Page 33 of Fury
When we break apart, both breathing hard, his forehead rests against mine. "We should stop," he says, though his body tells a different story. "You're injured, and I don't want to rush this."
"I'm not that injured," I argue, pressing closer to feel the hard length of him against my hip. "And two years feels like the opposite of rushing."
He groans, the sound vibrating through me. "Livie…"
"I nearly died today," I remind him, my fingers tracing the tattoos on his chest. "I don't want to waste any more time."
For a moment, he seems torn, desire warring with concern. Then he captures my wandering hand, bringing it to his lips.
"Not tonight," he says firmly. "Not while the nightmare is still fresh. Not while you're bruised and hurting." His eyes hold mine, serious despite the desire darkening them. "When we do this—and we will—I want it to be because we both want it, not because you're trying to outrun your fear or prove something to yourself."
The wisdom in his words surprises me, though it shouldn't. Greyson has always seen me more clearly than I see myself.
"Okay," I concede, settling back against his chest. "But rain check?"
His chuckle vibrates through me. "Definitely."
We lie together in comfortable silence, his fingers drawing lazy circles on my back. The terror of the nightmare recedes further with each passing minute, replaced by a drowsy contentment that pulls me toward sleep.
"Greyson?" I murmur, fighting to keep my eyes open.
"Hmm?"
"Thank you. For being here. For understanding."
His arms tighten around me. "Always, Livie. Now sleep. I'll keep the nightmares away."
As I drift off, safe in his embrace, I believe him. Whatever demons lurk in my subconscious, whatever shadows Richard Keller left behind, they don't stand a chance against the man holding me. Not tonight. Not ever.
When morning comes, golden light spilling through the curtains, I wake to find Greyson still beside me, his blue eyes watching me with such tenderness it makes my heart ache.
"No more nightmares?" he asks, brushing hair from my face.
"No more nightmares," I confirm, stretching against him like a contented cat. "Just dreams. Good ones."
His smile is devastating. "Care to share?"
Heat rises to my cheeks as fragments of those dreams flash through my mind—Greyson's hands on my skin, his mouth trailing fire, our bodies moving together in perfect rhythm.
"Maybe later," I murmur, hiding my face against his chest.
His laugh rumbles through him. "That good, huh?"
Before I can respond, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it, checking the screen with reluctance. "It's Diane," I say, my mood immediately souring. "Again."
"You don't have to talk to her," Greyson reminds me, his hand warm on my back.
"I know." I stare at the screen, watching it go dark as the call goes to voicemail. "But I can't avoid her forever."
"Why not?" There's no judgment in his voice, just simple curiosity.
I consider the question, trying to articulate the tangle of emotions I feel toward my former roommate. "Because even though I'm angry—furious, actually—she was still my friend. And she's probably terrified right now, wondering if Richard hurt me before he was caught."
Greyson studies me for a long moment. "You're too forgiving."
"Not forgiving yet," I correct him. "Just… willing to hear her out. Eventually."
He nods, accepting this. "When you're ready, then."
