Chapter Eight
Livia
Christ, I’m nervous.
As I push the key into the lock of the front door, my hand is shaking. Gray silently slips his arm around me and steadies it. Together we manage to line it up and twist the knob. The front door opens and a stuffy, pitch-black room greets us. It’s both irritating and a relief.
Sensing my pause, his hands land lightly on my shoulders, kneading. “I can leave if you want,” he says quietly, still behind me.
“No.” That’s the last thing I want.
I step inside and I don’t stop moving, putting one foot in front of the other as I navigate my way around the coffee table and the recliner, hoping that Gray stays on my heels instead of lingering behind. I pass through the kitchen, down the hallway, past three doors until I come to my bedroom. When I cross over the threshold, Gray is right behind me. And when I hear the click of the latch, signaling he’s closed the door, I spin around telling my heart to slow down a few paces before it jumps from my chest.
Rays from a small bedside lamp illuminate his handsome face, revealing a lopsided grin. Intuitive hazels measure me carefully. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Why the hell am I acting like this is the first time I’ve been with a man?
“Is your dad home?”
Not what I was expecting, but okay. I shake my head. If he were home, he’d be passed out on the couch by now. But by not being here that means no food will magically appear in our cupboards tomorrow, either. I push the thought away, not wanting to taint this night with thoughts of my irresponsible father.
Casually shrugging out of his coat, it lands with a soft thud when he tosses it to the floor. “Good. It would be awkward if he heard your screams of pleasure.”
Holy panty-wetting words. Nerves twist, contorting into fiery need.
When I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, he zeros in on it and I swear the hungry lines on his face sharpen. The throaty groan he makes sounds predatory. A lion before the strike.
Then he starts toward me, never letting his gaze fall away from mine. He moves with grace and purpose and before I know it he’s in front of me. Warm, even breaths wash over my face when he gently palms my cheeks and tips my head back so he can stare directly into me and thieve the small pieces I’ve been holding back.
My eyelids grow heavy, losing the fight to stay open when his thumbs start to toy with the corners of my mouth, establishing ownership. He runs the pad across the fullest part, gently tugging down until my lips part for him. I want him to kiss me. Consume me. My entire body is nothing but a mass of ultra sensitive nerve endings right now. Every touch, every pang, magnified and intense.
I feel the brush of his lips on one side of my mouth first, then the other. Just a brush, a tease, then it’s gone. My skin tingles, the tiny pricks shooting aching awareness straight to my neglected pussy. He’s kissed me before, of course, but tonight is different. Exciting. Nerve wracking in the best way.
Sliding his hands down my neck, he slips them under my coat, over my shoulders, divesting me of the winter garment I’d not bothered to remove when we came inside.
“Tell me you want this, Livvy,” he gruffs. Demands, actually.
I force my eyes open, staring back into his.
The entire time he sat by my side tonight in bleachers stuffed with moms and dads cheering on their daughters, he was supportive. Attentive. And he really wanted to be there. It wasn’t lip service. When Alyse blocked a spike, he cheered. When she dug for the save, he was on his feet, clapping. When her team won game after game, he felt the victory as if she were already his sister, not just mine.
In one understated word, he was amazing.
Over the last few hours he’s managed to stomp on every single reservation I had, crushing them all to oblivion. So when Alyse asked to spend the night with a friend, I knew what inviting him back to my house meant.
I want nothing more than this.
“I do. I want this,” I murmur.
“Raise your arms.” As if my body is on autopilot, my unpainted nails are already pointing to the ceiling before he’s even done talking.
Wrapping his fingers around the hem of my shirt, he draws it up over my head. It feels as if it takes him an hour to do it and by the time I drop my arms back to my sides, I’m trembling.
“Holy shit.” I flinch when he runs a finger from the low-slung band of my jeans up my belly, between the valley of my breasts and over my right shoulder. He slips that finger under my bra strap and drags it down, drawing out goosebumps on the entire right side of my body.
I love that he didn’t go right for my breasts, even though my nipples are as hard as diamonds in anticipation of his touch. I love that he’s taking his time, admiring me before he ravages me. I love that he repeats the same process on the left, only this time he locks his stare back on mine as he does it, watching my reaction. Now the only thing holding my bra is place is the fullness of my breasts as they press against the thin cups. But one flick of his fingers later, it’s floating to the floor, too.
“Take off your jeans.”
God, his voice is nothing but gravelly need. I knew he’d be this way in the bedroom. A dynamic, intoxicating combination of dominance and omnipotence. And I don’t hate it. Quite the opposite.
So once again I find myself eagerly following his command.
My shaky hands go to the button. I slide it through the loop. I separate the teeth of the zipper and hook my thumbs around the waistband to push them down. Taking turns stepping on the bottom of either leg, I ease completely out of them and stand up tall, hoping he doesn’t mistake nerves for hesitancy.
For long heartbeats, we silently take each other in. Without a doubt, this man is the man I know I will love like no other. And I see far more than plain lust for me in the depths of him. Far, far more. When my tongue darts out to moisten my dry lips, only then does his gaze break from mine, and only then does he let his attention finally inch downward.
I’m breathing hard, like I’ve just finished the hundred-yard dash. What does he see? What does he think? I don’t own any fancy bras or panties. Most of them are mismatched and so old they’re starting to thin and hole. But, on an unusual splurge earlier this week, the set I’m wearing tonight I picked up from the clearance bin at Victoria’s Secret. It’s white and lacy, but still not runway sexy.
Only apparently Gray thinks differently.
“Livia, god you are beautiful. So fucking sexy.” His praise is hoarse, edgy, like he’s holding on by the thinnest of threads. With his index finger, he traces a line right above my panty line, hipbone to hipbone. My belly quivers. My head spins. I feel weightless.
“Have to taste you,” he mumbles just seconds before he kneels, taking my panties to the floor with him in one easily orchestrated move. He taps the inside of my ankle, his command unspoken this time. I take a step to the right; my underwear now wrapped only around one foot. Then he’s probing, his fingers slipping inside as his mouth finds my clit, hard and ready.
When he draws back I almost stomp my feet in frustration. But when he looks up at me from his bent position and says gruffly, “Fuck. I’m going to be here all night long,” I go utterly liquid.
I sink my fingers into his hair and hold fast when dives back in and starts to eat me in earnest. And it doesn’t take long. I am wound so tight after weeks of anticipating this very second that I come embarrassingly fast. I’m still riding the drugging high of release when the backs of my knees hit the mattress and I sail backward.
Then Gray’s spreading me wide, tonguing me again. I’m sensitive, squirming, but he doesn’t let up until he’s wrung two more hard and quick orgasms from me. Until I’m begging him to quench the ache and emptiness I feel deep inside with his cock instead of his fingers.
“The sound of you begging is such a fucking turn on, angel,” he utters against my swollen sex before he crawls from the bed. Standing, he smugly angles a brow up as he drops his hands to his belt and begins to undo it. “It will sound even sweeter when I’m sunk balls deep inside you.”
My tongue is in knots. Not because of what he said, because I’m very much looking forward to that, but because I’m struck dumb by the insanely mouthwatering physique he’s started to unwrap.
God. In. Heaven.
He is magnificent naked.
Mouth open, I watch him strip with intent. I watch him watch me as he rolls the condom on with efficiency. Then I watch him lose that cool composure he wielded a few seconds ago as he drapes his body over mine with a quiet reverence I didn’t know existed. He hovers, hesitating, so I reach between us to grasp his impressive, latex-covered cock, guiding him to my opening.
“I need you, Gray,” I tell him on a strained breath. I slant my pelvis to take him in, but he shifts back, balancing us both on pleasure’s doorstep.
Planting his hands on either side of my head, his stare bores into me. It’s intense. The air feels thick, the moment meaningful.
“This changes everything,” he promises on a whisper, edging inside a meager inch or two. My pussy contracts, trying to suck him in further. And when his eyes slam shut on a painful curse I’ve imagined hearing countless times over the past few weeks, I resort to begging again. I want him so damn much I can’t think.
“Please,” I plead, happily humbling myself. “I need it all.”
His eyes fly open and flare hot. “Sweet Jesus. Even better than I thought.”
God, I’m dying here.
“Gray.”
He holds himself still, now shaking with the effort to not just plunder and take. That I can bring this man to the very edge of unraveling is exhilarating.
“I’m claiming you, Livia. Once I sink inside this pussy slick with the three orgasms I gave you, you’re mine for good.”
He says this as if it’s law, as if it’s already a done deal. As if it will scare me away if he demands more than he thinks I’m ready to give. As if the thought I’m not terrifies him.
Grabbing his ass with both hands, I cant my hips up as far as they’ll go at the same time I tug him toward me with all my might. The sensation of him stretching my inner walls is mind altering, and when I moan his name on a raspy rush of air, he can’t resist his primal instincts to thrust until he’s completely seated.
Our bodies adjust. Our breaths even. His eyes shine with pure adoration as he looks down at me. I smile, then. Really smile. But it’s not until I tell him with conviction, “I’m ready,” that my smile is returned. And it’s real and resplendent and holds undeniable guarantees of a future together.
“This. Christ, angel. I’ve never felt anything like this.” Neither have I. Gray rests his cheek on mine and starts to move. Propelling us toward unchartered bliss, declaring as he makes slow, passionate love to me, “You are mine now. Mine.”
My heart answers for me. It’s guided me from the very beginning of our relationship, knowing what my mind refused to accept. The words come easy now, tumbling out as I fall headfirst into release number four, “I always have been.”
Gray and I have something unique and rare. An unexplained connection I don’t quite understand, but won’t question. All I need to know is that I have been Gray Colloway’s since the day I came into this world, and every step I’ve taken in my life has been toward him. To this very moment. And there’s not a scenario or situation I can possibly fathom where my future wouldn’t include this incredible man.
Not one.