Page 45 of Grizz

“We need to talk about us… what we’re doing,” she says, eyes boring into mine.“About this.About… you and me.”

She doesn’t look nervous.Instead, she looks ready, which somehow makesmethe one who feels a little unsteady.

“The only way this works,” she continues, “is if we agree it’s zero strings attached, no expectations beyond the moment.”

This doesn’t sound so bad.In fact, this sounds like the conversation I should be instigating.But I’m on board.“Nothing complicated.Just… casual.”

Her expression doesn’t change right away, but there’s a tiny change in her posture—her shoulders loosening, her breath easing—like she’s been waiting for the parameters too.

“Casual,” she repeats.“No strings.That’s the only way we can make this work.”

The relief that moves through me is instant, almost dizzying.

“Good,” I say, fingers digging into her hips and making her eyes go dark.“I’m glad.”

“Same.”

“Now, where were we?”

My hands move up to her face, framing it almost tenderly, which is funny.I don’t have a tender bone in my body.She tips her head back, eyes dropping to my mouth.Now that the rules are set, the invitation to operate within those boundaries is there.I lower my head, brush my lips over hers.Daisy sighs and goes up to her tiptoes, deepening the kiss.It’s fucking nirvana and I take every bit she offers.

All I care about is the way her body presses into mine, the soft sound she makes when my hand slides up the back of her neck, the way her mouth opens for me like she’s been waiting on this forever.

I spin her, maneuver her back four steps, around the edge of the couch.No strings.Yeah, right.It’s on.

I kiss her like I’ve been starving for it all day, and she kisses me back like she’s been starving longer.The second her tongue slides against mine, every half-assed promise about “casual” evaporates.There’s nothing casual about the way she drags me down on top of her, or the way I groan into her mouth when her hips roll up to meet mine.

We crash together onto the couch and the kiss never breaks.My hands are under her sweater in seconds, palms maneuvering over warm skin, thumbs brushing the lace edge of her bra until she arches hard and gasps my name against my lips.

“Grizz—”

I answer by dragging the sweater over her head and tossing it somewhere behind us.Her bra is black, simple, devastating.I mouth my way down her throat, tasting the faint salt of her skin, the pulse hammering under my tongue.When I close my teeth gently over the swell above the lace, she makes a broken little sound that goes straight to my dick.

She yanks at my shirt next, impatient, and I pull back only long enough to rip it off.The second my chest is bare, her hands are everywhere—nails scraping down my stomach, tracing the waistband of my jeans like she’s deciding how fast she wants this.I decide for both of us.

I haul her up, spin her, and press her back to my front, mouth at her ear.“Been thinking about all the dirty things to do to you and I have quite a list.”

Her laugh is breathless.“Prove it.”

Challenge accepted.

I flick her bra open with one hand, let it fall, and cup her breasts from behind, full, perfect, nipples already swollen.She drops her head back against my shoulder, moaning softly as I roll them between my fingers, until her hips are grinding against me in silent demand.

My other hand slides down her stomach, pops the button on her jeans, slips inside.She’s soaked through her panties, and the sound she makes when I stroke her over the fabric is filthy and desperate and mine.

“Jesus, Daisy.”

“Inside,” she whispers.“Now.”

I push the lace aside and sink two fingers into her, curling just right.Her knees buckle.I hold her up with an arm banded across her chest, working her slow and deep while my thumb finds her clit.She comes fast and hard, clenching around my fingers, my name a broken chant against my throat.

And I’m not even close to done.

She’s still trembling from the first orgasm, making it incredibly easy to strip her naked.I push her back down on the couch, spread her thighs, and hook her leg over my shoulder to lick into her.She tastes like everything I’m not supposed to need.I don’t stop until she’s yanking at my hair, thighs shaking, coming again with a cry that echoes off the high ceilings.

When I stand, she attacks my belt with shaking hands.I help, kicking jeans and boxer-briefs away.Her eyes drop to where I’m hard and aching for her, and she licks her lips, her beautiful, sumptuous lips.

“Condom?”she asks, voice wrecked.