No one has ever looked at my body as if it’s something to be treasured, not conquered.
Though… I don’t exactly object to Grizz planting his flag in me.
“Jesus Christ,” I hiss under my breath and swipe my hand down my face, scrubbing at my eyes to try and force them to wake up. “One orgasm and I’ve lost all my senses.”
The faint sound of Jovie’s laugh carries through the cabin again, this time followed by the low rumble of Grizz’s voice. It always sounds a little rough, with a hard edge, but when he talks to Jovie, there’s a distinct change in his tone.
I sit up, tucking the blanket around my body and listening.
I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the back and forth between them is enough to slap a smile on my face, and within a few seconds, I find myself swinging my legs over the side of the bed—my fear of missing out, winning this battle.
I have no idea what Grizz’s comforter is made of, but the second I’m on my feet and it’s off my body, the cold air bites at my skin. I’m sure I can already feel the snow surrounding us, the chill seeping through the cabin walls, so I grab the first thing I can find—one of Grizz’s flannels from the back of the chair in the corner—and pull it over my head.
It drowns me.
But that’s the best part.
Easing the door open silently, I catch sight of the two of them in the kitchen.
Well, Grizz is in the kitchen. Jovie is above it. She’s sitting at the edge of a lofted storage space, her legs swinging as she dragsdusty old boxes toward her and tosses them down for Grizz to catch. I watch them move like a well-oiled machine—wondering just how long they’ve been out here with the number of boxes and other random containers now cluttered around the small space.
A small cloud of dust explodes into the air as another box lands in Grizz’s arms, and he coughs, waving it away.
Jovie leans over the edge with an apologetic smile. “Sorry! I probably shouldn’t have put that old photo album in there.”
“It’s not that old,” he mutters, setting the box down with a pile of others.
“It’s older than me,” Jovie says with a shrug.
He coughs, swiping a hand in front of his face again to clear the air as he looks up at her. “Kid, I’ve got socks older than you, now, what did I say about sitting too close to the edge?”
Jovie lets out a heavy sigh, but instantly scoots back.
That one gesture shouldn’t make my heart ache.
It shouldn’t make me feel butterflies in my stomach.
It’s not just him trying to keep her safe and protect her, it’s her responding to him. It’s the way they’ve already become this team and built a relationship that has trust and communication.
Tears begin to well, but I fight them back, instead, clearing my throat.
“You two opening some kind of moving company?” I question over the ruckus, and both their heads snap my way. Jovie grins and waves excitedly.
“Look, Mom! We’re making me a bedroom!”
Grizz wipes his hands on his jeans, his eyes dragging over my body slowly and stopping suddenly at the hem of his flannel and where it falls just brushing mid-thigh. Something like lightning sparks in his eyes, but he’s quick to blink it away, refusing to give in to the electricity that I can still feel crackling between us.
And I’m thankful he fights it, because his self-control seems a lot stronger than mine, and I’m not sure at which point we're going to reveal this romance to Jovie.
“A bedroom?” I question, my head falling to the side.
He nods, pushing a couple of boxes out of the way to make space for what seems like the last few. “Yeah,” he says, nodding up to the loft. “Jon Bon needs her own space, and better she have it than my piles of junk.”
“Hey! Enough chattering down there!” Jovie calls over her shoulder as she scrambles back into the space to grab the last few things. “Back to work!”
Grizz’s gaze meets mine and he doesn’t waste the moment, wrapping his hand around my neck and dragging my mouth to his. I can’t help but grin and sink into his body, my hands pressed to his chest and my fingers twisting into his shirt as he steals every breath of air from my lungs. There’s a slight bitter taste of coffee on his lips, the damn man refusing to drink it any way other than black. Yet, when he pulls back, I still can’t help but lick my lips and lean in for another.
It's quick, hungry, and leaves us both fighting for air.
