Page 49 of Fury
"You're not… disappointed?" I ask, hating the insecurity in my voice.
A slow, possessive smile spreads across his face, his eyes darkening to midnight blue. "Disappointed? Christ, Livie. Do you have any idea what that does to me? Knowing I'll be the only man to ever touch you like this? The only one who gets to claim you?"
The raw hunger in his voice sends a shiver of anticipation through me. "So, you don't mind?"
"Mind?" He laughs, the sound low and dangerous. "Baby, I fucking love it. But it changes things."
"Changes things how?" I ask, suddenly afraid he might stop.
His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my lower lip. "It means we go even slower. It means I make absolutely sure you're ready for me. It means," he leans down, his lips brushing mine as he speaks, "that I'm going to worship every inch of you until you're begging for me to take you."
My breath catches at the promise in his words. "I've wanted this—wanted you—for so long," I confess. "I just never found anyone worth giving this part of myself to. Until now."
Something flashes in his eyes, a possessiveness that should frighten me but instead makes me feel impossibly desired. "Mine," he growls, pressing his forehead to my own. "No one else gets to have this. No one else gets to have you."
"Yours," I agree, the word feeling right on my tongue. "Only yours."
With that, he kisses me again, but this time there's a new reverence mixed with the hunger. His hands explore my body with exquisite patience, learning what makes me gasp and arch against him. When he finally slides my panties down my legs, I fight the urge to cover myself.
"Don't hide from me," he murmurs, his gaze traveling over me with such heat I can almost feel it like a physical touch. "You're perfect. Every inch of you."
His mouth follows the path his eyes have taken, pressing kisses down my neck, across my collarbones, between my breasts. He takes his time, as if memorizing the map of my body, discovering places I never knew could bring such pleasure. When his lips close around my nipple, I cry out, my hands fisting in the sheets.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Let me hear you."
His hand slides between my thighs, finding me already wet and ready for him. The first touch of his fingers against my center has me arching off the bed, a strangled moan escaping my lips.
"So responsive," he murmurs appreciatively, circling my clit with a gentle pressure that makes my hips buck. "So perfect for me."
I'm lost in the sensation, my body responding to his touch as if he's played it a thousand times before. When he slides one finger inside me, I gasp at the intrusion, my body tensing slightly.
"Relax," he soothes, his mouth at my ear. "Trust me, Livie. I won't hurt you."
I force myself to relax, focusing on the pleasure building with each careful stroke of his finger. Soon he adds a second, stretching me gently, preparing me for what's to come. All the while, his thumb circles my clit, building a tension in my core that threatens to snap at any moment.
"Greyson," I pant, my hips moving in rhythm with his hand. "I need—I need?—"
"I know what you need," he promises, his voice dark with intent. "And I'm going to give it to you. But first…"
He moves down my body, settling between my thighs, and before I can process what's happening, his mouth replaces his fingers. The first stroke of his tongue against my center has me crying out, my back arching off the bed. He holds my hips firmly, keeping me in place as he tastes me with single-minded focus.
The pleasure builds and builds, a tightening coil in my belly that winds tighter with each expert flick of his tongue. When he slides his fingers back inside me, curling them to hit a spot that makes me see stars, I shatter. My release crashes through me in waves, his name a broken cry on my lips as my body convulses around his fingers.
Before I can fully recover, he's moving up my body, his eyes wild with need as he settles between my thighs. I feel the hard length of him pressing against my entrance, but he doesn't push forward yet.
"Are you sure?" he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "We can stop right now if you're not ready."
In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I've never been surer of anything in my life."
He reaches between us, guiding himself to my entrance. "Look at me," he commands. "I want to see your eyes when I make you mine."
I meet his gaze, drowning in them, as he begins to push forward. There's pressure, a burning stretch that has me tensing despite my best efforts. He pauses, giving me time to adjust, his arms trembling with the effort of restraint.
"Breathe," he murmurs, pressing gentle kisses to my face. "Just breathe through it, baby."
I do as he suggests, focusing on my breathing, on the connection between us. When I nod, he pushes forward again, a little deeper this time. The discomfort is still there, but beneath it is a fullness, a rightness that makes me want more.
"Almost there," he promises, his voice tight with control. "You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."
