The city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows was still cloaked in a hazy pre-dawn glow, the kind that painted everything soft and indistinct, like a whispered promise of the day to come. Olivia sat upright in bed, the cool sheets tucked around her waist, her insomnia having once again stolen the last few hours of night from her.
Grayson slept soundly beside her, his breaths deep and even. His arm had fallen across the mattress in search of her earlier as if his body already knew what it wanted, what it was afraid to lose.
She glanced down at him—at the way his messy dark hair fell across his forehead, at the relaxed line of his jaw, so different from the sharp focus he wore during the day. Her chest tightened. The virus of love has affected me, she thought with a helpless kind of amusement. And I don't know what I should do.
Carefully, she slid out of bed, her feet silent against the soft wood floors of his Selene penthouse. Now, with the quiet stretching between them and nothing left to distract her, she took in the bedroom properly for the first time.
It was modern but lived-in, perfectly blending sleek design with earthy comfort. The walls held bold abstract canvases strokes of indigo, charcoal, and rust interspersed with black-and-white photographs.
Her breath hitched slightly when she noticed the images. One of them she'd already seen the night before in the living room a silhouette in the rain, backlit and blurred just enough to evoke curiosity. It had always been one of her favorites. She hadn't expected to see it here, let alone framed with such quiet reverence.
She padded closer to the two additional photographs on the bedroom wall. One captured a couple mid-laughter at a crosswalk, while the other showed an old man feeding pigeons in Paris, the motion frozen in soft grayscale all hers.
The realization struck her fully that he hadn't just bought her work. He'd been living with it. There was something magnetic about the figure in the photo, something familiar. Now she knew why. It was him. Grayson. In the rain. In London.
A shiver passed through her. What were the odds? Coincidence didn't even seem to cover it anymore. Everything about him about this kept looping back around to her as if the universe was drawing circles around them with a smirk on its face.
She smiled faintly, then shook her head and turned away.Should I tell him? Maybe. But not now.
In the kitchen, she opened the sleek stainless-steel fridge and found a tall jug of chilled water. She poured herself a glass, the quiet splash the only sound. At 4:00 a.m., New York itself was barely awake.
Her thoughts drifted back to last night. She'd opened up more than she meant to. Let him see the cracks she usually kept polished over. She'd promised she wouldn't leave. Not yet. But now what?
With nothing better to do, she quietly cleaned the kitchen, stacking a couple of dishes and wiping the counter. It wasn't much, but it made her feel useful as if she wasn't just floating in this strange new intimacy with nowhere to land.
Eventually, she returned to the bathroom with her purse. From inside, she pulled out a travel-sized body wash, a small tube of toothpaste, and her toothbrush. Always prepared. Always ready for a delay, a cancellation, or a change in plans. It was just who she was: someone who didn't rely on the world to be predictable.
The hot water was a balm, washing away not regret but uncertainty. Afterward, she pulled on a soft, slate-colored t-shirt dress, the kind she always kept tucked in the bottom of her bag. Emergency clothes. Travel armor. It was a tiny reminder that she didn't plan to stay, even if a small, dangerous part of her was already imagining what it might feel like to.
Back in the bedroom, Grayson hadn't moved. Olivia stood over him, watching his steady breathing and peaceful face. She hadn't spent the night with someone in over five years, not like this. Not with sleep tangled between two people instead of silence.
Maybe that's more than I can give him, she thought.
Still, she eased back into the bed, careful and slow. She sat against the headboard, propped up on pillows. Grayson stirred, instinctively reaching out again. This time, his arm found her waist and wrapped around her, anchoring her in place.
Olivia froze for a second, the feel of him pressing into her almost too much. Her breath hitched. Then she felt his body settling, his breathing returning to that deep rhythm of sleep.
She exhaled quietly and picked up her phone, checking emails. It wasn't ideal. She hated working from her phone, but it was better than nothing. She answered a few things, flagged others for later, and tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was doing this from his bed.
An hour passed. Then, the soft chime of an alarm buzzed from his nightstand. Grayson stirred, groaning low as his hand slid along her thigh, fingers grazing the cotton fabric of her dress.
"Mmm." His voice was thick with sleep. He blinked, eyes still heavy, but his lips curled into that half-awake, all-trouble grin. "You're still here."
"I promised I would be," Olivia said softly, meeting his gaze.
"Yes, but you're still in the bed with me…" His brow furrowed in mock confusion as his hand gave her dress another curious tug. "However, you're clothed."
"You're very astute," she replied with a smirk.
"Little fox," he murmured, amused.
She rolled her eyes playfully. "You worry too much. I'm here, aren't I?"
He reached up lazily, brushing his fingers against her arm. "I like you here."
Olivia leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Now, why is your alarm going off so early?"
"I usually work out at this time," he muttered, eyes fluttering closed again.
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds incredibly responsible and, honestly, awful."
He grinned, sleepy but smug. "You're the one up doing emails at 5 a.m."
"Touché."
Grayson's hand slid up the curve of her thigh, fingers trailing the hem of her soft cotton dress. Olivia stilled, her breath catching in her throat as he shifted closer, his mouth grazing her bare skin.
"You know," he murmured against her, voice thick with sleep and something darker, "you've been up working for over an hour…" His fingers found the heat between her legs, and the satisfied smirk that followed was instant. "But you're soaked."
His touch was teasing light, calculated, addictive. Olivia gasped as his fingers pressed gently against her folds, slipping in with ease. Her head fell back against the headboard.
"I was trying to behave," she whispered breathlessly.
He grinned. "You always try. But me?" He lowered his mouth closer. "I'm going to make you breakfast... but first..." His lips brushed her inner thigh. "I'm going to take mine."
Before she could protest if she even wanted to he pulled her down flat and, in one smooth motion, tugged the tee shirt dress over her head and tossed it aside. His hand found her again, fingers slipping deep inside, his thumb brushing over her clit with delicious precision. Her body jolted in response, hips rising to meet the pressure.
"Grayson… mmm…"
"I love how you say my name like that." He slid a second finger inside, her slick heat covering him instantly. "God, I can't wait for this again… You feel so good, little fox."
Then he shifted down, replacing his fingers with his tongue. One flick and she shattered—her body arching as a broken cry escaped her lips. He gripped her hips, holding her still as he licked deeper, harder, relentless in the way he worshipped her.
"Grayson—oh my God…"
His fingers returned, stroking in rhythm with his mouth. She couldn't hold back. Her body trembled, movements wild and unfiltered until she finally broke, climax crashing through her like a wave. She gushed around him, and he hummed against her, satisfied and greedy for more.
When he finally slid his fingers from her and sat up, his eyes sparkled with mischief and reverence all at once. Olivia lay there, breathless, limbs heavy.
"I can never get tired of watching you do that," he said, brushing his lips along her stomach.
Her voice was hoarse with release. "And I... I'm going to have to build... a pillow fort."
Grayson laughed, deep and amused. "Pillow fort?" he repeated, dimples on full display.
Olivia groaned, rolling to her side as she grabbed a pillow and tossed it toward him. "Yes. A pillow fort. How else am I supposed to get any peace with you and your masterful tongue?"
He caught the pillow with a grin. "Well, I do aim to please."
She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Clearly."
Grayson stood, stretching, all glorious muscle and cocky grin. "Now, let me shower and make my queen some breakfast."
"I think I need a second shower... no thanks to you," Olivia muttered, already reaching for her purse for a fresh pair of underwear.
He paused in the doorway, looking back with that wicked gleam in his eye. "Oh, I do enjoy when we shower together."
"Grayson…" she warned.
"If we shower together," he said innocently, holding up three fingers like a boy scout, "I promise I'll be on my best behavior."
She folded her arms across her chest. "I already told you, according to the Girl Scout handbook, I shouldn't be trusting you."
His grin widened. "You wound me."
"And yet, you're still thinking about dragging me into that shower," she said, eyeing him warily as she backed away from the bed.
Grayson tilted his head, that predatory glint flickering in his gaze as he began to move—slow, deliberate, stalking across the mattress like a tiger closing in on its prey. "Grayson," she warned, still retreating, now hovering at the bedroom threshold. "I know that look in your eyes. And no. We are not showering together."
"Little fox…" His voice dropped, rich and teasing. "Don't run. I'll enjoy that more than you know."
He took the final step off the bed, feet hitting the floor with purpose.
Olivia's eyes widened with mock fear, but her lips curled into a sly grin. "Grayson, this is what I do. You'll have to catch me if you can."
With that, she turned and bolted down the hall.
"Shit—" he muttered, grinning as he launched after her.
She flew through the hallway and into the living room, her bare feet nearly silent against the polished wood floors. The soft glow from the city skyline lit her silhouette as she spun around one of the couches, putting a barrier between them just as Grayson entered.
He slowed, now just steps away, with nothing but a couch between them. His chest rose and fell with adrenaline and mischief.
"You know I'm just going to jump this couch," he said, already crouching slightly.
"And the second you do," Olivia replied, breathless, "I'm hopping over the next one."
His smirk deepened. "God, I love a challenge."
Then he faked left.
Olivia read it instantly sports instincts kicking in and leapt right, flipping over the back of the second couch with a light laugh. She darted toward the kitchen, now standing behind the island, her hands braced on the cool marble.
Grayson advanced, rounding the space slowly as if calculating his next move.
"You cleaned the kitchen?" he asked, distracted for a beat.
She shrugged, barely suppressing a grin. "I had time to kill."
"Little fox," he said, voice low and amused. "Come here."
"Mm, I'm good, thanks." Her giggle gave her away.
"I'm going to catch you…" He moved to one side of the island.
"You might," she taunted, slipping to the other.
Then, in one swift motion, she spun and ran again, laughing as she tore down the hallway.
Grayson wasn't far behind. He caught her halfway down, strong arms wrapping around her waist as she squealed in protest. He lifted her effortlessly, spun her once, and gave her a playful smack on the ass.
"You're so lucky I like a chase," he growled, carrying her straight into the bathroom.
His walk-in shower loomed in the corner glass walls, black matte fixtures and twin rainfall heads gleaming under the recessed lights. He didn't break stride. He opened the door, stepped in with her still in his arms, and pulled it closed behind them.
Water burst to life overhead, raining down on them in a cool cascade.
"Grayson—oh my god—it's freezing!"
"That's what you get for running from me," he said, backing her against the rear wall, droplets sliding down her skin as he pressed against her.
"Trapping me in a freezing shower is better?" she shot back, teeth chattering slightly.
"No," he said, grinning, dipping his head to kiss her neck, "but I promise I'll warm you up."
Grayson's mouth moved from her neck to her collarbone, slow and deliberate, while the cold water rained down around them. Olivia shivered—but not from the chill. His hands were already on her waist, sliding up her sides as he pressed their bodies closer, letting the cold water heat instantly between them.
"I said I'd warm you up," he murmured, voice thick with desire.
He reached up, turning the temperature dial, and the freezing stream gave way to delicious warmth. Olivia gasped as the heat rolled over her skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat pooling low in her belly from the feel of his lips and hands.
Grayson leaned in and kissed her wet and deep, a claiming kiss that left her breathless. His hands slid down her back to cup her ass, pulling her flush against him, his hardness unmistakable against her stomach.
"Still want to run?" he whispered against her lips.
Her laugh came out as a shaky breath. "Maybe later."
"Good."
He dropped to his knees.
The water poured over him as he gripped her thighs and lifted one leg over his shoulder, opening her to him. Olivia braced against the tile, one hand pressed flat on the wall, the other in his soaked hair as his mouth found her again this time between her legs.
He licked her slowly at first, tongue circling her clit with maddening precision. Then deeper, hungrier. The hot spray of the shower cascaded over her chest as his tongue dove in, alternating with long strokes and tight flicks that made her tremble.
Her moans echoed off the shower walls. "Grayson... oh my god... yes"
He grunted against her, the vibration making her jolt. He loved the way she sounded, the way her legs started to shake around his shoulders. He slipped a finger inside her, then two, thrusting them in rhythm with his mouth.
Olivia's head dropped back against the wall, her mouth falling open as the orgasm hit her fast and hard. Her body arched, toes curling, a broken cry slipping from her lips as she came against his mouth. He didn't stop not until she was trembling and breathless, her fingers still knotted in his hair.
Grayson slowly rose, dragging his mouth up her body kissing her stomach, her chest, her throat before finally reaching her lips. He kissed her gently this time, tasting her pleasure on his tongue, his hands sliding around her back to steady her.
"Damn," she whispered, eyes still fluttering.
"Told you I'd warm you up."
She managed a smile, heart still pounding. "I should probably make you earn your breakfast now."
Grayson laughed, leaning into her with a cocky smirk. "Oh, sweetheart. This was my breakfast."
Grayson's fingers skimmed down her sides as the water ran in steaming rivulets over their skin. Olivia was still catching her breath, her head against the tile, but the moment his hands curved around her hips and pulled her closer, she felt it hard, hot, and demanding against her thigh.
Her eyes flicked to his, already knowing.
"You're not done," she whispered.
His smile was slow, predatory. "Not even close."
He kissed her again—deep, wet, consuming—then gently turned her around, his hands trailing along her waist. The tile was slick against her palms as she braced herself, her breath already shallow.
Grayson moved behind her, one hand holding her steady, the other guiding himself. He teased her first, sliding the tip of his cock through her folds, groaning as her warmth coated him.
"God, you're still so wet," he breathed, more to himself than to her.
Olivia let out a shaky breath, hips tilting back just slightly, inviting him in.
And he couldn't wait anymore.
He pressed forward, slow but firm, easing into her inch by inch until he filled her completely. She gasped, her fingers curling against the tile, the stretch deep and perfect.
"Fuck, Liv…" His voice broke on a groan, head dropping to her shoulder. "You feel like heaven."
He pulled back and thrust into her again, harder this time. She moaned, her body rocking forward with the force, only for him to pull her back against him.
The rhythm built—his hands gripping her hips, her back arching into every stroke. The water pounded around them, but all Olivia could hear was the sound of skin against skin, the wet slap, her breathless gasps, and the low, dirty things he was growling into her ear.
"You love this, don't you?" he murmured, thrusting deep. "Love the way I feel inside you."
"Y-yes," she panted. "God, yes…"
He reached around and found her clit, rubbing tight, fast circles as he kept driving into her, hips snapping with increasing urgency. Her body tightened, the pressure curling through her spine.
"That's it," he whispered. "Let go for me, little fox. Let me feel you fall apart."
And she did—her second orgasm rushing through her, sharp and fast, her moan breaking into a cry as she clenched around him, shaking.
Grayson cursed under his breath, thrust once more, twice—and then he was coming too, hard and deep, burying himself in her with a rough groan that echoed through the shower.
They stayed like that for a moment—pressed against each other under the rain, their bodies trembling and spent.
After a beat, Grayson kissed her shoulder, his voice hoarse. "Okay... now we both need another shower."
Olivia laughed softly, turning her head to glance back at him. "That was the shower."
He kissed the corner of her smile. "Nah. That was round two."
By the time they stepped out of the shower, the bathroom was thick with steam and the unmistakable aftermath of round two. Olivia wrapped herself in one of Grayson's oversized charcoal towels, her hair damp and curling slightly from the heat, cheeks still flushed and lips kiss-bruised. She caught her reflection in the mirror and smirked.
Grayson, behind her, was toweling off lazily, the other half of her smirk reflected in his grin. He leaned in and kissed her bare shoulder again, this time softer, more tender.
"I told you I'd warm you up," he murmured.
"You're lucky I'm too tired to throw something at you," she said, but there was no bite in it.
He chuckled, running a hand through his wet hair. "Come on. You've earned breakfast. I'm making you something good."
She followed him barefoot into the apartment, wrapped in the towel like a queen draped in royal linen. Grayson, loose gray joggers slung low on his hips, stopped in the kitchen and pulled open a cabinet, reaching for ingredients like it was second nature. Confident. Comfortable. Completely at home in his skin.
Olivia slid onto one of the stools at the island, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him move.
"So," she said, letting her voice float across the space between them, "what does a man like you make for breakfast? And don't say protein powder and regret."
He laughed. "Wow. The disrespect in my own home."
"I'm just saying," she teased. "You look like a five-egg-white scramble and black coffee kind of guy."
He turned around, holding up eggs and a package of smoked salmon. "That's only on weekdays. But you're here, and I'm feeling inspired. I'm thinking soft scrambled eggs with chives, a little goat cheese, smoked salmon on toast..."
Her brows lifted. "You're trying to seduce me again, and we just got out of the shower."
He winked. "Baby, this is me behaving."
She laughed, that low, easy sound he was quickly becoming addicted to. "Fine. Impress me, Chef."
As he moved around the kitchen—cracking eggs, slicing herbs, multitasking like a pro—Olivia pulled her towel a little tighter, still watching him, the domesticity of it all hitting her in an unexpected way. It was strange how natural it felt. How right it felt, sitting here in nothing but a towel while he made her breakfast like it was just another Sunday morning.
Like they'd done it a dozen times before. Like they could do it a dozen more.
Grayson slid a piece of toast into the oven, then turned and leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his gaze drifting lazily over her. "You look good like that."
"Like what?" she asked, feigning innocence.
"In my towel. In my kitchen. After... well, after." His smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. "Feels dangerously close to domestic."
She tilted her head. "You say that like it's a threat."
He grinned. "It's not. But it is tempting."
Her eyes softened, but she kept her tone light. "You're not so bad at this, you know. This whole… post-orgasm, breakfast-making, sexy-boyfriend vibe."
"Oh? So I'm your sexy boyfriend now?"
She gave him a look, lips pursed, but her eyes sparkled. "Don't push it, Grayson."
He held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'll take it. Especially if it comes with you stealing all my towels and making my kitchen smell like coconut and sex."
Olivia snorted, shaking her head as the smell of butter and toast filled the air. He turned back to the stove, flipping the eggs gently and plating everything like he'd done it a thousand times. When he finally set the plate in front of her, it looked... perfect.
And it made her feel something she wasn't ready to name.
Still, she picked up her fork, smiled, and said, "Okay, fine. You're officially forgiven for the freezing shower ambush."
Grayson leaned down, kissed her temple, and whispered, "Good. Because after breakfast, I'm absolutely going to kiss you again like it's my full-time job."