Soundtrack: I’m Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance.
I was at work, doing something unimportant to pass the time, when I heard his voice. It seemed to travel through my body before it did my ears; my skin erupted with goosebumps. My body knew who it was before my brain did.
“Hey, you.”
My head whipped around. “Oh, my God. It’s you!”
I ran around the counter to hug My Mr. Grey before I’d even had the chance to remember that I was mad at him for choosing a whole country over me. Well, sort of.
“I want to take you for dinner,” he said. Always a direction; never a question.
I thought about it for a second. That man had broken my heart once already. Did I really want to give him a second chance, so he could do it all over again? My heart sank at the thought… but it also skipped a beat at the thought of spending the evening with him. What was a girl to do?
“How long are you here for?” I asked him, getting the important stuff out of the way nice and early. Once I knew that, I could prepare an answer to his dinner request.
“Home for the weekend,” he said. “But I didn’t want to go back to my home.”
I wanted to ask him what that meant, but we didn’t have time. Just the weekend? I was mad at him, but we didn’t have long enough to spend arguing about semantics and relationship statuses. We could do that via text or phone call later, when he was back in the wretched country that stole him from me.
“I finish in two hours,” I told him. “Give me an hour to go home and change, then pick me up at The Flat?”
He nodded, smiled, then walked out of the store. No goodbye, no okay, no nothing. That was his usual style, I supposed.
Two hours later, without me having to ask, he was parked outside my place of work, ready to take me to the flat.
Hey, You
“Hey, you. I wanted to hurry things along,” Grey said. “Plus, I missed you.”
There went my heart, skipping that beat again. It was pathetic, really. I’d slept with the guy plenty of times already, and we’d spent more than enough time together; why the fuck was I still nervous? Why were those butterflies still going mad inside my stomach?
Grey waited on the sofa in my living room as I busied myself with a shower, then the wardrobe, then the makeup table. I was ready only thirty minutes later than originally planned, too. Why? Because I had to keep checking that Bestie and Grey hadn’t turned my living room into some kind of wrestling ring. Not that I could see Grey fighting, of course; he was far too sophisticated and calm for that sort of behaviour. Bestie, though? I’d seen him smack a man or two over the years. I didn’t know if he’d smack Grey, but I didn’t want to put it to the test. Bestie had made it clear on plenty of occasions that he despised grey. “There’s just something about him,” he’d said. “He’s not good for you.”
Eventually, safely, Grey and I left the house. We climbed into his RxHeaven, then Grey drove – out of the town, then out of the county.
“Where are we going?” I asked. It seemed a long-ish way to go for just dinner.
“It’s a surprise,” he asked. “I think you’ll like it, though.”
Grey took me to the seaside, and a beautiful cliff-side restaurant, where we had views that spanned for literal miles. It was a beautifully clear evening, the perfect night for it. He ordered for us both, which seemed like the hottest thing in the world at the time. It was the perfect order, too – exactly what I would have ordered myself. As always, he chose lemonade for himself, then a white wine for me. It had a name that I couldn’t pronounce, but it tasted like grape heaven. I’ve often wondered how he managed to get that just right, as someone that had never taken a sip of alcohol in his life. (A long, painful relative-related story that he eventually told me.)
By the time we left the restaurant and headed back to The Flat I was more than a little tipsy. I also couldn’t keep my hands to myself. The journey back to mine seemed to take three times as long as the journey there, and my hand kept wandering to his thigh, his bicep, his hand on the gearstick. The views, the restaurant, the beautiful seaside location… it had all made me feral for him. It was probably meant to be a romantic evening, but all I wanted was to go back home and fuck him long into the night.
Instead of parking up, though, Grey pulled up outside my flat.
“Are you not coming up?” I asked, the disappoint evident in my voice.
“I don’t think your housemate wants me around very much,” he said.
“No.” I sat back in the bucket seat and crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m not getting out until you park up and get out with me. You’re not getting into Bestie’s bed. I hope?”
He looked at me, and I thought he was going to argue. But he didn’t. Instead, he did just as I’d ordered: parked the car, got out, walked to my side, opened my door, helped me out, then held my hand all the way to the front door.
Once inside, I didn’t even bother to try and hide what we were doing. Bestie was awake, anyway; his bedroom light was on. Thankfully, he didn’t come out. Grey and I pottered about in the kitchen for a while, grabbing water and talking about this and that. And then, unable to wait for a second longer, I took his hand and led him into my bedroom.
I probably should’ve thought more about what I was doing, what with The Fireman’s Sister being in the picture and all. There wasn’t a single part of me that cared about her, though. It’s a horrible thing to say, I know, but no one would win against Grey. That was the reality of it. He had the strangest hold over me. It was love in part, yes… but it was so, so much more than that, too. Maybe it had a little something to do with him being the best sex of my life?
I started stripping before he’d even shut the bedroom door behind us, and I ordered him to do the same. In a movement so quick that I didn’t even have time to think about it, Grey darted towards me and pushed me against the wall. He pushed his body hard against mine, and that’s when I could smell him. Him. His scent. His beautiful, intoxicating scent.
It was a mixture of things: his natural body odour, washing detergent, fabric softener, and even a little spritz of antiperspirant. Or was that cologne? I wasn’t sure. I knew I liked it, though. close to him, smelling him, feeling his body pressed against mine, was exquisite.
“Fuck,” I breathed, my body surrendering to him completely. My body wanted to give him everything he wanted, regardless of what it was.
He took a step back. His mouth was dead straight, but there was a devilish grin in his eyes. The pleasure he took in my submission was crystal clear.
“Do you want me to fuck you?” he asked. The tone of his voice was almost mocking in nature. I hated and loved it in equal measure.
“Yes.”
“What do you want?” he asked, leaning in so that his lips were close to mine. I reached up on my tip-toes to kiss him, but he yanked his head away. “No, not yet. Tell me what you want.”
“What?” I stammered, finding it difficult to think of whole sentences as I drank in his scent. It had the same kind of effect on me as hard alcohol: my legs were weak, my mind fuzzy and confused, my lips no longer in fully functioning order.
“Do you want me to touch you here?” Grey asked, sliding his hand inside of my dress and tiptoeing his fingers towards my cunt. He leaned in close as he released a low groan of enjoyment. “Mmmm, you’re hot down here.”
Muttering something that resembled a ‘yes’, I parted my legs wider.
“You’re very wet, too,” he breathed. With his body weight pinning me against the wall, and his finger sliding slowly in and out of my wetness, I couldn’t have moved even if I wanted to. “I’m going to make you come with my fingers,” he said quietly. “And then, I’m going to fuck you.”
The words made me clamp tightly around his finger and he raised an eyebrow when he felt it. Trailing tiny nibbles across my cheek, his lips eventually found mine and invaded them hungrily. I couldn’t help but whimper lightly as our tongues danced, two of his fingers still slowly dipping in and out of my slick cunt.
“The things I want to do to you,” he murmured, nipping my bottom lip between his teeth to finish off his sentence.
I wanted to ask him to tell me more, but his fingers were working their regular Grey magic and my breath caught in the back of my throat when I tried to speak. His mouth clamped down mine on mine just seconds afterwards, so I couldn’t have spoken if I had tried again. That’s where we stayed, his body weight keeping me upright, as his fingers brought me to the kind of orgasm that made my legs buckle. I pressed my face into his shoulder to stop myself from crying out.
Afterwards, neither of us moved for a minute or two. I’d have fallen to the floor if he had, and I think he’d realised that. Grey didn’t need to tell me to bend over the dressing table, a few minutes after that, though; I was eager to do it. The hard wood was cold on my body, making my nipples stiffen painfully. The barely audible gasp as he saw every part of me, made it well worth it. I moved my feet a little wider apart to give him even more of a view.
Before I had time to make a sound, I felt the tip of him teasing my entrance, smearing my arousal in place of lubricant. “Tell me what you want,” he demanded, pushing the tip of himself against me.
“Fuck me.” My answer was immediate.
Grey plunged deep, smashing my body into the table, pleasure and pain soaring through my body and turning my mind inside out. I wanted to yelp in pain, but a groan of arousal escaped my lips instead.
His hands clamped tightly around my hips, digging his fingertips in and, no doubt, making bruises, but I didn’t care. He could mark me all over, claim my body as his. It was what I wanted, more than anything: to belong to him, completely.
I gripped the edge of the table tight, holding on as he pounded into me again and again, groans of his pleasure filling the air. We needed to be quiet, but I couldn’t silence him. I didn’t want to silence him. Every grunt, every groan, every little growl amped up my arousal more.
His movements grew jagged and his breathing heavy, and he thrust into me relentlessly. The thought of him unloading deep inside me sent a ripple of arousal deep into my core, and my skin erupted with goosebumps. If he held out for just a few minutes more, we’d reach our climax at the exact same time. It seemed almost poetic. Wasn’t that what he wanted?
Pounding faster, groaning louder, I knew he was getting close.
“Wait,” I breathed. “Hold on.”
It was too late. He yanked himself out of me, too early for my second climax to hit, and unloaded across the small of my back. Breathless and somewhat disappointed, I collapsed to the floor. I wasn’t disappointed for long, though; a handful of minutes after Grey, too, collapsed to the floor, he finished off my second half-orgasm with his tongue.
I might’ve been angry with him, but fuck, I sure had missed him.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: The Threesome That Wasn’t.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Want to read all about My Mr. Grey’s story, from start to finish? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: