip, dragging it out with his teeth.
“You,” I breathed.
“Good little wife.” He lifted me off the floor, walking me back to the bed. “You’ll let me fuck you in this bed—in his bed,” he snarled the word his like he wanted to destroy it. “Because you’re mine. This whole house should be mine—the beach it’s on, the town it’s in.”
Something primal inside him had snapped, his voice dark and warbled.
“I missed your little nun nightgowns.” He pushed aside the panties I wore now, because I couldn’t not wear them when I was sleeping here. He found me wet, and his head fell between my shoulders on a groan I felt in my bones.
“So fucking wet. Always so fucking wet.”
He pressed me into the mattress and I swallowed hard as he circled me in a slow, torturous pace, never actually entering me.
I could get lost in this, I could forget everything.
“Let him come for you, let anyone come for you. Let them try to get through me.”
I groaned into his mouth.
“Yeah, just like that,” he growled.
“Gray—” I started, but he cut me off with a kiss. He gripped my face, his strong fingers digging into my cheekbones, mouth slanting to get more of me. “Grayson!” He froze at the alarm in my voice, pulling back so his lips brushed mine. “You promised—we promised. We would do this with trust. Do you not trust me anymore?”
“You are the only one I trust, little wife.”
“You have so many secrets now,” I breathed. “You’re so far away.”
He dragged his hand across his jaw, along the five o’clock shadow, something dark flickering in his eyes.
In the end, all he said was, “You’re lying to me, too, little nun.”
We stared at each other.
“I thought it would be easy because we love each other but it’s harder,” I said. “Everything is so fucking hard.”
He grasped my biceps, crushing his lips against mine. “Give it to me bloody, raw, and jagged, little nun. I miss bleeding with you.”
GRAY
With Story’s sideways view on the pillow, I trailed my fingers up and down her thigh.
Nose to nose.
Perfect.
“Tell me everything,” she whispered.
“You first,” I said. “Tell me everything that happened to you.”
“He took me to Scotland. Some days it was beautiful.