Worth Billions (Worth It 1)

Why did he pull away from me so suddenly?

He had a desire in his eyes. One that mirrored my own. He wanted me, I could feel it. And I tasted it on his tongue the second mine collided with his. Suddenly, the rattling of keys at the door ripped me from my trance and a smile crossed my cheeks.

Until Grayson stumbled into the house.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Grayson said.

He was slurring his words and it tainted the nickname I’d adored him whispering to me earlier.

“Hey,” I said.

He stumbled over to the couch and plopped down beside me, heaving the cushions so much the book tumbled from my hands.

“Whoops,” he said, as a sloppy grin crossed his cheeks.

“Well, how was your evening?” I asked.

He laughed, and the smell of beer radiated from his breath. It was disgusting.

It reminded me of Andy.

“Ran into an old high school friend. Had some drinks.”

“Some, huh? You look like you’ve had a little more than some,” I said.

“The bartender strongly suggested we leave,” he said.

“So you got kicked out.”

He chuckled as his head fell back onto the cushions of the couch. I felt a frown encompass my lips. This didn’t seem like Gray at all. Not the Gray I’d gotten to know, anyway. Not the Gray I’d seen over dinner or in the mornings or out at the garage staring at whatever was underneath that tarp.

Then again, I’d only known him a few days, at most.

“Well I’m glad you had a good time,” I said.

“The—best,” he said.

Then he let out this massive belch that flooded the room with a disgusting smell. Nope. I wasn’t sitting up for this spectacle. If this was the kind of man Gray really was, then I wanted no part in it. I didn’t care for filthy, drunken Andy, and I wasn’t going to care for filthy, drunken Grayson. I’d spent more nights than I cared to admit babying that asshole during his drunken escapades. I wasn’t going to do it for a man I hardly knew.

A man I apparently didn’t know at all.

I stood up from the couch, but his hand wrapped around my waist. He tugged me into his lap and pulled me close, his beer-stained breath pulsing against my face. It was gross. I felt my stomach churning. I pressed my hands into his chest to try and get up, but he knocked them out of the way. I fell against him, my chest pressed against his, and I turned my face away as he smiled.

“I cannot stop thinking about you, pretty girl,” he said.

“Don’t call me that,” I said, as he sat up.

He started stroking my hair as I continued to try and wriggle out of his grasp.

“Grayson, let me up,” I said.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. Or your lips. Or your body. I’ve been dreaming about burying my face into those—those perfect breasts of yours. Ever since that night you crawled into bed with me. Do you know how hard my cock gets for you?”

I ripped my wrists away from his grasp and pulled away from him. I felt like I was on display. Used for nothing but my body, yet again. My cheeks flushed and I felt that shameful color trickle down my neck. How I wanted to hear those words roll of his sober tongue. How I wanted his strong grip pinning my wrists above me like the night I mistook his bed for empty.

But beer tainted my nostrils, and tears clouded my vision as I stepped away from him.

I was embarrassed. Angry. Frustrated. I wanted him. Even in his drunkenness, I wanted him. And I hated that about myself. There was something reckless in drunken sex. Something raw and passionate and unforgiving. But I wanted Gray to remember what we did, and he looked to be about three seconds from passing out. His eyes were hooded and his gaze was clouded. His body tilted off to the side as he reached out for me.