Chapter 166: Chapter 166: The Pull

GRAYSON’S “COME INSIDE” wasn’t a request.

It rolled over Mailah like a velvet command, deep and promising, almost too warm after the Council’s frostbite. For one dizzying second, she forgot how to breathe.

He opened the terrace door, and the golden light from the villa spilled over him—broad shoulders, sharp lines softened only by the way his gaze lingered on her.

Not hungry. But close enough that her pulse tripped.

She stepped in, the cool marble kissing her bare feet. The villa felt different—quiet, yes, but charged. The kind of quiet that hummed with possibility…and danger.

Grayson didn’t immediately follow. He paused at the threshold, chest rising slowly, as if grounding himself before stepping back into a world where the Council’s eyes no longer bore into them.

When he finally entered, the atmosphere shifted—warmer, heavier, intimate.

“Mailah,” he said softly, closing the terrace door behind him. “You need rest.”

“No,” she whispered, unwilling to break the moment. “I need a second to breathe. And maybe…to feel normal again.”

His brow lifted. “You believe anything between us can ever be normal?”

She smiled faintly. “I’m redefining the word.”

His lips twitched—barely, but enough to send a ripple of warmth through her chest.

He reached out, brushing a thumb along her cheekbone. The touch was light, reverent, the way one might touch a priceless artifact—or a wish they weren’t sure they deserved.

“Normal,” he murmured, “would be nice. Someday.”

Her heart did an embarrassing flip. “Someday,” she echoed.

But of course, someday wasn’t tonight.

Grayson exhaled and stepped back, as if pulling himself from a cliff. “Go upstairs. Shower. Change into something comfortable. You’ve been wound like a bowstring for hours.”

“And you?” she asked.

His gaze dipped to her lips before flicking away. “If I stay any closer, I’m going to forget you’re exhausted.”

Heat coiled low in her stomach.

“Right,” she whispered. “Shower. Yes. That.”

She took a step, then another, but paused at the bottom of the stairs.

“You’ll come up later?”

His answer came without hesitation. “If I come up this time, you won’t sleep.”

Oh.

Oh.

Mailah practically fled up the staircase before her knees gave out.

She didn’t sleep.

Couldn’t.

Midnight hung heavy outside the windows, the villa dim and silent. Every shadow looked like it was waiting to whisper a secret. Every creak of floorboard sounded like the supernatural world stretching its claws.

Mailah tossed, turned, sighed dramatically, flipped her pillow over, punched it once for good measure, then finally sat up.

Nope. Sleep was not happening.

She slid out of bed and padded down the hallway, drawn by faint warmth drifting from the first floor.

Mailah’s bare feet whispered across the cool marble. Her throat was dry, parched in a way that had nothing to do with thirst and everything to do with tension and adrenaline.

She stepped into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, sighing as she poured herself a tall glass of cold water. The cool liquid slid down her throat in a satisfying rush, but disappointment prickled at the back of her mind.

Grayson wasn’t there.

Her pulse thumped erratically as she leaned against the counter, trying to convince herself she wasn’t missing him—he was in the villa after all and they were together for the whole day.

Setting the glass down, she let out a soft breath and turned toward her bedroom, hoping that retreating to her sanctuary would ease the ache curling in her chest.

And then she froze.

There he was.

Grayson.

Barefoot.

Drawstring pants only, standing directly in front of her bedroom door like a living, breathing storm of temptation. His posture was casual, deceptively relaxed, but every line of him radiated danger and desire.

Mailah’s breath hitched, caught in the sight of him. He wasn’t a shadow visiting her at night. He was here. Flesh, heat, and weight pressed against the cool air between them.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said, voice low, the rasp of it brushing over her nerves like silk. “And I thought…maybe it’s less risky to see you in person than in your dreams. Visiting your dreams—it’s always…dangerous.”

Her eyes flicked nervously to the hallway, imagining their housemates wandering in at the worst possible moment. “Grayson, we…we shouldn’t—”

But he didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on the floor, deceptively calm. Yet the taut line of his jaw betrayed the tension beneath.

“I thought it might be safer,” he continued, voice quiet but urgent. “To see you fully awake. Here. Now.”

Mailah’s stomach twisted with a mix of worry, anticipation, and the undeniable pull of desire.

She stepped toward him, heart hammering, and reached for his hand. The warmth of his palm enveloped hers, and she felt the world narrow to the two of them.

“Come inside,” she whispered, guiding him gently. Her fingers laced through his, tugging him softly toward her bedroom.

He allowed himself to be led, his weight just slightly leaning into hers, as though tethered by need as much as by trust.

Once inside, the door closed behind them, and the villa fell silent again, leaving only the two of them and the charged air that had become a living thing.

Grayson leaned against the door for a moment, eyes scanning her face, absorbing her presence. “You smell…warm,” he murmured, almost involuntarily.

Mailah swallowed. “I’m…just me,” she whispered, voice trembling slightly, betraying the heat coiling low in her belly.

“You’re more than that,” he said, stepping closer, the distance between them shrinking until the air was thick and electric.

Her fingers trailed along the lines of his chest, feeling muscle and warmth under her touch. Every inch of him radiated energy, restraint, and temptation. She could feel his shadow flaring faintly along the edges of the room, coiling and waiting like a promise.

“I…don’t know how to…” she began, words faltering under the weight of desire and awe.

“Shh,” he whispered, silencing her with a finger brushing her lips. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

And feel she did. Every shiver, every gasp, every tremble of her pulse was amplified by his nearness.

Her hands moved up to the nape of his neck, drawing him closer, pressing her body against his. His hands, long and capable, cupped her waist and then her face, tilting her head back slightly, exposing her throat in a gesture of trust and need that made her knees weak.

The tension in the room tightened, coiled like a spring. Mailah could feel every heartbeat in her chest, matching the heat radiating from him.

Grayson’s lips hovered just above hers, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that every nerve ending screamed for contact.

“A little over a day,” he murmured against her lips, his voice a low rumble. “Until you’re mine in every possible way.”

Her breath caught. “I don’t know if I can wait,” she whispered.

His lips brushed hers in a tentative, teasing kiss. Then again, deeper this time, more claiming, more intimate, and every brush of his mouth made the ache between them flare hotter. She clutched at his shoulders, wrapping her arms around him, needing the solid weight of him against her.

“Mailah…” he groaned softly, voice thick with unrestrained desire. “Every time I look at you…every second that passes, I want you closer, now. Not later.”

Her hands roamed along his torso, feeling the warmth, the taut muscles, the dangerous edge of his strength. She wanted everything—his lips, his hands, his shadow entwined with her own. She wanted him entirely, here and now.

Grayson’s fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head, pulling her into a deeper kiss that stole her breath.

It was slow, deliberate, consuming. The kind of kiss that burned with want and need and danger all at once. Every exhale, every soft moan, was an invitation, a promise, a warning.

She pressed closer, feeling the hard plane of his chest against her, the heat, the tension, the unrelenting pull of his energy.

Mailah’s fingers brushed the waistband of his pants, tracing the soft line of his abdomen, and he shivered at her touch. He pressed himself closer, lips trailing down her jawline, teasing her neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

“I could stay like this forever,” he murmured, voice husky, a growl deep in his chest. “Just holding you, feeling you, knowing you’re here…”

Her pulse roared, heart pounding, breath ragged. “Forever isn’t long enough,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his.

He smirked against her skin, a slow, teasing curl of lips. “Then we’ll make it as long as we can tonight.”

And with that, the room became a tempest of heat, touch, and whispered names. Clothes were brushed aside, hands explored, lips claimed, and the world outside—the Council, the villa, the danger—faded into irrelevance.

There was only the two of them, entwined in a rhythm older than time, hotter than any fire, and more intimate than any dream.

Even as they moved together, every kiss and touch was laced with restraint and reverence, a balance of raw desire and the careful awareness that soon, their bond would become formalized, eternal.

“Hours,” Grayson murmured again, fingers tracing her spine. “And everything changes. But tonight…tonight, it’s just you and me.”

Mailah moaned softly, pressing against him, loving the heat, the need, the undeniable claim in every brush of his lips. “Then tonight…let it just be us,” she whispered, shivering with anticipation and heat.

They sank onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and heat, bodies drawn together by gravity stronger than any vow. His weight hovered over her, not pinning but covering, warming, surrounding. Her fingers found the line of his spine, tracing slowly downward until she felt him shudder.

Grayson dipped his head, his lips brushing the hollow of her throat. Not biting. Not claiming. Just breathing her in—like the scent alone might undo him.

Her breath hitched when his mouth wandered lower, tasting the edge of her collarbone. Her hands skimmed up his chest, exploring the contours she only ever felt through clothes or dreams. His skin burned under her palms, hotter than any human should be, hotter than safety should allow.

“Mailah…” he whispered, the sound strained and reverent all at once.

She arched toward him instinctively, and his breath fractured against her skin. His shadow rippled along the walls like something restless, hungry, echoing the desire coiling between their bodies.

They kissed again—slower this time, but deeper, more searching. Mouths learning, hands wandering, breaths catching in the dark. He tugged her closer, fingers slipping under the hem of her top before he stopped, trembling, forehead pressed to hers.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

She didn’t.

Her hands slid along the waistband of his drawstring pants, teasing, exploring only a little—just enough to make him groan her name like a prayer he wasn’t supposed to say.

“Mailah…” His voice cracked, raw. “If I keep going, I won’t— I won’t be able to—”

“I know,” she whispered, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. “I know.”

Their breaths tangled, hot and uneven.

He kissed her again—desperate, lingering, almost breaking.

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