Page 99 of Fury
Greyson stands there, leather cut over a black t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders, jeans riding low on his hips. His eyes meet mine with an intensity that still takes my breath away, even after everything we've been through together.
"Busy?" he asks, his voice a low rumble that I feel more than hear.
I glance at the clock. Thirty minutes until my next appointment. "Not too busy for you."
He moves toward me with predatory grace, the look in his eyes making my pulse quicken. We've healed in these months since Volkov, finding our way back to each other, back to ourselves. The nightmares have faded, replaced by dreams of a future we're building together.
"I missed you this morning." He rounds my desk and turns my chair to face him. "You left before I woke up."
"Early client," I explain, breath catching as he drops to his knees before me. "What are you doing?"
His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my skirt higher. "What does it look like I'm doing?"
"Greyson," I protest weakly, glancing toward the locked door. "I have clients coming."
"Thirty minutes," he counters, having clearly checked the appointment book. His fingers hook into my panties, dragging them down my legs. "More than enough time for what I have in mind."
Before I can argue further, he spreads my thighs, his mouth finding me. The first stroke of his tongue has me arching in the chair, fingers gripping the armrests.
"Someone might hear." I gasp, even as my body betrays me, hips tilting to give him better access.
He pauses just long enough to murmur against my sensitive flesh, "Then they'll hear how much I worship you." With that, he returns to his task with single-minded focus.
My head falls back as he devours me, his tongue tracing patterns that have become both familiar and thrilling. He knows my body now, knows exactly how to build me up, how to push me to the edge without letting me fall.
"Please," I whimper, one hand tangling in his hair.
He responds by sliding two fingers inside me, curling them to find that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. My thighs begin to tremble as tension coils tighter in my core.
"That's it," he encourages between deliberate strokes of his tongue. "Let go for me, Livie. Let me taste how much you want this."
The combination of his words, his fingers, his mouth, is too much. I come apart with a muffled cry, my body convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure wash over me.
He works me through it, drawing out my release until I'm gasping his name, tugging at his hair to pull him up to me. When he rises, his eyes are dark with desire, his mouth glistening with evidence of my pleasure.
"Turn around," he commands, already unbuckling his belt.
I obey without hesitation, bracing my hands on the desk as I hear the metallic sound of his zipper lowering. His hand presses between my shoulder blades, bending me forward until my cheek rests against the cool surface.
"Mine," he growls, positioning himself at my entrance. "Say it."
"Yours," I breathe, the word both a surrender and a claim. "Always yours."
He enters me in one powerful thrust, filling me completely. The fullness is exquisite, a perfect joining that still takes my breath away every time.
"I love you." His voice is rough with emotion as he begins to move. "Every day more than the last."
His pace is measured but relentless, each thrust driving me higher despite having just come undone moments before. One hand grips my hip, and the other slides beneath me to find my center again.
"Greyson," I gasp as a second climax builds impossibly fast. "I can't?—"
"You can," he insists, his rhythm faltering as his own release approaches. "One more. Together."
His fingers press harder, his thrusts deepen, and suddenly I'm falling again, clenching around him as pleasure crashes through me. He follows immediately, my name a broken whisper on his lips as he empties himself inside me.
For long moments afterward, we remain joined, his body draped over mine as our breathing gradually slows. When he finally straightens, helping me upright with gentle hands, his expression has softened to something tender and vulnerable.
"I meant what I said," he murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I love you more every day."
