Page 50 of Fury
With one final thrust, he's fully seated inside me, our bodies as close as two people can be. We stay like that for a long moment, his forehead pressed to mine, our breaths mingling. I feel the tension in his body, the incredible restraint he's showing for my sake.
"Move," I whisper finally, shifting my hips experimentally. "Please, Greyson."
He begins to move, slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepen as my body adjusts to his size. The initial discomfort fades, replaced by a building pleasure that has me gasping with each stroke. His eyes never leave mine, watching every reaction, every flicker of expression.
"You feel so good," he groans, his pace increasing slightly. "So tight, so perfect around me. Made for me, Livie. You were made for me."
His words send a thrill through me, the possessiveness in them matching something in my own heart. "Only you," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders. "Only ever you."
Something snaps in him at my words. His control fractures, his thrusts becoming deeper, more insistent. One hand slides between us, finding my clit with unerring accuracy, and the dual sensation pushes me toward another peak.
"Come for me again," he demands, his voice rough with need. "I need to feel you come around me."
His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers and the perfect angle of his thrusts, send me spiraling over the edge again. This time it steals my breath, my vision going white as pleasure consumes me from the inside out.
My release triggers his own. With a guttural groan of my name, he buries himself deep inside me, his body shuddering as he finds his completion. The feeling of him pulsing within me, marking me as his in the most primal way, brings a sense of satisfaction I've never known before.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, his weight a comforting pressure above me, and his face buried in my neck. I stroke his back, feeling the slight tremors that still run through his powerful body.
"Are you okay?" he asks finally, lifting his head to search my face. "Did I hurt you?"
The concern in his eyes makes my heart swell. "I'm perfect," I assure him, brushing sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Better than perfect."
Relief washes over his features, followed by a possessive satisfaction that makes my stomach flip. "You were incredible," pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. "Worth every second of waiting."
He rolls to his side, taking me with him so we're facing each other, legs still intertwined. His hand traces idle patterns on my hip as he studies me.
"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious under his scrutiny.
"I'm just thinking," he muses, his voice taking on a serious tone, "that there's no going back from this. Not for me."
"What do you mean?"
His hand comes up to cup my face, his expression solemn. "I mean that you're mine now, Livie Bennett. In every way that matters. And I protect what's mine."
The declaration should feel overwhelming, too intense for what we've only just begun. Instead, it feels like a truth I've always known, a certainty as fundamental as breathing.
"I think I've been yours since before I knew what that meant," I admit.
His smile is devastating. "Good. Because I plan on keeping you."
As he pulls me closer, his arms a safe haven I never want to leave, I realize something profound: all those years I spent running from this life, from this town, from the complicated world of motorcycle clubs and family legacies—I wasn't running away. I was just taking the long way home.
And home, I now know with bone-deep certainty, isn't a place at all. It's this man, these arms, this connection that feels older than time itself.
"Sleep," Greyson murmurs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "I've got you."
And as I drift off, secure in the knowledge that I am completely, irrevocably his, I know that whatever challenges lie ahead—mob threats, family complications, the delicate balance of our two worlds—we'll face them together.
Because some bonds, once formed, can never be broken. And what exists between Greyson Reed and me isn't just love or passion or protection.
It’s meant to be.
Chapter
Nine
Livie
