“Is there a right way to do it?” I whisper, ignoring the fact that we’re both skipping over any mention of the L word.
He sits forward and reaches for me. “Yeah. Slow, easy, putting smiles on your face, making sure you know how important you are. I hate that I make you doubt yourself.”
“It’s not you. It’s me. I can’t help feeling that way sometimes,” I admit.
“Why? Who made you so skittish?”
Where do I even start? My parents? My stepfather? My uncle? Every man who came after, until Grayson?
I cross my arms over my chest, cupping my shoulders. The dirt of my past clings to me, tarnishing the way I see the world. I may not have jumped in the mud willingly the first few times, but the filth followed me anyway, soiling all my future actions and decisions.
“Some habits are hard to slay. No matter how hard you try to learn and do better.” I shrug. “Sometimes the dirt that molded you seems impossible to shatter.”
“Nothing about you is dirty.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “But I think I understand what you mean.” He pushes my hair out of my eyes. “Feeling like the dirt follows wherever you go.”
“How can you say that?”
“From prison. Everyone looks at you differently. Treats you a little distantly. Even my brothers. I know they mean well. It’s not scorn or judgment from them. It’s pity and guilt. And I think sometimes, that makes the filth even harder to shake.”
Oh, how his words punch me right in the stomach. Pity and guilt. Two of the many reasons I’ve ruthlessly whittled my circle of people down to almost nothing over the years.
“They love you, though,” I say. “It’s easy to see that.”
“I know. That’s why I haven’t fucking clocked any of ’em. Yet.”
“You choked Steer.”
He snorts but the corners of his mouth curl up ever-so-slightly. My heart kicks. I like that I have the power to make him smile, even as we’re baring our souls.
He reaches for me, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “Serena?”
I meet his serious gaze again.
“I might not understand everything you’ve been through. But I admire you. You’ve accomplished so much on your own.” He shakes his head. “It’s inspiring. I know it’s probably not my place to say that, but—”
“Thank you.” I capture his hand and rub my thumb over his knuckles. “Emily’s the only person who’s ever said she’s proud of me. Amanda doesn’t understand why I bothered finishing school.”
“I knew I liked Emily,” he says without taking a dig at Amanda. “You realize how much courage it takes to make the leaps you have, all by yourself?”
I shrug, knocking the sheet loose from around my shoulders. “I’ve screwed up a lot.”
“You’re so young and already have things back on the right track. Be proud of that.”
It’s dangerous, but I want to soak up every ounce of his attention, luxuriate in his touches, drown in his affection until it fills all the tiny cracks and chases every last shadow lingering in my soul.
He holds out his arms. “Come here.”
I eagerly slide into his embrace, resting my head on his chest and my leg over his. “You’re very cuddly for someone who thinks he’s so grumpy.”
His laughter rumbles against my ear. “I could hold you like this for the rest of my life and die a content man.”
“Don’t talk about dying.” I slide my fingers over his chest, up toward his face. He jerks as my touch skates over his neck.
“Ticklish little fingers,” he teases, turning to kiss my wrist.
“Gray?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you please kiss me?”
He answers by cupping my cheek and pressing his lips to mine. I part my lips and stroke my tongue against his. He groans and shifts his body closer, running his hand over my ribs, down to my thigh and back.
Breathless, we pull away, staring at each other.
He cups my breast, his warm, rough hand sending tingles over my skin. My gaze is drawn to his thumb gently flicking over my nipple.
I gasp and focus on his face as he watches the tip harden to a stiff peak. He captures it between his thumb and index finger, rubbing in maddeningly slow tugs. Each movement shoots sparks to my core.
“You like that,” he murmurs, leaning in to suck the hard tip into his mouth.
I run my fingers through his hair, twisting to hold him in place. “Yes.”
He shakes free of my hold and captures my other nipple. “Perfect,” he murmurs, taking his time lavishing attention on each breast.
I squirm, the throb between my thighs growing more incessant by the second. “Gray?” I whisper urgently.
He slides his hand over my belly and nudges my legs open. A low, growly sound of approval rumbles against my chest as he slides his fingers over my slick flesh.
“I love how wet you are.” He kisses my throat. “Every time I touch you.”