Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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I wake up the next morning in Greyson's arms. My fingers are intertwined with his and our joined hands are tucked under my chin. Our legs are tangled together – like we can't stand to be separated even while we're sleeping – and his bare chest is pressed against my back, our skin practically melded together after laying in the same position for hours once we finally fell asleep. I feel his breath on the back of my neck, and I flinch as it blows the ends of my hair across my cheek, tickling my skin. The hum of his light snoring vibrating against my body is steady enough to almost make me fall right back to sleep, but I don't, because I have a plan.
Careful not to wake him, I let go of his hand and slowly slip out from underneath his arm. He stirs a bit and reaches across the now empty space next to him, but doesn't wake up. Greyson has always been a deep sleeper. His mother used to say he could sleep through a category five hurricane and wake up the next day having no idea anything had happened.
I pick his t-shirt up off the floor and pull it over my head, but since he tore my panties to shreds last night, I'm going to have to be creative in finding something to wear under the shirt. Any pair of his shorts or sweatpants will be too long on me, and too big around the waist, and as much as I wish I was one of those uninhibited girls who can walk around comfortably while completely bare below the waist, I'm not. So, I'm forced to root through Greyson's drawers – smiling to myself when I come across the If Lost Please Return to Babe shirt I got him for our class trip – and when I find a pair of white boxers, I realize they're my best option.
I tip-toe toward the bedroom door, and when the floor creaks under my feet, I freeze. I peek over my shoulder expecting to see his eyes wide open, the playful smirk I love so much plastered on his face, but thankfully, he's still asleep. He looks beautiful. His wavy hair is messy and falling over his forehead. There are pillow lines indented on his rosy cheeks, and as he rolls onto his stomach and tucks his arms under the pillow, his full lips purse. Every time I think I've gotten used to how ridiculously handsome he is, I'm taken aback by his magnificence.
I know that's a weird adjective to use for a man – beautiful – but he is. Inside and out.
As I descend the stairs, I hiss in pain. I'm sore – really sore. It's been a while since I've been with someone. Will and I have been separated over two months, but even before that, it had been an embarrassingly long time since we'd slept together. Looking back now, that should have been a sign. But aching vagina and all, I can't help but smile when I think about last night. It was off the charts incredible. I know I have barely anything to compare it to, but Greyson has always been great in bed. I can't remember a time I wasn't completely satisfied by him, and age – and experience – has made him even better, if that's at all possible. We fit together perfectly – like two puzzle pieces joining together. It was like the ten years we've been apart were nonexistent. Like we picked up right where we left off without missing a single beat. The way he kissed me, and touched me, and made love to me – it was the greatest pleasure I've ever known.
