17. Zaria #3
"That's right." I reach between us, palming him through his jeans. "You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you? Follow me anywhere, hurt anyone I asked you to, become whatever I needed you to become?"
"Yes." His hips buck into my hand. "Yes, fuck, yes?—"
"So desperate." I squeeze him harder. "So fucking desperate for me that you let me ruin your nice, clean life. Let me turn you into someone who interrogates people in warehouses and doesn't even flinch."
"You didn't ruin anything." His fingers dig into my hips. "You made everything better. Made me—" He breaks off with a gasp as I work his belt open. "Made me real."
The words hit something in my chest, but I don't let myself examine it. Instead, I shove his jeans down and wrap my hand around him, stroking slowly while he gasps against my shoulder.
"Touch me," I order. "Now."
His hand immediately moves between my legs, finding me through my pants, and the pressure makes my breath catch. He knows exactly how I like it now, exactly what rhythm and pressure to use to make heat coil tight in my belly.
"Take them off," I tell him, stepping back just enough to give him room.
He strips me efficiently—jeans and underwear shoved down my thighs in quick movements—then waits for further instruction. Always waiting, always deferring to me even though I've watched him be commanding and self-assured with everyone else.
It's that contradiction that makes me insane. The fact that Greer is tough and hard and capable of real violence, but he bends for me. Only me.
"Lift me up," I command.
He obeys immediately, hands gripping my thighs as he hoists me against the wall. My legs wrap around his hips, and then he's right there, pressing inside in one smooth thrust that makes us both groan.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Zaria?—"
"Move." I dig my nails into his shoulders. "And don't you dare come until I tell you to."
He fucks me against the warehouse wall with the night air cold against our exposed skin and anyone could walk by and see us. The danger of it, the complete lack of caring about propriety or privacy, makes everything sharper.
"You were so good in there," I tell him between gasps. "So fucking smart, taking him apart piece by piece. My strategic, brilliant boy."
"Wanted to—" He thrusts harder, angling to hit exactly where I need him. "Wanted to impress you."
"You always impress me." I pull his hair, forcing his head back so I can see his face. "Every fucking day you impress me with how well you've adapted. How perfectly you fit into my world like you were always meant to be here."
"I was." His eyes meet mine, green-gold and blown wide with want. "Always meant to be yours."
"Mine," I agree, and the possessiveness in my voice surprises even me. "My good boy who'd do anything for me. Who became someone new just to stay by my side."
"Not new." His rhythm falters as I clench around him. "Just more myself. More real."
The words shred something inside me—the walls I've kept up even these past weeks as I've let him deeper into my life and my bed and my heart. Because that's exactly what he is now. Real. Permanent. Mine in ways that terrify and exhilarate me in equal measure.
"Greer—" His name comes out broken as pleasure builds to something almost painful. "Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."
"Never stopping," he promises. "Never leaving. You're stuck with me, sweetheart."
I come with his name on my lips and my nails drawing blood from his shoulders, clenching around him as everything whites out.
Distantly I hear him groan, feel him follow me over that edge, and then we're just breathing hard against each other with my back against rough brick and his face buried in my neck.
Several long moments pass before either of us moves.
"We're covered in blood," he says finally, voice still rough.
I glance down at my hands where Musa's blood has dried brown against my skin, then at Greer's shirt where it's smeared across the fabric. "So we are."
"And we just fucked outside a warehouse where you interrogated someone."
"Your point?"
He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of us where we're still connected. "No point. Just acknowledging how absolutely insane our lives have become."
"Your life," I correct. "My life has always been insane. You're the one who traded business meetings for criminal interrogations."
"Best trade I ever made." He kisses me softly, sweetly, in direct contrast to everything that just happened. "No complaints."
I should probably say something vulnerable here. Acknowledge that I've stopped fighting this, that he's become necessary to me in ways I didn't think were possible anymore. That when Cain left us alone in that warehouse, it felt right instead of wrong.
But the words stick in my throat, so instead I just kiss him again and let that communicate what I can't say out loud yet.
"Come on," I finally murmur against his mouth. "We need to get cleaned up and figure out exactly how we're handling Friday night."
"We," he says again, smiling. "I really do like that."
"Get used to it." I untangle myself from him, both of us wincing as we separate. "You're not getting rid of me now."
"Wouldn't dream of it."