The raw honesty in his voice caught me off guard. I captured his mouth again, tasting blood and victory and something uniquely Griffin that made my head spin and my heart race.
Whatever line we’d drawn between us had just gone up in flames.
I’d spent days ignoring the heat in his gaze, the way my pulse jumped when he got too close. I’d told myself it didn’t mean anything. That he was just another driver. That I knew better.
Apparently, I didn’t know a damn thing.
Griffin pulled back, his eyes nearly black in the dim light, pupils blown wide with desire. He studied my face like he was memorizing every detail, thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip.
“Last chance to stop this,” he murmured, his voice strained with restraint.
My answer was to tug his shirt up, fingertips skating over the hard planes of his abdomen. “Take this off.”
His laugh was low, choked with lust as he yanked the shirt over his head. He tossed the fabric aside, revealing skin taut over sculpted muscle, the faint scars from past crashes telling stories I suddenly ached to trace.
My palms pressed flat against his skin, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath my fingers. His muscles jumped at my touch, a shudder running through him that fed the molten heat building between my legs.
Griffin captured my hands, pinning them above my head with one of his.
“My turn,” he said, his free hand sliding beneath my sleep shirt, pushing it up to expose my skin inch by agonizing inch.
The cool air hit my sweat-slicked belly for a second before his touch left trails of fire across my ribs, my breasts, the sensitivecurve where my neck met my shoulder. Every nerve ending sparked to life, my body arching helplessly toward him.
I gasped as his tongue rasped against the sensitive bud, circled it, flicked it mercilessly. His teeth scraped lightly, making me cry out and twist my hips, seeking relief where the ache was becoming a desperate throb.
My hands strained against his grip, desperate to touch him again, but he held firm, the restraint somehow making each sensation sharper, more intense.
“Look at you,” he breathed, watching the peak harden visibly under his touch, under his gaze. “Fucking beautiful.”
He blew cool air over the wet, sensitized peak, making me shiver before his mouth descended again, suckling harder. I bucked against him, my hips grinding instinctively against his erection. He responded with a roll of his own hips, the friction exquisite, maddening.
He released my hands only to slide lower down my body, fingers tracing the defined edge of my hipbone, dipping low.
“Patience, Princess,” he murmured, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my sleep shorts.
“I’m not feeling particularly patient,” I hissed, lifting my hips to help him remove the last barrier between us.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against my inner thigh. “No? What happened to that famous Carter restraint?”
Cool air washed over my flushed, bared skin, but it was fleeting. His heat descended lower still. He slid down my body, settling heavy between my sprawled thighs, his broad shoulders pushing my knees wider apart. The sudden exposure made me shiver, even as heat flooded my face and core.
“It disappeared when you—” My retort died in my throat as his mouth found me, tongue tracing a path through my lower lips. My head fell back against the pillows, a strangled cry escaping before I could bite it back.
Griffin’s hands gripped my thighs, holding me open to his assault. He worked me with devastating accuracy, finding every spot that made me tremble, drawing me closer to the edge with each stroke of his tongue.
“Fuck, Vi…” His breath was hot on my slick folds. “Soaked.” The observation sounded like pure masculine satisfaction, laced with awe. He pressed a soft kiss to my inner thigh, his stubble scraping deliciously.
One big hand spanned my hip bone, holding me steady. His thumb swept lazily through the slickness gathering at my entrance. He rubbed slow circles over my clit, the touch feather-light but deliberate. The pressure was exquisite torture, building slowly, making my breath hitch.
“Griffin, please,” I gasped, my body wound impossibly tight, hovering on the precipice. “Stop… teasing…”
He glanced up, eyes meeting mine over the plane of my body, his expression almost predatory. “Say it again.”
“Please.”
“My name,” he growled, pressing a finger inside me as his tongue circled my clit. “Say my name when you beg.”
“Griffin,” I breathed, the word a prayer and a curse wrapped together. “Griffin, please.”
