Finding Gray: A Colloway Brothers Prequel (.5) (The Colloway Brothers Book 1) (2 page)

“
Y
ou sure you’re okay
?” Graham asks for a third time, eyeing Gray who is sitting at the takeout counter waiting for me to close up. If the clenching of his jaw is any indication, I think Gray is starting to get peeved.

“I’m fine, Graham. Go. I’ll finish here.”

With one last glance thrown Gray’s way, Graham grumbles and walks to the front, me following behind.

“You have my number if you need anything.” He doesn’t even bother keeping his voice low or non-accusatory.

“I do,” I reply on a sigh, just wanting him gone so I can spend some alone with Gray. A couple seconds of slight hesitation and then he nods. When he leaves, I rebolt the door and turn around, leaning against the freezing glass. It’s bitterly cold outside tonight and a few flakes are starting to fall.

“What’s that asshole’s problem?” Gray grits through his teeth. Yep. He’s pissed.

“He’s just protective.” I try to soothe, removing my stained apron. “He usually walks me to my car since there’s a light out in the lot.”

“Mmm. He likes you.”

I start to smile, wadding up my dirty garment in one hand as I walk toward him. I like jealous. I like it a lot. “We’ve worked together for two years. He just worries.”

When I stop in front of him, I drop the apron to the countertop. His hands find my hips and he draws me between his spread legs.

My heart starts to pound. The way he looks at me makes it hard to catch my breath sometimes. It’s been just one week since I said yes, a mere seven days, but we’ve hardly spent a second apart. Already he feels so much a part of my life I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone for the next few months.

“He likes you,” he repeats again, still irritable. “I don’t like it.”

“Well…” I put my hands on his shoulders and snake them up his neck, winding them through his hair. “Even if he does, it doesn’t matter. I like
you
.”

“Yeah?” He grins. It’s cute and boyish and I feel as though I’m already lost in Gray Colloway’s labyrinth. The exit is around here somewhere, I’m sure of it, but I’m not looking for it anytime soon.

He pulls me closer and I breathe deep. The scent of him and his spicy cologne is making me dizzy. And needy. So fucking needy. “Say it again,” he demands, going serious.

Racing. My heart is literally racing. God, it’s fast.

“I like you, Gray,” I breathe, telling him again.

His eyes go dark. One hand comes up and he fits it around my head, his strong thumb hooking under my jaw. He holds me steady. I need it when he announces, “I like you, too, Livia Kingsley. Christ, I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Should I smile?
I want to smile.
Should I kiss him?
I want to do that, too.
Should I drop my clothes into a pile at my feet and beg him to take me?
I’m thinking about it. Seriously, thinking about it.

But he’s the one who makes the move, so I don’t have to decide. His eyes are trained on my lips the entire way down. His head dips slow. It’s agonizing, the wait. Then they’re there. On mine. And they’re soft, but firm. Gentle, but demanding. Warm and wet and so damn perfect, I’m positive he’s made for me.

His kiss is tender, but exacting, as if he’s trying to absorb every ridge and dip and exhale.

It’s the most intimate kiss I’ve ever had.

It’s a kiss that means
you belong to me
.

“Gray,” I let slip when he releases me. I want him to continue, but I need him to stop before I can’t. My god, I want him. But as much as I want him, I know I’m not ready to sleep with him yet. This guy
means
something to me. And jumping into bed within the first week of dating seems as though I would be trivializing what this is blossoming into. And I don’t want to do that.

But Gray is intuitive. Eerily so. His teeth find my jaw and he nips playfully, husking, “Want to play a game?”

Oh, I want to play a game, all right. Simon Says. Strip poker, maybe.

“What did you have in mind?” I whisper instead, gripping his strands tighter to keep my hands from wandering.

He nibbles his way to my ear, clamping down on my lobe until I gasp. “I like to call this game: This or That.”

I feel like mush. I can’t answer because he’s sucking on that sensitive spot right below my ear. The one that makes me tingle everywhere and want to strip down to my bra and panties.

“That…
god
,” I mutter, trying to catch a thought when I feel the bulge between us jump. “That sounds interesting.”

“Oh, it is.” He pulls back, then. His chest is heaving rapidly and those delectable lips of his, now turned up into a smirk, look fuller and so tempting. So damn tempting.

It’s testing my resolve.

Caging my desire, I ask, “How do you play?” I run a finger along his scruff, hoping beyond hope it’s a dirty game, but at the same time not, because a single dirty word may tip me a direction I’m not ready to tip yet.

“Really? Never played before?”

“Can’t say that I have. We didn’t play a lot of games growing up.”

“Well this one’s easy. Black or white?” He looks to what I’m wearing. A white top over black leggings.

“Hmm…both?”

“No, babe.” He chuckles. “Have to pick one.”

I pretend to pout. “Fine. White.”

“Gotta say, I thought you’d go black.” When he winks I let my hands fall from his hair to his shoulders. I’m treading on thin ice here, my need for him ratcheting my body up to the point it’s quickly cracking beneath my feet. “Your turn.” His ridiculously smirky grin tells me he’s very much aware of what he’s doing to me, too.

“So, I just ask a question?”

“Yep.”

“Any question?”

“Yes. Any question.”

“Okay.” I start with a benign one. “Football or basketball?”

“That’s easy. Football. My turn.” His voice drops an octave or two. That should have been my first clue this little game was about to take a quick left turn, but his thumb had somehow found its way underneath the hem of my blouse and was drawing this intricate pattern on my hipbone. It was spellbinding. It was stealing my breath, and my concentration. When I have to ask him to repeat the question his eyes gleam. Bastard.

“Hard or soft?”

Oh, fuck. It’s suddenly hotter in here than freshly laid blacktop. I pluck at my top to move some air before answering, “Well, that depends.”

“I told you that’s not how the game is played, angel,” he chastises playfully.

He’s making me squirm and he’s enjoying it. Well, two can play at that.

“It’s not a straightforward answer.” I let my own voice drop low and sultry. “If it’s, say, a mattress we’re talking about, then I like mine on the softer side. But if we’re referring to just about any body part on a man, for example, then the harder, the better.” I squeeze his bicep when I say this, but we both know I’m talking about an entirely different body part.

His smile drops. His hazels darken to the color of swamp water. And I hear the sound of victory rushing through my veins when I notice the rise and fall of his chest has increased significantly.

God almighty. This man.

I move to sit, needing some space before my knees find the floor and I start unbuckling his belt, but his grip strengthens as he croaks, “Stay. I like you here, between my legs.”

I laugh. We both know that was as ripe with innuendo as my answer, so I throw him a curveball. “Really? Because I think I’d like
you
between
my
legs, too.”

I play that scene out, unable to get it to stop. Gray kneeling before me. His fingers spreading me. His hot mouth latching onto my—

He must have the same vivid image I do, because I hear him mutter, “Fuck the game” a second before his mouth crashes to mine.

Then we’re a flurry of pent up need. His hands are everywhere. On my face. Running down my neck. My arms. Pushing up my shirt. Cupping my breasts. Thumbing my nipples. Working the cups of my bra down right before he’s sucking me, biting me and I’m crying out softly for more.

Eager to feel him, I run my hands over his strong shoulders. Along his sinewy lats, down his back. With each taut ass cheek in each palm, I squeeze as I run my tongue from his jaw to his ear. I start to pull his shirt from his jeans, needing to feel each ripple of muscle against my fingertips when he slips his hand underneath the band of the yoga pants I wore to work.

Instinct causes me to grip his wrist, stopping him. He releases my nipple with a pop and must see something in my eyes because he sets his cheek to mine, his hot breaths washing over me with every harsh exhale.

“Let me make you feel you good, angel. This is all about you. Just you.”

His fingers twitch at the top of my mound, coaxing, promising. Making me gush. A firestorm of passion is raging inside and I ache at the thought of not feeling his hands bring me to climax. God, how I ache.

“How wet did I make you?” His undertone is gruff, seductive. His fingers inch down another millimeter or two. My pussy is now pulsing, dying for his touch. His mouth. Anything.

My grip loosens as I softly confess, “Very.”

He wastes no time. He makes one pass through me and he groans, “Fuck, you’re right. Jesus Christ, that is sexy.”

Then he finds my opening, slick and hot, and tells me, “Hang on, Livvy,” before plunging two fingers inside. He sets a fast pace, pulling out to circle my clit a few times before driving in again. He repeats and repeats until my back is arching, my head is falling, and I’m coming apart around him, chanting his name in benediction.

And I don’t think there could be a better description than that, because the experience that I just had with Gray, even though it was one simple orgasm, was definitely not simple at all.

It was holy and life changing.

“
W
here are
you headed looking so handsome?” my mother asks sweetly. I stop to kiss her cheek before snagging a green pepper slice from the cutting board. Just as I take a bite, I almost choke at my little brother’s uninvited two cents.

“He’s probably banging that waitress from Rocky’s,” Asher lobs while grabbing a beer from the fridge.

“Asher James,” Mom chastises at the same time my father clears his throat, throwing quick looks to both of us that means “cool it.”

“What?” A too-smug grin curls his lips. He ignores all the warning signs my parents are throwing and continues to poke instead. Leaning back, he crosses his legs at the ankles. “It’s true. Tell her, Gray.” He nods to me, as if I would ever admit that to my mother, for fuck’s sake.

And I don’t like him talking about Livvy that way. She’s an incredible woman. Strong. Spirited. Sexy as hell. Curves for days. Fun. Proud. Smart. Selfless. So fucking selfless. The childhood she practically gave up so her sister would have one is both heart wrenching and heart warming. But that’s just who she is. I don’t have to spend a year with her to know that. I knew it inside of twenty-four hours.

She’s in me. Rooted so far already it should have warning bells firing, but they’re stone silent. Livia Kingsley has come to mean more to me in the last two weeks than I thought possible. If I’m honest, I’m falling for her. Hard and fast and so deep I’ll never climb out. I wasn’t looking for a complication like Livvy, what with a few months of college still left; knowing I’m going right for my MBA afterward and will have to work my ass off at Dad’s company this summer. But I found her anyway and I’m holding on tight because I already know this woman is once-in-a-lifetime special.

And though I hope to remedy it some night soon, I’m not “banging” Livvy. Not yet. I want to. Holy shit, it’s practically all I think about.

But she’s not ready. I respect that. I respect
her
, and if she’s not ready, she’s not ready. And while that clock taunts us by ticking off the seconds we have left until I have to return to Cambridge, I’ll wait for her as long as she needs. I’ll wait a lifetime if I have to. My dick won’t be too happy, but I’ll just keep him busy in the shower day and night to thoughts of what she’ll look like with her lips wrapped around me, those doe eyes watching to see if she’s bringing me to my knees.

She would.

She
has
.

Not one stroke of her finger down my cock and already she owns me.

“Fuck off. Don’t talk about her like that.” I push him away from the fridge so I can grab a bottle of water. He stumbles and I chuckle.

“Boys, please. You know I don’t like that vulgar swearing.” Barb Colloway, my saint of a mother. How she had the patience and wherewithal to raise four boys, I’ll never know. But she did and if God put a better woman on this earth, I haven’t run across her yet…until Livvy.

“Then tell Ash to mind his own damn business.” My mother just sighs and goes back to cutting up raw vegetables, knowing she’s not going to win this one. I don’t even need to look at my dad to know I’m getting another warning glare. He’s as protective of his wife as I’m starting to feel about Livia.
That’s
how I know this is real.

Ash just shrugs. “We’re family. Your business
is
my business. Especially because I think you really like this girl.” I love my little brothers, but hot damn, they are a pain in the ass sometimes. Especially when it comes to women.

“We talking about the waitress again,” Conn chimes in as he strides into the room.

“Yes,” Ash answers at the same time I bark, “No.”

“You seeing her again tonight?” Conn continues, picking up a few pieces of raw broccoli. He eases down onto a bar stool at the island, next to my father, and starts chomping into one, waiting.

“So what if I am?”

“Nothin’. Just asking is all. You like her, huh?” He’s nonchalant, as if my answer doesn’t matter, but everyone is hanging on it anyway. I’ve dated a few girls in high school and had a couple girlfriends at college, one semi-serious, but I’ve never met anyone like Livia. Felt even a fraction of what I feel for her.

My gaze floats around my family. The people in this room mean more to me than anyone else…except now maybe my Livvy. I’d intended to see how things played out between us before I made this little announcement to them, but I want them to know. I want them to meet her. Find out first hand how incredible she is.

“I do.”

My mom looks up from the radishes she’s halving. She heard something in the gravity of my voice. So did I. “Is it serious?”

Is
it serious? I’ve spent every night either with or talking to Livia since she agreed to go out on a date with me. Sometimes it’s not until midnight when she gets off, but I don’t care. Time is what I need with her right now, what we’re short on. What I crave when I’m parted from her. When I can’t be with her, she’s all I think about. I’m obsessed. Whipped. Whatever you want to call it. I know how I feel, but is it as serious for her as it is for me?

“I hope so.”

Fuck…I hope so.

Because I do believe I have met the love of my life, and I won’t stop until I posses every last part of her. Especially her heart.