Chapter 13
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.
"Come for me," he demands, his voice tight with restraint. "Now, Livie."
My release crashes through me, my inner muscles clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over me. He follows moments later, his body tensing as he drives himself impossibly deeper.
For several heartbeats, we stay frozen in that position, both trying to catch our breaths. Then he carefully withdraws, turning me to face him with unexpected tenderness.
"You okay?" he asks, smoothing my hair back from my flushed face.
I nod, feeling boneless and sated. "That was…"
"Fucking incredible," he finishes, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead as he helps straighten my clothes.
Once we're both presentable again, he retrieves the forgotten lunch bag from the floor. "We should probably actually eat something," he says with a grin that makes my heart flip. "Keep up your strength."
I laugh, still feeling the pleasant aftershocks of our encounter as I perch on the edge of the desk. "Is this going to become a regular occurrence? Lunchtime visits?"
"Would you object if it did?" He unpacks sandwiches and drinks, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
"Not at all," I admit, accepting the food he offers. "Though my productivity might suffer."
His smile turns wicked. "Worth it."
It’s been a while since we heard that Diane was spotted in town and we haven’t heard anything since.
I’m trying not to think about the fact that something horrible could be happening to her.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both lost in our own thoughts. I find myself checking my phone again, scrolling through my call history where Diane's number sits with multiple outgoing calls and no returns.
"Still nothing?" Greyson asks, noticing my frown.
I shake my head. "I've tried calling her several times since you told me she was spotted. Nothing's been returned." I bite my lip, conflicted. "Maybe she was just passing through town. Or maybe…"
"Don't," Greyson says firmly, taking my hand. "Don't torture yourself with maybes. If Diane's smart, she's long gone by now."
I nod, though the worry still gnaws at me. Despite everything she did, the thought of her in danger sits heavy in my chest.
We finish our lunch, Greyson glancing at his watch with reluctance. "I should get back. We have a club meeting this afternoon."
As we step out of the office, I freeze in the doorway. Sitting in the salon's waiting area are Cassandra and Tiana, both watching us with knowing expressions. Tiana's face bears a particularly shit-eating grin that makes heat rush to my cheeks.
"Well, well," she drawls, eyes flicking between us and the office we just emerged from. "Productive lunch break?"
Cassandra elbows her but can't quite hide her own smirk. "We were just stopping by to see if you wanted to grab coffee, but clearly you've been… busy."
Greyson, completely unruffled, slides his arm around my waist. "Ladies," he greets them, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. "What brings you by?"
"Originally? Coffee with Livie," Tiana replies, her grin widening impossibly. "Now? The satisfaction of confirming that the salon's back office is getting as much action as the clubhouse chapel."
"Tiana!" I hiss, mortification washing over me as I notice my receptionist pretending very hard not to listen.
Cassandra stands, gathering her purse. "We should go. Clearly our timing is terrible."
"Or perfect," Tiana counters, winking at Greyson. "Depending on your perspective."
Greyson chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I'll see you tonight," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear. "We'll finish what we started."
He nods to the women and strides out, every inch the confident MC president who just thoroughly claimed his woman in the middle of a workday.
"So," Tiana starts once he's gone, linking her arm through mine and steering me toward the back room. You can tell us all about how my cousin is keeping that smile on your face."
"I hate you both," I groan, but allow myself to be led away, unable to keep from smiling despite my embarrassment.
"No, you don't." Cassandra laughs, following us. "You love us. Almost as much as you love getting bent over your aunt's desk by my brother."
"Oh my God." I cover my face with my hands. "Was it that obvious?"
"Honey," Tiana says, patting my shoulder sympathetically, "your blouse is buttoned wrong, you've got whisker burn on your neck, and Greyson looked like the cat who got the cream. The entire town will know by dinner."
As mortifying as that is, I find I don't really mind. This is my life now, surrounded by family who tease mercilessly but would die to protect me, claimed by a man who makes no secret of his devotion, belonging to a community that accepts me exactly as I am.
And if part of that means enduring knowing looks and good-natured ribbing about my lunchtime activities? Well, that's a small price to pay for everything I've gained.
"Fine," I concede, straightening my shoulders. "Coffee. But I'm not giving you details."
"We don't need details," Cassandra says with a wicked smile. "The look on your face tells us everything we need to know."
As we head out for coffee, laughing and teasing like we've been friends forever, I can't help thinking how perfectly I fit into this world now.
The only shadow on my happiness is the nagging worry about Diane—where she is, what trouble she might be in, and whether her disappearance might still pose a threat to this life I've built.
* * *
The afternoon passes in a blur of clients and laughter. By the time the last appointment of the day arrives, I'm tired but content, my body still humming pleasantly from Greyson's lunchtime visit.
"Your five o'clock is here," my receptionist calls, and I glance up to see Xavier walking through the door, still in his hospital scrubs, and dark circles under his eyes suggesting he's just finished a long shift.
"Doctor." I greet him with a smile, gesturing to my chair. "Right on time."
Xavier returns the smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Just Xavier, please. And thanks for squeezing me in. I know it's the end of your day."
As he settles into the chair, I drape the cape around his shoulders, noting the tension in them. "Just a trim today, right?"
"Yeah, nothing fancy. Just need to look presentable." He hesitates, then adds, "Professional."