I barely have time to process his words before his lips are on mine. He presses me against his chest. His hands cup both sides of my neck, his thumbs framing my jaw. He kisses me like a man starved, like he has something to prove or like he’s trying to erase the doubts between us with sheer fucking force. His mouth pushes against mine in a way that leaves no room for second guessing what this is. My hands slide down to his hips. My tongue brushes against his and I barely notice when he lifts me to take me to the couch. He pushes my back against the cushions and this time instead of straddling me, his thighs slide in between mine. His mouth moves from my lips to my neck, to my ear, to my collarbone. He leans back to strip my shirt over my head. I’m powerless to resist. Not because I can’t but because I don’t want to.
His eyes darken as he looks down on me. He drinks in the sight like a man in the desert who’s found a well. “God, you’re beautiful.” His voice is rough and hungry, all pretense of restraint gone. He dips his head again, this time his mouthtrailing over my chest. He reaches for the button of my blue jeans. He pops it open and pulls the zipper down, slowly. His eyes lock onto mine, when his fingers dip into the hem of my jeans. “Still sure you want this?” he asks, not as a challenge, but as one last chance to pull away.
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. My hands reach around behind me to the clasp of my bra. I pull it free, proving to him that I want this too.
He responds by cupping the heavy weight of my breast, massaging his palm over the rough tip. His pupils are blown wide when he dips down to close his mouth over my other nipple. He twirls his tongue around until it’s a hardened peak and then he sucks. I arch up into him, gasping.
He sits up long enough to reach back and pull his shirt over his head. My hands trail up his arms, over his biceps before tracing the hard plains of his chest. My fingertips brush the jagged scar below his collarbone. He groans. His hands reach for the waistband of my jeans again. His fingers dragging them down along with my panties until both are on the floor. His hand finds my breast again and his thumb brushes over my nipple in lazy circles while the other one slides up my thigh.
“Say it again,” he demands, leaving no room for doubt. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this.” I suck in air as he pushes my thighs apart.
He settles his hips in between my legs. His teeth scrape over the side of my throat, sharp enough to sting before he soothes it with his tongue. He doesn’t let up, every flick of the tongue, every pull of his teeth is calculated. The heat of his mouth, the scrape of his stubble against my skin makes me writhe and gasp under him. Then he’s pulling back again and sliding down my body.
“Good,” he growls against my hip. “Because I’m not fuckin’ stoppin’.” His hand brushes over my folds. He groans against the inside of my knee. “Fuck,” he mutters, “you’re soaked.”
I’m already aching for him and the second I feel his fingers, my hips jerk forward seeking more pressure. His mouth continues to suck, nibble, and tease its way down my inner thigh, while his fingers waste no time giving me what I want. He slips them inside, curling them in a way that makes my back arch off of the couch and a moan tears from my throat.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against the skin where my thigh meets my hip, his voice roughened with desire. “Let me hear you.”
His thumb rubs circles against my clit as he watches me with fierce satisfaction. He continues to tease with deep curling strokes until I’m whimpering and digging my nails into his shoulders. Then his mouth closes over me, his tongue flicking against my swollen bud. His fingers continue their steady rhythm. The vibration of his groan against my clit sends a shiver down my spine. And when I gasp, he does it again just to hear the sound I make.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he rasps, “you taste even better than I imagined.”
His free hand holds my hips down when I try to buck against him. He forces me to take what he gives at his pace, until every nerve in my body is screaming for more. My fingers are tangled in his hair, my head thrown back as I moan and arch and writhe. He brings me closer and closer to the edge, then pulls back right as I’m about to fall. I whine in protest until he starts again. Then he pulls back, slowing his tempo and licking lazily, providing only enough sensation to keep me there but not allowing me to go over. It’s maddening and so damn good I can barely catch my breath. Over and over, building me up only to leave me on the edge.
“Griffin, please...” I beg in frustration. I try to move my hips to relieve the pressure but he holds them firmly in place.
“Please what?” He lifts his head, lips glistening, pupils blown wide. He’s enjoying every second of my desperation. “Use your words,” he teases, then deliberately drags the flat of his tongue over my slit one agonizingly slow time.
My breath stutters and I unintentionally pull his hair, only to get a chuckle out of him. “Fuck!” I growl. “Griffin, please, let me come!”
His eyes darken, feral and dangerous. He stares up at me for another long, torturous second, like he’s thinking about making me beg again. But, finally, he closes his mouth around my clit and sucks hard, his fingers curling to hit that spot deep inside me that makes me see stars. I cry out, arching my back. He’s a predator watching his prey come undone. He pulls back long enough to bite softly on my inner thigh.
“Come for me, Seriph.” Then, instead of slowing and dragging it out, he increases the pressure. His tongue and fingers move harder.
My orgasm crashes over me in a tidal wave of pleasure. I’ve never had one so intense in my life. My hips jerk and my legs tremble. The hot rush of my release coats his chin, as I cry out. He doesn’t stop, he slows down, his fingers and tongue working me through every aftershock with relentless precision until I’m left shaking and spent beneath him. When he finally lifts his head, his lips are slick and his expression is one of smug satisfaction. He presses a slow kiss to the inside of my thigh before sitting back on his heels.
“That,” he mutters huskily, “was beautiful.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
I’m flushed and breathless. I’m so relaxed, I feel like a literal puddle. I swallow and brush my hair out of my face, trying tocatch my breath. My brow furrows when he steps back and pulls on his shirt. “What—what are you doing?”
He pauses. His shirt is halfway on, his abs taut and visible. The muscle in his jaw flexes. The heat in his eyes, replaced by something cool and distant. “Givin’ you what you asked for,” he says flatly. “No strings. No expectations.”
“But you didn’t...” I scramble to sit up and cover myself.
“I didn’t what, Seriph?” He jerks the hem of his shirt the rest of the way down. “Didn’t finish? Didn’t take what I wanted?” He laughs darkly. “You think that’s what this was about? Me gettin’ mine?” He steps forward, bracing an arm by my head on the couch before tipping my chin up, forcing me to look him in the eye. “I don’t fuck people I care about just to get off.” He curses under his breath, taking a step back and running his hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn it, Wildflower,” he says, softer but still harsh. “You don’t get it. When I’m inside you, really truly inside you. It’s not gonna be because we’re pretendin’ this doesn’t mean somethin’.” He sighs, “So until you’re ready to admit you want more than just physical, this is where I stop.” Then he turns and strides to the front door. It slams shut behind him with enough force to rattle the windows.
I’m alone, tangled in a blanket, my skin humming with leftover heat. The weight of the absence he left in the room feels heavier than his presence did. Outside, there’s a sharp sound of a fist connecting with wood, the crack echoes. It’s followed by a curse, and then footsteps crunching gravel, fading into the distance.
~ Griffin Colson ~
IT’S BEEN FOUR DAYS. Four fucking days since I tasted heaven and then ran from it like a coward. She offered herself up on a silver platter, no strings attached. It’s an arrangement guys like me would kill for, and it pissed me off. I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t know why. I do know. She’s dug her way so far under my skin that I’ll never get her out. I’m not sure I want to anymore. She’s right. I am the one that kept saying we shouldn’t take this further. I’m the one that kept calling this thing building between us a mistake. Then I took it out on her when she agreed with me.
Her reasons were different and if I’m honest, valid. It twisted something inside me to hear her say she didn’t want more from me. I want her to demand things. I want her to tell me to let her know when I’m on my way home or when I’ll be back late. I want her to ask about my day and know she has a right to it. I want all those little domestic things you do with someone you care about because that’s how you know they’re yours. I don’t want sex without substance. And that scares the shit out of me.
It doesn’t help that Sokolov is in the wind. Every lead Bishop and I dig up takes us to a dead end. I wanted to have this overbefore her store was ready for her to go back to it, but it’s not likely. It could be months before I get close to him again. At least we put a big enough dent in his operation that he doesn’t have the time or the resources to go after her. I’ve never failed a contract and I don’t intend to start now. And I sure as hell don’t plan on leaving a loose end out there that could get her hurt or worse. No matter what goes down between us, I refuse to let my life take from her too.
