Page 147 of Outcast
“Oh, my mom’s got a great one,” Allison said. “Soooo creamy.”
The conversation resumed around us, wandering from recipes to idle gossip about the neighbors, to Allison and Matteo’s plans to move in together.
I’d been honest with my family, and the sky hadn’t fallen—but my world still felt as if it’d shifted forever.
Gray nudged my side. “Breathe, golden boy. Everybody loves you.”
I met his eyes. “They do, don’t they?”
He smiled. “And eat up before I steal the cucumber salad off your plate because that shit is addictive.”
I laughed and stabbed a cucumber slice with my fork and raised it to his lips. He took the offering with a hum of pleasure that made me think of what else we could get up to tonight. I shifted a little, trying not to let my mind travel too far down that road while around my family. But damn, last night, he’d pinned me flat to the bed and fucked me in these deep, languorous strokes, maddeningly slow and yet so perfect I’d nearly cried when I came in long pulses of pleasure that I thought might never end.
He’d whispered in my ear how much he loved me, and I’d known then that whatever came next, I could handle it because I’d have Gray beside me.
Always.
“Are you trying to please me?” he asked under his breath.
“Maybe a little.” I winked. “But then you pleased me a lot last night.”
Gray’s eyes turned hot. “In that case, I’ll allow it. As long as you let me do it again.”
“Let you? I’ll be demanding it. I know how to ask for what I want now.”
He chuckled. “Uh-oh. I think I corrupted you.”
I grinned evilly. “Then you’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
Gray
Emory metme and my brothers at Ink Anarchy—next door to the pool hall—on Wednesday night.
The moment we stepped inside, Emory looked like a bright-eyed kid who’d just walked into his first candy store.
Emory gazed around, drinking in the framed tattoo art on the walls—some the classic skulls and roses, others intricate designs, realistic images, and tribal patterns.
The shop was bright and clean, with a coppery concrete floor and four workstations with black chairs that could fold down into tables as needed.
On the far end of the room, there was a wiry ginger guy applying a cellophane bandage to a section of a dude’s back, covering the scales and wings of a partially inked dragon. The piece was big enough it’d take weeks, if not months, to finish.
Pretty badass, but more than I’d want to take on.
Angel emerged from a back hall to greet us, her hair pulled up in a sloppy bun. “Hey, boys. You ready to get this done?”
“Been waitingyearsfor him to get this done,” Axel said, clapping me on the shoulder.
The old guilt tried to rise. Axel’s wide grin took the edge off, though, and Emory’s hand tucked in mine soothed the old ache. I was here now. I was here for good.
“Hopefully, he won’t cry like Bailey did,” Holden said with a smirk.
“Hey, I didn’t cry!” Bailey protested. “My eyes watered. There’s a difference!”
Angel laughed and waved me toward her workstation. “Well, let’s find out if Gray can handle my heat.” She winked, and then her gaze dropped to my hand linked with Emory’s. “But what’s this? You’ve got a boyfriend now?”
Emory’s hand squeezed mine a little, as if he might be nervous. But his family knew the truth, and we’d agreed we wouldn’t hide anymore. “Yep. Emory is a great artist too.”
