Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Livie
The next few days settle into a rhythm that feels surprisingly normal, given the circumstances.
Greyson drives me to the salon each morning, where Aunt Brittany fusses over my injuries while teaching me the ropes.
The clients are curious but kind, many remembering me from before I left for LA.
No one mentions Richard Keller's murder or asks uncomfortable questions, though I catch whispered conversations that stop when I approach.
Word travels fast in a small town, especially one dominated by two motorcycle clubs.
Each evening, Greyson picks me up, sometimes with club members riding escort, other times alone.
We have dinner at his house or with my family, where conversations avoid any mention of Diane or mob connections.
At night, he holds me close, his touch growing more exploratory as my bruises fade, though he's careful to respect the doctor's orders about "strenuous activity. "
A week passes. Then two. The danger feels more distant with each day that nothing happens, though I notice Greyson never fully relaxes his vigilance. His phone is always within reach, and club members still patrol the perimeter of his property at regular intervals.
I love staying here with him. We haven’t gone beyond kissing because he is sticking way too close to the doctor’s orders.
Right now, I’m in the kitchen making us some dinner while he is on the phone going over club business.
I smile as I stir the pasta sauce, enjoying the simple domesticity of the moment.
In the living room, Greyson's deep voice rises and falls as he discusses something about a shipment with one of his officers.
I've stopped worrying about what exactly the club ships, as some questions are better left unasked.
The timer dings, and I drain the pasta, steam rising around my face. This is the third meal I've cooked this week, slowly reclaiming my place in Greyson's home. Not as a guest seeking shelter, but as something more permanent.
"That smells amazing," Greyson says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist. His lips find the sensitive spot below my ear that never fails to make me shiver.
"It's just spaghetti," I reply, leaning back into his solid warmth. "Nothing fancy."
"Doesn't matter." His hands spread across my stomach, careful to avoid my still tender ribs. "You made it."
I turn in his arms, linking my hands behind his neck. "Everything okay with the club?"
"Nothing I can't handle." It's his standard response whenever I ask about business, both reassuring and frustratingly vague.
"Any word about…" I trail off, still reluctant to speak Diane's name aloud.
Greyson's expression tightens almost imperceptibly. "Nothing concrete. She's gone underground, which is the smartest thing she could do."
I nod, pushing away the complicated tangle of emotions I still feel whenever I think about my former friend. "Let's eat before the food gets cold."
We settle at the kitchen island, the routine now comfortably familiar. We talk about ordinary things: my day at the salon, a funny story about one of his prospects, plans for the weekend.
"Mason invited us to dinner tomorrow," I mention between bites. "At his place. Meadow's cooking."
Greyson raises an eyebrow. "Both of us?"
"Specifically both of us. Apparently, she wants to get to know me better now that we're…" I gesture vaguely between us, still not entirely sure what label to put on our relationship.
"Now that we're together," Greyson supplies, reaching across the table to take my hand. "That's what we are, Livie. Together."
The simple declaration warms me from the inside out. "Together," I repeat, testing the word. "I like the sound of that."
"Good." His thumb traces circles on my palm. "Because I'm not planning on letting you go anytime soon."
* * *
After dinner, we settle on the couch, my legs draped across his lap as we watch a movie neither of us is really paying attention to. His hand rests on my thigh, thumb tracing idle patterns that send shivers of awareness through me.
"The doctor called today," I say casually, watching his profile, "while you were in the shower."
Greyson turns to me, instantly alert. "And?"
"And," I continue, unable to keep the smile from my voice, "he says my ribs are healing well. The follow-up X-rays show the fracture is almost completely healed."
"That's good news." His hand squeezes my thigh gently.
"Very good news," I agree, shifting to straddle his lap in one fluid movement that surprises us both. "In fact, the doctor said I could resume all normal activities. All of them."
Greyson's hands settle on my hips, his eyes darkening with desire. "Did he now?"
I nod, suddenly feeling both bold and vulnerable as I rest my hands on his chest. "No more restrictions. No more waiting."
"Livie." His voice drops to that low register that makes my stomach flip. "Are you sure? Because once we cross this line…"
"I've never been surer of anything," I whisper, leaning forward until our foreheads touch. "I want you, Greyson. I have for longer than I care to admit."
The groan that rumbles through his chest vibrates against my palms. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that."
His lips find mine in a kiss that's different from all the others we've shared, deeper, hungrier, filled with the promise of what's to come. His hands slide up my back, tangling in my hair as he angles my head to deepen the kiss.
I melt against him, my body remembering desires I've kept carefully banked these past weeks. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance that I eagerly grant. The taste of him, wine and something uniquely Greyson, makes me dizzy with want.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, his eyes search mine. "Last chance to change your mind," he says, though the strain in his voice betrays how much it would cost him if I did.
In answer, I reach for the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head in one smooth motion, leaving me in just my bra. "Does this look like I'm changing my mind?"
His gaze drops to my chest, his pupils dilating until there's only a thin ring of blue around the black. "Bedroom," he growls, standing up with me still wrapped around him. "Now."
I cling to his shoulders as he carries me up the stairs, his mouth never leaving mine for more than a few seconds. He kicks the bedroom door shut behind us, setting me down beside the bed with a gentleness that contrasts the hunger in his eyes.
"I've dreamed about this," he admits, his fingers tracing the curve of my cheek. "About you. Here. With me."
"Show me," I whisper, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Show me how you dreamed it."
His hands cover mine, stilling them. "Slow," he says, voice rough. "I want to take my time with you. Make it good for you."
"It already is," I assure him, but I let him set the pace, watching as he steps back and pulls his shirt over his head.
The sight of him, all tattooed muscle and coiled strength, takes my breath away.
I've seen him shirtless before, but now, knowing what's about to happen, every detail seems magnified.
The Devil Souls insignia between his shoulder blades, the intricate sleeve of ink down his right arm, the scar that curves across his abdomen—a story for another time.
"Your turn." His eyes never leave mine as he reaches for the button of my jeans.
I let him undress me slowly, savoring the way his breath catches when he sees the matching black lace of my bra and panties. His fingers trace the fading bruises on my ribs with a tenderness that brings tears to my eyes.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to each mark as if he could heal them with his touch. "So damn beautiful."
When I'm standing before him in just my underwear, I reach for his belt, determined to level the playing field. He lets me, watching with hooded eyes as I unfasten his jeans and push them down his muscular thighs.
"See something you like?" he asks, the teasing tone belied by the tension in his body.
"Everything," I admit, my eyes traveling over him. "I like everything I see."
That's all it takes to break his control. He pulls me against him, his mouth claiming mine in a kiss that's all hunger and heat. We tumble onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches. His weight above me feels right, like coming home to a place I've always belonged.
His hands and mouth seem to be everywhere at once, skimming over my skin, learning what makes me gasp and arch against him. When he unclasps my bra and takes my breast into his mouth, I cry out, my body arching off the bed.
"Sensitive," he murmurs against my skin, a smile in his voice. "I'll remember that."
"Greyson," I plead, not even sure what I'm asking for. "Please."
"Please what, Livie?" He looks up at me, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want."
"You," I say simply. "All of you."
A moment of vulnerability washes over me as his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties. I catch his wrist, my heart suddenly pounding for a different reason.
"Wait," I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. "There's something you should know."
Greyson goes still immediately, concern replacing desire in his eyes. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"
I shake my head, suddenly feeling impossibly young. "No, it's not that. It's just… I've never…" The words stick in my throat, embarrassment heating my cheeks.
Understanding dawns in his eyes. "You're a virgin."
It's not a question, but I nod anyway, unable to meet his gaze. "I know it's stupid, at my age—"
"Look at me," he commands, tilting my chin up until our eyes meet. What I see there isn't disappointment or mockery, but something that looks almost like reverence. "It's not stupid. Not even a little bit."
"You're not… disappointed?" I ask, hating the insecurity in my voice.