Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 80653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“Please, please, Reid, please,” she pleads, and I pull out, plunging back into her, fully seating myself, causing her to cry out my name over and over again.
A prayer. A chorus. A fucking symphony of pleasure.
“Oh god!”
“That’s my filthy little lamb. Come on my dick so I can fuck that tight ass too.” I groan as pleasure grips me. My balls tighten, and I hold off until she’s pulsing around me. Her body milking mine, and I offer her my seed. “Good girl,” I coo in her ear as she shudders below me.
“I love you, Reid.”
“I love you, Sage.” And I mean it. Every fucking word.
Tempting Grayson
Prologue
You can’t stop your heart from wanting someone.
You can’t stop your mind from thinking about someone.
You can’t stop your body craving someone.
Even if it’s forbidden.
I should know, I’ve felt it for three years.
I shouldn’t want him or dream about him, and I certainly shouldn’t fantasize about his incredible body with those lips that utter my name as if he’s consuming a savory treat. His gaze that pins me to the spot, rooted there just for him to greedily devour.
I first laid eyes on him when I was thirteen, too young to notice, and too innocent to know. However, when I hit sixteen and got my first boyfriend, that’s when it slowly started to sink in that I wanted nobody else but him.
We spoke every day. He’d text me sweet messages.
I’d giggle. He’d chuckle.
Our eyes would meet across the room, just like in the movies, in fairy tales, but this wasn’t a happily ever after, and he wasn’t meant to be my prince. Even so, I’d get that flurry of butterflies that seemed to be around every time he was. Over the years, when I went to family events with my parents, he’d be there. As if he could feel my eyes on him, he’d turn to regard me. With those dark brown eyes piercing me, boring into me, and that sinful smirk that had my cotton panties wet.
The first time I brought a boy home, he was there, beside my stepdad, and something in his glare told me I wasn’t the only one with jealousy coursing through my veins.
Two days later, he came around with a blonde bimbo hanging off his arm, offering me a smirk that told me he did it on purpose. Seeing his hands on her, his lips on hers broke my heart. I locked myself in my bedroom till they left. It might have been childish, but I couldn’t stand being in the same room as them, seeing him flirt with her.
Shaking my head of the memories of that dinner, I try to focus on the book in front of me.
I’m lying in bed and studying when my phone buzzes beside me.
It’s him.
Grayson Connor.
Sliding my finger across the screen, I open the message and smile.
Grayson: You’re a sweetheart. Don’t let him break your heart. Or I will have to kill him.
Hitting reply, I lie back and tap out a message.
Me: Can’t be having that. I’d miss you if you’re locked up and I couldn’t see you.
This is what we do.
We flirt. It’s innocent enough.
Only . . .
It’s not.
I shouldn’t feel a flutter of excitement. I shouldn’t be blushing or grinning.
We shouldn’t be doing this . . . Thing.
Why?
Because Grayson Connor is my stepfather’s brother.
Chapter 1
Mila
“What do you think you’re doing, young lady?” The deep, low growl stills all movement, and my heart ricochets wildly in my chest.
I inhale a deep breath before pivoting on my stupid four-inch heels. Only because my friends decided to dress up did I wear these god-awful shoes. I regard the dark-haired man leaning against the kitchen island in the dim light of the full moon.
It’s almost two in the morning, and I’ve tried being as stealthy as possible, but obviously, someone’s stalking me. It’s been like this nearly every time he stays over. And since Daddy has gone into business with his brother, I’m stuck in a warp of wanting Grayson and not being able to have him.
So, instead, I tempt him every chance I get. But the man has the will of a fucking saint. Yes, he’s a man-whore. That’s no secret, but I wish he’d see me as a woman and not a little girl.
Rolling my eyes, I set my purse on the counter, sigh, and ignore him. I shouldn’t have to explain myself. I’m nineteen, an adult. Yet he treats me like a fucking child.
I head to the fridge to grab a bottle of chilled water. As I shut the door, I feel his dark gaze boring into my back. The heat singing me, and there’s no mistaking how much I’m affected by him.
“I asked you a question.” He’s behind me, so close, in fact, I can feel his heartbeat thrumming against my back. Hands grip my tiny hips, and he tugs me back against him. The rounded curve of my ass is now pressing against what I can feel is a thick, hard erection.