Which is honestly a full-time job at this point.
Because I’m trying, okay?
Really fucking trying not to stare at him like he invented light and sin all in one golden retriever-shaped package.
I manage to avoid looking at him all through packing up and getting onto the bus. I don’t even glance up when he passes me down the aisle. We get back to the hotel, and I don’t talk to him or make eye contact or anything.
Because I have no idea what to say to him. And also because last night and this morning are still stamped behind my eyes like a goddamn brand.
I grab my room key and head to my floor with my eyes on my feet. I can’t even pinpoint why I feel like this. Hooking up is normal college culture and people go on with their lives like normal. I shouldn’t be the kind of guy who thinks about it constantly or obsesses over a one night stand.
I nearly groan at my internal thoughts as I exit the elevator and come to a dead stop.
Because fucking Griffin is standing in front of my hotel room door, leaning against the frame and watching me.
His eyes are locked on mine and his jaw is tense like he’s trying to stop the words from climbing up his throat. Before I can even process thefactthat he’s standing directly in front of me, he’s pushing me back into the stairwell.
I blink once, and then he’s on me.
His mouth crashes into mine, hot and wet and fuckingwild, like he’s been holding back for too long and just snapped. There’s nothing sweet about it. It’s teeth and tongue and need…pure, reckless hunger.
He kisses like he wants to tear me open and crawl inside. Like he’s pissed off and turned on and doesn’t know what the fuck to do with it. Our teeth clash hard enough to make my jaw ache, but I don’t care. I open up to him like I’m wired for it, like my body’s been waiting for this exact chaos.
My knees almost give out. My whole body goes slack for a second like the kiss shorted every fucking circuit. I grab his shirt and fist it tight, because if I don’t hold on, I might just slide to the fucking floor.
His hands are rough on my jaw, his fingers digging in and pulling me closer like he’s trying to fuse us together. I can feelthe drag of his nails in my hair, the grit of his palm against my cheek.
It’s not gentle. It’s needy. It’s fucking filthy.
And Jesus Christ, I’m hard, rock solid in my jeans and pressing right up against him. I know he feels it. No way he doesn’t feel it, not with how tight our hips are grinding. I feel him too…thick, hard, straining against me, and it only makes it worse. Better.
Fuck, I don’t even know. I want more. I want all of it.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, lips spit-slick and swollen, foreheads almost touching.
His voice comes out rough and low, like he’s been chewing on the words for hours and they finally fought their way out. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
And fuck.
That sentence hits me harder than the kiss. My chest squeezes and my brain just blanks out for a second, static. I should say something to deflect this entire situation but I don’t.
I just look at him, heart slamming in my throat, and whisper, “Me either.”
It’s barely out of my mouth before he’s on me again, but this time it’s slower.
His hands slide into my hair, rough again, fingers gripping tight at the base of my skull. It makes my whole body shiver. Makes my breath catch embarrassingly loud. I lean into him, completely helpless under his touch, hips shifting to grind against the pressure building between us.
My hands roam his shoulders, his sides, the dip of his waist, and he’s so fucking warm under my palms. He’s firm and solid, so goddamn muscular.
We’re deep in it now, kissing like the world’s ending in five minutes and this is how we want to go out, when he finally pulls back again, panting, eyes dark and blown.
“I’m going to come to your room after dinner,” he says, voice hoarse. “So we can talk.”
“Yeah,” I nod, dumb and dizzy and horny as hell. “Okay.”
My brain’s spinning, throwing up warning signs left and right because this is going to get messy, complicated, and fucking dangerous but my heart? That dumb bastard? It feels lighter than it has in weeks.
21
