Chapter 23
“From Your Lips, She Drew the Hallelujah”
Short-lived flurries danced around Greyson as he stepped out of his truck and waited. He tracked her every movement, his predatory attention to detail making her hesitate. Finally, she shut off the car and opened the door.
He crossed his arms over his chest, as if giving her a chance to change her mind. “Having second thoughts?”
She laughed nervously. “No.”
“You sure?” His gaze dropped to the half-empty bottle of prosecco clutched in her white knuckles. “Tough afternoon?”
“I stopped by Jocelyn’s.”
“Ah.” He drew in a slow breath, never taking his gaze off of her. The scent of cedar and winter air clung to his jacket, mixing with something uniquely masculine that made her pulse quicken. “Do me a favor. Whatever advice she gave you, leave it alone.”
Wren laughed, thinking of some of the more colorful tactics Jocelyn had explained to her over the years. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Okay.” She stepped over Figgy to walk up the steps. “But she told me to ride you like the last warhorse out of Valhalla.” She glanced back at Greyson and laughed at his blank expression.
He climbed the steps and mumbled, “What the hell did you tell her?”
Wren unlocked the door, her hands trembling slightly as the key turned. “That’s sacred information kept strictly between me and my best friend. Do you want some wine?”
“No thanks.”
“Do you mind if I have some?”
“Not at all.”
“Good.” When she pulled a glass down from the cabinet, she confessed, “I’m a little nervous.”
“It’s just me, Wren.”
“That’s why I’m nervous.” Her smile turned shy. “It’s you.”
He took off his coat and hung it next to hers on the wall, the simple domestic gesture somehow intimate in its familiarity. Then he crossed the small den into the kitchen, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. “You have nothing to worry about.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders and gently massaged, his calloused palms rough against her skin through the thin fabric of her sweater.
Shivers raced up her spine as he pushed her hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck.
Her breath hitched as her nipples tightened under her shirt. Was it already starting?
“Grey…”
“It had to happen this way, Wren, with the two of us.” His voice rumbled against her neck, vibrating every nerve.
Her heart skipped a beat as his mouth moved slowly toward her racing pulse. She licked her suddenly dry lips.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Slipping out of his grip, she backed out of the kitchen. “I need…to freshen up.” She reached for her glass and the bottle. “Can you give me a few minutes? Meet me in the bedroom?”
“There’s no rush, Wren. We can grab dinner—“
“No.” The thought of doing this on a full stomach didn’t sound wise. “I have my dinner.” She lifted her glass. “You can help yourself to anything in the fridge.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like her own. “I’ll be two seconds.” She rushed into the bathroom and locked the door with shaking fingers. “Shit.”
Dropping to the toilet, she rocked forward, her heart hammering so hard she could feel it in her throat. She pressed her slick palms against her cheeks, trying to cool the fever burning through her, and guzzled her glass of wine, hoping the alcohol would calm the butterflies rioting in her stomach.
“Breathe.” She forced air into her lungs. “Breathe.” She practiced her breathwork, but it only made her lightheaded. “You’ve got this. Nice and deep…” Hearing her own words she stilled. That was exactly how it would be. Nice, and probably very fucking deep.
Why did Jocelyn say that thing about tearing?
The breathing exercises weren’t working, so she tried to massage her vagus nerve while doing various face contortions.
Her hands trembled as she pressed her fingers to her neck, searching for some magical pressure point that would transform her from terrified virgin to confident seductress. Nothing worked.
“Fuck.” She drank directly from the bottle, and quickly emptied it. Her head was spinning, yet she was still somehow way too sober. “Shower.”
She pulled her hair into a messy bun and stripped while the water warmed, her fingers fumbling with buttons and zippers. Hopefully, the heat would calm her anxiety. She could also try a cold plunge.
There isn’t time for that.
Two seconds turned into ten minutes. By the time she left the bathroom, she was more worked up than she’d been when she ran away.
Wrapped in a towel, Wren awkwardly sauntered out of the steam, prepared for embarrassment but shockingly soothed by the sight that greeted her.
He knelt by the fireplace, coaxing flames to life, the golden light dancing across his broad shoulders, casting shadows that accentuated every ridge of muscle. Her nervous energy quelled the moment her brain remembered this was Greyson, not some stranger.
He was right. This was always the way it was supposed to be—the two of them.
She smiled. “The scent of burning firewood always reminds me of you.”
He glanced back from the hearth and stilled, his eyes drinking in the sight of her. Slowly, he stood from where he crouched and crossed the room, each step deliberate and predatory.
A burst of butterflies took flight in her stomach, and her hand tightened on the towel wrapped around her chest as he closed the distance. The firelight played across his angular features, highlighting the intensity in his blue eyes.
Of course, Greyson missed nothing. “If you’re not ready, we can wait.”
“I’m ready. I’m very, very ready.”
“You’re sure?”
She looked up at him, the gravity of this moment weighing her down like lead. “I’ve waited years for this, Greyson. Don’t tease me with something only to take it away.”
He glanced down at her chest and stepped closer, tucking a damp curl behind her ear.
His fingertips lingered against her temple, tracing the shell of her ear with devastating gentleness.
“I’m not taking it away. You’re mine, Wren.
You’ve always been mine.” His voice lowered as he stared into her eyes with hungry promise. “Haven’t you?”
She nodded, wanting nothing more than for him to claim her in that moment.
“No more waiting.” He bent to kiss her, and she wreathed her arms around his neck.
She tried for graceful and failed miserably.
It seemed neither of them had any patience left.
Hauling her off her feet, he gripped her ass and backed her into the wall.
She locked her legs around his hips as his body ground against hers, hard denim against soft flesh, the rough texture of his jeans creating delicious friction against her bare thighs.
Her fingers raked through his hair as he pinned her to the plaster, devouring her mouth with enough pent-up passion to get her quivering before he even put his hands on her.
The towel started to slip, but she didn’t care.
All that mattered was the heat of his mouth, the possessive grip of his hands, the way he consumed her like a man starved.
“Bedroom,” she rasped between kisses.
He carried her into the back room and followed her down to the bed, his mouth savagely staking its claim over her chest as he yanked away the towel. The soft cotton sheets cooled her heated skin, a stark contrast to the furnace of his body above her.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.”
She arched into him, pulling at his clothes. “I want all of you, Grey. Take this off.”
He sat up, fumbling with the buttons of his flannel as his boots hit the floor in two hard thumps.
Thick ropes of sinew bunched at his arms as his shirt pulled off, revealing the landscape of scars and muscle she’d glimpsed but never fully explored.
His abdomen flexed in tight rows of muscle as he reached for his belt buckle, and she couldn’t help but stare at the trail of golden hair that disappeared beneath his jeans.
She grinned and sat up to see the big reveal.
“Something wrong?”
She grinned and shook her head. “I…don’t want to miss anything.”
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Believe me, baby, you aren’t gonna miss it.” He flicked the button of his jeans loose, showing her just how constrained he was.
Her eyes widened as he lowered the zipper and gripped his engorged flesh. Meeting his gaze, she hid a smile and teased, “You could make a Viking jealous.”
He pushed her down to the bed and kissed her, his weight settling over her like a claim. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You should.” Her humor turned to nervousness as he pushed off the last of his clothes.
Nothing between them but a lifetime of unspoken sexual tension and her own shallow breaths.
The fading light painted his skin in shadow, every muscle defined, every scar telling a story she wanted to learn by touch.
He calmed her with slow, hungry kisses, his hands framing her face with reverent touches. “Look at me, Wren.”
She lifted her gaze to his familiar stare, and the last of her nervousness shifted into something manageable. This was Greyson. Her Greyson. The man who’d protected her, comforted her, loved her in silence for years.
He caressed her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. “We have our entire lives to get it perfect. Don’t overthink the first time.”
She bit her lip. “I waited too long.”
“You were waiting for me.” The certainty in his voice made her heart skip.
When he said it like that, all her regret disappeared. “You’re worth the wait.”
He kissed her in a way that put love before urgency. He grounded them in the moment, slowing time, laying their emotions bare, until they were both shivering as they edged closer to the precipice of this next chapter together.
“Just relax. Let me take care of you.” He bent to capture her nipple, pulling tenderly at the tip.