Chapter 35
Greyson
I barely have a second to brace before Clara launches herself at me.
“Damn straight I’m coming with you,” she says, arms around my neck, laughter bursting out of her like fireworks.
And just like that—my heart soars.
I catch her automatically, lifting her off the floor as she wraps her legs around my waist without hesitation.
She smells like citrus cleaner and wildflowers and home.
“You’re not even going to pretend to think about it?” I ask, grinning up at her.
“Oh, I’m thinking,” she says, eyes sparkling. “I’m thinking about what I’m going to wear. I’m thinking about the look on my mom’s face when she hears about it. I’m thinking about how hot you’re going to look in something that isn’t flannel.”
I groan. “Hey. Who says I’m not wearing flannel?”
She leans back slightly, studying me like I’m a project she’s already claimed.
“Ha! I know you have a suit, Greyson Cole, and I am dying to see you in it,” she says, voice dropping just enough to make my pulse spike. “That’s why I’m coming.”
I set her down slowly but keep my hands at her waist.
“You sure?” I ask more seriously. “Going back there gonna sit well with you? It’s your world.”
She softens immediately.
“It was my old world,” she corrects. “It’s not my now. Or my future. Not anymore.”
That does something to me.
She reaches up, cups my face.
“I am so proud of you for choosing to step into the light,” she says. “And I want to be there for that.”
God.
This woman.
I rest my forehead against hers.
“I didn’t want to drag you into something uncomfortable,” I confess.
“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” she says. “You’re inviting me to be with you at something meaningful. And I’m so proud and grateful you want me there.”
There is a difference.
And she’s right.
I want to tell her that I want to be with her all the time. That I want the world to see her with me.
But that’s too much for right now.
I’ll take this win and keep the rest close. Save it for another day.
Then she adds softly, “You’re gonna show them all who you are, Greyson. Not the mysterious myth. Not the anonymous Lumberjack Artist. Just you.”
My throat tightens.
“I don’t know how to be that guy,” I admit quietly.
She smiles. It’s brilliant. Beautiful.
And it anchors me when I feel like spiraling.
“Good,” she says. “Because I don’t want the internet version of you. I want the mountain man who argues about pizza toppings, and paints my living room, and kisses me like I’m oxygen.”
I huff out a laugh.
“You really are dangerous, you know that, Trouble?”
She shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”
I run my hands down her arms slowly, grounding myself.
“By who? Gimme a name and I’ll knock their teeth in.”
“Shut up,” she teases.
But I’ll circle back to whoever’s ass needs kicking later.
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll fly down Friday. Opening’s Saturday night. Black tie-ish.”
Her eyes widen. “Black tie-ish?”
“Don’t panic.”
“I am absolutely panicking,” she says, grinning. “But in a fun way.”
I shake my head, still half stunned that she said yes without hesitation.
“You’re really doing this with me,” I murmur.
She nods once. Firm.
“If you’re not hiding anymore, neither am I,” she says. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it out loud.”
Out loud.
No more shadows.
No more half-steps.
I pull her back into my arms, slower this time.
“You have no idea what it means that you’re coming,” I tell her.
“I think I do,” she whispers.
I press a kiss to her forehead.
Then her temple.
Then her mouth.
Certain.
Then needy.
Desperate. Frantic.
“Too many clothes,” I growl, and she’s nodding, tearing at my belt buckle.
Her shirt comes off.
Mine’s next.
Then I shove her pants down and drop to my knees so I can take them all the way off her feet.
“Turn around,” I tell her and she does.
“Hands on the table, Baby,” I instruct.
Christ, she’s gorgeous. I run my palms over her shoulders, her back, the dip of her waist, and flare of her hips.
I unzip my jeans and shove them down far enough to free my cock.
“You ready for me?” I ask, knowing she will be even though I barely even touched her yet.
Spring is breaking open outside. The mountain is alive again.
And for the first time, I’m not afraid of stepping off it.
Because wherever I go—she’s choosing to stand beside me.
She nods her head. “I-I’m ready.”
Then I drive my hips forward and I lose control, but I find myself—or at least, the version of myself I want to be as I fill her, and flex my body deep inside her.
“You’re so good,” I growl against her neck, caging her in as I pump into her.
She’s so soft, so hot. Her moans echo off the walls, and the sound? It’s better than anything.
I need her so bad. So much. It should terrify me, but it doesn’t.
Admitting it, even if only to myself, it’s freeing. It’s affirmation and declaration.
She’s breathing like a marathon runner, and so am I. Our chests heave in time, and fuck, I’m about to blow. But I need her with me.
I reach around with one hand and I find her clit. I circle it with my thumb, pressing down in time with my thrusts.
Her muscles start to clench, body slickening with arousal and sweat and need.
I’m holding her so tight with my other hand, I know I’m bruising her. But I can’t make myself let go.
“Come for me, Trouble. That’s it. Fuck, squeeze me, Baby.”
She cries out. “Greyson!” And my name has never sounded so good.
Her pussy strangles me as she comes, and I follow her, pumping my hips and flooding her sweet sex with my release until it’s dripping down her thighs.
I think I black out for a second.
All I know is when I open my eyes my vision is a little blurry and my heart is pounding.
“Clara? Clara, are you okay?”
She turns her head, and the look on her face?
Pure fucking heat.
Then she smiles.
And just like that—all is right with my world.