He pushed inside slowly. The stretch was overwhelming, perfect. When he was fully seated, he stilled, forehead pressed to mine.
“Fuck, you feel incredible.”
“Move,” I breathed.
He started slow. The slide of him inside me was exquisite torture. Each thrust hit something deep, making my toes curl, but it wasn’t enough. The pressure built low in my belly, coiling tighter with every movement.
My nipples dragged against his chest, oversensitive, adding to the sensation until I couldn’t think. My head fell back, eyes going heavy, nails raking down his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
The orgasm was right there, hovering, but I couldn’t quite reach it.
I needed more.
“Harder,” I gasped.
His control snapped. He drove into me with unrestrained need, the sound of our bodies meeting echoing off the tile. The pressure built again, impossibly fast.
His hips snapped against mine, driving deeper with each thrust. The friction was perfect, overwhelming, the cold tile grounding me while he consumed me. The coil inside me pulled taut, winding impossibly tight.
I was right there, trembling on the precipice, my body coiled like a spring about to break. Just a little more. Just?—
“Come for me,” he growled. His hand slipped between us, and he pinched my clit.
I shattered around him. He followed moments later, groaning my name.
His eyes fell shut, face contorting with pleasure. His forehead dropped to mine, our breath mingling in ragged pants. We stayed like that, trembling, hearts racing against each other, neither of us able to move, until our breathing evened out. He set me down gently, steadying me when my legs wobbled.
“Christ.” His hands ran over my body, checking for damage. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I got carried away?—”
I cupped his face. “I’m fine.”
“You’re sure?” His brow furrowed. “Because I shouldn’t have?—”
“I loved it. Stop worrying.”
“You’d tell me if I hurt you?”
The vulnerability in his voice made my throat tight.
“Always.”
He studied me for a moment longer and then nodded. The lustful smolder returned to his green eyes and he bit his lip.
“Good. Now, get in the bed,” he whispered. “We’re not done yet.”
My stomach flipped. Heat pooled low despite the fact that I’d just come twice. How was he already ready to go again?
“You can’t be serious.”
His eyes darkened. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because he absolutely looked serious, and my traitorous body was already responding to the promise in his voice.
He dried us both with the thick hotel towels, his movements gentle now, almost reverent. The heat of the shower had left my skin flushed, my limbs loose. He wrapped me in one of the plush robes, tying it at my waist before lifting me into his arms.
“Griffin, I can walk.”
“I know.” He carried me toward the bedroom anyway.
