GRAYSON LOOKED AT HER LIPS as if he was taking inventory. His thumb turned under her hand and pressed against her palm, and the deliberateness of it was more disarming than urgency would have been.
Then he leaned in and kissed her.
His lips pressed against hers, soft yet firm, his breath warm and smelling faintly of mint.
She could feel the roughness of his stubble against her chin, sending a shiver down her spine as he deepened the kiss.
Her hands found his waist, pulling him closer, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as if she could fuse their bodies together right there on the counter.
The cold marble beneath her thighs contrasted sharply with the heat building between them, the sensation only heightening the urgency of his touch.
His tongue traced the seam of her lips, teasing, demanding entry, and when she parted them with a gasp, the sound was swallowed by his mouth.
