Good Friends
Warnings: 18+ explicit sexual content, PiV sex, tigh riding, cockwarming, Grayson Hawthorne bites
  Another week passes before Skye contacts the lawyers about a will reading. I’m working on my manuscript in the solarium, legs draped across Grayson’s lap while he reads, when Skye bursts in, “Who is Avery Kylie Grambs?”
  The hand caressing my knee freezes and he takes a steadying breath before answering, “I’ve never heard of them.”
  Skye marches around, so she is standing in front of us, “according to the lawyers, my father requires the presence of certain people at the reading or it will not be read at all. One of these people is some Avery Kylie Grambs. Someone that none of us has heard of.”
  Then as if she just notices me, “oh hello sweetie! Xander said you were working on a new book. Will it be a little more….lighthearted?”
  “You could call it a romanticism revival,” I say, tousling Gray’s hair.
  “I have a soft spot for love stories. Especially, your love stories,” she gives us a knowing smile, before sweeping out of the room.Â
  Grayson tosses my notebook on the coffee table, “you know Mary Shelly invented the horror genre during the romanticism movement, don’t you?”
  I shift so I’m sitting across his lap, “I’m familiar with the Romanticism Movement,” still playing with his hair, “I did convince you to sign up for ages of art and literature with me junior year.”
  Grayson laughs, hands resting on my hips, “Convinced? You begged me, Davis”Â
  I close the space between us, “I don’t beg, Hawthorne,” moving to get up.
  He’s quick to stop me, practically throwing me into the plush cushions. Giggling, I try to unsuccessfully slip from his grasp; trapped beneath him. Barely containing a grin, I begin a new strategy, sliding my fingers around his sides, until I find the spot that makes him jump. Gray stifles his laugh as best he can, “Flower, what do you think you’re doing?”
  Instead of answering, I concentrate on that one spot. When he can’t hold back, the most wonderful sound bursts forth. Eyes squeezed shut, head ducked forward, squirming, and I find myself laughing with him.Â
  “Please,” Gray gasps, trying and failing to find a ticklish spot of mine.
  His contagious laughter is a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. Desperate for it to continue, I dodge his hands blindly grasping for my wrists.Â
  “Enough,” he holds my arms above my head, last remnants of laughter shake his form, “you’re done.”
  My laughing fit ceases when I look up. Grayson, drenched in sunlight, the honey and gold of his hair illuminated by the evening sky. Eyes smokey, almost haunting, and totally–
  “Exquisite,” I breathe
  “What’s ex–”Â
  Raising my head, I connect our lips.Grayson relaxes into it, pushing my hands farther into the seat and settling himself against me. The world is reduced to nothing as I lose myself in his intoxicating kiss. He leaves slow kisses on my neck, a hand squeezing along my thigh to wrap around his. I try to reach out, to tangle my hands in his hair, cradle his face, anything. Each time I’m met with a strong, gentle push to keep my hands still. My frustrated huff is met with Gray’s breathy chuckle before his lips are back on mine, hungry. Whining as he bites at my bottom lip. Legs around his waist, I try to pull him closer, rolling my hips up in search of something to ease my now growing frustration. A groan rumbles through his chest, his own need evident. When I grind upwards again, Grayson has my hips in a vice grip holding them still against the sofa.
  “Careful, my flower,” his face deadly serious.
  I sit up, “or what?”
  Grayson blinks, brows furrowed. His hands never leave their place tracing the skin along the waist of my shorts. I press a kiss to the corner of his mouth then along his jaw, his breaths heavy.Â
  “Did you hear me, little prince,” I coo, rolling my hips again.
  He sighs, hands trailing up my spine, fingers digging slightly when I nip his jaw. “Tell me what’s gonna happen, little prince,” I mumble against his neck, working to loosen his tie.Â
  “I want you go–,” Gayson licks his lips, averting his eyes.
  The beginnings of that word make my heart pound, “say it.”
  He meets my gaze, “I want you, goddess.”
  He stands without warning and leads me through one of the many hidden corridors in the house. Pressing him against the wall, I leave a trail of hot kisses to the spot behind his ear that makes him shiver. Grayson tangles his hands in my hair, tugging lightly. He whines when I step back, unbuttoning his shirt.
  “Off.”Â
  He responds without hesitation, harshly pulling his arms out of the long sleeved button-down. My hands slip under the plain undershirt, his stomach muscles tensing at my touch, the fabric bunching together as it slides upward, quickly followed by my own top. He pulls me flush against him for another needy kiss, before picking me up. Grayson walks slowly towards his bed, squeezing my ass as I pepper kisses along his jaw. He turns, so I’m straddling him when he sits. He pulls my hips forward, grinding me against him, my breath hitches. Desire taking over, I rock against him, breathy moans escaping.
  “Someone’s needy,” Grayson breathes against my ear, hands running along the band of my bra, “I wanna see you, all of you. Please.”
  The sweetness in his request pulls me back to reality, heat rising in my face when I stand, shimming out of my shorts and panties. Grayson kisses up my stomach, before pulling me to straddle his thigh. He nips at my collarbones, unclasping my bra, fingertips trailing down my arms and tossing it aside. Grayson sits back appreciating my bare form grinding against his slacks, his mouth slightly agape.Â
  His hands grip my hips tightly, guiding my movements, “this feel good, flower?”
  “Mmhmm,” my mind clouds with building pleasure.
  I rest my head against his, cupping his face in my hands, eyes fluttering shut with each grind. Every motion, every thought consumed by the yearning for more; more of him. I let one hand slide down to stroke him through his slacks making him buck against me. Grayson’s fingers ghost along my soft flesh and my breath hitches when he brushes my nipple. I shudder under his touch, sighing from the combined sensations. My head falls back when he takes one into his mouth, moaning as he licks the peaked bud. I rake my hands through his hair, tugging harshly, approaching bliss. My hips stutter, elastic band tightening in my abdomen, “Grayson,” I whine.Â
  Grayson’s eyes snap back to mine, dark, “say it again.”Â
  Hands finding my hips again, he flexes the muscles of his thigh making me cry out from the added pressure; his name falling from my lips like a prayer. My breath comes in short gasps, catching in my throat when the band finally snaps, in blinding pleasure. Grayson pulls my hips against him, drawing it out as my thighs shake until I lean heavily against his shoulder, breathless.Â
  He presses a kiss to my temple, “that was exquisite.”Â
  I reach between us, feeling the shape of him. Grayson bucks his hips against my hand, before forcing himself still. I lean back to look at him, taking him by the shoulders, “we can stop, little prince.”
  “I want this. It’s just….been a minute.”
  I press a kiss to his forehead, “do you have something?”
  He smirks and we break apart for a moment. Grayson discards his boxers and fumbles through the table by his bed. My fingernails dig into his shoulders as I let myself slowly sink onto his length.Â
  “Oh fuck,” Grayson moans.Â
  He kisses down my chest, as I move on his length. He bites my lip, silencing the moan when he brings his thumb to circle my clit. Nibbling along my jaw and pushing me against the mattress. Mesmerized watching this abs tense and relax as he pounds into me, my hands wander over the taut planes. I nearly miss the adoration in Gray’s eyes when he lifts my chin, staring at me. He leans down for a messy kiss, my legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Grayson slows, groaning, suddenly rolling his hips at an agonizingly slow rhythm, a loud whine escapes me. Blond hair sticks to his forehead when he tucks his face against my neck, chuckling darkly. I push my hips upward, trying to meet his thrusts. He growls, sitting back and lifting them in a bruising grip. The perfect angle lets him thrust deeper until he hits the spot that has me seeing stars, gasping and grabbing at his forearms.
  Pressing my head back into the pillows, moaning, “so close, Gray.”
  My nails rake down his arms when I come undone, breath catching in a silent scream. Graysons nails dig into my waist, swearing as he loses himself in bliss, eyebrows scrunched. His hips jerk with shallow thrusts before finally stilling. “Can I just stay like this for a bit? I like how you feel around me.”
  I nod, still breathless and pull him to rest against my chest.
  “You’re perfection, little prince,” I pant, carding my fingers through his hair.
  Grayson hums in reply, tracing patterns on my chest. We lay there in silence until long after dark, before sliding apart. He catches my arm as I move to get up, light eyes pleading.
  “I’m not going far Gray,” I coo.
  Hesitantly, he lets go, watching my every move as I walk into his en suite and fill the tub. I stand in front of him, taking his hands in mine, “I’ll never leave you Grayson.”
  “Promise,” he asks.
  “Promise,” I press a kiss to his hand before leading him to sit behind me in the steaming water.Â
  I lean back on his shoulder, caressing his arms wrapped loosely around mine. Savoring the closeness, Grayson presses kisses to the top of my head, murmuring sweet praises. When the water starts to cool, he wraps us in fluffy towels. Grayson reaches into the cupboard before having me sit on the edge of the tub. Vanilla and brown sugar invade my senses as he gently rubs lotion up my calf, periodically kissing along my leg.
 “Grayson, why do you have my favorite lotion in your bathroom,” I look at him expectantly.
  He moves to the other leg and slowly massages each arm, “Because I can, my flower.” He moves to pick me up, I wince when his hands graze my hips. Grayson cradles my face in his hands, panicked eyes searching mine, “Did I hurt you?”
  I grab his wrists, leaning back to see his full face, “I’m not made of glass, little prince.”Â
  Satisfied, he scoops me up, pulling the covers back and unceremoniously dropping me in bed. I giggle, scooting over arms outstretched to him as he tucks the blankets around me, strong arms pulling me into his chest. “Sometimes,” I yawn, “I wish other people could see this side of you.”
 “You better not let anyone know I have a heart, flower,” Grayson kisses my forehead.
  I slowly drift to sleep, in the place where I was always meant to. No longer ships in the night, no more endless questions, just Grayson and I tangled in one another. Maybe Nash was right, in a sense, we weren’t good friends, we were home.
