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I never know what Grimm is planning in the evenings but the one thing I can always be certain of is that he’ll be home late so he can avoid me. We haven’t talked about how long I’ll stay here with him, or why I didn’t move into Skid's empty cabin because we both seem to avoid serious conversations…
In fact, Grimm avoids any conversation.
He comes through the door about half an hour after I do, taking one of those long, thoughtful glances at me that makes me wish I could read his mind, as he loosens his tie and heads straight to the bathroom.
A while later, he comes back out with a towel around his hips, giving me another glimpse of the top half of his body.
I never hide the fact that I look, maybe it might help him get the hint, and I like the way his eyes scold me for it.
His fingers sweep through his ink-black hair on the way to the bedroom and I smile at him a little shyly when his forehead creases like he’s trying to figure something out.
He’s still buckling the belt of his jeans up when he comes out of the bedroom, and he’s looking like he’s got something on his mind.
“Whose jeans are those?” he asks, his eyes focusing on my legs. They’re nothing special, just a pair of old Levi’s that I picked up at a thrift store and ripped into myself.
“They’re mine,” I answer, wondering where the sudden interest in my clothing’s come from.
“Ain’t seen you wear them before.” I watch his eyes narrow suspiciously, and my stomach does some weird-ass flutter that I figure comes from the fact he’s noticed such a small detail.
“That’s because I stopped by the house and picked up some stuff when I went out for groceries.” I shrug, serving up the grilled chicken I’ve cooked onto some plates. It will make a nice change for me to not put his in the microwave and eat alone.
I ignore the way his nostrils flare, and the furious look he’s giving me.
Instead, I smile and place his plate on the table. I’ve even gone through the trouble of making sure the different foods aren’t touching to save him sorting it out himself.
“You left the club?” he prowls toward me, sparking another reaction outta my pussy.
He looks crazy mad, and the way he wets his bottom lip with his tongue, suggests he’s about to devour me.
Slowly, I nod, guessing that he won’t approve of my answer. I’m provoking him, and really enjoying the reaction I’m getting.
“Why?” he asks, his voice soft and curious despite his anger.
“I needed to get groceries, and I needed to get more clothes.” I speak slowly, savoring his attention.
“Someone could have picked that up for you, you heard what Skid said about leavin’ the compound.” There’s still distance between us. Far too much of it. And suddenly it feels like a punishment.
“Yeah, I heard him, but I decided to break the rules,” I admit unapologetically, waiting for him to respond. I reach my finger out and run it across the top of Grimm's belt, my nail scraping along his skin. I’ve never craved anything the way I do him and I’m sure it’s because he seems so out of reach.
“It ain’t safe for you to be roaming around by yourself,” he growls, and I can tell it’s taking all of his effort to remain calm.
“You underestimate me, Grimm, you had to scrape the last man who did that off my floor.” I tilt my head and reach for his hair. Taking a few strands of it from the front and playing with them in my fingers, before sliding it over to the left.
Grimm doesn’t like being touched, I’ve learned that from watching him. And the fact he doesn’t flinch at me makes me feel special.
“Skid told me to keep you at the club, and to keep you out of danger,” he reminds me, his black pupils swelling.
“It’s a shame I’m nothing like the bitches around here you boys are used to taming, Grimm. I ain't a fucking pet. I don’t do as I’m told. I am the danger.” There’s silence and a long stare off that neither of us is gonna back down from.
“If you need to leave the club. You ask. I will arrange for someone to go with you,” he tells me, stepping into my space so his body is flush with mine and his eyes are peering down at me. The tension coming off him is thrilling, and I know that despite all his efforts, I’m under his skin now.
“I never ask permission,” I whisper, letting my hand slide across his jaw. I’ve been tempted for so long to know what his lips feel like, so I let my fingertip trace along his bottom one. It’s soft, nothing like the harshness of those eyes that are firm and unmoving as they focus on me.
“You better eat up.” I decide to release the tension, picking my lips up into a smile and breaking our eye contact to look at the food on the table.
I’m pleasantly surprised when Grimm roughly pulls out the chair and takes a seat. Then even more shocked when he’s finished clearing up the mess I’ve made, and takes a seat on the couch instead of leaving for the club.
Pulling two beers from the refrigerator, I dangle one in front of him.
