Now that laser focus fixed on me.
“Griffin—”
His hand cupped my jaw, fingers sliding into my hair as his lips crashed onto mine. He demanded I give in as his tongue swept against mine with absolute certainty. The taste of him, wine and something uniquely Griffin, flooded my senses.
My hands flew to his shoulders, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer. In the end, my body betrayed me and melted into him like it had been programmed to respond only to his touch. A low moan escaped me, swallowed by his mouth.
He walked me backward, lips never leaving mine, until my hips bumped the edge of the kitchen table. His hands found my waist, lifting me effortlessly onto the wooden surface.
He stepped between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, pushing my knees apart. His thumbs dug into the sensitive skin just above my knees, sending burning need crashing through me.
“Stop,” I gasped, breaking away.
My lips felt swollen, already missing his.
His eyes locked on mine, unwavering. “Make me.”
I stared into those green eyes, trying to remember all the reasons this was a terrible idea. My father would kill us both. My carefully constructed exit strategy would shatter. Griffin Michaels didn’t do commitment. He did adrenaline rushes and victory laps and women who knew better than to expect anything more. And I knew better.
Push him away. Right now. Get off this table, go to your room, and lock the?—
I curled my fingers into his hair and yanked his mouth back to mine.
Something wild broke loose inside me, some last thread of restraint snapping as his hands slid beneath my shirt, hot against my skin. I rocked my hips against the growing hardness in his joggers, earning a sharp groan against my lips.
I muttered, even as my fingers gripped the hem of his t-shirt, yanking it upward.
He smiled against my mouth, lifting his arms to help me.
I tossed the top aside as his hands skimmed up my sides, taking my t-shirt with them. I lifted my arms, letting him strip it off. He dropped it on the floor, gaze raking over my body with undisguised hunger. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the lace of my bra, the swell of my breasts above the cups.
“Fucking gorgeous.” His thumbs grazed the undersides of my breasts, making me arch into his touch. “Drove myself mad remembering the sounds you made in Singapore. Terrified I’d never hear them again.”
He unhooked my bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away. Cool air brushed my nipples, making them peak instantly. His pupils widened, breath quickening, every muscle tense with restraint. I’d done that to him, made the famously controlled Griffin Michaels tremble with need.
His mouth descended to my neck, teeth scraping sensitive skin, sending lightning down my spine. His hands palmed my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked, tight and aching. His mouth replaced his fingers, tongue swirling around one sensitive bud before drawing it between his lips, sucking hard.
I gasped, my head falling back against the cool wood of the table, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there. The sensation shot straight to my core, building pressure with each swirl of his tongue, each gentle scrape of teeth.
“Griffin,” I panted, my hips rolling against him, seeking more.
He switched to my other breast, giving it the same thorough attention while I arched against him. My fingers fumbled at the waistband of his joggers, desperate to feel all of him. He helped me, shoving them down along with his boxers, freeinghis erection. I wrapped my hand around him, stroking the hard length, relishing the groan that tore from his throat.
He positioned himself between my thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned me back across the table. My legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, feeling his hardness pressing against my damp leggings, exactly where I needed friction.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, voice rough, eyes challenging. His fingers traced the waistband of my leggings, dipping beneath the elastic to tease the sensitive skin below my navel.
I answered by lifting my hips, letting him peel the leggings and my underwear down my legs. He tossed them aside, his gaze devouring me as I lay bare before him. The vulnerability should have terrified me. Instead, it fueled the fire.
“Christ, Vi,” he breathed, his hand sliding up my inner thigh. His fingers parted me, finding me slick and ready. He circled my clit slowly, watching my face as I gasped. “So wet. All for me?”
I could only nod, my breath catching as he slid one finger inside me, then two, curling them expertly. My hips lifted off the table, seeking more. He added a third finger, stretching me, preparing me, his thumb never leaving my clit. Pleasure built in tight coils low in my belly, threatening to snap.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Taking me so well.”
He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with the broad head of his cock. He pressed forward slowly, stretching me, filling me inch by agonizing inch. My nails dug into his shoulders as he seated himself fully inside me.
He groaned, holding perfectly still, his hands braced on either side of me on the table. Sweat beaded on his forehead. “Now tell me this is a mistake.”
