His eyes close. Slowly, he leans into my touch, and the anger and the stress start to drain from him. “It killed me. Every day, every hour, every minute, every bloody second, it killed me. Waiting for you. Not knowing if you were alive.”
“I know.” I lean forward and press my lips to his.
Griffin holds on to my waist, anchoring me to him. “There’s nothing left of you,” he rasps between kisses.
His large hands cover most of my sides. His fingers splayed wide, I know he can feel every bone.
“I can fix that by eating nothing but spice cakes for a year when this is over,” I tell him.
He chuckles. It turns into a groan when he slides his hands up to palm my breasts. I arch into his touch, and he increases the pressure. My belly tightens. Desire shivers through me.
“Then these would be a handful again.” The huskiness in his voice makes me think he’s really looking forward to that. “Plump and round.”
I laugh a little, the sound tangling with a rough exhale when his thumbs brush over my nipples. “Those would be plump and round, but my ass would be, too, and probably my hips.”
“Perfect,” Griffin growls, lowering his head to plunder my mouth again.
He steals my breath and melts my bones. Gripping my nape, he deepens the kiss. Urgency jumps from his tongue to mine. My spine curves, and he bends me even farther back, his fist tightening in my hair. My hips angle up, reaching for him, and our bodies connect right where they should. Griffin moans at the contact. A hot, liquid pulse throbs to life between my thighs.
Tension and need gather like a heady storm. “I want you.”
“Cat…” He groans low.
My legs clasping his hips, I push Griffin’s cloak aside and then run my hands over his torso, finding hard leather instead of a familiar chest. On a frantic quest for skin, I drop my hands to his belt, unbuckle it in record time, and then artlessly tug at the laces of his pants. His arousal springs free, and I curve my hand around the warm, hard flesh, squeezing as I stroke him from base to tip.
Griffin makes a guttural sound, biting out, “Cold hands,” even as he rocks into my grip.
“Fill me.” I kiss his scruffy neck and jaw as I swirl the pad of my thumb over the liquid pearling at the crown of his erection. “I’ll be hot.”
He shudders. “You feel so fragile in my hands.”
Is he afraid he’ll hurt me? I nip his earlobe. “I am not, never have been, and never will be fragile.”
Griffin lifts his head. His eyes flash with silver heat a second before he grabs my boots and tears them off. My pants follow, ripped down my legs with one hard jerk as I wiggle, helping to free them from underneath me.
Cold air sweeps across my bare skin. Griffin wraps my legs back around his waist, tucking them under his cloak again. Then his cool palms slide up my thighs and around my hips. He pulls me hard against him, and I gasp. This is what I want.
He kisses me again, his thumbs skimming along the creases of my thighs. Then one callused finger lightly traces the seam of my folds. The teasing touch gradually turns bolder, circling, pressing down. An explosion of sensation riots through me. I arch back, catching fire.
Griffin bends over me, kissing me senseless while his touch leaves me trembling and hot. I grip his shoulders and hang on, raising my hips to meet his hand.
“Griffin!” A storm races under my skin. I whip my hips, trying to spur him on.
“Patience, Princess.”
“Now, Your Stubbornness, or I swear I’ll start biting.”
Griffin slides one long finger inside me. “Is that a promise?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly soft.
A tremor ripples through me. “And kicking.”
“So hot.” His eyes slide closed.
“And screaming my head off,” I threaten breathlessly.
He looks at me again, his storm-cloud gaze half hooded by thick, inky lashes. “Then I must be doing something right.”
A second finger ratchets up my need to a nearly unbearable level. Griffin’s wide palm puts pressure where I need it most, and my breathing quickens.
