Page 50 of Lilies in Autumn

“I want to wait until after this weekend, after my birthday, when there’s less attention.”

I watch his jaw clench, the muscles hardening in annoyance. “Why would you want to wait until after your birthday? Why wouldn’t you want to be free to go to a party together instead of going to those fuckwit frat parties?”

“Aren’t you in a frat?”

“Ava, that’s not the point.”

“I’m not hiding this, but you need to understand this from my perspective. Everything has moved so fast, at this insane breakneck speed. One minute, I’m almost naked on a desk, the next I have a very real threat against me. For my birthday, I want one last weekend where I don’t have to worry if someone has seen my ass. Please, just, give me that, okay?”

He works his jaw, shifting from side to side while he weighs my words. His hands squeeze my upper thighs before he nods his head, agreeing to my concession.

“Do you have any other demands, vixen?”

I nod my head and bite my lower lip. “Just one more, Grey?”

His eyes narrow on my mouth, not missing my taunt. “What is it, baby?”

“Well, what I’d like for my birthday is for you to give me something no one else ever has.”

“And what’s that?”

I tilt my head, enjoying the tease but also eager to end it. “Your cock, Greyson.” I don’t think I’ve ever been so bold in my entire life. I most definitely have never asked a guy for his cock. If Grey is surprised, he doesn’t show it.

Leaving me lying on the bed, he stands up and begins to lower the zipper on his jacket, revealing a white T-shirt. There’s no reason why I should find this erotic, he’s dressed like a rapper or a dad in his fifties, for fuck’s sake, but he looks indecent peeling the fabric from his body. Tossing the jacket toward his desk, Grey does that ridiculously hot one-armed grab and rips his shirt from his body. I shift my legs, trying to find some relief from the need pooling between my thighs at his little strip show.

If his investment dream doesn’t work out, he’d make a killing as a stripper. His body is a testament to how hard he works out and maintains his physique. In contrast to my soft stomach and curves, Grey is hard lines, corded muscle, and a planned chaos of tattoos and piercings. Wait, piercings? I take a closer look and see barbells protruding from each nipple.

“Well”—I gesture toward his chest—“those are new.”

He smirks, shrugging at my obvious appraisal. “Lost a bet with Lincoln. The fucker made me get pierced.”

“Did it hurt?”

His smirk transforms into a full grin. “Vixen, I have tattoos and piercings in places you haven’t seen yet. This fucking tickled.” I stare at him unconvinced, raising a brow in disbelief. Finally, he laughs and shakes his head. “Well, it didn’t feel fucking pleasant, but I’ve had worse.”

I immediately look at his chest and arms. The artwork framing his body is extensive, but also not in the most sensitive areas, at least from what I’ve heard. CeCe’s cousin is a tattoo artist; he’s covered in ink, head-to-toe decorated, and he always said the hands, kneecaps, and ribs are the most painful.

“Ava, look at me.” Grey’s voice forces my gaze from his chest, and I make eye contact. “Do you still want this?”

I nod, my throat suddenly thick with nerves and an overwhelming amount of desire.

“Good.” Grey grabs the waistband of his track pants and pauses, looking me over with a critical eye before working the fabric over his hips and thighs until he’s left in just his boxer briefs. I’ve seen him shirtless before, albeit over FaceTime, but seeing Greyson stripped down to just his underwear, barefoot and aroused, is a transcendent experience. The hard outline of his cock strains against the remaining barrier between us, and my hands flex with the need to touch him. To my surprise, his legs are covered in dark tattoos.

Unlike Dante, whose tattoos are obvious and shout for attention, Grey’s are always hidden, with the exception of his left sleeve. Under each article of clothing is a message, a secret that reveals itself the more exposed his body becomes.

Grey stands at the foot of the bed, staring at me with a shuttered expression, almost like he’s afraid I’m judging him and finding him lacking. Not freaking likely.

“What do your tattoos mean?” I ask, because how can a person go through that much pain and not have the final product mean something?

Greyson points to his left arm and the three-headed dog that travels from his wrist to his chest. “This is Cerberus. In Greek mythology, he guarded the gates of the underworld.” He looks down at the dog’s three protracted jaws; they’re so realistic that they seem ready to strike his skin. “He kept the living from seeking death and kept the dead from haunting the living. And then these”—he gestures to the symbols on the right side of his chest—“are things to remind me of what I value, who I am. This one”—he lays his hand below an image that looks like an intricate evil eye—“is the evil eye or Eye of Horace. This one is the Key of Hades; it symbolizes the control I have over who is in my life.” My eyes trace the antique key design of the tattoo.

“And what about the art on your legs?” I question, more than a little intrigued by the graphic imagery decorating most of his legs. On his right leg, there’s a stunning depiction of warriors in battle from his calf to his knee. The artistry is so impressive that it looks like a picture, the capture of a moment printed directly on his skin. Above the warriors is a stunning woman, her body is shown above the scene as if she’s watching from the heavens. Interspersed throughout the scene are flames and intricate details that solidify the awe of the piece.

On his left leg is a wolf so intricately created that every single inch of the tattoo is a braided design of knots and lines and shadows. It’s almost mechanical in its composition.

The muscles on each of his legs flex when he looks down at his wearable art. “These are more mythology designs.” He looks up, smirking. “My dad’s family is Scandinavian, but my grandmother loves Greek mythology.” He gestures to his body. “Anyway, this one is Aphrodite watching over the Trojan War, and this guy is one of Apollo’s wolves.”

“What does he symbolize?”

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