Page 48 of Fury
His lips find mine in a kiss that's different from all the others we've shared, deeper, hungrier, filled with the promise of what's to come. His hands slide up my back, tangling in my hair as he angles my head to deepen the kiss.
I melt against him, my body remembering desires I've kept carefully banked these past weeks. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant. The taste of him, wine and something uniquely Greyson, makes me dizzy with want.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, his eyes search mine. "Last chance to change your mind," he says, though the strain in his voice betrays how much it would cost him if I did.
In answer, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one smooth motion, leaving me in just my bra. "Does this look like I'm changing my mind?"
His gaze drops to my chest, his pupils dilating until there's only a thin ring of blue around the black. "Bedroom," he growls, standing up with me still wrapped around him. "Now."
I cling to his shoulders as he carries me up the stairs, his mouth never leaving mine for more than a few seconds. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, setting me down beside the bed with a gentleness that contrasts the hunger in his eyes.
"I've dreamed about this," he admits, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek. "About you. Here. With me."
"Show me," I whisper, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Show me how you dreamed it."
His hands cover mine, stilling them. "Slow," he says, voice rough. "I want to take my time with you. Make it good for you."
"It already is," I assure him, but I let him set the pace, watching as he steps back and pulls his shirt over his head.
The sight of him, all tattooed muscle and coiled strength, takes my breath away. I've seen him shirtless before, but now, knowing what's about to happen, every detail seems magnified. The Devil Souls insignia between his shoulder blades, the intricate sleeve of ink down his right arm, the scar that curves across his abdomen—a story for another time.
"Your turn." His eyes never leave mine as he reaches for the button of my jeans.
I let him undress me slowly, savoring the way his breath catches when he sees the matching black lace of my bra and panties. His fingers trace the fading bruises on my ribs with a tenderness that brings tears to my eyes.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to each mark as if he could heal them with his touch. "So damn beautiful."
When I'm standing before him in just my underwear, I reach for his belt, determined to level the playing field. He lets me, watching with hooded eyes as I unfasten his jeans and push them down his muscular thighs.
"See something you like?" he asks, the teasing tone belied by the tension in his body.
"Everything," I admit, my eyes traveling over him. "I like everything I see."
That's all it takes to break his control. He pulls me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that's all hunger and heat. We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. His weight above me feels right, like coming home to a place I've always belonged.
His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once, skimming over my skin, learning what makes me gasp and arch against him. When he unclasps my bra and takes my breast into his mouth, I cry out, my body arching off the bed.
"Sensitive," he murmurs against my skin, a smile in his voice. "I'll remember that."
"Greyson," I plead, not even sure what I'm asking for. "Please."
"Please what, Livie?" He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I say simply. "All of you."
A moment of vulnerability washes over me as his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. I catch his wrist, my heart suddenly pounding for a different reason.
"Wait," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. "There's something you should know."
Greyson goes still immediately, concern replacing desire in his eyes. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"
I shake my head, suddenly feeling impossibly young. "No, it's not that. It's just… I've never…" The words stick in my throat, embarrassment heating my cheeks.
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You're a virgin."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway, unable to meet his gaze. "I know it's stupid, at my age?—"
"Look at me," he commands, tilting my chin up until our eyes meet. What I see there isn't disappointment or mockery, but something that looks almost like reverence. "It's not stupid. Not even a little bit."
