His mind tried to tug him from the moment with irritating niggles that he should stop, clear his brain. Something wasn't right.
Impatiently she rocked against him, and he forgot how to think. He tried to slow her, needing to make it last for her, for him, because he didn't even want to think about it being over.
Which it would be soon if she didn't stop moving.
She kissed, bit, suckled his lip, immersing him in the taste of popcorn and her need. Instincts kicked in, and they reclaimed their rhythm with ease, moving, touching, encouraging the other toward the shattering end they both wanted. Needed.
He heard her breath quicken, felt the tiny tremors shake through her, early clenches he knew predicted her nearing release. And he knew something else about her. Lori was loud, something he adored about her and wished he could enjoy, but scavenged enough reason to know now wasn't the time or place.
With only a second to spare, Gray clamped his mouth over hers, swallowing her scream as she arched, once, twice, again until she sagged against him. Moaning, she shuddered with aftershocks, gripping him in a satin fist of heat.
He thrust deep. Tension built, tightened, burned, then exploded free. A shout swelled behind his clenched teeth, and he pulsed within her, his face nestled in the vulnerable curve of her neck. Her hair draped around them as he let his hoarse cry slide free. In a downward spiral straight for earth at mach speed, Grayson surrendered.
* * *
He had decimated her. Completely leveled her defenses. Physically, Lori couldn't move so much as her pinky after the intense release Gray had given her.
Emotionally she wasn't much better off.
She could only sprawl on the blanket and stare up at a star. One star. Thirty minutes ago she hadn't known Polaris from Betelgeuse. Now she would never again stand under a night sky without thinking of Gray looking at that same sky while he dreamed of bringing his father home.
She hadn't stood a chance of resisting him.
Gray lay on his side, his hands massaging over her shoulders, gentling along her breasts. Her body throbbed with a tender, beautiful after ache. Those deft doctor-pilot hands soothed, finding just the places to make her eyes loll closed in lazy pleasure. "Is this why you brought me here?"
"No." His fingers skimmed the tender underside of her breast, tracing up to her jaw. "Maybe."
"Fair enough." She shivered, then arched her neck to allow him fuller access. "It's certainly why I came with you."
He cupped her face. "That honesty is about to get you rolled up in this blanket with me."
"Feeling ambitious are we, flyboy?" She twisted to her side and wriggled against him. His shirt flapped open. Moonbeams caressed an irresistible expanse of chest for her to snuggle against.
"Give me another ten minutes and we can find out."
Experience with him told her it would be closer to five before they began again. The next time would be fun and playful sex that could singe the leaves right off those trees overhead.
And she wanted that, didn't she? Of course she did. Only a crazy woman would pass up one last chance for that.
First she wanted more time, more lazy caresses and stargazing. Too often, they both rushed life, type-A personalities at full tilt.
Stilling his hand with hers, she carried it to her mouth and kissed his palm before placing it on her hip. "Why did you bring me to your parents' place?"
His eyes met hers with expected straightforward honesty. "To see my family in action, day-to-day stuff, not a restaurant good-behavior gig."
He flipped to his back, arm flinging over his eyes. "Lori, I don't know how to put a family together. Not the kind a kid deserves. Not the kind you deserve."
His words hinted at more than an obsession with his job this time. Suddenly she wasn't sure she wanted to understand, because his reasons might be all the more compelling. Yet, the idea that he might see his actions as protecting her started a trembling in her knees that made her grateful to be flat on her back.
"My dad has post-traumatic stress syndrome. This was a good day for him."
"I'm so sorry." Lori fit her hand in his.
He didn't look at her, but he didn't let go. Piecing together bits of Gray's childhood along with some professional observations slid the picture into place. Some children of PTSD sufferers had difficulty forming deeper, lasting relationships, having missed out on crucial early bonding experiences with their parents.
Maybe she should have guessed earlier when he'd talked about his father coming home, but had been too distracted by the pain radiating from Gray. It had reached to her across that blanket more effectively than a grappling hook. Still did.
"We didn't understand for a long time, years even. He wasn't violent or terrified. He functioned at work. But at home, he just … wasn't there."