Page 68 of Fury
Volkov studies me, his head tilted slightly. "We'll see," he says finally. "We'll see what the truth really is."
And as he rolls up his sleeves, I know that whatever happens next, I've sealed both our fates with my desperate lies.
Chapter
Thirteen
Olivia
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I reorganize the product display at Aunt Brittany's salon. It's been three weeks since the girls' night incident, and my bruises have finally faded. The bell above the door jingles, and I look up to see Greyson standing there, a brown paper bag in one hand and a dangerous smile on his face.
"Lunchtime," he announces, holding up the bag. Several of my clients glance his way, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Everyone in town knows who Greyson Reed is.
"I wasn't expecting you," I say, my pulse already quickening.
"Thought I'd surprise you." He nods toward the back. "Your aunt around?"
"She's at the bank," I reply, feeling heat rise to my cheeks as I recognize the look in his eyes. "Won't be back for at least an hour."
His smile widens, predatory and full of promise. "Perfect timing." I glance at the appointment book. "I have a block that isn't busy."
"Even better."
Aunt Brittany's office is at the back of the salon, private and soundproofed—a necessity when dealing with sensitive issues that sometimes gets conducted here. Greyson follows me inside, locking the door behind us with a decisive click.
Before I can say a word, he's on me, backing me against the desk with a hunger that steals my breath. The paper bag drops, forgotten to the floor, as his mouth claims mine in a kiss that's all possession and demand.
"Been thinking about this all morning," he growls against my lips, his hands already working at the buttons of my blouse. "Couldn't focus on a damn thing."
"We can't," I protest weakly, even as my body arches into his touch. "Someone might need me out front."
"They can wait." His teeth graze my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "I can't."
He spins me around suddenly, bending me over the desk with a firm hand between my shoulder blades. My skirt rides up as he presses against me from behind, his arousal evident through our clothes.
"This is crazy," I whisper, but I'm already bracing myself against the desk, anticipation coursing through me.
"Tell me to stop," he challenges, his voice rough as his hand slides up my thigh.
I remain silent, my answer clear in the way I push back against him. His chuckle is dark and satisfied as he flips my skirt up completely, exposing the lace underwear beneath.
"Such a good girl," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the edge of the delicate fabric. "Wearing my favorite."
He tugs the lace aside rather than removing it, the fabric pulling tight against my sensitive skin. I hear his belt unbuckle, the rasp of his zipper, and then he's positioning himself at my entrance.
"Need you to be quiet," he warns, his free hand coming around to cover my mouth. "Can you do that for me, baby?"
I nod against his palm, my body trembling with need. He enters me, filling me completely. The sound that escapes me is muffled by his hand, my eyes rolling back at the exquisite fullness.
"That's it," he growls, setting a relentless pace that has the desk creaking beneath us. "Take what's yours."
His hand leaves my mouth to grip my hip, the other tangling in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my back at the perfect angle. Each thrust hits spots inside me that make coherent thought impossible.
"Greyson," I gasp, struggling to keep my voice down. "Someone might walk past.”
"Let them," he snarls, his rhythm never faltering. "Let them all know who you belong to."
The possessiveness in his voice pushes me closer to the edge. His hand slides around to my front, his movements precise and knowing.
