Thrust.
“Unless you’re in bed with me.”
Thrust.
“Beside me.”
Thrust.
“On me.”
Thrust.
“Under me.”
His pace turns brutal, every snap of his pelvis driving me higher, the heat between us building until it’s all consuming.
“And when I wake up next to you in the mornin’.” A ragged groan as he slams home again. “I want you to remember this moment. Exactly how deep I am right now.”
Every one of my senses narrows down to him, his scent, his touch, the raw claim in every movement like he’s determined to rewrite every inch of me until there’s nothing left but him. I start to flutter around him. My gasps are faster, sharper. I can’t concentrate on anything but his skin hitting mine over and over in a filthy slap that rings through the bathroom.
“I’m gonna...”
“Go on.” His voice strained with the effort to hold back, to let me finish first. “Let me feel it.” His thrusts turn sharper now, every one aimed at dragging my orgasm out of me with ruthless precision. “I want to hear how pretty you sound when I make you fall apart.”
I cry out and my back arches. I struggle to hang on as my orgasm ripples through me. Squeezing around him until his hips stutter and his teeth clench. His restraint snaps, chasing his own release, his movements become erratic. He buries his face in the crook of my neck with a groan when he finishes, body shuddering as his own pleasure tears through him. For a long moment, all that exists is the sound of heavy breathing and water cascading over tile and flushed skin.
“Fuck.”
“Guess I don’t have to ask what we are after that,” I say breathlessly, my forehead pressed against his chest.
He laughs. His hands trail down as he lets me slide down the wall, keeping me steady. He takes my chin, gently this time, as he turns my face up to him. “No, smartass. You don’t.”
He carefully pulls out and disposes of the condom. He reaches around me to the shower gel with his free hand while making sure I’m solid on my feet. “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Noted.” I take a minute to recover, admiring the view he presents.
“You just gonna stare or you gonna help me clean up?” There’s a teasing edge to his voice, eyes roaming over my body, while he lathers his own.
I roll my eyes and step around him, raising my chin haughtily. “You seem to have it under control.” The towel whips my legs as I pull it off the shower door with more force than necessary. “Besides I have a feeling if I start touching you now, we won’t make it to dinner.”
“Smart woman.”
The sound of the blow dryer fills the bathroom while he finishes up in the shower. I watch as he climbs out and towels off before leaving to get his clothes from the duffel in the corner of my bedroom. I put on makeup, perfume, and throw my hair on top of my head in a braided bun. I finish putting oversized earrings in before turning to check my appearance in the mirror. The way the dress sits I have a full view of my back. I stop mid-turn, my breath catching. It’s the first time I’ve attempted to see the damage. The gouges and grooves have all healed over and the scabs are gone, leaving only faint light scars. The wings tattooed on my back are tattered, rough and ragged; lines disconnect the intricate work that took hours upon hours to complete. I can’t fight the lump that forms in my throat, or how my hand goes to my mouth to hide the way it opens in horror.
Griffin goes statue solid in the doorway, his eyes moving from my back to my expression. He steps forward, grabbing my shoulders before I can turn fully away from the mirror.
“Look at me.” His voice is filled with anger and guilt. When I don’t immediately turn to face him, he cups my cheeks with both hands, forcing me to meet his gaze. “We’ll fix it.” He promises. “I know an artist, best around. He’ll make it look like it never happened.” His thumb brushes under my eye, catching a tear before it has the chance to fall. “But listen to me right now, those scars? They mean you survived.”
I let him pull me into his chest, my head settling against him. I stand quietly in his arms for a while listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His hands run up and down my arms, grounding me as I come to terms with yet another change. Another mark they left on me that means I’ll never be the same again.
He leans down to murmur against my temple. “I’m tellin’ you, you’re not broken. And scars don’t change the fact that you’re the most beautiful thing in the world to me.” He cups my face again. “And I swear to God, if anyone ever tries to make you feel anything less than perfect? I will rip their entire spine out through their goddamn throat. You understand?” There’s a hard edge to his tone, vicious and unapologetic, like he means every word.
I laugh awkwardly, wiping my eyes and checking my makeup in the mirror. “Okay, on that note. Your friends are probably already at the restaurant waiting for us. And I want to make a good impression. I don’t think showing up an hour late is going to do that.” I turn back to him, giving him a small grateful smile. “Thank you.”
He catches my hand before I can pull away to find my shoes, lifting it to press a kiss to my knuckles that lingers longer than necessary. “No need to thank me, Sunshine. Just statin’ facts.” He lets me go but keeps watching me closely. “And don’t worry about Bishop. The man loves two things: whiskey and people who don’t take my shit. You’ll have him wrapped around your finger in five minutes flat.”
He follows me out wearing a gray henley that matches his eyes and blue jeans that fit his frame in a way that is effortlessly lethal. It should be a crime to look that damn good.
