Page 47 of Fury
I love staying here with him. We haven’t gone beyond kissing because he is sticking way too close to the doctor’s orders.
Right now, I’m in the kitchen making us some dinner while he is on the phone going over club business.
I smile as I stir the pasta sauce, enjoying the simple domesticity of the moment. In the living room, Greyson's deep voice rises and falls as he discusses something about a shipment with one of his officers. I've stopped worrying about what exactly the club ships, as some questions are better left unasked.
The timer dings, and I drain the pasta, steam rising around my face. This is the third meal I've cooked this week, slowly reclaiming my place in Greyson's home. Not as a guest seeking shelter, but as something more permanent.
"That smells amazing," Greyson says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. His lips find the sensitive spot below my ear that never fails to make me shiver.
"It's just spaghetti," I reply, leaning back into his solid warmth. "Nothing fancy."
"Doesn't matter." His hands spread across my stomach, careful to avoid my still tender ribs. "You made it."
I turn in his arms, linking my hands behind his neck. "Everything okay with the club?"
"Nothing I can't handle." It's his standard response whenever I ask about business, both reassuring and frustratingly vague.
"Any word about…" I trail off, still reluctant to speak Diane's name aloud.
Greyson's expression tightens almost imperceptibly. "Nothing concrete. She's gone underground, which is the smartest thing she could do."
I nod, pushing away the complicated tangle of emotions I still feel whenever I think about my former friend. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."
We settle at the kitchen island, the routine now comfortably familiar. We talk about ordinary things: my day at the salon, a funny story about one of his prospects, plans for the weekend.
"Mason invited us to dinner tomorrow," I mention between bites. "At his place. Meadow's cooking."
Greyson raises an eyebrow. "Both of us?"
"Specifically both of us. Apparently, she wants to get to know me better now that we're…" I gesture vaguely between us, still not entirely sure what label to put on our relationship.
"Now that we're together," Greyson supplies, reaching across the table to take my hand. "That's what we are, Livie. Together."
The simple declaration warms me from the inside out. "Together," I repeat, testing the word. "I like the sound of that."
"Good." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Because I'm not planning on letting you go anytime soon."
After dinner, we settle on the couch, my legs draped across his lap as we watch a movie neither of us is really paying attention to. His hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns that send shivers of awareness through me.
"The doctor called today," I say casually, watching his profile, "while you were in the shower."
Greyson turns to me, instantly alert. "And?"
"And," I continue, unable to keep the smile from my voice, "he says my ribs are healing well. The follow-up X-rays show the fracture is almost completely healed."
"That's good news." His hand squeezes my thigh gently.
"Very good news," I agree, shifting to straddle his lap in one fluid movement that surprises us both. "In fact, the doctor said I could resume all normal activities. All of them."
Greyson's hands settle on my hips, his eyes darkening with desire. "Did he now?"
I nod, suddenly feeling both bold and vulnerable as I rest my hands on his chest. "No more restrictions. No more waiting."
"Livie." His voice drops to that low register that makes my stomach flip. "Are you sure? Because once we cross this line…"
"I've never been surer of anything," I whisper, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. "I want you, Greyson. I have for longer than I care to admit."
The groan that rumbles through his chest vibrates against my palms. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that."
